The air in Tartarus was thick and suffocating. You moved cautiously beside Percy when cold laughter echoed around you.

Then—darkness.

Pain stabbed into your skull like needles. You gasped, reaching out blindly.

“Y/N!” Percy’s voice was frantic.

A silky voice purred, “Sight is such a fragile thing.”

The empousa.

Panic clawed at you, but you gritted your teeth. You could still hear. Feel. The air shifted—claws slashed where your head had been. You ducked, striking out. Your blade hit something solid. A screech—then dust.

Percy caught you. “Y/N?”

You swallowed hard. “Percy… I can’t see.”

Silence. Then, his steady grip. “I've got you. We'll fix this”

But in Tartarus, nothing was certain.