Chapter Text
Atropos scrunches her face as she brings her scissors to a thread, only to stop just short of cutting it. The thread has the barest hint of gold, but is otherwise a mix of green and blue hues. Beside her, Clotho shakes her head. “This is… not going as planned.”
Lachesis, hurriedly measuring Piper's pink and white thread, sees how terribly short it has become and sighs. “No shit.” She replies, more weary than cruel. She then turns to watch the unfolding scene together with her sisters. On their TV they can see Terra continuing her rise. Or perhaps Gaea—now that New Rome and Camp Jupiter have been swallowed the distinction is almost meaningless.
Massive gaping chasms tear across the battlefield and reach towards the cabins of Camp Half-Blood, the gods' proud symbols of power in the home of their children.
Many demigods are falling through the gaps, whether they are Greek or Roman, and so are the foolish monsters who choose to aid Gaea. But the Fates have their eyes focused on one specific demigod. Percy Jackson. With Leo already dead, he is the next of the Seven in greatest danger, as Mother Earth is targeting him relentlessly. Percy is retreating towards the camp's beach with Annabeth close beside him, both of them fighting through a horde of enemies.
With her other hand Atropos cuts a black and red thread. Nico's. “What a foolish boy. He knew he would die if he used his powers again…” She shakes her head. Lachesis looks at the thread that is now on the ground. “Maybe that was the point for him.” Clotho disagrees: “No, no. I think he wanted to save his sister, which he couldn't before, and his little sun.”
They turn back to the TV. One half of the screen shows Festus, with Hazel, Piper, Will, and Frank crowded together on his back. Hazel clutches Nico's lifeless body close and weeps, while Will stares fixedly at the horizon. Piper keeps ordering Festus higher and higher, anger sharpening every word. Frank watches the carnage below, dread filling his gut.
Jason flies low, trying to reach Percy and Annabeth in time to carry them to Festus. He is close. So close. Not that it will matter, the Fates think grimly, even if he makes it. Piper's unnaturally strong charmspeak had been their last hope of stopping Gaea from fully awakening after she had taken Percy's and Annabeth's blood. Now they are doomed.
Some people think the Fates decide everything, but that is not only a bold claim, it is also completely untrue. They merely trace a path and hope it will hold, while each person chooses how to walk it—how to use their free will. If they could choose exactly how things went, this would never have happened.
“Maybe if we had stopped the schism, the gods could be aiding them in battle now…” Lachesis murmurs. Atropos looks thoughtful for a moment, then says gravely, “All they would do is delay Gaea.” Just as she finishes Clotho chimes in. “And we can't do everything!”
By the time they look back, Jason has already reached Annabeth and Percy. Percy, bleeding badly, sends a wave crashing through the monsters and drives them back. Annabeth and Percy are arguing—Percy trying to make her leave without him, Annabeth refusing to go at all. Jason looks utterly lost.
Eventually Jason and Annabeth are high in the sky and enemies storm the beach. Atropos finally snaps the scissors.
Seeing the last six demigods trying to leave, Gaea sends all her winged allies after them. Frank brings down as many as he can with his bow, while Piper kills any that get closer. Hazel has little she can do from so high up, but she still hurls what gems she has left, forcing what aid she can from them. Will, meanwhile, moves between them, healing the worst of their injuries as fast as he can.
Jason struggles to fly while carrying someone and fighting at the same time, but he is managing. He isn't Juno's champion for no reason.
Gaea has no intention of holding back. She hurls great slabs of stone at the last obstacles in her path. Festus is too large to dodge forever. One strikes him square in the stomach and knocks him off balance, another smashes into his right wing and tears the metal limb clean away. Festus plummets to the ground with the demigods still clutching his back, as a massive crater yawns open below, ready to swallow them whole.
The Fates have to intervene. Twist the tapestry. Bend some buried law of their domain. Anything. This can't be how it all ends.
So they do.
First they snatch the last two demigods from right under Gaea's nose, taking them to a place beyond space, where the floor is made of still water, threads hanging like constellations. They will be safe for some time while the Fates prepare what comes next. Jason and Annabeth's eyes glow yellow. Their vision blurs, and their consciousnesses are yanked away.
Then they begin to draw the tapestry backwards, undoing its chronology. They revert all of the threads simultaneously, turning back time. To do it, they have to drain the power from relics they had gathered over the last five centuries for exactly this kind of catastrophe. If they want to fix everything, they will have to reach far deeper into the past than they had hoped. The effort nearly breaks them, leaving them weakened once they finally achieve their objective. But when they are done, they have reached a time before Kronos had ever whispered malice into Luke Castellan's mind.
Next, they try to give Jason and Annabeth's wandering consciousnesses instructions. They mean to explain more, but are too weak to manage it. They manage to force one last message through: Change fate. Make it better. Then we may regain our strength and restore your friends' memories. They aren't sure how much either of the godlings understands.
Lastly, they send the two demigods' consciousnesses back into their younger bodies. Then the Fates collapse back, groaning as their nonexistent bones seem to pop with age and effort. The Fates can only hope it will work, because they will not be pulling a stunt like that again for centuries.