She Who Tangles the Weave
Percy woke up to the sun glaring into her eyes, hunger grumbling in her tummy, and the hot and heavy weight of domains sitting in her chest. Grumbling in discomfort, Percy peeled open her eyelids and was surprised to see actual leaves above her instead of the ever-constant blur of the last week. She pushed herself into sitting up, muscles burning, and assessed.
They’d been investigating the Labyrinth. Annabeth had been convinced that they’d find her dead sister’s fountain down there, had found a fresco depicting the Athenide’s birth, and then… the memories between that and Luke slitting her throat were fuzzy. Trying to think about it sent a sharp bolt of pain across her brain. But the last thing she remembered was Luke dumping her body in the Athenide’s fountain, then… pain. All-consuming, non-stop pain.
If someone had told her last week that she’d be transported to Ancient Greece and be trapped as a newborn baby, she’d have laughed her ass off. If they’d told her she’d be mistaken for her dad and Athena’s dead daughter, she’d have smacked them across the head, because you don’t joke about Annabeth’s sister like that. It wouldn’t have made sense to her; Athena hated her, after all, and demanded Percy stay away from her daughter. Nothing says I hate you more than that.
But… Percy didn’t feel human anymore. The burning weighed down her chest, made her feel bigger and more in a way that didn’t match her fragile baby body. But she didn’t feel fragile either. Someone could toss her off a mountain, and Percy was certain she’d make it to the bottom without a scratch. And she was the one to teleport her and Athena away from Olympus, after Zeus attacked Poseidon and Athena. She’d passed out right after.
She was in a clearing, with tall cypress and pine trees surrounding her. Grass and ferns taller than her hide her position in the grass. The sun was already overhead, streaming down in between leaves, and Percy instinctively ducked down out of its sight, feeling eyes pass over her hiding spot.
Inspecting her body, Percy found herself older than she last realized. She’d been a newborn since Athena found her bawling in her father’s fountain, basically blind and unable to move. Thankfully the gods’ voices were the same and she could hear, otherwise she’d never have any idea what was going on. But now she could see and sit up and her limbs listened to her. She reached out and pulled a fern out of the dirt, just to prove she could.
Gods, had Percy been asleep for months?
She dropped the fern like it had burned her and wiped her hands on the swaddle she was still half-trapped in. Focus on the immediate problems. Survival. An existential crisis was not going to help her stay alive.
The soft sound of breathing cut through her thoughts. Percy froze, every instinct—old and new—locking her small body in place as the clearing seemed to lean inward, the trees holding their breath alongside her. The weight in her chest stirred, those strange, molten domains shifting restlessly, urging her forward with a certainty that didn’t belong to a baby.
Scooting through the grass—because apparently, she wasn’t strong enough to crawl yet—Percy found a woman nearby.
It took her a second to realize this was Athena. She didn’t look like Athena; the goddess had worn dark hair when Percy met her at the winter solstice, with a softer face that reminded Percy more of herself than any of Athena’s kids. But the woman in front of her looked like Annabeth, and Malcolm, and Michaela and the rest of the Athena cabin.
Blonde hair, tangled and dull, spilled across her face. Her skin had lost that impossible, burnished glow, and her cheekbones had sharpened. She was dressed in a simple gray chiton, her armor and wings missing. And most importantly, she didn’t feel like Athena. Even as a demigod, she could feel the weight of the gods, had felt Athena’s Wisdom just as clearly as Hera’s Marriage and Zeus’ Lightning back in the court room. The divine weight that had once filled every inch of her presence like a storm waiting to break was gone.
“Athena, wake up,” Percy tried to say.
What came out was a soft babble, incomprehensible even to her.
Percy scowled, then scooted forward, each movement awkward but determined, grass bending beneath her weight as she dragged herself to Athena. Her limbs worked now, mostly, but they still felt like borrowed things, too soft and too small, and now even her voice continued betraying her.
Carefully, she reached out and smacked Athena’s cheek. “Hey,” Percy tried again, louder, which translated to a slightly more aggressive babble. But Athena’s brow was furrowing and she was breathing, so.
Percy huffed and smacked her again.
Athena jerked. Her breath hitched violently, like she wasn’t used to breathing. Her eyes snapped open, gray and sharp and… human. The owl eyes she’d once worn were gone, replaced by human irises and pupils.
Athena stared at her. For a moment, there was nothing there—no recognition or awareness, just raw, instinctive panic. She jerked upright with a strangled gasp, scrambling backward until her spine hit the tree behind her. Her hands flew to her chest, fingers digging into fabric like she was trying to rip something out.
Athena scrambled upright, movements jerky and uncoordinated, like a puppet. She looked down at her hands, turning them over. “No,” she said again, sharper this time, panic threading through every syllable. “No, no, no, my domains—” Her voice came out thin, fragile, stripped of the authority Percy remembered.
“They’re gone,” she concluded.
Athena’s legs folded out from under her. She fell to the ground in a spray of dirt and foliage. She wasn’t crying, though she looked like she wanted to. “I can’t—” Athena pressed her hands into her temples, fingers digging in hard enough to leave marks. “I can’t feel anything. No threads, no strategy, no—no—Father, why—”
She slammed her fist on the ground and screamed. Birds scattered.
Awkward, clumsy, Percy shuffled forward and pressed herself against Athena’s side, small hands grabbing at her sleeve with all the coordination of a very determined baby. It wasn’t much. It wasn’t anything, really. Athena looked down at her. First there was confusion, then recognition, then her face softened like Annabeth’s did when she got a new little sibling.
Percy huffed, because sure, that was her name now, wasn’t it? Everyone thought she was the murdered goddess, and said goddess was nowhere to be found, but Percy was here, right?
Only, she didn’t remember Athena ever getting turned human in the Athenide’s myths. Percy would have remembered something like that, right? Annabeth mentioned that the Athenide was raised among humans, not that Athena was a human herself.
A sinking dread pooled in her stomach.
Before Percy could begin to contemplate the possible consequences of changing the past, Athena grabbed her from under her arms. Her grip was weak, but she settled Percy into her lap. Her fingers adjusted and readjusted around Percy’s small frame. “Hello, sweet girl,” Athena murmured, voice thin and breathless. “You forced yourself to grow just to protect me, did you?”
Percy squirmed, letting out an indignant noise that was supposed to be obviously, but came out as a soft, disgruntled babble instead. Her stomach chose that exact moment to twist sharply, hunger clawing at her insides with an urgency that felt far too big for her tiny body. Hunger was terrible as a baby, the worst thing that’s ever happened to her, and she let out an unhappy whine.
Her head snapped down toward Percy, eyes widening as she recognized the sound, and for a moment the panic returned, sharp and biting. “You’re hungry.”
Athena’s gaze darted around the clearing, frantic now, scanning the trees, the underbrush, the sky beyond. There was no divine certainty guiding her, no invisible threads mapping out the optimal solution. Just a woman, newly human, trying to solve a problem she had never once needed to consider. She checked down her shirt, as if expecting something. “I’m still a virgin, of course I’m not lactating,” she scolded herself. “And we don’t have access to nectar, not unless we head to one of my temples and explain the situation.”
Percy’s stomach dropped out from under her. Athena had been feeding her nectar? She knew that milk had tasted better than usual! She thought it was just goat milk! Didn’t Athena know how dangerous it was for a demigod to drink so much nectar—
Nope. No. Not thinking about that. She’d survived and that’s all that matters.
“But my temples will be the first places they look for us,” Athena continued, more firm now, the panic in her voice cooling into something sharper, more controlled. “Athens will also be high up on the list. If I could find one of the twins, or even my brother, maybe they could—no, Father’s never listened to them more than me. If I can’t convince him I’m still a virgin, only my hunting sister would be able to tell, and there no way of tracking her down.”
She wasn’t saying their names. Was she trying to keep the attention off them? Smart move, Percy approved. Who knew what Zeus would do to her if he caught them again?
Athena caught the action. “Your cold too,” she realized, wrapping the swaddle around Percy’s bare shoulders. Athena’s hands lingered for a moment after tucking the cloth around her, fingers clumsy in a way Percy had never seen before, like the goddess was trying to remember instructions she’d never needed to learn. The fabric bunched unevenly, one side tighter than the other, and Athena frowned at it as if the cloth had personally offended her.
“This is inefficient,” she muttered under her breath, adjusting it again, then pausing when Percy made a small, protesting noise. “No—too tight, then. You require mobility.” Athena inhaled sharply. “And I’m human now. I can die. We need to focus on survival first. Shelter, warmth, sustenance.”
Percy made another small, desperate sound, her stomach twisting again, sharp and hollow and loud, louder than any hunger she’d ever felt before. It clawed at her ribs like something alive.
Athena flinched. “Yes. I hear you,” she said quickly, almost apologetic, which was—deeply unsettling. “You are… very loud.”
Percy scowled, or tried to. Her face just scrunched.
Athena exhaled slowly, forcing calm into herself like she was manually reconstructing it. “Think,” she murmured. “Think.” Her eyes scanned the clearing again, slower this time, more deliberate. Not the sweeping, all-knowing glance of a goddess, but the focused observation of a tactician working with limited information. Her gaze lingered on the trees, the undergrowth, the patterns of sunlight filtering through the canopy.
She smirked like Annabeth beating the other councilors in a boardgame. “Found you.”
Percy followed her gaze—or tried to. Her neck wobbled a little before settling on a crooked angle. Athena rose slowly, movements careful and deliberate. She adjusted Percy against her chest, one arm cradling her securely while the other remained free.
Walking to the tree line, Percy found herself in front of a tree with dark bark and a low-hanging branch heavy with golden sheets covered in bees. A wild hive.
“Father was raised on honey,” Athena said, more to herself than to Percy, voice gaining strength with the logic. “It is sufficient. It has to be.”
Athena approached the tree with cautious steps, eyes locked on the hive like it was a battlefield. The bees circled lazily, golden bodies catching the sunlight, the hum in the air deepening as she drew closer. The moment her fingers brushed the hive, the world exploded into motion.
The hum sharpened into a furious buzz, bees pouring out in a golden-black cloud, a living storm erupting around her hand. Athena jerked back with a sharp hiss. A bee stung her.
Percy felt the reaction instantly—Athena’s entire body tensed, breath hitching in pain, her grip tightening just a fraction too much around Percy. “That—hurts,” Athena said, stunned, staring at her hand like it had betrayed her.
Another bee stung her. Athena flinched again, sharper this time, teeth clenching.
Percy let out an indignant wail, less out of pain and more because everything was suddenly loud and chaotic and her tiny body did not appreciate it. There was nothing else she could do, and Percy hated this tiny, useless infant body. Even if the bees were ignoring her, it wouldn’t be for long, and if Athena didn’t move—
Athena snapped out of it. “Right. Pain is irrelevant,” she said quickly, voice hardening. “Pain is temporary. You require food.”
Her fingers dug into the hive, tearing a chunk free despite the furious swarm, honey dripping thick and golden over her hands as bees stung her again and again. Her breath came fast now, uneven, but she didn’t stop, ripping away enough before stumbling back, shaking bees from her arms.
She nearly dropped Percy. Her grip tightened just in time, pulling Percy closer to her chest as she staggered a step away from the tree.
The bees followed for a moment, circling angrily, then gradually dispersed, their fury fading back into a low, warning hum. Athena stood there, breathing hard, staring at her hand. It was covered in honey, and her arms were peppered with stings.
“Here,” she said, softer now, kneeling carefully, like the ground might vanish beneath her if she moved too quickly. She dipped two fingers into the honey, the golden liquid stretching in slow, sticky threads as she lifted them to Percy’s lips.
Percy looked between Athena’s eyes and the honey for a moment. Then, she leaned forward as much as her wobbly body allowed and latched onto Athena’s fingers. Instinct took over where knowledge failed and Percy, much to her own embarrassment, suckled Athena’s fingers. The honey hit her tongue like sunlight made solid—thick, sweet, overwhelming in a way that made her entire body light up. Her stomach lurched, then settled, the sharp edge of hunger dulling just enough to breathe again.
Athena let out a breath that sounded dangerously close to a laugh, shaky and disbelieving. “Good,” she murmured, brushing a stray curl from Percy’s forehead with her unsteady hand. “That is… good.” She pulled her fingers from Percy’s mouth, and Percy barely had time to protest when they came back with another serving of honey.
Her gaze lifted then, scanning the trees again, sharper now, more focused. “We need to find shelter,” she said, voice firming with purpose. She adjusted Percy against her, more carefully this time, movements already improving, learning in real time. “If we find a river, maybe we can follow it to a town? But there’s no guarantee that they’ll give us shelter. Maybe we could…”
Percy swallowed another mouthful of honey, the sweetness clinging to her tongue like molten gold, ignoring Athena for the time being. As fascinating as it was to witness Athena discovering humanity in real time, Percy had to get back to her own time. Maybe if she went back to the fountain again? But Athena wouldn’t let them near Athens anytime soon. If only she could remember what happened in the Labyrinth…
Her mouth popped open in surprise. That was it! If she went back to the Labyrinth, maybe she’d figure out how she ended up in the past! Because she refused to believe that there wasn’t a way back, not when people, Annabeth, were relying on her. She needed to go back.
…When was the Labyrinth built again?
