Percy Jackson: An Endless of All

Years went by, and Orpheus was now eighteen.

He had left behind the cedar-scented woods of Camp Half-Blood and even the velvet halls of the Dreaming. Not out of rebellion. But because it was time.

He had grown into a man — tall, golden-haired, and graceful in every step. His eyes still held the dusk of dreams, but his body bore the warmth of the sun. His bow was slung across his back, and his lyre rested at his side, worn with use and love.

Now, he wandered Greece — not as a demigod, but as a bard, a traveler, a soul seeking stories.

In the seaside town of Ikaros, Orpheus stayed for three days.

He played music in the evenings, sang in taverns, and slept beneath fig trees. He met a young married woman, barely older than he, who was as enchanted by his voice as any mortal could be. She had dark black hair, fair skin, was far-sighted, and needed some glasses. However, those won't be invented till 1286.

The young madan was beautiful in her own right.

With one night, their desires overcame them both. They indulge in each other's company.

And the next morning?

He was already gone, fleeing the town in laughter and shame as the woman's eighty-year-old husband hobbled after him, shouting curses and threats with a cane raised high.

"You little no good boot-licker! I'll feed your tongue to the goats!"

Orpheus only laughed, his voice echoing through olive trees like a melody on the wind.

Days later, Orpheus followed the sound of drums into the wild forests beyond Arcadia. There, in a moonlit glade, he stumbled upon a mystical gathering in the Tracian Woods— men, satyrs, dryads, even some demidogs off to the side, sipping wine with exaggerated caution.

And there, beneath a blooming laurel tree, stood her.

Eurydice.

A wood nymph. Radiant. Barefoot in soft moss. Her eyes were deep pools of ancient forest magic, and when she heard Orpheus sing… she froze. Spellbound. And so did he.

Their eyes locked.

Time stopped.

That night, while others danced and feasted, the two sat apart, speaking in whispers, brushing fingertips, laughing in quiet wonder.

And as the moon rose higher, they kissed, like two notes of a perfect harmony finally found.

Back in the Dreaming Realm....

From my throne of black stone and stars, I watched.

Though my duties never stopped — shaping the dreams of kings, gods, beasts — you always checked on Orpheus.

I hadn't told him, but my dream creation raven Matthew kept close from afar, flying over forests and taverns, circling campfires.

When Orpheus met Eurydice, I felt it.

Joy.And something else.A tremble. A thread being pulled. A story shifting.

From the depths of your dreaming realm, you stirred.

To calm my mind, I stepped again into the Waking World — cloaked once more in your illusion of Rudious. The petite twunk form mortals were drawn to like moths to flame: lean, silver-eyed, robed in black silk that shimmered faintly in the light.

There, in a sun-drenched coastal town, I met a mortal man — in his late twenties, rugged and kind-eyed, his hands calloused from labor, his laugh soft and infectious.

You'd returned twice now to see him.

Always as Rudious.

Always just to talk.

And yet, in my timeless heart, something began to flutter. The thrill of possibility. The danger of connection, or it just means I'm very horny.

Still, I always returned home.

To the Dreaming.To my throne.

And tonight… I felt it again.

A shift.

Which I did not like at all.

Once back in my realm, I sat down on my throne.

I was Focused.

My eyes turned serious with starlight as your vision focused on what Matthew's raven eyes saw, as it is projected on the starry sky ceiling of my throne room. Matthew was flying high above the glade where Orpheus now lay beside Eurydice, both of them asleep in each other's arms beneath a tree.

They were smiling.

At peace.

And yet…

The world whispered. The winds shifted. The Fates stirred.

I leaned forward on my throne, one hand pressed over my mouth, the other clenched to the armrest.

"Please," I whispered into the silence of your kingdom."Don't let it be the same."

Because I knew the myth. I knew what the world expected. I knew what the threads of fate often demanded.

And though I am Dream of the Endless…Could I even rewrite what had not yet been woven? And what is meant to be?

I might be Dream of the Endless.

I am outside fate's hands, but that does not mean my son is the same.

He is a fair game. He is the son of a Greek God, Apollo, as much as he is my son. Just being the son of a Greek God just puts him in the hands of the fates.

For better or worse, I will be by his side until he does not need me or wants me by his side.