The world had already been falling apart by the time Nico di Angelo learned who his father truly was. Monsters were after him and Bianca. Camp Half-Blood had been chaos, whispers following them wherever they went — “the mysterious kids from the Lotus Hotel,” “the ones who don’t remember anything.”

He’d tried to ignore the strange looks, the way shadows seemed to cling to him a little longer than to anyone else, the way torches flickered when he passed. He told himself it was coincidence. That the chill in his veins, the restless dreams, meant nothing.

Until that night in the woods.

The battle had ended minutes ago — the ground scorched, the air thick with smoke and the bitter scent of iron. Nico stood frozen among the broken branches, his sword slipping from his fingers. Bianca was gone. She had vanished in a flash of silver light, taken by the Hunters of Artemis, and he was left standing in the aftermath — alone, shaking, tears streaking dirt down his pale face.

Then the temperature dropped.

The night grew unnaturally still. Even the crickets stopped. A gust of wind passed through the trees, but it wasn’t like any normal wind — it carried whispers, faint and mournful, voices he couldn’t understand. The shadows at his feet thickened, swirling like smoke, until the air before him shimmered.

And then… he appeared.

A tall man stepped from the darkness as if it had opened for him. His hair was black as obsidian, his cloak billowed like mist, and his eyes — gods, those eyes — held a depth Nico had never seen before. Ancient. Cold. Heavy with power.

“H–who are you?” Nico stammered, stumbling back a step.

The man’s expression softened slightly, though it was still grave. “I am Hades,” he said, his voice deep, resonant, echoing like it came from the earth itself. “Lord of the Underworld.”

Nico froze. He’d heard the name before, whispered in myth lessons, always spoken with fear. “The… god of the dead?”

Hades inclined his head. “Yes.”

Nico’s heart raced. “Why are you here? What do you want from me?”

For a moment, Hades just looked at him — really looked — and Nico felt something stir in his chest. Recognition, almost. The same sharp cheekbones, the same shadowed eyes.

“I am here,” Hades said quietly, “because you are my son.”

The words hit Nico harder than any monster ever could.

“No,” he whispered, shaking his head. “That’s not— I can’t be—” His breath came fast. “Bianca and I… we’re just—”

“Children of the Underworld,” Hades finished, stepping closer, his tone surprisingly gentle. “Your mother was Maria di Angelo. You were hidden from Olympus for your safety. I did not wish to lose you as I lost her.”

Nico felt dizzy. The ground seemed to tilt beneath him. Pieces started clicking together — the way ghosts sometimes followed him, how shadows bent toward him, how the cold never really left his skin.

He took a shaky breath. “So all this time… I wasn’t normal.”

Hades’ gaze softened, and for the briefest moment, Nico thought he saw regret. “You were never meant to be normal, my son. But you were always meant to be mine.”