Chapter 97 - Theater of Destiny

In a vast ethereal space, located outside of time and space as we know it. Its structure does not follow the laws of physics; it floats, transforms, and extends infinitely, a place where the order of the universe is woven and undone with each passing moment.

Here, reality is shaped by the hands of fate, which control the invisible threads connecting the destiny of all beings, gods or mortals.

The environment is vast, an enormous hall, infinite in its proportions, with the sensation that the ceiling and floor stretch far beyond the reach of sight.

The hall has no walls in the conventional sense, but is formed by enormous translucent pillars extending into the void.

They are sculpted from an unknown material, appearing both solid and ethereal at the same time. Their soft glow, a mixture of silver and gold, reflects the light emanating from all corners of the place, illuminating the space in a way that seems to have no origin, as if the light were in the very air.

At the center of the hall, a gigantic Wheel of Fortune spins slowly, but its rotation is almost imperceptible. It is composed of infinite threads extending in all directions, each of these threads being the line of a life, a destiny. The wheel is made of a material that appears to be gold, but upon closer inspection, it seems to be composed of millions of sparkling particles, dancing in the rotation. The wheels of fortune are in constant motion, but never in a chaotic manner; the rotation is always aligned with the balance of the universe.

Around the wheel, golden and silver threads extend in all directions. They are thin as silk threads, but of an incomprehensible strength. These threads intertwine, bifurcate, bend, and connect at specific points, forming complex patterns that represent the interweaving of all lives.

Each thread is a story, each curve and plot is a choice made by those who follow it.

Some threads are small, almost invisible, representing the lives of ordinary individuals, while others are enormous, complex, and intricate, representing the lineages of gods, heroes, and important figures.

Around this scene, there is a sense of weight and pressure.

The air feels charged with energy.

The tension between the freedom of fate and the control of its weavers is palpable. But despite the oppression of this energy, there is a dark beauty in the place. The walls of pillars are covered by a shimmering mist, a soft and spectral glow that illuminates the environment with ethereal tones. The sound that fills the hall is low but constant: the soft hum of the Wheel of Fortune turning, the rustling of threads being pulled and braided.

At the far ends of the hall, where the light from the Wheel does not reach, there are areas of complete darkness, as if the very space were paused. These dark points represent the end, where the destiny of all things finishes, but also where the unknown hides. These areas are avoided by the sisters, as they know that within them resides the uncertainty of the future, the part of destiny they cannot control — final death.

The floor, invisible at first glance, seems to be made of something that could be described as a liquid surface, but solid to the touch, as if the very space were suspended in a limbo between reality and abstraction. There is a slight ripple on the ground, a softness that resembles the surface of water, but without the weight of gravity.

The Three Fates move through the hall with a supernatural grace, their garments floating gently, never touching the ground. Their gestures are precise and full of purpose, each movement tracing a line in the fabric of fate. While they work, they not only observe but interact with the threads around them, their delicate and agile hands manipulating and adjusting each thread with the precision of an experienced weaver. Each gesture has infinite implications in the universe, and the sisters know this.

In a distant corner, almost imperceptible to the eyes, there is a small table made of dark, almost black wood, covered with various precision instruments. Scissors, needles, threads, and fine tools are arranged there, ready to be used at any moment. These instruments are the weapons with which they cut the threads of destiny, shaping paths and closing the stories of lives.

Clotho, the youngest of the Three Fates, sat beside the wheel, her small and agile hands manipulating the golden fibers with an innate skill. With each turn of the wheel, new threads were created, and she wove them with precision and purpose. She was aware of every life that was born, of every destiny that formed, but the thread of Ikki remained an anomaly in her perfect fabric.

"Why doesn't he follow the flow?" murmured Clotho, frowning as she stretched Ikki's thread in her hands.

"He never followed," replied Lachesis, who floated near Clotho, her fingers touching other threads, measuring and defining the length of each life. The pleasure on her face was evident, a playful smile curving her lips as she manipulated the destinies with a blend of whimsy and skill.

Atropos, the eldest and sternest of the three, remained in the shadows, silently observing. In her hands, the red-bladed scissors were ready to cut any thread that reached the end of its journey. Her expression was severe, concentration evident in her eyes as she contemplated the threads moving toward her. When Lachesis spoke, she raised her gaze, furrowing her brow.

"What did you see now?" asked Atropos, her deep voice resonating through the hall.

Lachesis floated to a specific set of threads, which emanated a distinct silvery light. In the center of the tangle, a thread pulsed with an unsettling energy, almost alive. "This thread," she said, touching it lightly. "It belongs to Ikki."

The mention of the name caused Clotho and Atropos to stop what they were doing.

Lachesis looked at the two as she touched the thread, a shiver running down her spine as she felt the vibration of the thread under her fingers. "He shouldn't exist. We did everything to ensure his life followed a predetermined path. But it didn't. We placed Percy Jackson in his path for him to make friends, we ensured that monsters wouldn't be attracted to him to avoid early attention, we did everything for him to help the chosen one, but he turned out to be too bright a star. We were careful to shape his life to prevent that future..."

"To prevent him from turning against Olympus. We used Luke and Cronos to eliminate his mother, believing that would steer him away from any revolt against Olympus. But... there is still a possibility that future will come to pass..."

Atropos stepped closer, her severe expression softening into something that seemed like... fear? She rarely felt such an emotion, but in front of that thread, she couldn't ignore the chill crawling up her neck. "He resists? No one resists fate."

Lachesis nodded, her gaze fixed on Ikki's thread. "But he does. He challenges everything we know. It seems no matter what we do, that future is inevitable."

Clotho approached cautiously, her turquoise eyes studying the thread with interest. "What do we do then? Cut it?"

Atropos raised the scissors, her hands trembling slightly. But as she tried to move forward, an invisible force stopped her. Something emanated from Ikki's thread, a presence so overwhelming that even someone as powerful as her hesitated. "I already told us to cut the thread when he was born. But I don't think we would have succeeded back then..."

"I don't think so either," admitted Lachesis, her usual confidence shaken. "It's as if he is... unreachable."

Clotho studied the thread with a worried expression, she looked at one that was intertwined with it, drawing the attention of her sisters.

The two threads were intertwined, glowing with a cold and distant light. The sisters watched with a clinical interest, but there was a tension in the air that could not be ignored.

Clotho, with her delicate fingers, touched Ikki's thread, the glow in her eyes reflecting a disturbing calm. "Not enough to make him join Percy as his best friend, we gave everything to him, every relationship he has was our work... And the cruelest of all, you realize what we did, don't you? We are not just connecting these threads because that would be part of the natural course. No... We did this to keep him under control. To prevent him from following the path that could destroy everything around us."

Lachesis, with her intense eyes, leaned a little closer, her gaze fixed on Ikki's destiny. She felt the weight of her words but also knew the inevitability of their actions: "He was a risk, a risk we couldn't allow. Ikki has the strength to rebel, to turn against Olympus and its gods. If he were free to follow his own destiny, he could topple everything we have built. And we know he has the power to do that..."

Atropos watched the threads with a gaze that seemed to cut through the air. Her voice, deep and relentless, was like an echo of an inescapable fate: "Olympus needs control. He is a pawn that has become too strong to be left to his own choices. We know what he can do, we know what he can cause if he's free. He must never know that he has this freedom. His love for Artemis, that unbreakable flame he feels for her... we turned it into a prison. He can never have it. He will never be reciprocated in the way he desires."

Clotho smiled, but there was a coldness in her smile that reflected a dark pleasure. "It was necessary. He was a threat. He will never be able to conquer Artemis, and that pain will be his burden. But it is this burden that will keep him bound. He will never be free again. We will always lead him away from what could have been his true destiny, what he desires."

Lachesis shook her head, as if remembering something. "He has always been more than we expected, stronger than I imagined. But now, with his destiny intertwined with Artemis like this, he will never escape. We have bound him in a subtle, yet irrevocable way. He cannot see, but we are controlling everything."

Atropos placed a hand on her chest and felt a quiet satisfaction. "His fate now belongs to us. He will be bound to Olympus, to its rules, and to its lies. He can never challenge what is imposed on him. He will never reach the power his soul craves, the power his strength could conquer."

Clotho looked at the intertwined thread, her eyes shining with a distant light. "It's cruel, but necessary. He will never have what he wants, never have the love that burns within him so intensely. This will keep him weak, and weak he will always be. In his pain, he will be our pawn. And, even if he doesn't know it, he will be manipulated by us. He will do exactly what we want, without ever questioning."

Atropos smiled with an expression that was cold, almost disdainful: "Every step, every choice, every decision will only be a part of our greater plot. He will think he is doing what he desires, that he is living his destiny, but the truth is he was never free. There is no space for freedom when we control someone's destiny."

"We've been controlling this boy for a long time, we brought him back to the Camp Half-Blood," she said, spinning the thread between her fingers, enjoying its path. "Now, the next chapter of his story is about to begin. What do you think? He has already done so much for this goddess, and everything he has done so far was exactly what we wrote. It will be fun to see how far he goes for her."

Atropos, the darkest of the three, made a grimace, her eyes reflecting the coldness of the shadows that dwelled within her being: "He may be an anomaly, but he is not out of our control. We can't cut his thread, but we can do that with the threads we've slowly intertwined with his. We can use them to turn him into this pawn..."

The three exchanged knowing glances, and Clotho continued, her voice laden with amusement. "The next chapter, girls, will be interesting..."