Percy Jackson: An Endless of Dreams (BL)

If my long search for Orpheus yielded no results—if even Nimbus's divine senses were growing dull in the chase—then perhaps… the answer lay outside Olympus entirely. Outside my powers. Outside the Potter's. 

There was one source that I had left unused the entire time. Like an idiot, of course. 

A hidden world full of secrets, lineages, and magic. Hidden not just from mortals, but from the gods themselves.

Hecate. And her pet magic project, which my descendants are a part of.

Yes, the goddess of crossroads and magic. Long ago, she cloaked certain mortals in her veil of mist—gifting them with a fragment of her power. Given them a magical core to do mystical feats. She hid these witches, wizards, and magical beasts from divine perception. Not even Zeus dared to peer too deeply into her domain. Even so, he wouldn't know it was there in the first place.

This act birthed the hidden world of mystics and magical creatures. Witches and wizards flourished in secret enclaves, building up their communities. Some grew mighty. Some became monsters, as they dived deep into the dark arts. And yet none of them were truly seen by the pantheons. 

Except for one family, the gods tolerated and knew that had magic outside, Hecate's demigods. The Potters. Old magic. Descendants of Dream of the Endless and Apollo. Bloodline-bound. Even then, most gods paid them no mind—save for Apollo, who occasionally visited Naxos to see Orpheus Immortal's head when he was on the island. He did so because he was his son and an immortal son at that.

And then it hit me. Like a fool, I had overlooked the obvious. I could've asked for help from a magical mortal that was not tied to Olympus, the Potter family directly, or me. Someone who existed in the gap between worlds, between the magical and the mundane. As in the shadow cast by Hecate's mist.

My judgement had been clouded—blinded by desperation, by grief.

You know what they say: think clearly before acting. I had not. I have only myself to blame for that.

Which brings me to this moment. While my search with Nimbus in Paris, France, 1798.

The scent of brimstone and revolution still lingered in the air when I came upon her: Lady Johanna Constantine, an English noblewoman turned witch-for-hire. Born to Muggle parents, and later discovered to be a witch when she reached the age of 11. Trained and schooled at Hogwarts. Former housemate and lifelong friend of Apollion Potter, the current Lord of the Potter family, and his wife. She was also the Godmother to Orpheus Hardwin Potter, her friend's firstborn child.

She was staying at a quiet, high-end inn tucked in the hills outside Bordeaux. I sent Nimbus back to the Dreaming—this was a task for shadows and conversation.

Her room was sparse, flickering with candlelight. She sat at a writing desk, penning words into a battered leather journal:

"There is no one to whom I may entrust my story. Perhaps it is unwise to keep a journal. A confession to what my enemies would deem my... sins. But if I do not write it, it will be written for me by those who would burn me at the stake for—"

A sudden gust of wind swept through the room as I stepped through the shadows of the night because I am Batman. That was an inner joke, so laugh. 

She froze. Wand drawn, pointed in my direction. I wanted her to know I was there, so I tripped up her wards.

"Who's there?" she demanded.

"You are Lady Johanna Constantine, are you not?" I asked, voice calm as the night.

"Not one step further, sir."

"But we are old friends, in a way," I replied. "Or rather—friends of friends. Very close friends of your closest allies in the waking world."

Her eyes narrowed. "The Potters?" She thought of them first due to the potter's looks can be compared to my appearance.

I smiled faintly. "Yes. And you are the godmother of their son—Orpheus Hardwin Potter."

She blinked. "I am."

Her grip on the wand loosened, but did not lower. "You're saying you're… Dream? The Dream? The one they mentioned in their stories? The stories they told me about how their family came to be?"

"I am."

She hesitated. She had believed some of the Potters' tales—especially the parts they didn't say aloud—but seeing me here, alive and unchanged after centuries, gave those tales truth.

"There's a task I need accomplished," I said.

She tilted her head. "A task beyond the King of Dreams?"

"A matter I… cannot involve myself in directly," I lied. "It is… a family affair. Something of great value has been taken from me. Someone."

"Is it dangerous?"

"Yes," I said without hesitation. "Very much so." Orpheus head can be dangerous if he sings.

Her eyes studied mine—calculating, wary, curious. "What are you offering me, then?"

"I will give you whatever it is in my power to give you."

"And where is this task sending me?"

"You're already here," I said, lips curling into a knowing smirk.

Her eyes widened slightly, then narrowed again in suspicion and wonder.