Percy Jackson sat in the middle of his classroom, trying his best to listen to his teacher, Mr. Brunner. The wheelchair-bound history teacher spoke with a deep voice and a surprising enthusiasm, considering the subject he was teaching was… well, frankly, boring.
Percy's sea-green eyes were glazed over. His attention was fixed not on the lecture, but on the notebook where he was doodling a detailed, three-pronged trident, completely ignoring what was being said.
"...And hence, the Gods lived on Olympus for the rest of eternity, ruling over the mortal world," Mr. Brunner finished his lesson, closing his textbook with a soft thud. His eyes scanned the classroom before landing on the one student who was clearly in his own world. "Mr. Jackson."
Percy immediately looked up, startled. "Ah—yes, sir?"
"Tell me, Mr. Jackson," Mr. Brunner said patiently. "What is the purpose of us learning about the Greek Gods and Goddesses?"
Percy glanced around, confused. He looked to his best friend, Grover, a lanky boy who always used crutches and wore a beanie to hide his curly hair. Grover just shrugged helplessly. Percy sighed, turning back to the front. "I—uh… I don't know, sir."
Mr. Brunner sighed back. "Come now, Percy, surely you can guess. Think of a reason, any reason."
Percy scratched his head. What were the gods good for, anyway? He shook his head and offered the only logical thing he could think of. "So we can pass this class?"
A ripple of laughter went through the room. Grover gave Percy a subtle thumbs-up while trying to stifle his own grin. Mr. Brunner pinched the bridge of his nose. "Yes, Mr. Jackson, I suppose that is an answer. Not the one I was expecting, but nevertheless true."
Percy shrugged. "I'm sorry, Mr. Brunner, but come on. What could the actual answer be? What's the point of learning about a bunch of dead gods anyway? Shouldn't we be learning something useful, like how to balance a checkbook or something?"
The class laughed again, but this time, Percy noticed Grover had gone completely still beside him. He looked almost scared, as if Percy was going to get struck by lightning for talking like that.
Mr. Brunner shook his head again and slowly rolled his wheelchair to the front of the class. "While it is true that in the modern world, learning about economics is far more practical than learning about Greek mythology, it is not more important."
He paused, letting his words sink in. "The Greeks invented most of the cultural methods we see in our lives today. Their rules of drama form the bedrock of our entertainment. Their philosophy is the cornerstone of the Western world. That is why we need to learn about the Greek Gods, Mr. Jackson—to understand where we come from and what stories influenced the great minds who shaped our world."
"But I mean, come on, Mr. Brunner," Percy sighed, unconvinced. "Other than being an extended history lesson, it's not like they're actually useful. They don't have any power in the modern world."
Mr. Brunner's eyes narrowed. "Don't be too sure about that, Mr. Jackson."
Percy just shrugged, and the class moved on. But far away, unknown to anyone in that room, three ancient women were watching the scene unfold.
…
These were the Fates, dwelling within a cave that could not be found by mortal or demigod, but only by a divine being, and only if the Fates themselves willed it. The women looked as old as time itself, with hair as white as snow and fingers calloused from an eternity of knitting. Before them, a river of shimmering blue yarn stretched endlessly into the cave's depths.
"A gauntlet has been thrown," said one of the women, her voice like grinding stones.
"The boy challenges us," hissed another, her tone sharp with anger.
The third sister remained calm. "We are Fate. We are always challenged."
"Indeed we are," the second sister retorted. "But this time, we must do something about it."
"And why must we?" the first asked. "What would we gain by interfering?"
"She is right. We have nothing to gain."
"Oh, but we do," the second sister insisted, her eyes gleaming. "We have everything to gain."
"Explain."
She leaned forward. "Perseus Jackson is the one who will decide whether to save Olympus or let it burn. He is the child of the prophecy, and his dismissal of the Olympians—and of us—does not work in our favor."
"It is a problem easily fixed," stated the first Fate. "We simply introduce the boy to the divine world sooner. Make him reliant on it."
"That may not be enough," countered the second. "I agree with our sister. We need the boy on our side. We need him to rely on us."
The third Fate, who had been listening intently, finally nodded. "I propose we give the boy a power that will trap him in our service—a gift he can never leave behind, lest he lose it. This will ensure his loyalty."
The first Fate considered this. "Very well. But what shall we give him? He is already a demigod. A weapon, perhaps, like the original Perseus?"
"No, not a weapon," the second Fate said dismissively. "His entire life must be consumed by this gift. A weapon can be misplaced or replaced. His reliance on it would be minimal in his mortal life."
"Then what shall we give him?" asked the third.
"It would have to be something he would be good at."
"But it must also be under our control, while giving him the illusion of control."
"And it must be modern. This Perseus would not appreciate it otherwise."
Slowly, the three looked at each other and a shared, chilling smile spread across their ancient faces as an idea took shape. They lifted their right hands in unison, and a swirling ball of blue light, woven from the very yarn of destiny, formed between them. Just as quickly as it appeared, it vanished.
Their eyes closed, and the image of Percy Jackson sitting in his classroom reappeared before them. The ball of light materialized high above Percy's head, invisible to all in the room. The orb bathed the classroom in an unseen azure glow before it slowly sank down, merging into Percy.