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to-fly-with-clipped-wings · 6 months

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A Sea of Sorrows -> Act 1, Part 1

Act 1: the Fall of the Gods

Dear Percy. This was the year the Gods fell from Olympus, and I fell from you. I miss the us from that year. I wonder, did either of us know what was in store?

Series Summary: A chronicle of the moments you fell in love with your enemy, Percy Jackson. An epilogue to your fate and an epitaph to your grave.

AKA in a universe where you are a traitor to Camp Half-Blood. This is an ode to the boy that led to your downfall: Percy Jackson.

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Percy Jackson Masterlist

* . °•★|•°∵ ∵°•|☆•° . *

i. “OH, OH, tell us again how the legend goes?”

Your eight-year old self bounced on the heels of your feet. The little blue birthday hat atop your head started to slip, the elastic string too long to fit snugly around your head, but you hardly bat an eye. You clap your hands together, giggling, staring in awe as yet another star sparks in the sky and, it too begins its spiralling descent from its heavenly abode and to the feet of your earth-dwelling mortals.

The star’s trail of divine dust, marking its venture across your frail vision, was reflected in your eyes. You raised an arm, as though trying to pluck the celestial from the sky.

Silena Beauregard giggled as she reached over to fix your askew birthday hat.

You didn’t know if it was the mind of your eight-year-old self manipulating a shroud mist around the girl or if she genuinely held the most ethereal, luminous pieces of the sky within her dark blue eyes. You didn’t know, or perhaps, didn’t want to remember, if her midnight silk hair, glossed and draped over her shoulders as the night enveloped the horizon, had been anything but that. The bracelets around her wrist tinkled as she went about drawing your astray strands of hair back. You could smell her perfume as well, but its scent was so fleeting that you could never seem to recall it once she left.

You smiled at her, like if you had even the slightest chance, you wouldn’t have hesitated to delve into the velvety curtain of the night to retrieve only the finest of stars for her eyes to hold.

She smiled at you, as though — impossible as it may have sounded — as though, in that moment, she loved you.

“Well,” she started, leaning over to place both you and Annabeth on her lap.

Clarisse La Rue took that chance to rip off her birthday hat (red, she had insisted) and replace it with her usual bandanna. The Stoll brothers, apparently, took great offence to that gesture, as they too whipped off their own hats to brandish like daggers at the Ares girl. Clarisse snarled at them, before taking her own, very real, spear and threatening to shove it down their throats or in some other choice places.

Beckdorf smirked, crossing his arms as he turned his head to appraise the face-off between the brothers and Clarisse, but he didn’t make any move to discourage the oncoming fight. And then, as was usual, Luke — the golden boy, the older brother to all campers (no matter if you were younger or older than him) — sighed, as though he’d just lost fifteen years of his life from their spat, and then plucked Clarisse’s spear out of her hands and lightly pushed his half-brothers into each other, sprawling onto the ground like dominoes.

“Can’t you guys ever settle down?” he asked, rolling his eyes. But then he smiled, so all of you knew that he didn’t really mean it. “I mean, it’s little Major’s birthday today and all we want is to enjoy the meteor shower in peace.” “Little Major is contradictory,” frowned Annabeth. An onlooker might’ve thought that Luke had just wished a deadly curse upon her entire bloodline, from the way her grey gaze furrowed. “How can she be little and major at the same time? It doesn’t make any sense!”

Before Luke could make a teasing remark (you could tell from the way the outer corner of his lip, the one without the dimple, twitched upwards), you cut in. “Please, Selly, pretty please! Tell me about the shooting star?”

“It’s a tale of wonder,” Silena finally began, her pearly white teeth shining through her picture-perfect smile. Her tone was hushed, like she was whispering a super-secret secret to the girls, “forged by immortals under a sky, much like this one.”

“In the days of old,” continued Beckondorf, his contribution to the conversation surprising you. The muscular boy was of few words, but you supposed that Silena’s presence had drawn him out from his carefully crafted shell. You and Annabeth shared amused looks, far more knowing beyond your years.

“The Greeks looked up to the heavens and saw the gods in every corner of the night. They believed that the sky was a grand canvas, a blank machine of sorts, where the gods etched their stories in constellations and galaxies.”

“Now, the gods, they weren’t distant watchers,” said Silena, glancing at Beckendorf as she spoke. She looked at him as though she wasn’t reciting the tale to you, but to him, the only other person in the world. “They were keepers of hopes, weavers of destinies. And sometimes, just sometimes, they would lean so close to Earth that a star would slip through their fingers and streak across the sky. That’s what we call a shooting star.

“The legend goes that in those fleeting moments, the veil between us and the divine thins. It’s when the gods are listening, truly listening, to the heartbeat of the world. And if a mortal, pure of heart and full of hope, makes a wish upon such a star, the gods take notice.”

“They say that Aphrodite smiles upon lovers,” spoke Luke softly. He gazed up at the sky, and then toward the pine-tree in the far distance. “Athena guides the seekers of wisdom, Ares leads man into war, and that, if you were truly of a golden heart, Zeus himself might offer his insight.”

His voice dwindled off, and if, at the time, perhaps you hadn’t been so caught up in your childish, insolent elation, you might’ve picked up on his bitter tone.

Annabeth turned to you. “So, on your special night, let’s wish on all the shooting stars. Together.”

Silena nodded, resting her head on Beckendorf’s shoulder. “Close your eyes, you wish on that star. You wish and you dream wish with all that is there in your heart, and just, believe. Believe, as the gods are kind, and they cherish the dreams of their children.”

“But you remember, Major,” Luke turned his saddened gaze back to you. “That old star can only take you part of the way. You have to help it along with some hard work of your own, and then, yeah. You can do anything you set your mind to.”

“Just promise us one thing,” murmured Silena. “That you'll never, ever lose sight of what's really important.”

“I don’t know what to do,” You stared up at her anxiously, fiddling with the string of your birthday hat. “Could you show me how to wish?”

She smiled once more, and it felt like the balance of the stars and sky had been reborn to take the form of Silena Beauregard. “Oh, I’m sure you already know how to do that.”

* . °•★|•°∵ ∵°•|☆•° . *

ii. Against all odds, you would say that you were looking forward to the Yancy school trip to the Metropolitan Museum of Art.

Yeah, you didn’t really care about art or architecture or the weird little naked statues of the gods (you definitely didn’t appreciate that), but you were looking forward to your first extraction mission as a demigod — even if this little outing of yours couldn’t be considered a quest, and even if it was long overdue.

Being undetermined was a disease in the world of Greek mythology, and it was a disease that followed you like the plague. it was a curse when your Godly parent refused to claim you, refused to acknowledge you. You were cursed from the start, cursed to run around, seeking kleos, and for what?

For absolutely nothing.

That was something no one let you forget. From your spot on the floor in Cabin Eleven, to the brown mass of curls on Grover’s head that frantically kept glancing back at you to make sure that no monster had snuck up on you during the last thirty seconds he hadn’t been looking at you. It even took Chiron about three years worth of convincing to let you go out, as he used the same reason (excuse) over and over again: you aren’t claimed. You don’t know how to defend yourself. It is too dangerous.

That’s what it always boiled down to.

You weren’t claimed, fine. You didn’t need to be claimed to be able to fight.

It was always the same broken record that played whenever someone opened their mouth, but instead of sweet melodies or even sweeter, praise, it was the string of never-ending, ‘you aren’t strong enough. You aren’t brave enough. You aren’t good enough.

You aren’t claimed.’

A voice in the back of your mind churned traitorously. Although, you supposed that you shouldn’t be the one to talk about betrayal.

The speculations held merit, it had whispered.

Once a demigod was claimed, it was said that their powers grew exponentially. A claiming was essentially a blessing from your divine parent’s hand, a way of saying ‘I, as your parent, grant you your birthright as my child.’ You became blessed by Olympus to become faster, better, and stronger, a means to defend yourself from the monsters that lurked in the outside world.

But the thing was, once a godly parent claimed their kid, their godly side also began to radiate monster-attraction scent that enhanced their presence to monsters in a nearby radius. One would argue then, that meant unclaimed half-bloods would be better suited to high-risk jobs since they were at a lower risk of monster attacks than claimed ones.

“But,” Clarisse La Rue had argued, “that also means that you have less experience fighting monsters, so what happens if you encounter a beast like the minotaur on the field? Less experience, plus no divine blessing is a stirring pot for demigod death.”

“So,” Chiron blinked at you, not unkindly. “You need to understand, we simply cannot be sending you out of camp, Major. Your mother is not in a state where she is able to ward off monsters, and you…”

You…

You are not strong enough, you finish in your head bitterly. You were not strong like the others, not because you weren’t good with a sword or spear, but because you were not good enough to register as a child to your divine parent.

It was always Major, the side-kick. The pathetic little Robin to Luke’s Batman, or the golden rope to Annabeth’s Wonder Woman. Always the damsel in distress, never the prince. Always the one in the shadows, never the hero. Always the angel, never the god.

Since your mother’s passing four years ago, you had become a year round camper so you had more training under your belt than, say, ninety percent of the Apollo cabin. Yet, even they were allowed to leave camp and get up to all sorts of nonsense.

Were you not enough for your godly parent to look up from whatever divine duties they needed to do? Were you not good enough for your godly father to come down to save your mother when she was on her deathbed? You weren’t even sure if your father knew your name.

You sent Grover a small smile when he glanced back at you again.

Next to you, Percy Jackson, pulled a face.

Percy was a thirteen year old boy. With staggering sea-green eyes, black hair and tan skin, he was the half-blood Grover had called Chiron out for. For a year, it had been you, him and Grover fighting your way through the hell-hole that was Yancy Academy. Between failing classes, cheating off each other during tests (and failing those anyways because apparently both of you sucked at academics equally) and throwing dirt into Nancy Bobofit’s eyes, whenever she threw her weird bits of peanut-butter-and-ketchup sandwich on Grover, you would say that you and Percy were probably each other’s closest friends. Throughout the year, you and Percy had become each other’s anchor. You shared the burden of academic challenges, often finding peace in the fact that if you were going to fail, at least you’d do it together.

There was a certain comfort in Percy’s company, a sense of acceptance that was rare and maybe even precious. He never looked at you with eyes of thinly veiled judgement that others often did, nor did he offer unwanted pity, that felt more like a burden than a comfort. It was probably because he had no idea of his demigod heritage, but with Percy, you were just you.

Unclaimed, maybe, but never unseen.

You liked Percy’s company, and you were impatiently waiting for the day Chiron gave you the all clear to return to Camp Half-Blood. There you and Percy could spend your days picking strawberries, sparring, whatever it was you two wanted to do. And hopefully, Percy would end up being unclaimed, or maybe even the son of a minor god, so you could ride out your days in the Hermes Cabin forever. Maybe one day, you would even be promoted to having a bunk. That would be especially great.

“Excited for the trip, Major?” Percy grinned at you.

You sighed, tilting your head on your seat so you could glance at him through the corner of your eyes. “Ready as I’ll ever be, I guess.”

Ahead of you, Grover squawked when Nancy Bobofit threw another bit of her sandwich at him.

“I’m going to kill her,” muttered Percy, his eyes darkening at the red-headed girl.

You patted Percy’s knee, trying to stop him from leaping toward Nancy. She sucked, but it wasn’t worth Percy getting expelled from Yancy just yet.

* . °•★|•°∵ ∵°•|☆•° . *

i. “It’s easy,” said Luke, clapping your little, eight-year-old self on the back. “Wait and watch.”

And that you did. With bated breath and rapidly trembling fists, you waited and waited until the stars started to pour once again from the sky. They streaked down the horizon, the eyes of the sky shedding them like divine tear drops or that raindrops that slid down a window — the sort you would bet on with Annabeth about which would reach the sill first.

Beckendorf pointed at the brightest one he could find. He cleared his throat before saying his wish under his breath.

You tilted your head in confusion. “I didn’t hear the wish,” you frowned.

Luke smiled gently, his facade of happiness not quite reaching his eyes. “That’s the catch. You can’t let anyone find out about your wish, otherwise it won’t come true. It’s just between you, and the gods.”

He turned to the sky once more, and uttered his own wish. This time, you tried extra hard to pick up what he was saying, but you couldn’t hear much. You did catch a few words, something about history? It didn’t make too much sense to you though.

It was Silena’s go next. Her cheeks were pink as she made her wish, and she looked at the ground instead of the stars. Her wish was so quiet that even though she had placed you and Annabeth on top of her, you couldn’t hear a thing.

Annabeth Chase, Clarisse La Rue, Travis and Connor Stoll, Harmony Crosscov and Critos Lyalin all prayed for their wishes as well. It wasn’t hard for you to predict what theirs might've been about. Annabeth’s probably had to do with architecture, Clarisse’s with her spear (possibly making it more deadly, even though you didn’t know why exactly a ten year old needed a super deadly spear in her collection). Travis and Connor probably asked to get a key for the camp’s gift shop so they could raid it even when it was locked.

Harmony, a daughter of Apollo, had picked up the lyre she was strumming and held it to the sky as she wished, so you suspected hers had to do with maybe creating the most beautiful melody mankind had ever heard with it (although she already did that, so you didn’t know why she needed to use her wish on that). Critos was a son of Demeter, and he was the only one who weren’t entirely confident about, but you thought maybe it had to do with one of his plants — like the petunias that kept wilting? He had always complained about those.

Now, everyone had made their wish. Everyone but you. Your birthday posse turned to face you, the birthday girl, as you prepared to make what was going to be the most important wish of the night.

You were beside yourself in excitement. Today was your eighth birthday! The gods had to grant your wish, that was the intrinsic birthday rule, wasn’t it? The gods had to be looking, heck, maybe even your godly parent was looking. Maybe, just maybe, today would be the day you would get claimed.

You thought about using that as your wish. ‘I wish to be claimed.’ But you decided against it. You had only been at camp for about two months, that wasn’t that long compared to the other camper’s claiming stories. You had plenty of time ahead of you to get claimed, so you didn’t need to rush and waste your wish on something that was inevitable anyways.

Maybe you should wish to win the next capture the flag game? Gods know that the Hermes cabin would be ecstatic if you did. What about acing the Ancient Greek vocab test you had the next day? No, you shook your head. You were going to fail that anyways, wishing on a star wouldn’t save your pitiful grades. You would just have to hope Annabeth would be in a ‘helping-Major-cheat’ mood tomorrow.

Maybe you should wish for something to do with your mother? You frowned.

The thought of her laughter, her warmth, her guidance - all the things you missed the most - flooded your mind. ‘If she could come back, would she be the same?’ you pondered, the uncertainty a heavy stone in your stomach. ‘And what would she think?’ The frown deepened as you considered. It wasn't just about what you wanted; it was about the balance of things, the natural order. But… she’s gone now. Was she? Could this wish bring her back?

You opened your mouth, but before you said anything, another thought struck you. And with that thought, a sense of peace began to settle over you, as if your mother's wisdom had reached out from beyond, guiding you once more.

That was it!

The most perfect wish. The gods had to grant it, there was no way they could refuse. It would be the best blessing, the most perfect divine grant that couldn’t possibly be refuted.

In your excitement, however, you forgot about the wishes-were-supposed-to-be-super-top-secret-so-you-must-whisper-them rule, and ended up just blurting it out of your mouth, words churring out faster than you could comprehend.

* . °•★|•°∵ ∵°•|☆•° . *

ii. Chiron — sorry, Mr. Brunner, led the museum tour.

It wasn’t anything you hadn’t seen before. Ancient Greek armour (that you knew weren’t that ancient), pots with little dancing figures painted on them, steles with, to no one’s surprise, weird naked statues of gods running across them. It was really nothing special, just the usual artsy stuff mortals were crazy for, but you did get a kick out of Percy snapping at Nancy when Chiron was rumbling about something to do with Greek depression or something.

“Will you shut the fuck up?” Percy gave her his nastiest stink-eye.

Everyone laughed. You nudged Percy’s shoulder, and he turned his gaze to you, kicking your shoe in retaliation, before remembering that Chiron and Mrs. Dodds were still there, and they didn’t look happy at all with Percy’s interruption.

Mrs. Dodds was an interesting character. She despised Percy with all of her being (not heart, you weren’t sure if she had a heart), but you would say she had a soft-spot for you. Like whenever she gave Percy after-school detention for blowing up a bin or something, you would turn, smile at you and hand you this weird melted candy bar that tasted oddly like hot fudge and sea salt?

While the chocolate was a much appreciated gesture, you didn’t enjoy the way she snapped at Percy, and you agreed that there was something off about her. Like in the way she wasn’t exactly… normal? But you doubted anyone would listen to you anyways, and if Chiron hadn’t picked up on it, then it probably wasn’t important.

“Mr. Jackson,” began the centaur in disguise. “Did you have a comment?”

“No, sir,” said Percy, his cheeks burning red.

Mr. Brunner pointed to one of the pictures on the stele. “Perhaps you’ll tell us what this picture represents?”

Percy looked to where he was pointing. He nodded slightly, that he knew the answer to that question (if he didn’t that was fine anyways, you would’ve just whispered it to him). “That’s Kronos eating his kids, right?”

“Yes,” Mr. Brunner said, raising an eyebrow. “And he did this because…”

“Well… Kronos was the king god, and —”

“God?” Mr. Brunner asked.

You flinched slightly when Percy said it; you didn’t think the gods would be willing to hold back if they caught him making that little comment. The gods had incredibly short fuses, and it was often their temper that caused the most destruction — like when Ares shot that one archduke back in 1914 and started World War 1.

“Titan,” Percy fixed. “And…he didn’t trust his kids, who were the gods. So, um, Kronos ate them, right? But his wife hid baby Zeus, and gave Kronos a rock to eat instead. And later, when Zeus grew up, he tricked his dad, Kronos, into barfing up his brothers and sisters—”

“Eeew!” squealed a girl from behind you.

“—and so there was this big fight between the gods and the Titans,” Percy powered through, “and the gods won.”

Nancy Bobofit mumbled, “like we’re going to use this in real life. Like it’s going to say on our job applications, ‘Please explain why Kronos ate his kids.’”

You didn’t like Nancy much, but there was probably some merit to her question. The gods cared so much about themselves, that one day they probably would manage to hijack mortal job interviews into a pop quiz of ‘what is Aphrodite’s favourite brand of perfume’ or ‘write a one thousand word essay on why Zeus is most supreme god, explaining clearly why his brothers Poseidon and Hades suck ass.’

You rolled your eyes.

“And why, Mr. Jackson,” Brunner said, “to paraphrase Miss Bobofit’s excellent question, does this matter in real life?”

“Busted,” Grover muttered.

“Shut up,” hissed Nancy, her face even brighter red than her hair.

Percy looked pensive for a moment, the most pensive you’d ever seen him apart from when he needed to decide between blue cookies or blue jelly beans. “I don’t know, sir.”

“I see.” Chiron sighed. “Well, half credit, Mr. Jackson. Zeus did indeed feed Kronos a mixture of mustard and wine, which made him disgorge his other five children, who, of course, being immortal gods, had been living and growing up completely undigested in the Titan’s stomach. The gods defeated their father, sliced him to pieces with his own scythe, and scattered his remains in Tartarus, the darkest part of the Underworld.”

Kronos. The name sent chills up your spine. The Titan lord who had once ruled before the gods, now a whisper from the past, yet his legacy lingered like a shadow. As Chiron recounted the tale, you couldn’t help but feel a twinge of foreboding, a sense that the history of the gods and Titans was not as distant as it seemed.

Your gaze shifted downwards to your trembling hands. You clasp them together to try and steady them. The tales of gods and Titans, of heroes and monsters, they all seemed like distant echoes of a world you were forced into but never truly belonged. You felt the weight of your unclaimed status, a constant reminder of your place, or lack thereof, in this mythological nightmare.

You watched Percy. His fate was yet to unfold, and you couldn’t help but feel a pang of envy. He had a path, albeit unknown to him, but you… you were adrift in a sea of uncertainty, a ship without a sail.

The gods, those mighty beings who played with the lives of mortals and demigods alike, they were the root of your turmoil. How easy it must’ve been for them, to watch from their celestial thrones, to judge and to ignore the pleas of their children.

In the days to come, I would stand by you as you discovered the truth. But, when the weight of your destiny became too much to bear alone, my greatest regret was that I could not stand beside you. Your bond was a testament to the strength that friendship and loyalty could bring. Mine was a testament to the darkness and hatred of our world.

* . °•★|•°∵ ∵°•|☆•° . *

iii. The battlefield was before you, a canvas of chaos painted with the scars of war. The earth itself seemed to mourn, its once green flesh torn and charred. The battlefield stretched out, a vast, open wound upon the ground. The grass was soaked with the blood of fallen warriors, and squelched underfoot as you walked among the remnants of what had once been a fierce and vibrant camp. The air was thick with the metallic tang of blood and the acrid stench of burning flesh, a sensory assault that would haunt you for all your days.

The earth, which had once cradled life, now cradled the fallen, its bosom scarred by the violence it had witnessed. The camp, once a beacon of hope and strength for demigods, lay in ruins, its vibrant pulse silenced, save for the mournful wind that whispered through the shattered remains.

Luke Castellan had returned, but not as the triumphant hero he had set out to be. His quest to retrieve the golden apples had failed miserably. The cost of his ambition was written in the blood and lives of his quest mates, who had perished along the way. The monsters he had inadvertently brought to the camp's boundary were now a symbol of his failure, their snarls and roars a chorus of impending doom.

Amidst the cacophony of clashing steel and the cries of the wounded, a shadow loomed large. The dracanae, a beast of nightmares, slithered through the chaos, its presence a dark omen. Its scales, as dark as the void, absorbed the light around it. They were fighting not just for their lives, but for the very soul of the camp, against forces that sought to extinguish their light forever.

Monsters had breached the camp's defences, and panic had taken hold.

Luke stumbled across the boundary line of the camp, his face marred in blood, blood, blood. Luke's arrival had been a tragic procession, a lone figure staggering under the weight of failure and loss. His face, a mask of agony, was a stark reminder of the cost of their endeavours. The blood that stained him was not just his own but that of his questmates, their lives extinguished.

One of his eyes was doused in the red, liquid, acid, and you could make out a gruesome scar that trailed from above his eyebrow right down to his jaw. You sucked in a breath.

You had watched, your heart shattering, as Luke's knees buckled, his strength waning. The monsters he had unwittingly led to the camp's boundary now surged forward, eager to feast on the grief and fear that hung heavy in the air.

His face was as though it had been split open. You dropped your sword, and immediately rushed toward your old friend. Luke cried out in pain as he brought a hand up to his wound in an attempt to hold his face together.

“Luke! Luke!” you shrieked, almost tripping over the armour that was too big for your ten-year-old body. “Luke!”

You ran toward them, engulfing him with your arms. You had run, small legs carrying you faster than they ever had, toward the brother who had taught you to be brave, to fight, to hope.

The battle raged on beside you, but you could hardly care, for your oldest brother was in your arms with his heart and soul bore open and torn to shreds.

As you had reached him, the world seemed to slow, the sounds of war fading into a hushed lull. You had wrapped your arms around him, a futile shield against the tide of darkness that threatened to engulf you both. Luke's eyes, once bright with mischief and courage, now mirrored the devastation that was before you.

The battle had raged on, indifferent to the small, poignant scene at its fringes. But for you, in that moment, there had been nothing else—only the piercing grief of a child holding onto the last remnants of a family that was swiftly being torn away.

“Archers!” Lee Fletcher called out to his fellow half-siblings. “On my mark!”

The sky above was a tumultuous canvas, where the wrathful gods seemed to paint with clouds the colour of bruises and ash. Their indifference hung heavy, a suffocating blanket over the carnage below.

You had once prayed to them, believed in their wisdom and justice, but now their names left a bitter taste on your tongue.

“Now!”

A volley of arrows spiralled through, each one hitting its mark. One, two, three arrows in rapid-fire succession knocked off the beasts that stumbled into camp boundaries. A cyclops that had been standing over a bloodied mass of a young girl, hollered in pain as an arrow pierced its singular eye. A draco aionius roared out a blast of fire, but your eyes were so wrung out with tears and blood that you couldn’t see who it had shot down before it had been killed. The dracanae lashed out one final time before exploding into a heap of golden dust.

The cries of the wounded rose around you, a haunting chorus that melded with the wails of those mourning their kin. You saw families torn apart, sisters cradling lifeless sisters, brothers with eyes hollowed by a brother’s loss. Each face was a mirror of your own despair, reflecting a shared agony that would bind you to them in grief.

You stumbled upon the body of the young son of Demeter, his chestnut hair matted with blood, his eyes forever staring at a sky that offered no solace.

Critos, you sobbed. Critos…

A mistake that no amount of tears could wash away. A young camper, a son of Demeter known for his gentle spirit and his ability to make the flowers dance, lay still on the ground.

With a heart heavy as lead, you made your way to the infirmary, the air thick with the scent of herbs and the low hum of healing chants. There, among the rows of cots, you saw her—a daughter of Apollo. Harmony.

The sight of her, your friend who had once filled the air with melodies so sweet they could make the sky weep, struck a new chord of pain within you. Her hands, those delicate instruments of beauty, were now disfigured by the violence in the name of the gods. She had dreamt of music that would touch the divine, but now her dreams lay as shattered as her bones. Now, those hands were stilled, and the music was no more.

Her hands, once so deft at the lyre, now lay motionless by her side.

Her eyes met yours, and in them, you found not blame, but a silent understanding. It was the cruelty of fate, not the will of gods, that had brought this upon her.

She looked up at you, her eyes not accusing but filled with a sorrow that echoed your own. In that gaze, you saw the reflection of every broken promise, every shattered hope. She had been there to celebrate your life, and now here she lay, a casualty of a battle she had no part in starting.

Anger surged through you, a fiery torrent that threatened to consume everything in its path. The gods, those distant arbiters of fate, had watched impassively as your world crumbled. They had remained silent, their celestial indifference a stark contrast to the cacophony of grief that filled the camp.

Your mother, a casualty of their indifference. Critos, your dear friend, your found brother. Harmony, who would never play her instruments again. Her god-given gifts, the blessings bestowed upon her by her father had been ripped away from her. You knew it — injuries, bone fractures, that were severe beyond repair. No one apart from the gods could save her, but you knew that no matter how much you wished on the stars, they would never answer.

You wept for Thalia, who you had never known but who had died for you and your family. You wept for Annabeth, her face wrapped in a cast of bandages, and was laid on the cot next to Harmony. You wept for Luke, who was only a few steps away from the white bags that enshrouded that bodies of—... of the fallen.

They were all lives that could have been saved.

Silena cried in Beckdorf’s arms. Their shared silence was louder than any words could ever be, a mutual understanding of the depth of their sorrow.

In this moment of profound loss, the realisation hit you like a wave crashing against the shore: wishes were but fleeting thoughts, powerless against the tides of fate. The gods, distant and enigmatic, offered no solace to the grieving hearts of mortals. It was a harsh lesson, one that stripped away the veneer of mythical heroism to reveal a truth as old as time itself.

Was this what they had meant about not relying on some magical stars to make a wish?

The gods, those distant beings, had taken from you the family you had found in this band of warriors. They had watched from their lofty thrones as you had fought, bled, and wept, mere pawns in their celestial games. And in that moment, as the weight of loss bore down upon you, you felt the seeds of hatred take root. Hatred for the gods who had forsaken you, hatred for the fate that had been thrust upon you, and hatred for a world that could be so cruel.

In the end, you could only truly rely on yourself to make wishes come true.

* . °•★|•°∵ ∵°•|☆•° . *

iv. Strapping your head-piece securely on, blue plumes spilling from the top. Your armour was strapped on and you were decked out in metal from head to toe. You double-checked that your sword was tucked into your sheath before joining the Athena alliance in their march for the Capture the Flag match.

You quite liked Capture the Flag. It was one of those games where you had to do something and everyone got to run around and play — albeit, Camp Half-Blood kids did run around like headless chickens most of the time.

Percy scrambled to catch up with, tripping over his shin-guard that was a few sizes too big for him. “Hey.”

“Hi,” you grinned at him.

“So what’s the plan?” He asked. “Got any magic items you can loan me?”

You shook your head. “Nah. Sorry. Magical items are things you get from your godly parent when they feel like it. I haven’t got anything.” you waved at your basic sword for effect. “That’s why I usually go with one of the spare swords from the training shed.”

You pointed at his pocket. “You’ve got Riptide, though, haven’t you? That’s more than enough.”

Percy shrugged. “I don’t have it anymore, it vanished. I’m stuck with a regular, boring sword like you.”

You frowned at this. Didn’t Chiron give it to him? He should still have it, shouldn’t he? “That’s strange. Just make sure Clarisse’s spear doesn’t touch you, it's electric and stings like hell. Annabeth will handle getting the banner from Ares.”

He gave you a lopsided smile. “Okay, Major.” He said ‘Major’ with the same tone you would call someone ‘Bossy’.

You laughed before catching him by the strap of his armour when he tripped over again. “Do you know what you’re doing?”

“Border patrol, whatever that means.”

“Ah,” you nodded. “That’s easy. Stand by the creek, keep the reds away.”

“What’re you doing?”

You rubbed your chin thoughtfully. “I think I’m supposed to be a decoy for Luke when he runs for the flag.”

Percy looked at you appraisingly. “I guess you do look like him. I see how that would work.”

He swerved to avoid getting a faceful of the dirt you’d kicked up at him with your shoes.

Percy then started chasing you down to the creek where the Athena alliance were planting their flag, similar to how the satyrs would chase the dryads near the strawberry patch albeit a lot slower because of his armour that was triple his body weight.

You stopped when you reached the silver flag, causing Percy to topple into you and send the both of you flying into the ground. You laughed, tugging the boy up with your hands and punching him in the shoulder. He huffed before waving at you and walking down to the creek to assume his duty of border patrol.

You went to stand by Luke.

Overall, you would say Capture the Flag was a success.

The Athena win streak was not lost this match, and you got to beat down one of the Hephaestus kids with your sword, which was always a pretty good bonus. The blue team cheered loudly, carrying Luke on their shoulders as he waved the Ares flag about in the air. You were going to join them when you saw Percy, drenched in water, arguing with the air.

“I told you. Athena always, always has a plan,” said the air before shimmering and revealing Annabeth with her invisible yankee cap.

“A plan to get me pulverised,” snapped Percy. His arms were crossed as he stared down the daughter of Athena.

“I came as fast as I could. I was about to jump in, but…” She shrugged.

“You didn’t need help?” you suggested, popping up between them.

Percy’s glare dropped as he saw you. “Sup, Major. I’m guessing decoying for Luke went well?”

“The best,” you agreed before noticing the wound on his arm. “How did you do that?”

“Sword cut,” He said, rolling his eyes. “Stupid Clarisse and her pig-headed minions.”

“No,” Annabeth interjected sharply. “It was a sword cut. Look at it.”

You watched, incredulous, as the blood disappeared. Where a gaping wound had been, only a faint line lingered, and even that was fading fast. In moments, it dwindled to a mere scratch, then vanished as if it had never been.

The smile slipped from your face.

* . °•★|•°∵ ∵°•|☆•° . *

iii. Being a demigod was a curse.

It was a relentless burden, especially when you had been confined within the walls of Camp Half-Blood for four years, and still, your divine parent remained a shadow, unclaiming and aloof.

You lifted your face to the heavens, rain simmering on your face like little angels doting you with frigid kisses, each drop mingling with the silent tears that trembled down your cheeks. It was almost as though you were praying, but you knew better than that.

Prayer had once been a solace, a hope, but now it felt like a bitter reminder of divine neglect.

The pyres stood ready, a grim assembly for the ritual of farewell. The rain fell in a relentless drizzle, each drop a cold, indifferent tear from the heavens. You stood before them, the shrouds of your fallen family draped over the lifeless forms that had once been vibrant souls among you.

Being a demigod had always been a double-edged sword, but never had the blade cut so deep. The walls of Camp Half-Blood, which had once offered sanctuary, now felt like a prison, holding you captive with your grief and rage.

You raised your face to the sky, the rain washing over you, a cruel mimicry of the comforting touch you so desperately needed. It was as if the gods themselves were mocking your pain, offering water when it was solace you sought.

Your heart was a cauldron of fury, simmering with a silent rage that threatened to boil over. The gods, those distant observers of mortal toil, had turned their gaze away, leaving you to fend for yourself in a world that seemed to crumble at your feet.

As you stood there, the injustice of it all seared your soul, igniting a fire within that no amount of rain could douse. Betrayal was a bitter pill to swallow, and it lodged itself firmly in your throat, a constant reminder of the gods' neglect.

Your hands, though trembling, were resolute. The delicate tremor was not a sign of weakness, but a testament to the strength that surged through your veins—a strength born of anger, of loss, of an unwavering commitment to those you called family.

With a heavy heart and a spirit ablaze with determination, you stepped forward to light the pyres. The flames caught quickly, their hungry tongues licking at the shrouds, consuming the last physical remnants of those you loved. The smoke rose to the heavens, a silent scream of defiance against the gods who had forsaken you.

In that moment, as the fire crackled and the rain wept, you made a silent vow. You would do anything for your family, for those who had stood by you when the gods had not. You would be their protector, their avenger, their unwavering support. And though the gods may have turned their backs on you, you would never turn your back on those you loved.

* . °•★|•°∵ ∵°•|☆•° . *

iv. “I—I don’t get it,” he said.

Annabeth was deep in thought, face wrinkled in concentration, and you could only imagine the intense mental gymnastics happening behind her gaze. “Step out of the water, Percy.”

“What—”

“Just do it.”

Percy emerged from the creek, hair plastered to his face and body bone-tired, but strangely enough, completely dry. He swayed on his feet, and you reached out to steady him, your touch firm.

“Oh, Styx,” Annabeth cursed. “This is not good. I didn’t want…I assumed it would be Zeus.…”

You could only meet Percy’s gaze in a muted horror.

Of course you’d picked up on Annabeth’s train of thought. But the revelation left you reeling. You couldn’t believe it. You thought… of course they wouldn’t stick to the oath. This — the one thing! How could they? What?

Your jaw clenched, and your grip on Percy tightened subconsciously.

Percy opened his mouth but before he could say anything, a canine howl reverberated throughout the forest.

Everyone tensed and Chiron barked out “Stand ready! My bow!”

Above you, a monstrous creature crouched on the craggy ledge, its silhouette massive against the sky. Its eyes burned like coals from the depths of a forge, and its massive jaws bristled with teeth, each one as lethal as a freshly honed blade. It stared down at you with an intensity that pierced through your body.

A hellhound. Your eyes widened, gripping the handle of your sword.

Nobody moved except you, who yelled, “Percy, run!”

You tried to step in front of the boy, your sword clutched in between your fingers. The hellhound barked, and although you expected it to forget Percy and redirect its course to you, it dove past you (ignoring you completely) and ripped into Percy’s armour.

You didn’t look back as Chiron and the Apollo cabin took care of the hellhound, focusing on Percy whose chest was blooming with deep, red bloodstains.

“Percy!” You cried out, dropping to your knees beside him. Your fingers fumbled with his chestplate, trying to ignore the slick, warm blood that coated your hands.

“Di immortales!” Annabeth exclaimed. “That’s a hellhound from the Fields of Punishment. They don’t…they’re not supposed to…”

“Someone summoned it,” Chiron announced, trotting over. “Someone inside the camp.”

The dead body of the hellhound melted into the shadows, presumably returning back to the Underworld, only, you didn’t care. What you cared about right now was Percy Jackson who was drenched in blood with a horrific gash torn into his body.

“You’re wounded,” Annabeth told Percy as if no one knew that. “Quick, Percy, get in the water.”

You draped Percy’s arm around your shoulder, helping him step into the creek with little protest.

“Chiron, watch this,” Annabeth said.

As Percy staggered into the creek, the water seemed to greet him like an old friend. The blood that had painted his clothes a grim crimson began to dissolve, carried away by the gentle current. You watched as the gruesome wound in his chest closed before your very eyes. The torn flesh knit together, leaving not even a scar behind. It was as if time had reversed, as if the claws of the hellhound had never touched him.

But that wasn’t the part that stunned you the most.

“Look, I—I don’t know why,” Percy tried to apologise. “I’m sorry.…”

“Percy,” Annabeth said, pointing. “Um…”

There was a sign above Percy’s head, an unmistakable one that no one did not know. A hologram of green light, spinning and gleaming. A three-tipped spear: a trident.

“Your father,” Annabeth whispered. “This is really not good.”

“It is determined,” Chiron stated solemnly.

Campers knelt around you, even those from Ares’ cabin, though they did so grudgingly.

“My father?” Percy was bewildered.

“Poseidon,” said Chiron. “Earthshaker, Stormbringer, Father of Horses. Hail, Perseus Jackson, Son of the Sea God.”

A shadow was drawn upon your face, eyes fixated on the trident above Percy’s head. The throb in your head returned and all you felt was a torrent of fervent, quivering, absolute rage that coursed through you.

I know that it wasn’t your fault, Percy, but at that moment, I couldn’t think of anything else.

* . °•★|•°∵ ∵°•|☆•° . *

iv. The shroud burning had already taken place, the flames extinguishing along with the last rays of twilight. The camp was shrouded in darkness, a reflection of the sorrow that enveloped your heart. You stood alone, the grief a tangible presence that seemed to suffocate you with its intensity.

The gods had remained silent, their absence in your hour of need a betrayal that stung sharper than any blade. The ritual had been meant to offer closure, but it had left you feeling hollow, the embers of the pyres like the dying light of your hope.

That night, as the world around you faded into the quiet hush of slumber, a curious sensation took hold—a dream, or so it seemed, yet not quite. Dreams were fleeting. They often slip through the fingers of your mind, vanishing from your memory once you woke up. But for some strange reason, you felt the trickling trail of deja vu climbing up your spine.

You thought that you’d had this dream before. Probably.

A shiver of recognition danced up your spine, a whisper of memory that felt like an old friend—or perhaps a ghost from the past. It was a dream that had etched itself into the grooves of your mind, returning with the silent stealth of a cat prowling in the night.

You strained to recall the last time this dream had visited you. It could’ve been a year ago, a month ago — even last night. But you did know that you’d had it. This dream had treaded the halls of your sleep before.

In the realm of dreams, you found yourself wandering through an ancient forest, the moonlight casting ethereal shadows upon the ground. The air was thick with the scent of pine and the whisper of leaves. The moon, a sliver in the sky, provided scant illumination, casting long, haunting shadows that danced between the ancient trees. Your footsteps were muffled on the forest floor, as though the earth itself conspired to keep your passage secret.

With a heavy heart, you spoke into the storm, “You could have saved her, but you didn’t.”

The words hung in the air. “My mother. She was one of your most faithful, but, when she needed you most, you turned away. Why? Was her devotion not enough? What about Critos, who died alone, without his family, on the battlefield? What about Silena, who lost her sister? What about Harmony, who will never be able to use her hands again, never able to exercise the blessing that you gave her. What about all the countless other demigods, older and younger than me, who died for a cause — your cause — whose names you will never bother to remember.”

The silence that followed was your answer.

Your voice broke as you continued, “What about me? For years, you ignored me — you still ignore me. For years, you left me to fight for myself in a world that you created. I don’t understand. We’re your children, aren’t we? Aren’t we supposed to matter to you? We deserved better.”

“You’re supposed to be our parents. We deserve someone who would fight for us, who would value our lives. But what do we get instead? Fucking selfish deities, with all the power in the entire goddamn world who leave us to suffer and die in some sick game you orchestrate just because you can!”

“You don’t understand! I’ve waited my whole life for just a sign from you. Our whole lives revolve around you! What more could you want from us?” The tears of the sky dripped onto your shaking form.

“You take life after life! You take, take, take when we’ve already given you everything you could have ever wanted!”

The thunder seemed to mock your pain, and you trembled with a mixture of cold and fury. “You say these stupid things, give us stupid, stupid, naive hope — wish upon the stars, wish upon you and all will come true? We looked up to you! We wished, and wished and wished, but instead, you killed my family, tortured us beyond cruelty. What do you want from me?!”

You were screaming at the sky now, your mind pulsing with nothing but red-hot rage. “I’m done waiting! You’ve shown me exactly what we mean to you — nothing!”

Something clasped your shoulder.

Turning around, your heart caught in your throat. Your eyes trembled, pupils dilated at the sudden contact. As you turned away, a presence enveloped you, not the warm embrace of a father, but the cold touch of something ancient and powerful.

A dark mist surrounded you. The air crackled with static, a lingering feeling of something you couldn’t quite name.

And then, without warning, the forest fell away, and you found yourself standing at the edge of a clearing. The mist swirled here, gathering strength. From the heart of the mist, a figure materialised. It was tall and imperious, its form shifting and wavering as if woven from the fog itself. Its eyes, when they met yours, were bottomless pits of darkness, and you felt yourself falling into them.

“Child,” it spoke, and the words seemed to resonate with the very fibres of your being. “I have watched you, and I know the suffering you’ve been dealt by the gods.”

“They have wronged you, as they have wronged me,” the figure continued, the mist swirling with every gesture. “They sit in their celestial palace, blind to the struggles of those below. But I see your potential, your desire for justice. Together, we can make them regret.”

In the quiet of your dream, your heart stirred. You did not know who this figure was or what he wanted from you, but his words reached you. The gods, those distant watchers, had become but silhouettes against your tribulations, their figures blurred by the tears of your unanswered calls. Beings who had turned their back on you, refused to acknowledge when it mattered. Left you unclaimed, left your mother to die, left your brothers and sisters to die, and since the beginning of time, left humanity to suffer in a cyclic torture.

And, so close, was the embrace of the mist — echoing your fury, validating your resentment.

“Why should I join you?” you asked, though part of you already yearned for the vengeance he promised.

“Because your rage is a weapon that can reshape the world,” the mist replied, its form growing more defined, more commanding. “The gods fear what they cannot control, and they cannot control the fury of the heart. I will help you shield the loved ones you have left. If you join me, I promise they will be safe in the end. We will turn your fury into a force that will shake even the heavens. And you, my dearest, Major, will see to it that your family is treated better than the gods would ever care to allow.”

The mist’s words were a poison, sweet and lethal, the dream reached its peak, as you teetered on the cross-roads of a decision that could alter the course of history.

You stood still, the realisation dawning on you like a cold sunrise. This was Kronos, the Titan King, the very essence of time and treachery. The air around you grew colder, the mist swirling with a newfound intensity.

The mist around you thickened, and Kronos’s voice became more insistent. “I can help you,” he whispered again, the words slithering through the air like a serpent.

You felt the anger and sorrow within you stir, manipulated by his words. It was a dangerous game he played, but in your heart, the seeds of rebellion had been sown.

“Join me,” whispered Kronos.

“Yes,” you found yourself saying, the word escaping your lips before doubt could take hold. “Yes, I will join you.”

With a resolve born of grief and betrayal, I turned my back on the sky and walked away. That was the moment, when I was only ten years old, that I swore my life to Kronos. It was the moment, I think, that sealed our fate.

* . °•★|•°∵ ∵°•|☆•° . *

i. “I wish that we would all stay together.” you said.

“That’s my wish. I wish that, no matter what, no matter what place or lifetime we’re in, we will always, always, be family.”

“Promise me, ‘kay?” you continued, not fully sure if you were still talking to the gods or the people around you. “That in this life and the next and the one after, we will always find each other. Because we’re family.”

You turned to the demigods around you, who have all taken on some form of shock. The younger ones look appalled that you spoke your wish out loud (“how will it come true now?” protested Annabeth, though her face was tinged with a pink blush), while the older ones wore expressions you couldn’t quite discern.

“Major…” Silena breathed, her eyes, for some reason, glossy. Was she upset that you had said your wish too loud?

“I mean it!” you looked to the heavens earnestly. “We’re family now, we have to stick together. Forever and ever and ever.”

Another star crossed the twinkling night tapestry. It was a dark, terribly dark, night, but unless someone else had been sharing this story, to you, the moment would remain of the most bright, luminous scenery you’d ever had the honour of bathing in.

The gentle hand of the gods met their mortals upon the ground through the sky’s scattered stars, and they coated you and your family in their mystical star dust.

Luke blinked himself out of his stupor. He offered you his hand to shake. “You’ve got yourself a deal, Major. Gods or not, we promise. Family.”

He wrapped an arm around your shoulders, a gesture as warm as the sun's embrace, which seemed to spark a chain reaction. Annabeth, with a smile that could light up the darkest of nights, followed suit, her arms joining his. One by one, the rest of your family, a patchwork quilt of half-bloods, each with their own stories they bore in their hearts, came together in a tangle of limbs and laughter.

Under the star-swept sky, a canvas dotted with celestial wonders, the group hug grew, a living, breathing entity of connection and joy. You shrieked with laughter, the sound mingling with the chorus of chuckles and snorts around you. It was a symphony of happiness, a melody that resonated with the very core of your being.

You tried to pull your head out of the mass of limbs you’d become entangled within, seeking a breath of air, only to be lovingly dragged back into the fray. Someone’s hair tickled your nose, another’s elbow nudged your side, but it was all part of the beautiful chaos that was your home.

The hug was more than just a physical act; it was a promise, a silent vow of unity and support that needed no words. It was the understanding that no matter where life's journey took you, these bonds would remain unbroken. And as you stood there, enveloped by the people who had become your world, you knew that this moment would be etched into the stars above, a memory as eternal as the night sky itself.

“This is— the— best birthday— ever!”

And thought you meant that. You really, really did.

I wish I could’ve said sorry to you, Percy, back then.

Maybe then we could’ve stood a chance. * . °•★|•°∵ ∵°•|☆•° . *

Random fun fact: Major is anti-government and hates taxes 🥶😊, she also likes liquorice

taglist!!! (comment if you want to be added): @itzmeme

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to-fly-with-clipped-wings · 6 months

Text

Percy Jackson Masterlist

“If my life is going to mean anything, I have to live it myself.”

--------------------------------------->

Percy Jackson:

A Sea of Sorrows

Summary: A chronicle of the moments you fell in love with your enemy, Percy Jackson. An epilogue to your fate and an epitaph to your grave. AKA in a universe where you are a traitor to Camp Half-Blood. This is an ode to the boy that led to your downfall: Percy Jackson

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zarysa-of-zorcai · 1 year

Text

Ch 8: Left For Dead

The towering pines around them became more sparsely spaced as they journeyed further after the prints, scratches, and other tracks that marked the path the creature had taken.

As the ground became more even and less treacherous Zia let her mind drift once more. Her thoughts were not on her past, or the present predicament of facing whatever large creature they were tracking, but instead on the future, if they survived.

The prospect of sharing wine with Percy was daunting. He'd told her to think about it so she was. To be on the other side of the window...among the noise and the nearby drunken cheers, did she really want to open herself up to potential ridicule by nearby drunks? The stares and the slurred jeers....her hand was shaking just thinking about being stared at. All the eyes-the feel of being trapped in someone's gaze-

Wait. That feeling...it wasn't just in her head, she realized.

There were eyes on her.

Right now.

#oc #oc fiction #percyxoc #vox machina #percy de rolo #percival fredrickstein von musel klossowski de rolo iii #cross posted on wattpad #cross posted on ao3

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zarysa-of-zorcai · 2 years

Text

Ch 1: Tough Times at the Tavern

It was a nice night in the kingdom of Tal'Dorei. Wispy clouds glided along the star laden sky, casting shadows that danced along the cobblestone streets below. There were merry sounds echoing from behind closed doors. Drunken dares and devious delights being prompted and accepted all around. Chattering people filled the rooms inside the bustling inns and taverns. Outside one such tavern sat a woman with eyes so beautiful that they could be mistaken for a set of amethysts. She had skin made of stone, and would have blended into the shadows of the wall if not for the tavern window bathing her in its box of light.

"...It sounds real fun in there huh, Trink?" The woman pet the head of the armored bear who laid at her side. Her gloves soft as a flowers petals against the large creatures fur.

He rested his large head upon the woman's outstretched legs, getting a bit of slober on the lilac cloth of her dress. He made a growling grunt and rubbed his snout against the upper edge of the thigh high boot she wore.

"Yeah, you're right." The woman smiled, brushing a hand up his warm furry shoulder. Her gaze cast upwards to the stars above. "This has to be better..."

Her gloved hand wandered up behind the bears ear and she scratched lightly there. The bear all but crooned shutting its eyes in bliss.

A sudden light creak cut through the sound of the bears obvious delight.

"Zia," A level voice called from the window above. She twisted to face who had spoken. Amethyst eyes settling upon the man with white hair and round glasses. He did not lean on the sill, he actually wasn't even fully facing her, preferring to watch whatever chug fest was happening inside, but it was definitely her he was speaking to. "Are you certain you wouldn't like a drink? Even Keyleth is being a bit heavy handed tonight. She's practically drunk her whole tankard."

"Ale's...not my thing." Zia denied, with a small shake of her head. She looked down at Trinkets head in her lap. She resumed her petting. "Really, I'm okay."

"Hm," Percy angled his head, "If you're sure, but..." He lightly swirled the wine in his glass. "I could always get you a glass of this instead. It's quite smooth. Not too strong. In truth, I don't really like the hard stuff either.You'd enjoy it...I think..."

Zia's momentary silence spoke to her hesitance. The man's attention shifted to her fully as he turned his head to look down at her. With her head tilted down he could only see her purple hair shimmering in the warmth of the inn's projected light.

"...You won't even have to come inside."

Zia's hand stilled. "Percy..."

Her head lifted. Their eyes met. She hesitated.

"It's alright. You don't have to say anything. I can understand wanting some distance after how the last job panned out."

"It's not that I want to stay away from you guys. I just...I don't know." Zia struggled to find the right words. "I'm just not in the mood to be in that rowdy atmosphere or to get drunk or anything like that." She gripped Trinkets fur. "Besides, the sky's rather pretty tonight."

"And so you'd prefer to watch the stars." Percy surmised. "Still hoping for a shooting one to grant your wish?"

"Always." Zia admitted, casting her eyes back to the sky. It was unheard of for a wish to be stronger than a curse, or even of one truly breaking a curse like the one she was born with, but Zia could hope. She could hope that one night she'd make a wish and then the next morning she would wake up with normal skin, soft hair and eyes that wouldn't blind her companions if they caught the sunlight just right. Yes, she could hope.

"I'll leave you to your gazing then. But If you change your mind about wanting anything just tap on the window and let me know."

"Will do...thanks." She murmured.

As she heard the window click shut again Zia sighed deeply. She carded her fingers through trinkets fur once more. "Why am I like this, Trinket? Hm? Do you know?" The bear didn't give much of a reply. "Yeah..." Zia sighed. "...I don't know either."

She watched the stars for a great while and pet Trinket some more. The noise inside the tavern grew louder overtime. A ruckus broke out inside, and the window above her head was blown out without warning. Small sharp shards spraying down from above.

"Ah...!" Zia raised her arms and curled her torso over trinkets great big head as the shards of glass fell upon her. The bear made a concerned disgruntled sort of sound. The glass shards dusting over her hair. A few larger pieces cracking against her stone skin before they shattered completely on the street.

"Oh gods, not again. Stay down, Trinkie." Zia ordered straightening up. She got to her feet and she peered in through the broken window. She caught sight of Percy holding his pepperbox to someone's chin. "Another brawl? Seriously?"

"Hm, seems that way." Percy didn't so much as spare her a glance. His eyes kept trained on the barbaric man in front of him.

"I'm coming Percy!" Grog's heroic cry could be heard as the giant leapt into the air. Clearly misjudging that his friend needed his help.

"Oh no." Percy paled, not having time to move as grog tackled their foe. The result of which landed the one on the receiving end of his gun directly on top of the poor de rolo.

Zia winced. That had to have seriously hurt.

"Oops." Grog looked bored with what he'd done. A wolf guy broke a chair over his head. Zia ducked with a yelp as more wood pieces flew her way. Just because her skin was durable didn't mean that it didn't hurt to get hit with things.

Grog's head swiveled at the high pitched sound and grinned broadly as he caught sight of Zia. He clamored over to the window momentarily forgetting the animal man behind him. "Oh hey Zizi, where you been hiding? Come join the party!"

"Huh, oh no Grog don't-no oh shit!"Zia cursed as the drunken giant grabbed her and pulled her through the window like she didn't weigh a thing. He set her down just as quick. His large hands were gentle as he brushed the debris of glass and wood splinters from her shoulders.

"There we go." Grog grinned proudly. "Now you can have some fun too!"

Zia's eyes widened as the dog man growled.

"Uh...Grog...?" Zia pointed at the snarling dog man. She took a nervous step back. He did not look happy.

"Oh right. Don't worry your pretty little head about that overgrown pooch. I've got this." He then proceeded to scream in the creature's face and tackled it to the ground. The dog escaped from Grog's deadly hug and went to find a new target. Zia lost track of it in the commotion. There was too much going on. She did not want to be in here. They'd just gotten out of a big fight before coming to this damned tavern.

"Zia," Percy's voice sounded somewhat strained as it sounded from the floor. "Would you mind helping me? This behemoth smells like he hasn't bathed in weeks."

"Oh, right, sorry Perc." Zia apologized. She bent down and pushed the guy up so that Percy could shimmy his way out. "Better?"

"Much." He sighed in relief once he was free. He adjusted his glasses turning his attention to her. "Thank you."

Zia smiled at him, possibly for a bit too long- and they were attacked again. Right. Zia remembered. Tavern Brawl. Well, she was here, might as well help.

She pulled out her twin obsidian swords with great care. Though they were deadly weapons they were also gifts which she greatly cherished. Handcrafted from the ore of fallen stars they could cut through almost anything with ease.

The arced handles were laden with spikes. A feature that Zia utilized to keep her gloves guarded.

She took up a fighting stance, eyes flicking around to find a mark. Before she could someone else chose her as theirs. That of course turned out to be a mistake for them.

Her attacker was already wounded twice over with two gaping holes in his chest but those wounds didn't seem to be slowing him down much. They must not have been deep enough to do real damage.

She twirled out of the raging wounded cat man's angered slash and flipped up onto a cluttered table top. She danced upon the table, keeping out of his short swords reach. She kicked an empty cask at him and the cat man yowled at her as she nailed him in the eye with the ale mug. Now even more furious the wounded cat man charged at her intent on flipping the table and her right along with it, but he didn't get the chance. In one swift move she knelt and spun round on the table top, her arms out stretched, one in front and just behind her. The cat man's throat was slashed in an instant. He dropped to the ground in a puddle of blood.

Zia twirled her swords in her grip a single time. The blood flew off and splattered against the walls as she rose to her full height. She startled momentarily as Trinket crashed into the room, but she calmed as the bear had merely arrived to drag a guy out on Vex'ahlia order. Zia smirked at the bears retreating back. Good. Trink deserved a treat for being such a good boy.

"Grog step aside!" Percy's voice caught her attention. Zia's eyes widened as a pitiful puff of smoke escaped his pepperbox. Her smile fell away. Percy was out of bullets. Before she, or even poor Percy could react, A muscular blonde woman grabbed Percy by the coat and flung him as harshly as one would a bag of shit.

"Percy!" Zia yelled his name as she watched him sail through the air and crash into a back room. She glared at the muscled woman who'd thrown him. Her grip on her swords tightened.

That bitch threw the wrong fucking person.

She sprinted across the table tops, and pounced upon the muscular woman with an untamable ferocity. She jammed the spiked handles of her sword into her back as she slid down her tall frame ripping not only the back of her dress but her skin as well. Two bright red streaks marked Zia's descent.

The woman cried out and reached directly behind her blindly searching for her attacker, but Zia was already crouched low and she slashed at back of the muscled woman's knees with her swords. Blood gushed from the wounds and the woman cried out. Zia didn't stop there. She pushed harder, cut further, until she was slicing through the muscled woman's bones as if she was doing nothing more than severing a dangling branch from a tree. Zia was right about to wound the woman further, sword raised to finish the job when-

"Stop!" A violent roar tore through the air as the tavern owner let their more boorish side show. Everyone froze stopping to stare at them.

"First you people drink me dry. Then you destroy my tavern." The tavern keeper relaxed to a more normal appearance. "And-and-and what is that gnome doing to my daughter!?"

Zia's eyes flicked over to the room Percy had been flung into. He'd created a nice hole in the wall upon impact. There Scanlon was pleasuring a pink skinned woman under the sheets.

Zia looked away from the sight feeling uncomfortable at the display. Sex wasn't something she participated in. No one was really interested in having sex with the equivalence of a walking, talking, statue like her. That woman's skin was soft, supple-hers was not. Hers couldn't be touched and even if it could not even the likes of Scanlan would want to fuck her she was sure. It was best not to dwell on any sort of love making when she herself would likely never get to experience such pleasures.

Speaking of not experiencing pleasure Vox Machina was promptly kicked out of the tavern when the tavern keeper realized they couldn't pay for anything which put quite the damper on each of their nights to say the least.

Zia sighed. What were they going to do?

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Okay guys! This was chapter 1!!! I am so excited for this I cannot even begin to tell you ahhh! I love Zia so freaking much and I'm so happy I can share her with you all! I haven't loved an oc this much since Clarity. But anyways, here are some questions for you guys! Cause I'm both indecisive and insecure in my writing and I value your guys thoughts and opinions! Be honest!

1.So what did you guys think of chapter 1? Any favorite moments thus far?

2. What member of Vox should Zia end up with? Who would be a good match for her? Probably a bit early to ask but hey I like talking ships with people. It's fun.

3. Thoughts on Zia's fight scene?

4. Anything else you'd like to ask, rant and or tell me!

#vox machina #vox machina oc #oc fiction #oc #oc story #oc rp #my ocs #percyxoc #perceval #de rolo #oc love #ao3 author #ao3 link #ao3 fanfic #cross posted on ao3 #read on wattpad #read on ao3

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zarysa-of-zorcai · 1 year

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Zia’s story (Vox Season 1 Percyxoc fic)

THE CURSE OF ZIA ZIRCON

Ch 1: Tough Times at the Tavern

Ch 2: Finding Purpose

Ch 3: What’s Deserved

Ch 4: Meeting The King

Ch 5: Set Sail

Ch 6: Not Gonna Fuck This Up

Ch 7: It Flew Along The Coast

Ch 8: Left For Dead

#oc #oc fiction #percyxoc #vox machina #cross posted on ao3 #cross posted on wattpad

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zarysa-of-zorcai · 1 year

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Ch 7: It Flew Along The Coast

Zia roamed the Shale Steps surrounding forest, knowing in her heart she made the right decision. Her friends might've been hurt by her peeling away from them so suddenly, but it was for the best.

Really, it was.

#oc #oc fiction #percyxoc #vox machina #percival fredrickstein von musel de rolo iii #percy de rolo #cross posted on ao3 #cross posted on wattpad

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zarysa-of-zorcai · 1 year

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Ch 6: Not Gonna Fuck This Up

Even though the council woman had sped away on the ship the moment they landed, Zia could still feel the remnants of Lady Allura's gaze. Her eyes...they were so judgemental. Like she already deemed them failures before they were even given this chance. It was clear she held disdain for them, at least it was to Zia. Unlike Scanlan she wasn't convinced the council woman would return for even their corpses let alone their living bodies once the creature was killed.

Her warning to not fuck this up had been clear enough. Zia knew it was meant for the whole group but it still felt quite pointed at her. At any rate, she'd taken it to heart.

The woman was right.

If they failed...if they fucked this up the way they fucked up literally everything else...

People would starve.

Hell, people would die.

They couldn't let such a thing happen.

Vox Machina trudged towards the hilltop which wasn't nearly as long of a trek as the stairs to Uriel's palace. The village was just on the other side of the hill. Zia almost wished it would be a longer walk. Give her more time to think, but no. She'd been debating this since the moment they'd descended the ships red carpeted stairs.

Zia stopped abruptly, just before she reached the hill's peak. The rest of Vox just a bit ahead of her. "....Lady Allura said not to fuck this up. So, I Uh, I think it's best that I stay here."

"Huh?" Keyleth was the first to pause and face her clutching her staff.

"What? No." Pike protested, multiple murmurs of discontent echoing the female gnomes exclamation by the rest of the group. "Zia, you don't have to do that."

"But I do." The statuette insisted. "Look, we're dealing with people who are already scared and frightened by god knows what. My presence...it won't help anything there."

"Come now, darling. The least of these people's worries will be your appearance." Vex denied hand rested on her hip. "It's just a small village."

"Small villages aren't the most open minded." Zia denied in reply. She rubbed the back of her gloved hand softly out of nervousness. "I don't want to scare anybody into grabbing any pitchforks."

"Even so, don't forget we represent the sovereign right now, Zia." Percy reminded her. "Nobody will look twice at you, let alone arm themselves with their farming tools."

"A single look is all it ever takes. They see someone as cursed as me walking around..." Zia sighed. "...it's just better if I stay on the outskirts. Trust me on that."

"Zia..." Percy began, but he quieted as she raised her hand signaling he be silent.

"I've made up my mind, you need to put people at ease to get them talking. If they're afraid of us they'll clam up. We shouldn't waste time. So you all poke around town, I'm going to go search the surrounding area...away from everybody."

Zia walked off - the group watching her go.

No one made any real moves to stop her. They knew better than to force her into coming with them. That would only worsen her anxieties.

"So much for progress..." Pike frowned as Zia disappeared into the brush.

"She was doing so well too." Percy agreed, staring off into the space Zia had just occupied with a forlorn expression.

"Should someone go with her?" Grog wondered. "If there's a big bad creature roaming round...being alone doesn't sound too safe."

"Ah Ah Ah Ah Ah." Scanlan waved a hand dismissively. "Do you hear yourself? It's Zia. That woman's made for monster fighting with that stone skin of hers, and her swords aren't just placed there to make her hips look sexy. Let's all just go into town. If Zia doesn't want to stay with us for that then that's her problem."

"I hate to say it, but Scanlan's right." Vex agreed. "We shouldn't waste time. Once we find out what the villagers know we can regroup with Zia on the outskirts. Let's move."

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Hey guys here's another chapter! Sorry it's so short but the next one will probably get us to the end of episode one! So yay for that! Hope you enjoyed this chapter, and stay tuned for more!

I love Zia so much hope you do too

#oc #oc fiction #percyxoc #vox machina #percy de rolo #percival fredrickstein von musel klossowski de rolo iii #cross posted on ao3 #cross posted on wattpad

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zarysa-of-zorcai · 1 year

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Ch 5: Set Sail

Vox Machina boarded the Kings vessel through a door on the ships side. The interior was as lavish as one would expect a king's personal vessel to be. Ornate carvings lined the support beams that wrapped the red carpeted halls. Kerosine lamps provided a dull light meant to exude a relaxed atmosphere.

That said, Zia wasn't relaxed by the lighting.

Much like when they entered the palace, Zia had a great urge to turn around and get the hell out of there. Preferably, before she was kicked off the vessel in mid air.

She knew the fear was irrational. Her and the others were on board by order of the sovereign. The likelihood of being thrown off mid journey was low, she knew. But it was still there thanks to her overactive imagination.

If the crew was superstitious it was likely they wouldn't appreciate having a cursed being like her on board and if they deemed her to be bad luck...but no, she shooed the thoughts away decidedly. The kings order was sufficient protection against such a thing occurring.

It had to be.

She needed to focus on anything other than the little voice in her head that told her she didn't deserve to even stand on something as nice as this ship. The voice that told her her mere presence would anger those aboard and earn her nothing but scorn from the strangers upon this vessel.

She focused her gaze down at the red carpeting and guilt gripped her as she realized how filthy her boots were. The previously spotless carpet now spattered with flecks of dark brown with every step she took.

Her cursed eye sight made the stains all the more prevalent to her in the dim lit space, but normal eyes wouldn't be as keen to the blotches marring the surface. So she hoped that no one would one else would notice them.

She'd gotten so focused on the stains she hadn't noticed the group was coming to a halt before a door. She almost tripped over Scanlan, doubling over catching herself on the wall to keep herself from totally falling on the gnome.

Zia winced, uttering a hurried "Sorry...!" to the gnome.

"Don't worry, about it." Scanlan waved a hand, his eyes were decidedly not on her face for a moment. He smirked lightly as he eyed her, eyes flicking up to hold her gaze once he'd decided he'd gotten a good enough look down her dresses front. "You can step on me anytime, Treasure Chest."

"Oh my god, gross Scanlan!" Keyleth swatted his head with her staff before Zia could do so much as splutter. She helped the statuette straighten up locking arms with her.

"He can be so disgusting sometimes..!" Keyleth huffed in annoyance.

Zia said nothing, her lips pressed together.

She knew she should probably be scandalized by the comment, and even the gnomes actions, but she found herself feeling more hurt by Keyleth's admonition of the gnome. Was his insinuation really that gross? Was the idea of doing something sexual with her really so disgusting?

She had all the time in the world to ponder that while she was in the shower.

They were all allowed time to freshen up while the departure preparations were being made.

There was even a magical laundry to rid their clothes of the back alley grime.

Keyleth was most thankful, as her tunic had been covered in so many throw up stains.

Once clean and deemed presentable enough to represent the King they were allowed passage to the upper deck.

Zia enjoyed being back in the open air almost immediately. While the inside of the ship had been very nice it had made her feel very trapped in such a stuffy space.

She breathed deeply walking with Pike to the ships front. It felt good being in a more open area.

T shaped rutters swung into place, sails were unfurled on the mast, and the four crystals that hugged the ships wooden siding glowed to life.

The ship took off without delay, rising through a sea of fluffy clouds.

Zia stopped to stand adjacent to Percy with Pike at the ships bow. Her gloved hands rested feather light upon the ships banister. Zia's eyes were set back on King Uriel's castle. As the ship ventured further away from it, her view of such a pretty palace was stolen by a haze of white. The mist of the cloud's innards was cool on Zia's stone skin as they passed through the cloud's fog. When they emerged above the cloud's fluffy edges, Grog and Keyleth came sprinting over, wondrous excitement on each of their faces.

Zia turned to take stalk of their heading at the same moment that Pike leapt up onto Grog's back. She was not disappointed by the new view, leaning slightly over the banister to see around Percy's frame.

Wispy clouds drifted far above snow capped blue-grey peaks. Pine trees littered the expansive rolling hills of green, brown trenches mixed in between further breaking the wonderful coloring. Zia'd never been on a ship quite like this before, let alone one that flew, so she'd never seen a landscape from such an angle.

But as they sailed closer to their destination, Zia's smile dimmed. The land directly below them was burnt up. Not even a single blade of grass remained.

"The land's so charred..." Zia murmured the words completely stunned. "....there's nothing left."

"No, there isn't." Lady Allura walked up to the group. She strode to stand beside Trinket and Keyleth. "As you can see, the creature has already razed three villages and miles of farmland."

"One creature did all this?" Zia was stunned.

"Indeed. We don't know much about what you're being sent to kill, but what we do know is that it's likely large, and has a preference for burning everything in its wake."

"Charming." Percy frowned tightly.

"I can assure you it is anything but. If this evil persists, the kingdom will starve to death." Lady Allura's tone was grim.

"Sounds like the starving people will be lucky," Zia frowned further. "Given this things penchant for ashen villages."

"Indeed they will be." Lady Allura agreed. "Which is why it is imperative that this creature be slain."

"This mission sounds kind of deadly." Keyleth chuckled nervously. "Do we really want to do this?"

"The reward'll be worth the risk, even if that risk is pretty high." Zia insisted, though she wasn't referring to the golden box's contents. She was referring to all the people they would help. The sense of accomplishment they would finally have after doing something that mattered.

"Yes, this task is dangerous, which is why only the most noble, heroic and true..."

"Yeah, yeah, nobility and heroism is fine and all, but we're in this for the money." Vax interrupted her. "Like the stone woman said."

"I see." Lady Allura seemed unimpressed. "So it's coin over character. Not surprising."

Before Zia could correct Vax or anyone else on what she really meant by her words, the ship was already setting down. It was time to get off.

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Here's the new chapter 5! Sorry for the delay guys! Ch 6 will be out soon! If you have any questions or comments please feel free to let me know!

#oc #oc fiction #percyxoc #vox machina #percy de rolo #percival fredrickstein von musel klossowski de rolo iii #cross posted on wattpad #cross posted on ao3

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zarysa-of-zorcai · 1 year

Text

Ch 4: Meeting The King

The endless concerto of bird song told Zia it was morning before the rising sun could get the chance. Her and Percy were exhausted given their sleepless night, and everyone else seemed to be hungover save for Scanlan. Despite that they needed to move. Their plan depended on arriving early to the kings court. The group groggily made their way to the palace and cursed every damned stair they had to climb to get there.

Zia didn't hate the long trek even if her legs were burning from the exertion. It gave her time to think about everything, mostly about what she was going to do when they made it to the top. She couldn't get Percy's words from last night out of her head. He'd sounded so sincere. She had no doubt that he'd meant every word of it.

Percy's truths echoed inside her mind. Though it wasn't only his voice playing on loop in her brain, but the memory of the kiss as well. Had it just been the wine Percy drank? Or did he really...could it be possible he really had feelings for her? Zia never dreamed anyone would like her that way. Least of all someone like Percy. He was handsome, brilliant, walked around all dignified, and she...She let herself slip so far into her thoughts and memories that her foot missed a stair.

"Woah." Vax caught Zia by the wrist, a hand settling on her waist to ensure she remained upright. "Easy there, Gemstone. Don't take a tumble. It's a long way back down."

Zia let out a laughless sigh. "Yeah, thanks, Vax. Sorry. I'll try to pay more attention. It's uh-it's early. Guess I'm still a little tired."

It wasn't a total lie. Her limbs felt heavy due to the lack of sleep.

"Don't apologize to me. You should say sorry to the stairs. They're the ones who would have got cracked under that pretty little chin of yours." Vax's fingers ghosted under her chin, but it felt different from the gentle caress that Percy's fingertips had left. The gesture felt empty.

"Must you." Percy glared, over his shoulder at the half-elf. His glasses glinted in the rising sun.

"Just trying to wake her up a little." Vax let go of Zia's wrist and allowed his hand to drop. He smirked at Percy. "Why? Does it bother you?"

"This early in the morning?" Percy's tone was clipped. He did not look amused. "Yes."

Something told Zia it had nothing to do with the time of day and everything to do with it having been her. She wasn't sure why that gave her this twisted fuzzy feeling that had her toes scrunching in her heeled boots. But it did.

"Move it you three!" Vex snapped at them almost nearing the top of many stair sets. They were only halfway. "These stairs don't move you up them themselves!"

"Everlight have mercy on our legs, are these stairs multiplying?" Pike struggled. "Or is that just me?"

"Nope, I'm with you." Scanlan complained. "Why does this Uriel guy need so many damn stairs to his castle anyways?"

"Tiny legs gettin tired, Scanlan?" Grog snickered.

"Oh, Shut up, Grog. You could just hug us all and get us to the top in three jumps." Scanlan huffed fed up with all the stairs.

"Oh gods, Scanlan don't give him ideas." Zia pleaded. "My hair looks bad enough from sleeping outside. Do you know what the wind would do to it?"

"Your hair is fine, Zia." Percy assured her. "A bit frizzy perhaps but other than-"

"Enough talk. All of you." Vex admonished hand on her hip pausing on the upper stair. "If you can move your mouth then you can move your legs faster if you'd shut up. Let's go."

"Yeesh, someone woke up on the wrong side of the trashcans." Scanlan muttered.

"I heard that." Vex warned.

The sky was a rosey pink by the time Vox Machina made it to the top of the palace steps.

"We're really gonna see the sovereign looking like this?" Keyleth worried, she looked the worst out of everyone. She had remnants of throw up on the front of her dress.

"Keyleth's right. Maybe we should all take a moment, find a fountain...freshen up?" Zia tried, getting nervous now that they were before the giant door. She ran her fingers through her hair in a feeble attempt to rid her purple shimmering curls of knots and snarls.

"And climb down all those stairs again just to have to come back up?" Vex glared at the stone skinned woman. "Absolutely not. We go in as we are."

Vex took a step forwards only to be halted by the guards. They crossed their spears. Everyone frowned at them. Various are you kidding me looks across their faces. Vex'ahlia unfurled the wanted ad with a smile.

"Okay, we'll take you in, but the bear waits outside." The guards uncrossed their spears.

Trinket hung his head in dejected disappointment.

"It's okay, buddy. We'll be back soon." Vex promised the bear as the group ventured towards the doors. He looked awfully sad to be left outside. "But Zia, will keep you company! Won't you, Zia?"

"Oh, Uh, actually..." Zia straightened out her dress. "...I think I'm going to go in with you guys this time."

Keyleth almost dropped her staff in shock. "Oh my god your going in!? But you never go in!"

"I know, I just...I thought with how bad our jobs have been going...maybe I would- It would," She amended, eyes flicking to Percy for just a moment as she almost echoed his words. "help...us all being together."

"Seriously?" Vex looked at her incredulously.

"Mhmm." Zia laced her fingers together. "Who knows, maybe I'll distract them from how run down the rest of you look. Given my um...interesting complexion."

"Wow, uh that's real considerate of you, Zia." Pike smiled. "Thanks."

Grog sniffled, and Zia only had time to widen her eyes before she was being scooped up by the Goliath.

"I'm so proud of you, Zizi!" Grog hugged Zia to his chest, and spun her around like she was a rag doll. If her skin was not harder than the average humans then he most certainly would have crushed her bones.

"Yes, yes, this is a big moment for her conquering her weird little social fear." Vex waggled her fingers. "Whatever." Vex's hands rested on her hips. "We have a king to see. Some decorum please. Percy, would you tell them?"

"Vex is right." Percy's agreed but there was a certain mirth to his voice as he spoke. "We shouldn't delay."

Percy was careful with his words aware the guards were listening.

Grog set Zia down and she smoothed out her dress once more. They all ventured inside leaving trinket on the other side of the giant doors.

"See you in a bit Trinkie.." Zia waved at the bear before the doors closed behind them. Zia felt a bit guilty leaving trinket out by himself, and the closer she got to the throne room the more she felt the urge to sprint back down the large hall they were walking down.

This was such a nice castle. She shouldn't be here. Cursed as she was. This was a bad idea. Why did she think meeting the king was a good idea? Her friends were going to pay for her being here. No king or council ever reacted well to a cursed person like her. What if Percy was wrong? What if she was ridiculed? What if the king ordered the guards to get her out of his sight? She-

-felt a hand at the small of her back. She didn't need to look to know who it was. The hand was gentle, meant to guide rather than force. It did not push, it's owner merely applied a light pressure. An assurance of presence more than anything else.

She looked at Percy. He'd almost fallen into step with her. He walked just a bit behind.

"You're doing well." These words were only meant for her. His voice kept low and barely audible. There was no chance of anyone else hearing him. "Whatever happens in there I'm with you. I promise. I won't leave your side."

Zia wasn't exactly sure what she did to deserve such a statement. From Percy no less, but it eased her worried mind and made her heart swell all the same.

When they arrived in the throne room the king was already having a discussion with his council. Keyleth attempted to be polite in getting his attention, twice, but they were persistently ignored. A small part of Zia hoped that they never would notice them.

Of course right when she wished that, Grog let out an echoing belch that gained the attention of everyone in the room.

Zia was immediately uncomfortable. Their stares held copious amounts of judgement and disdain. Especially when their gazes roamed over her. She wanted to slide over and hide behind Grog, but that meant removing herself from Percy's hidden tender touch. So she refrained. She endured their disapproving eyes.

The blonde man in the armor had a different look than the rest of those surrounding the king. His electric blue eyes, Zia could feel them on her and unlike the rest of the council whose eyes roamed over them all-his eyes remained glued to her. Zia did not know why. Only that she did not like the feel of his gaze. He was staring at her like Grog would the finest tankard of ale. It was a stare she was drastically unprepared for and not one she welcomed.

How she wished she could just whip out her swords and slash the tension from the air. Wait- Maybe she could though not with her swords but with words. Maybe if she was quick enough she could ease their foul tempers. She just had to get them on the right foot. First step, apologizing for Grog's deplorable manners.

"Uh, excuse him your majesty," Zia spoke up hoping that she didn't sound as nervous as she felt. "He had a bit too much ale last night."

"I didn't have too much." Grog protested. "I'd say I didn't have enough."

"Sure you didn't buddy." Pike tapped Grogs leg.

"I'm sorry," Lady Kima glared down at them. "Who the hell are you?"

"Vox Machina." Percy stepped forwards, his right arm lifting from behind Zia's back so he could point his finger. His other hand adjusting his glasses. "You see, it's actually a somewhat clever play on words..."

"Honestly, we don't care." Sir Fince was immediately dismissive. He turned to face the king. "Sire, I warned you the notices would attract the scum of Emon." His hand gestures towards the groups left where Zia was standing. "Just look at the accursed wretch they've brought."

The council pointedly stepped apart so the king could set eyes on them. Zia did her best not to flinch, but it was hard when the dark elf's words were so pointed at her. Fuck. She told Percy this would happen.

"Excuse you?" Vex demanded, an eyebrow raised as she glared.

"Oh, you did not just-!" Pike was ready to storm up there and break that dark elf's finger.

"Pike.." Zia's voice was barely above a whisper, any higher and hurt would be leaking into her tone. "It's fine."

"Like hell it is!" Pike denied, glare only deepening.

"I think Sir Fince means a foe this deadly requires more seasoned..."

"Krieg, don't bother with these drunken buffoons." Sir Fince denied. "Guards?"

The guards swarmed around them in an instant. Percy pushed Zia behind him, glaring at the guard with his arm raised in front to strike if he tried anything. Grog growled menacingly to scare him off.

Zia was back to back with Keyleth. The women exchanged nervous looks. This had been what Zia had been afraid of, well sort of. At least she was getting thrown out for being a drunk instead of a cursed wretch as the elf called her. That was better...right?

Percy stepped out of Zia's space so she wasn't as squished with Keyleth, but he had a glare on his face now. He was not pleased by the dark elf's order. Not at all. On the contrary, Percival Fredrickstein Von Musel Klossowski de Rolo the third was quite pissed.

"Buffoons?" Scanlan had been particularly insulted by the word as well, and it seemed he had a plan to charm the king into giving them a chance. "Clearly you've never heard of the Legend of Vox Machina. Allow me to give you a proper introduction."

"Oh, gods, here we go." Vax groaned, as Scanlan pulled out his lute. He was much to hungover for this.

♪ Your Excellence tried the best fighters ♪ ♪ Who've adventured far and wide ♪ ♪ But I promise ♪ ♪ That you've never met a troop so qualified ♪

"Are we really gonna let him do this?" Zia whispered, wondering if they should shut him up before they really got tossed out on their asses. "

"I don't think we have a choice." Keyleth groaned feeling woozy.

Zia bit her lip, and rested a hand on her swords hilt as Scanlan's magic swirled around them in a purple cloud. When it disappeared it showed them all looking quite badass with their weapons of choice. Zia stood next to keyleth in the illusion. One of her twin swords raised high in the air, glinting in a lightning flash. The other tilted behind in a backwards grip.

♪ There's Grog our mighty giant. He's a simpleminded hulk, ♪

♪ And Percy's pepperbox can blow apart -Your fսck¡ng skull ♪

♪Zia's a cursed statuette with swords of fallen stars. ♪♪You'll never see her coming til she's already littered you with scars. ♪

♪Nature hath no fury ♪ ♪ Quite like Keyleth the Ashari ♪ ♪ Controlling plants and animals ♪ ♪ She's a magical safari ♪

♪ The twins Vex and Vax ♪ ♪ She shoots, he hides in the pitch ♪ ♪ They're stealthy and quite deadly ♪ ♪ But I forget which one is which ♪

"He's Vax." Vex tilted her head in annoyance.

"She's Vex." Vax's eyes flicked to the left completely done with Scanlan.

♪ Pike's divinity is pure ♪ ♪ Her hands can always heal ♪

♪ Oh, and did I mention we have a bear? ♪ ♪ Trinket, no big deal ♪

♪ And as for myself? My name is Scanlan ♪ ♪ The man with the phat purple hand ♪ ♪ My music's the jam, going ham, you can't stand it ♪ ♪ Get some water, hide your daughters ♪

King Uriel cleared his throat.

"Scanlan!" Zia hissed, kicking his leg lightly.

"Oh. Uh, sorry."he apologized getting back on track.

♪ Brave warriors are we and far more clever than a fox ♪ ♪ They'll tell tale of our exploits ♪ ♪ In the Legend ♪ ♪ Of Vox ♪

♪ Machina ♪♪

The illusions cloud disappeared. Scanlan knelt down doing Jazz hands as Keyleth retched behind him. Zia moved to rub the druids back and hold her hair. It was the most she could do.

"Uh, thank you very much." Scanlan smirked.

"Oh. Mm, okay. Uh... Uh..." the Council was unsure about what they just witnessed.

"Give the council a moment to discuss your curious group." The king spoke up and his advisors all circled around him.

They couldn't hear their conversation that well from down the stairs but the king looked quite contemplative. Scanlan waved as they looked down at them.

"Yeah, doubt it." Their circle broke because of Lady Kima. "Let's just call in Agar's Assassins again."

"Uh, Agar apparently had his hand chopped off in a barroom brawl." One of the guards informed.

"Oh, shit." Scanlan coughed into his hand.

"Doesn't gossip huh?" Zia hissed at him.

"How was I supposed to know he had chatty guards?" Scanlan hissed back.

"Urgh!" She would have kicked him again if not for the fact that keyleth was so unsteady.

"Come now. What's the harm in letting them give it a go?" The general leaned on the kings throne. "At least they've all got hands."

"Oh! Yes! Yes it's true! We do have hands! Spare ones even!" Scanlan made his purple hand appear.

"Very well." The King conceded. "You're hired, Vox Machina. Mainly because I like the bear. Lady Allura will accompany you to the Shale Steps, the village closest to the last attack."

"So, what exactly are we killing, and how much are we making?" Vax asked the question weighing on their minds.

"We don't know what you're killing, but once you kill it, all this is yours." The general pulled out a chest.

Vox Machina's faces lit up. That was a big box.

"Uh, one more question." Scanlan spoke up. "Yeah, how are we supposed to get there?"

"You will be taking my finest sky ship. The town is a mere jaunt in the vessel. You are to leave immediately." The king ordered. "There could be another attack at any time."

"Yes sire." Lady Allura bowed before she walked towards the doors. "Vox Machina if the members of your group would all follow me,"

The woman kept a straight a straight face as she passed.

"The ship will be equipped with showers." Lady Allura side eyed them. "Do use them."

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And Here's Chapter 3!!!! Ahh this was so fun to write I love Zia so much! Next chapter will be out soon!!!!!! While you wait I'd appreciate it if you took a stab at these questions and gave me some feedback!

1. Thoughts on this chapter? What did you think of it? Are you liking this story so far? How's my writing? Any favorite moments? Be honest.

2. How are you feeling about Zia? Do you find her likeable or not really? Is she annoying, endearing like what are your thoughts on my oc so far? Again be honest.

3. Any guesses as to why Krieg was staring at Zia like he was?

4. Whose your favorite member of Vox?

5. What Characters would you like to see Zia interact with more?

6. What would you like to learn most about Zia?

7. Anything else you'd like to ask, rant, and or tell me!

#oc #oc fiction #percyxoc #vox machina #percy de rolo #percival fredrickstein von musel de rolo iii #cross posted on wattpad #cross posted on ao3

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