The Path Of Glory (Annabeth Chase x Male Reader)

78. The Prophecy Unraveled

Demigod dreams suck.

The thing is, they're never just dreams. They have to be visions, omens, and all that other mystical stuff that makes your brain hurt.

Y/N dreamed he was standing at the top of an icy cliff. Unfortunately, he recognized the place—his dreams always brought him back here since he'd come to Camp Half-Blood for the first time, three years ago. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see what seemed to be a village fallen into ruins. The scenery, with the sea stretching out to the horizon a hundred yards below, was beautiful and calm. He didn't know why, but as he stood and the wind ruffled his hair, he needed to calm down.

This was the calm before the storm, however. A sound that couldn't have been caused by the wind came from behind him. The snow crunched under too much weight. One part of his mind already knew what was going to happen. Another was standing at the edge of the cliff and trying to calm down—and would soon realize the problem.

Was it the wind that warned him, or a scream? It was hard to tell in the dream. He turned around, and faced a monster. Its scales were green, its mouth gigantic, and its fangs oozed a stinking, acidic liquid. Its two heads, on either end of its body, were turned toward him; its long body seemed to form a U as it cornered him. Its eyes were yellow and glowed wickedly.

This monster was Mr. Atkins. Well, it was the Amphisbaena. But the Amphisbaena had taken the form of Mr. Atkins at the Champlain Institute, posing as a supervisor, years ago.

Y/N stumbled back. Bad news: behind his back was a hundred-yard drop into the void. The Amphisbaena jumped toward him as he was free-falling, straight into the ocean covered with patches of ice.

Suddenly, Y/N was back on his feet, moving forward as the ground collapsed right behind him. Faster, faster, but never fast enough. If he stopped, he would fall into an endless pit. Endlessly he would see the light receding, until it was so far away that he could no longer see it, though it would be right there above him. It would simply be too far away.

A chunk of the floor collapsed, and he almost lost his balance and fell backward. What was that thing pulling him back? Why did he have no strength left? Too many questions. He just had to keep going.

This dream had a well-planned scenario, though, and the end was always the same. A chunk bigger than the others collapsed; he jumped, trying to reach safe ground; he missed. The fall lasted forever.

New York surged around him. It was better to forget all the stereotypes you had about this city when you were in this dream. Instead of the crowded streets, the noise of the cars and the blinding lights, everything was deserted. There was only wind blowing, and mist invading Manhattan. This city was a dream in itself. A sleeping city.

"Wake up. . . ."

The voice had come out of nowhere. It was Ethan's voice.

"Wake up."

It was louder this time.

"Damn it, wake up!"

When Y/N opened his eyes, his lungs were on fire and he was coughing like crazy. His vision was a blur. He couldn't hear well. He wasn't sure what his hands were touching. In short, his senses were out of service.

His head felt like it had been microwaved in aluminum foil.

"Ethan?" he asked with an effort.

"Welcome to the living, dude."

Y/N squinted. Ethan was looking down on him worriedly; his banana sunhat was soaked, his hair curled at the scruff of his neck, and every hair on his legs dripping wet.