The Tail

The Fates

Hey guys! I will be writing this chapter in third person so I hope you like it. This chapter is dedicated to __AnnabethChase__ for being such a great, enthusiastic reader. Your comments make me smile when I read them! Enjoy this chapter!

Three old ladies sat in a dark quiet room lit only by three candles, far, far away from Olympus. Their ratty, old shawls draped over their face cast spidery shadows across their severely lined faces. They watched in silence as the events transpired on Olympus. It was the death of a hero. They each held a part of a faintly glowing, sea green string. It was frayed and unraveled and in some sections, almost completely cut through. It showed how close the person whose life force it was tied to had almost died many, many times. The Fates watched through the Iris Message as Perseus Jackson breathed his last breath. At the same time, one of the fates cut the string.

In the image, the blonde haired daughter of Athena wailed and even through the image, the sorrow in it was evident. Poseidon had thrown himself at his son and was sobbing while Hades and Zeus patted his back awkwardly. Athena was struggling to keep Annabeth under control as she kept trying to get back to Percy's lifeless body. The rest of his friends stood in shock with tears leaking out one after the other. It was a desolate sight.

Clotho croaked, "Thank you, Iris. That is all." The iris message flickered and died. Clotho looked back at her sisters.

"Λοιπόν , αδελφές. Τι πρέπει να κάνουμε?"

"Well, sisters. What should we do?"

Lachesis answered, "Μπορούμε να επιλέξουμε να σώσει τον Περσέα , και να αλλάξετε τη μοίρα."

"We can choose to save Perseus, and change fate."

Both Clotho and Lachesis looked at their third sister, Atropos, as she spoke. She still held the cut string in her old, mottled hands.

"Είναι αβέβαιο εάν αυτό θα οδηγήσει . Για την ειρήνη και την ευημερία? Ή σε μια πορεία από το σκοτάδι και την καταστροφή που άσκησε η αναβίωση ενός ήρωα?

It is uncertain where this will lead. To peace and prosperity? Or to a path of darkness and destruction brought by a hero's revival?

The three old ladies, the Moirai , sat in silence as they pondered what they should do.

Lachesis hissed in the darkness, "O Περσέας είναι ένα μεγάλο ήρωα με καλή καρδιά . Πιστεύω ότι δεν θα αφήσουμε να συμβεί αυτό , εάν επρόκειτο να τον αναβιώσει."

Perseus is a great hero with a good heart. I believe that he will not let this happen, if we were to revive him.

The three sisters looked at each other in agreement. In sync, they nodded (a bit creepily) and held out their hands. Atropos placed the severed string in each of their small wrinkled hands. In unison, they chanted an old, Greek spell.

"Ιστό της ζωής και της ψυχής, κομμένο από ένα αρχαίο μέταλλο , έλα πίσω. Συνδέστε και πάλι να δημιουργήσει τη ζωή, μια ζωή, πολύ αξιόλογο. Αλλάξτε την τύχη, αντίστροφη φορά. Ανάσα ζωής πίσω στο σώμα, του Περσέα Τζάκσον. Φέρει στο προσκήνιο το πνεύμα του παιδιού των θαλασσών, και να δημιουργήσει ζωή. Καλούμε τις δυνάμεις, επένδυσε σε μας ως deciders της μοίρας, και η ζωή. Εμείς, Κλωθώ, Λάχεσις, Άτροπος και, κύριοι της μοίρας , προστάζω έτσι."

Web of life and soul, severed by an ancient metal, come back. Connect once again to create life, a life, greatly valued. Change fate, reverse time. Breath life back into the body, of Perseus Jackson. Bring forth the spirit of the child of the seas, and create life. We call upon the powers, invested in us as the deciders of fate, and life. We, Clotho, Lachesis, and Atropos, masters of fate, command this so.

As the fates finished the spell, a blinding sea green light erupted from the severed string. Blinded, the old ladies averted their eyes and turned away though still keeping a firm hand on the string. In the blinding light, the string lay on the palms of the fates and slowly, very slowly, knit itself back together. As the final strands connected, a force of pure power exploded from the string, knocking the fates back. They flew 5 feet in different directions.

As the smoke and rubble cleared, the three sisters limped back toward the string. They hadn't done that spell in a long time, since the beginning of time, in fact. All three of them were breathing heavily and their usually pristine white robes were rumpled and stained. They walked slowly toward the middle of the wrecked room, where a string of yarn glowed brightly. It was no longer cut up and frayed but in a perfect, tightly threaded string. It pulsed with strong power as life and Perseus' soul combined once again. A faint trail of smoke was rising from it.

Far, far away in the Olympian Throne Room, Poseidon was cradling his sons' dead, broken body. His large, tanned fingers brushed his neck where a small, faint pulse was beating.