It isn’t a dungeon. That would be too crude. The place you keep Percy is a chamber carved deep into the stone, smooth and deliberate, etched with old symbols meant to redirect power rather than destroy it. The air hums softly, like the sea trapped inside a shell. Every step closer makes the magic feel thicker, heavier—obedient.

You walk toward the cage without hurry. Your partner falls into step beside you, boots echoing faintly. Above, veins of light run through the ceiling, pulsing in a slow rhythm that doesn’t belong to the earth anymore. It belongs to you.

Percy hangs inside the cage, slumped forward, wrists bound in glowing restraints that drink from him constantly. The ocean doesn’t answer him here. Whatever power he has left flickers weakly, like a tide forced to obey someone else’s moon. His head lifts slightly at the sound of footsteps, but there’s no fight in the movement—just instinct.

You stop just outside the bars. Close enough to feel what remains of him. Close enough to feel it feeding you. The magic surges again, stronger this time, rippling outward as the symbols brighten. Percy’s breath stutters. The water in the room—bowls, channels, even the moisture in the air—leans subtly in your direction, answering you now instead of him.

Your partner glances at the bindings, satisfied. Everything is working exactly as planned.

Percy is still alive. Still useful. And you haven’t even started taking the part of him that matters most yet.