On the beach, a sudden gust of wind, smelling faintly of old mail and frantic energy, whipped around Nico. Before he could react, a figure solidified in front of him: Hermes, looking harried as always, his feet already vibrating with impatience. He wasn't looking at Percy directly, but rather at Nico, his eyes scanning as if he were a particularly important package.

"Nico di Angelo, good. I had a feeling you'd be nearby," Hermes spoke at a mile a minute, not waiting for an answer. "Couldn't quite get a fix on...him," he gestured subtly towards Percy, "but the winds were abuzz with whispers of Hades sending you with a message, can you believe him? Avoiding my always reliable services. The Fates are buzzing, kid. My mail routes are getting weird. Missing packages, birds delivering ominous messages—not the good kind, mind you, the 'end-of-the-world-is-nigh' kind. And there's a rumor, whispers on the wind, about...wild magic. Primal. Untamed. It's radiating from this place."

He finally looked directly at Nico, his eyes, usually mischievous, serious. He glanced once more at Percy, a flicker of genuine concern crossing his features. "...the amount of power he's holding right now, it's attracting attention. Not all of it good. Whatever you're dealing with, with Pan's remnants...it's more than just a localized problem. It's radiating. Keep an eye on him. He's a lightning rod for trouble." Hermes paused, then lowered his voice slightly. "Which brings me to my next point, and why I'm bothering you instead of Chiron. He has always had a soft spot for him. Anyways...Artemis she's coming within the next few hours. She's felt the disturbance of the Wild. She wants to speak with Percy personally. And believe me, when Artemis wants to speak, it's not a request. So, prepare him. And," Hermes tapped his tablet, his eyes scanning something on it, "don't underestimate the quiet ones. Sometimes, the oldest whispers are the loudest." With a final, impatient tap, he shimmered and was gone, leaving Nico with a whirlwind of new information and a sense of impending doom.

Nico stared at the spot where Hermes had vanished, the sea breeze suddenly feeling much colder than it should. Artemis. In a few hours. He glanced at Percy, who remained a statue carved from sorrow and quiet fury, gazing out at the horizon as if the entire ocean held the answers he sought. How was he supposed to "prepare" someone who barely seemed to acknowledge the world around him?

He took a deep breath and approached, the sand crunching softly under his worn sneakers. "Percy," he said, his voice hesitant but firm. No response. "Percy, listen to me. Hermes just came by."

Still nothing. Percy's shoulders remained rigid.

Nico moved closer, positioning himself slightly in Percy's line of sight without blocking his view of the sea. "Artemis is coming. She'll be here in a few hours. She wants to talk to you. About…about what happened. About the wildness." He paused, hoping for any flicker of recognition. "It's serious, Percy. She felt it. The gods are noticing."

A muscle twitched in Percy's jaw, almost imperceptible. He didn't turn, didn't speak. He simply existed, a force of nature as unyielding as the tide, yet utterly unresponsive. Nico waited, a knot forming in his stomach. How much of that information had even registered? Would Percy rage? Would he simply ignore the goddess? Should he tell him about Hades’ message? He had no idea what to expect from this new, terrifyingly contained version of his old friend. The next hours stretched before Nico like an eternity, filled with the ominous silence of Percy's grief.

After a long, silent moment, Percy finally moved. But not to respond to Nico. He turned, his eyes—deep, storm-tossed green, yet unsettlingly blank—sweeping over Nico without truly seeing him. He then walked past, heading towards the Big House.

Nico followed, a sense of grim foreboding settling over him. He saw Percy approaching the Big House, looking at Cyrus, who was still secured in a magical straitjacket and bound to a chair. Corina stood nearby, wringing her hands, her face pale, he didn’t notice when she got up. Clarisse la Rue and other of the Ares campers, assigned as guards, shifted nervously under Percy's silent scrutiny.

Percy's voice, when he spoke, was low and even, devoid of any warmth or the usual sarcastic edge. It was the voice of a judge delivering a verdict. "You will tell me everything," he said, addressing Cyrus, though his gaze also encompassed Corina. "Everything about this madness and what do you know about your mothers falling into it, please."

His tone, even when cold, showed both Cyrus and Corina his words in last night's dinner were true.

Cyrus, despite his restraints, which held him more out of caution for his past actions than any current struggle, met Percy's gaze. His eyes, though still holding a flicker of something untamed, were clear and focused. A slow, knowing smile touched his lips, devoid of humor. "My mother...I think she felt it first," Cyrus said, his voice level and clear, carrying an unsettling certainty. "A whisper from the deep, calling to her own rage. It was wild. Not a god. Not a monster. But the very essence of madness, unmoored." He tugged lightly at his restraints, a gesture that was more contempt than struggle. "She embraced it. Felt the power. It changed her, yes. Twisted her purpose. And I...I felt its echoes. At first, it was only información she relayed unto me, after, a call to abandon all rules. To break everything. I thought it was what she wanted. What she yearned for. But now I see I was wrong. She got twisted and she twisted me in the process. I know it’s not enough, but, I’ll spend my life repaying you for what I did to An—." 

Corina gasped, a hand flying to his mouth. "No, Cyrus…not now" she pleaded, knowing he was deliberately opening a dangerous wound.

Percy's eyes, still flat and unwavering, showed a glimpse of anger, just to freeze a second later and bore into Cyrus. "Then...would you tell me," Percy said, his voice dangerously soft, "how does one stop a madness that went wild?" His gaze, flat and unwavering.

Cyrus met his stare, a chillingly knowing smile playing on his lips. He tugged once more at his restraints, a gesture of contempt. "Stop it?" he scoffed, a dry laugh escaping him. "Percy, it’s not a monster to be slain, nor a god to be appeased. It’s the very pulse of chaos, unformed and unbound. You’re asking how to cage a hurricane, how to drain the ocean itself. From where I stand—a mere mortal who barely survived its caress—you don’t. It doesn’t follow rules, doesn't heed pleas. It simply is."

His eyes, still clear, locked onto Percy's. "My mother...she found it. Bathed in its essence. That's how it twisted her, how it could thrive. And through her, it touched me. But you," Cyrus's smile widened, a cruel, taunting gesture, "you're just broken. It can't touch you directly, Percy, not while you're miles from her domain. But your grief, your rage...they're your own. And it’s all my fault, I’m sorry, if could go back, if I could stop myself from kil—"

"That's enough, Cyrus."

Nico’s voice, colder and sharper than the chill in the room, cut through Cyrus’s words like a phantom blade. He stepped forward, his eyes, usually shadowed, burning with a fierce protectiveness. He didn't look at Percy, but his presence was a clear wall between the two sons of the Big Three. Corina let out a small, relieved sigh, her hands clamped over Cyrus's mouth once more.

Nico turned to Percy, his expression softening slightly, though a deep weariness etched itself around his eyes. "He's said all he's going to say today, Percy. You need rest. We all do."

Percy didn't reply, his gaze still fixed on where Cyrus sat, his face now hidden by Corina's desperate embrace. He simply turned, a slow, deliberate movement, and walked out of the room, leaving behind an echoing silence.

Later that evening, the Big House was hushed, the usual boisterous energy of Camp Half-Blood a distant memory. Nico found Percy by the window in his cabin, staring out at the darkening Long Island Sound, the waves a relentless, mournful rhythm against the shore.

"Percy," Nico began, his voice quiet. "Hermes sent word. Artemis is coming. Within the next few hours."

Percy didn't move, didn't even flinch. "Artemis?" His voice was flat, devoid of curiosity or surprise.

"Yes. She felt a significant disturbance in the wild, an echo of...chaos. She knows about Annabeth. And she knows about the message from her brother, about what it foretold. She wants to talk to you directly." Nico paused, rubbing his temples. "She and her Hunters are on their way. Just...be ready."

He looked at Percy, truly looked at him, and saw a void where his friend's light used to be. "Percy, listen to me," Nico's voice grew firmer, "what Cyrus spoke of, that unmoored madness...it can't reach you here. He's right, its direct influence requires proximity to Kymopoleia's corrupted domain. Your grief, yes, that's what's overwhelming you, but you are not corrupted by that wild force." He tried to offer a small, reassuring smile, but it felt hollow. "You must get ready for Artemis arrival."

Percy finally stirred, a barely perceptible shudder passing through him. He turned from the window, his eyes still distant, unfocused, as if seeing something far beyond the cabin walls. "Ready," he echoed, the word a mere breath. "For what, Nico? More of this?" He gestured vaguely towards the sea, towards the camp, towards the unseen forces that had torn his world apart.

Nico had no answer. He could only stand there, a silent sentinel against a darkness he feared was only just beginning. He felt he did all he could to prepare Percy, not just for Artemis's arrival, but for the chilling realization that whatever came next, Percy would be at its heart, and he was still broken. Relieving his father’s message sounded better by each minute passed.

The silence in Cabin Three stretched, thick and heavy, until the first sliver of the moon, a pale crescent, began to ascend into the inky sky, casting long, spectral shadows across the camp. Just as its light touched the tallest pines at the edge of the woods, a chilling sound ripped through the quiet night: the unified, mournful howl of a pack of wolves. Every camper, stirring in their cabins or standing vigil, heard it. Percy, staring out his window, felt a shiver unrelated to the cold, and Nico, still watching him, stiffened. Then, from the deep shadows beneath the trees, figures began to emerge. First, the unmistakable, regal silhouette of a young woman radiating an aura of severe grace, followed by a disciplined line of equally formidable, silver-clad warriors. Artemis and her Hunters had arrived.