[Third Person Pov]

A few days earlier…

Nico and Bianca stood quietly within Markus’ dimly lit room. Markus himself was curled up against the bed’s headboard, knees drawn close, his wings wrapped around him like a feathery cocoon. The tension still clung to the air—thin, fragile.

They had just finished comforting him after his long-avoided and, frankly, inevitable conversation with his mother. Bianca, still perched beside him on the mattress, gently patted his shoulder as she spoke in a soft, careful tone.

“You have to start looking at the good in all this,” she said. “At least now you’re not left in the dark about everything. There are no more secrets. You know who your father is, why he wasn’t present, why your mother kept things from you. You finally have the answers you’ve been searching for.”

Markus let out a long, shaky breath.

“…I suppose that’s true,” he muttered. His hand dragged over his dreads as he stared down at the sheets. “I just didn’t like how it all went down. If it wasn’t for Lucian, I would’ve been kept in the dark for most of my life.”

Before either Nico or Bianca could respond, a sharp tap-tap hit the window, echoing through the room and startling all three of them.

Nico turned, brows furrowed. “Beatrice?” he questioned when he saw the black-and-red figure floating outside, casually sitting sideways on her broom like she was posing for a magazine cover.

He moved to open the window. Beatrice leaned in just slightly, offering a polite—if mischievous—smile. “Mind if I come in? I have a message from my lord.”

Markus straightened at that, curiosity pushing him to sit closer to the edge of the bed before inviting her in. Bianca, however, blinked in confusion.

“Why not come from the shadows?” she asked. “Why out the window?”

“For dramatic effect, obviously,” Beatrice said proudly—far too proudly. That habit had ‘Lucian’ written all over it.

The moment she crossed the threshold, the window swung shut behind her as if obeying her presence. She waved her hand, and a subtle shimmer rippled through the room—an isolation spell, sealing them away from prying eyes, ears, or anything else unwelcome.

“What does Lucian need?” Nico asked, trying—and failing—to keep the concern out of his voice.

“The message is simple,” Beatrice replied. But the air shifted. Her playful demeanor vanished, replaced by a solemn heaviness. “He said, and I quote: ‘I’m going to die. Nico, I leave everything in your hands.'”

“What?” Nico’s expression hardened instantly, jaw tightening.

“What’s that supposed to mean? Did he fail his quest?” Markus asked, standing abruptly.

“And why Nico?” Bianca added, looking between the two with growing worry. “What does he expect Nico to do?”

Beatrice reached into her cleavage and pulled out a small pouch. “The master didn’t say much…” she said as she tossed it toward Nico.

Bianca stared at her flatly, then muttered, “Was that really necessary?” before glancing—not subtly—down at her own chest.

Beatrice only shrugged. “They’re convenient. Anyway—inside that pouch are a few instructions and the items you’ll need.”

Nico opened it, pulling out a folded note and scanning it quickly. He rummaged through the pouch. “I see… these are all the ingredients for his next potion.”

“Correct. He’s only missing the final component,” Beatrice said with a mischievous grin. “The milk of a Dryad.”

Nico stared at her, deadpan. “He’s joking, right?”

When no one answered, he sighed and reached back into the pouch, pulling out a small piece of burning paper—embers ate slowly and carefully around the edges.

“Lucian said you’d know what that meant,” Beatrice added with a shrug.

“I do…” Nico murmured. He closed his eyes briefly, letting the weight settle before nodding to himself. “Alright. I know what to do. Tell him he’s a dick for making me do this.”

Beatrice’s smile returned as she straightened her hat. “He figured you’d say that. His exact response was: ‘Love you too, little bro.'”

Nico groaned, rolling his eyes as Bianca and Markus exchanged puzzled looks, unsure whether this absurdity made them feel reassured… or even more concerned.

—

Back to the present…

Nico turned toward Thalia, his expression sharpening with purpose. “You’re the fastest. Go get the Fleece. It’s time for me to do what I do best.”

Percy raised a brow, half-amused, half-curious. “Which is?”

Nico interlocked his fingers, bones cracking with a quiet promise. “Preparing the dead for their rest.”

That shut Percy up.

Thalia glanced at Lucian’s unmoving body, then nodded. Electricity rippled over her skin, gathering into a swirling static field before boom—she shot off, leaving behind a neon lightning trail that sizzled in the air.

She darted between the flock of man-eating sheep—barely a blur—and leapt, snatching the Golden Fleece from where it hung on a low branch. “Whoa…” she breathed, the moment it touched her palms. The warmth pulsed through her like sunlight in liquid form, rejuvenation surging through every cell in her body.

She shook it off and raced back to the group, skidding to a stop. “Here.”

Nico took it, but Thalia raised a hand. “Hold up—doesn’t Lucian need the sun to transform? The whole bright-heart thing?”

“Don’t worry, the sun will be up in a few minutes,” Annabeth said as she crouched beside Lucian. Her fingers lit with soft magic as she traced the symbol of the black sun etched across Lucian’s chest. Slowly, the mark began to glow—deep crimson—yet remained dormant. “There. It’s active. Once the sun rises, it’ll trigger the full transformation.”

Nico knelt beside her, helping guide the Golden Fleece around Lucian’s lifeless body, wrapping it with meticulous care. When they finished, he looked at Annabeth and said, “Start digging.”

Without hesitation she lifted her hands and started using her geomancy abilities. The ground trembled. Earth shifted and rose, carving out a Lucian-size grave several feet deep.

Meanwhile, Nico gently lifted Lucian’s head. The miasma clinging to the corpse bit into him instantly, burning like acid, but he gritted his teeth and endured it. He uncorked the vial with his teeth and began feeding Lucian the potion.

By the time the last drop slid down, Nico’s breathing was shaky. The Mortician potion coursed through him as well, he could feel himself digesting it as he prepared Lucian’s body. “You’re seriously both amazing… and a complete dick,” he whispered to Lucian’s unmoving face.

Then he looked back at the group. “Anyone got any last words before we bury him?”

“No,” Thalia said bluntly. “I’ll tell him personally when I see him again.” The others nodded in agreement, some solemnly, others with forced confidence.

“Suit yourselves.” Nico slid his arms under Lucian and lifted him bridal-style, carrying him toward the grave. He jumped down carefully, lowering Lucian into the earth with a hint tenderness.

Once he climbed out, he gave Annabeth a small nod.

Everyone fell silent as the dirt began shifting back into the pit, gently burying Lucian from view. Tyson openly wept against Percy, his giant arms wrapped around his brother like a sobbing bear. Percy patted him awkwardly, lips twitching.

“It’s like we’re burying our family dog in the backyard…” Clarisse muttered.

Bianca snorted, instantly hiding her grin behind her hand.

Finally, the ground was level again—a single mound of fresh dirt marking the spot.

“No we wait,” Annabeth said quietly. “When the sun rises… that’ll be our answer.”

“More like we just planted a seed and we’re waiting for it to sprout,” Bianca added with a sigh, brushing her hands together.

Suddenly Markus lifted his shirt.

Everyone stared.

Then stared harder when he reached underneath it and pulled out… a wooden plank.

He walked over to the mound and planted it at the head like a makeshift grave marker. “Nico and I made it as a joke,” he explained when their expressions didn’t change.

Annabeth, unable to resist, pulled out her phone and snapped a picture of it. She turned to her spirit. “Alright children, stand in front of your father’s grave for the picture—”

“…What?” Nox asked, looking wholly offended.

Clarisse nudged Percy with her elbow. “Hey, you know what would be hilarious? If you went and pissed on it.”

Percy recoiled. “What? I’m not pissing on his grave! What if he comes back and haunts me?”

“Coward,” Clarisse clicked her tongue, rolling her eyes.

Percy stared at her in pure indignation, while behind them the horizon began to glow—

a thin sliver of sun crawling upward, ready to shift Lucian’s fate.

********************************************

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