The marble corridors of Olympus were eerily quiet after the council adjourned. The thunder of Zeus's anger still echoed faintly through the mountain, carried on the charged air like a living storm that refused to dissipate. Hera walked with measured grace through the halls, the Blade of Twilight still wrapped in a silken cloth that pulsed faintly with divine heat beneath her arm.
When she reached the secluded wing reserved for the goddesses, she turned sharply and entered a narrow passage hidden behind a golden statue of Hestia. The air shimmered, sealing the way behind her.
Inside, the hidden chamber glowed with soft amber light. A circular table stood in the middle, carved from the heart of an ancient olive tree, the bark still alive with faint traces of magic. Four figures were already waiting—Athena, sharp-eyed and silent; Artemis, arms crossed, expression stern; Aphrodite, radiant and restless; and Hestia, calm as a candle's steady flame.
Hera stepped inside and set the wrapped sword gently on the table.
"Close the wards," she ordered quietly.
Hestia nodded, lifting her hand. The flame in the hearth flickered and spread through the walls, forming a glowing veil that sealed the chamber completely.
No sound would escape. No eyes could peer in.
For a moment, none spoke. Then Artemis broke the silence.
"So," she said, her voice low, "The Blade is bound."
Hera inclined her head. "It is."
Athena's eyes gleamed with calculation. "Then Hephaestus was right. The weapon cannot be controlled while its chosen lives. Who is it, Hera? Percy?"
Hera said simply. "It chose Teddy."
Athena leaned back slowly in her chair. "Well," she murmured, "now Olympus is doomed."
Hera's gaze was steady. "I did not tell the council. If Zeus learns the truth, he will send his agents to retrieve Teddy—or worse."
Aphrodite frowned. "You mean kill him."
"Yes," Hera said sharply. "Because as long as the wielder lives, the Blade will never obey Olympus. But if Zeus—or anyone—dares to harm Teddy…"
She paused, looking at each of them in turn. "Then they will have to face Harry."
The name hung heavy in the chamber.
Even Athena's composure faltered. "He will not forgive such an act."
"Forgive?" Aphrodite scoffed softly. "He will burn Olympus to ash. You've all seen what he can do when angered. The man channels power that rivals a Titan. If he believes one of us harmed that child…"
"He won't stop," Artemis finished grimly. "He'll fight every god that stands in his way."
Hestia's flame flickered slightly, her face troubled. "And he could win."
The others fell silent. It wasn't blasphemy. It was fact.
They had seen Harry fight — his command over both mortal and divine magic, the raw force he could summon without effort. Even Zeus, for all his thunder, had never faced power like that from a being not born divine.
"So what do we do?" Aphrodite asked finally, her tone losing its usual playful lilt. "We can't hide him forever. Zeus will send spies. Hermes, Ares, even Apollo—they'll start sniffing around the mortal world."
Artemis's silver eyes hardened. "Then we make sure they find nothing. I will shield the child's location. My Hunt will guard the mansion from afar."
Athena nodded slowly. "I can weave confusion into the memories of anyone who seeks the boy. If Zeus commands a search, his agents will find their trails turning to dust."
Aphrodite smiled faintly. "And I can ensure that anyone who thinks of searching finds themselves… distracted." She twirled a golden strand of hair. "Desire is a powerful misdirection."
Hera looked to Hestia. "And you?"
The eldest goddess's eyes were calm but steady. "I will reinforce the wards around the boy's home. He is family now. Family is mine to protect."
A warm wave of magic rippled through the room as the flames answered her oath.
Hera let out a slow breath. "Then it's decided. No word of this leaves this room. Teddy is under our protection. And if Zeus acts…"
Athena finished the sentence quietly. "We act faster."
Artemis leaned back in her chair, her bow materializing at her side. "Father won't be satisfied with silence. The moment he learns the Blade cannot be fully controlled, he'll demand to kill Teddy."
Hera's eyes hardened, glinting with divine fire. "Then I will remind him that the Queen of Olympus is not his shadow."
A silence settled among them — heavy, solemn, and powerful.
Athena finally rose, her silver-grey eyes thoughtful. "Then we are agreed. The boy remains hidden. Olympus will not touch him."
One by one, the goddesses nodded.
As Hera lifted the Blade of Twilight once more, its dark runes flared briefly—warm, protective, almost content.
She glanced toward the hearth, her voice soft but firm. "If Olympus wishes to bring war to Harry Black… they will first have to go through us."
The fire in Hestia's hearth blazed high, sealing their pact in light and flame.
Andromeda had always known when Harry was troubled. It was in the small, subtle ways he moved—how he skipped his morning tea, how his eyes lost their usual spark of calm amusement, how he retreated to the underground workshop beneath Black Mansion for hours, sometimes days, without emerging.
This time, the signs were all there.
For nearly a week now, Harry had vanished into his workshop every day after breakfast, and when he did appear, his robes smelled faintly of molten metal, wood dust, and ozone. Andromeda could hear him working long into the night: the low hum of enchantments being forged, the clink of glass and metal, the sharp crack of discharged magic that rattled the chandeliers.
She tried to ask, of course.
"Harry, what are you building down there?" she asked one evening as he emerged from the basement, sleeves rolled up, streaks of soot on his hands.
He gave her a tired but faint smile. "Nothing dangerous. Just… something necessary."
That was all he said before disappearing again.
But what truly worried Andromeda wasn't Harry's silence. It was Teddy.
Her grandson had always been lively—a burst of laughter, mischief, and unending curiosity—but now, there was something different. His energy had changed. He moved too fast, reacted too sharply, and sometimes when he hugged her, she could feel the strength trembling just beneath his small hands, like a contained storm.
The first real scare came three days ago.
She had been setting the breakfast table when she heard a loud crash! from the hallway. She rushed in—and found Teddy standing amidst a shower of plaster dust, blinking innocently at the gaping hole in the wall.
The wall itself looked like someone had driven a car through it.
"Teddy Black!" she cried, heart pounding. "What in Merlin's name did you do!?"
"I didn't mean to!" the boy said, eyes wide. "I was just running to get my book, Grandma, and the wall got in the way!"
"The wall got in the way?" she sputtered.
He nodded miserably, shoulders slumping. "It didn't even hurt."
Andromeda stared at the hole—then at the boy who didn't have a scratch on him.
That was the day she realized something was very, very wrong.
Over the next few days, the changes became undeniable. Teddy could lift furniture with one hand. His once playful wrestling with Harry now left dents in the training mats. And when he practiced outside, he could leap clean over the two-story balcony like a grasshopper.
Even his laughter carried a strange resonance now—a vitality that seemed to hum through the air itself.
At first, Andromeda had thought it was just her imagination. Maybe a side effect of one of Harry's new enchantments or potions. But when she watched Teddy accidentally crush one of his favorite wooden toys to splinters without meaning to, she knew it was real.
Andromeda confronted Harry that very night.
He was in his workshop again, surrounded by piles of glowing runes, sigil-etched metals, and hundreds of strange crystalline containers stacked neatly in crates marked "Doce Encanto Imports."
The workshop was warm and alive with humming energy. Silver wires and runic circles glowed faintly beneath his boots.
"Harry," she said, crossing her arms, "I want an explanation. Now."
Harry looked up from his desk, where a half-finished amulet floated midair, runes swirling around it. His green eyes were calm but weary.
"Andromeda," he said softly, "it's under control."
"No, it's not!" she snapped. "Teddy's breaking walls! He's lifting furniture like it's made of paper! You can't tell me that's 'under control.'"
Harry exhaled, setting the amulet aside. "He's… changing. An enchanted sword chose him as it's wielder—and awakening something inside him. The Blade of Twilight doesn't just bond—it amplifies. When it chose Teddy, it shared a fraction of its power with him."
Andromeda's heart froze. "You mean a sword from Olympus?"
He nodded once. "Yes."
She looked horrified. "Then take it back! Sever it!"
"I can't," Harry said firmly. "The sword's essence is alive. It's bound to him now, even if it's not fully awakened. Removing it could destroy his soul."
Andromeda's anger melted into fear. "Then what are you doing down here, Harry?"
He gestured to the scattered blueprints, glowing crystals, and half-finished devices. "Building safeguards. Training tools. I'm crafting enchanted limiters to help him control his strength and regulate his aura. If he can learn balance, he can live a normal life."
She stepped closer, her voice trembling. "He's six years old, Harry. You can't expect him to—"
"I'm not," Harry interrupted gently. "I'm expecting myself to."
He placed a hand over a silver disc pulsing faintly with light. "Everything I'm building now—it's for him. To keep him safe… and to make sure no one can use that power against him."
Andromeda stared at him for a long moment, seeing the exhaustion behind his calm face—the same look James Potter once wore when protecting those he loved.
After a pause, she said softly, "Zeus will find out, won't he?"
Harry didn't look up. "Hera's delaying the inevitable. But when the truth reaches Olympus…"
His eyes darkened, the air in the room shifting with the quiet hum of magic. "If they come for him—I'll be ready."
Andromeda's voice cracked. "Harry, don't do anything reckless."
He looked up at her finally, his gaze steady, burning with quiet resolve. "If protecting Teddy is reckless, then I'll be the most reckless man on Earth."
That night, as Andromeda walked back upstairs, she heard the sound of Teddy's laughter echoing faintly from his room. But beneath it, she could feel something else—like a pulse of raw, divine energy gently rippling through the mansion's wards.
The child was changing.
And Harry was preparing for war.
The forges of Olympus glowed red that night. Hephaestus stood alone amid the roar of molten metal and the hiss of steam, hammer in hand, his broad shoulders silhouetted against the light. It should have been peaceful — the forge was his temple, his place of creation — but his mind was far from calm.
He hadn't been alone for long.
From behind him came the crackle of lightning, faint but unmistakable. The air itself seemed to stiffen as a deep voice broke the silence.
"You know why I'm here," said Zeus.
Hephaestus didn't look up from the anvil. "To accuse me again, or to command me?"
"Both," Zeus replied coldly. "You heard what your mother did. She hid the wielder, defied my orders, and endangered Olympus. The Blade's power remains divided, and you are the only one who can find it."
Hephaestus's hammer paused mid-swing. "And what do you want me to do when I find it?"
Zeus stepped closer, the faint smell of ozone following him. "Bring it's power back. Whatever it takes. The council must not know. Hera has grown reckless, and if she learns, she'll interfere again."
The forge god's jaw tightened. "You want me to lie to my mother."
"I want you to save Olympus," Zeus said sharply. "The sword was your creation. It belongs here, not in the hands of a mortal child. Find the wielder. End it swiftly. Make it look like an accident — no trace, no witnesses. Then bring the Blade's power back home."
For a long moment, only the hiss of cooling metal filled the chamber.
Finally, Hephaestus nodded once. "Very well. I can track it — faintly. The bond leaves a signature, like embers in ash. But when I return, Father…" He looked up at Zeus, his single bright eye gleaming in the forge's firelight. "…the blood will be on your hands, not mine."
Zeus said nothing. He simply turned, his outline fading into crackling light, leaving the scent of thunder behind.
Author's Note:
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