The Underworld stretched on forever. Not dark — not really. The air shimmered with a dim red haze that made it hard to tell where the ground ended and the sky began. Every step echoed too long. Every whisper came back twice.

Percy had lost track of how long he’d been walking. Minutes? Hours? Days? The Styx wound beside him like a living thing, black and glassy, whispering his name every few steps.

He should’ve found them by now. Annabeth. Grover.

But there was no sound except the crunch of gravel beneath his shoes

The path wound endlessly through the Underworld — all red dust and shadowlight. Percy didn’t know how long he’d been walking. Time didn’t move here. It only waited.

Your voice followed him. Soft at first, like a whisper carried on the Styx. Then clearer. Closer. “Turn back,” you said. “You’ll never find them. Not here. Not anymore.”

He didn’t answer. Didn’t dare.

“Every step you take,” you called, “you lose a piece of yourself. Haven’t you noticed?”

Still, he walked. Past rivers that murmured his name, past walls that breathed like lungs. The air trembled with your laughter — not cruel, just certain. “You’ll forget why you came.”

Percy gritted his teeth, gripping the pen in his pocket like a lifeline. But he never turned around. Not once.