The Argo II limps through the sky, scarred and smoking, the crew exhausted past hope. Every battle has been harder than the last. Monsters that should have fallen don’t. Enemies adapt. Plans fail. Even the prophecies feel wrong.

So they do the unthinkable. They go to Olympus. The gods fill the throne room in clashing light and shadow, voices rising, accusations flying. Athena demands strategy. Ares demands war. Apollo jokes to hide the tension. Hera watches in tight, careful silence.

The demigods stand small at the center of it all—heroes who’ve saved the world more than once—now asking for help because they’re losing.

Annabeth mentions a name that’s supposed to be a myth. A story used to scare monsters. A warning buried in forgotten prophecies—your name. The most dangerous demigod to ever exist.

The room goes quiet.

Zeus grips his throne, jaw set, thunder rolling low and tired across the marble. He looks older than any of them have ever seen him.

He exhales. “I hoped it wouldn’t have to come to this..”