I woke up screaming.
Not the kind of startled, groggy wake-up where you jolt upright in bed, disoriented and confused. No. This was bone-deep terror, the kind that clawed at my throat and made my heart slam against my ribs. My hands curled into my sheets, breath heaving, eyes burning.
Because I remembered.
I remembered everything.
My name is Phaedra Jackson, and I shouldn't exist.
I was born into this world as the daughter of Hades and Sally Jackson, and worse, I had memories of another life—another world. A world where Percy Jackson was the main character of a book series, where the gods were real, where monsters hunted demigods, and where I… I wasn't supposed to be here.
In my past life, I had read these books, obsessed over them, debated plot twists, and wondered what I would do if I were a demigod. And now? Now I had the answer.
I sat up in my crib, my tiny hands clutching the blankets. Right. I was still a baby. That part was frustrating, but I had something most demigods never got: time.
My mother, Sally Jackson, was fast asleep on the bed across the tiny apartment. She looked so young, her face free of the stress lines that I knew would come. The weight of raising not one but two demigod children alone, of working herself to the bone to keep us safe.
And then there was me.
I already knew I wasn't normal.
My eyes—one dark like the depths of Tartarus, the other a soft, oceanic blue—gave it away. My hair was a wild mane of black curls, untamed and a constant reminder of my father's bloodline. But more than that, I could feel the Underworld in my veins. The shadows in the room whispered to me, drawn to my presence.
I reached out, and the darkness beneath my crib stirred like a living thing, responding to my call. I wasn't even a year old, and I could already manipulate shadows.
Good.
Because I wasn't going to be caught off guard. Not in this life.
I knew what was coming—monsters, gods, betrayal, war. But this time, I had an advantage. I was prepared.
And the first step?
Find my father.
Contacting Hades
The problem with being a literal infant was that I couldn't exactly walk into the Underworld and demand a meeting with my father. But I knew Hades—really knew him. He wasn't the heartless, power-hungry villain mortals made him out to be. He cared about his kids, even if he was distant.
And I? I was going to make sure he noticed me.
For weeks, I experimented with my powers. When Sally was asleep, I'd test my control over shadows, willing them to stretch and move. I called out to the dead, though most ignored me, sensing my lack of power. I even tried sending out a silent plea, focusing on my godly blood and reaching for the connection I knew existed between parent and child.
Then, one night, it worked.
A chill settled over the room, unnatural for summer. The air grew heavier, pressing against my tiny lungs, and the shadows darkened.
And then—he was there.
Hades stood in the corner of the room, dressed in black, his presence commanding. He looked exactly as I had imagined—tall, regal, with dark eyes that held eons of power. But there was something else in his gaze as he looked at me.
Shock.
Recognition.
His eyes flickered over my face—my hair, my mismatched eyes—before his lips pressed into a firm line. "You are my daughter."
I exhaled, tension draining from my tiny body. He knew.
"Yeah," I murmured, voice barely a whisper. "I am."
For a long moment, he just stared, as if assessing me. Then, with a slow movement, he stepped forward and knelt beside my crib.
"You are powerful," he observed, his voice like rumbling earth. "And you are… aware."
He knew. Somehow, he knew.
I met his gaze without fear. "I want to learn."
A slow smirk pulled at the corners of his mouth. "So be it."
Learning the Ways of the Underworld
After that night, Hades didn't abandon me.
Oh, he couldn't exactly take me to the Underworld without causing problems with the Fates, but he watched. He sent me signs, lessons hidden in the dark, dreams where he whispered knowledge into my mind.
He told me about my abilities, about shadow travel and necromancy, about how I could summon spirits, control the dead, and walk through the world unseen. He explained that my connection to the Underworld made me immune to certain magic, resistant to charms and illusions.
But he also warned me.
"You are strong, Phaedra," he told me once in a dream. "But strength invites fear. The world will not be kind to a child of Hades."
I already knew that.
And I was ready for it.
Percy's Birth
When I was three months old, my mother got pregnant again.
With Percy.
I watched, growing stronger, as she carried him. I saw how she protected him, how she already loved him more than anything. And when he was born, screaming and thrashing with all the defiance of Poseidon's son, I knew one thing:
I would protect him.
I wouldn't let him stumble through life blind to the dangers like in the books. I wouldn't let him be thrown into the deep end alone. I would be there.
For my mother.
For my brother.
For myself.
The gods, the monsters, the prophecy—I knew it all. But this time? I wasn't just going to survive.
I was going to win.