Percy Jackson: The Firstborn

After that fight, the corridor narrowed, then opened into a massive chamber that looked as if it had been carved by violence. Basalt columns rose like ribs, jagged and uneven, as if something enormous had tried to claw its way out. Chains ran across the ceiling like veins, stretching from pillar to pillar and vanishing into darkness where the eye couldn’t follow.

And in the center—four cages.

Not ordinary cages. These weren’t built and placed here. They were forged into the rock itself, like Tartarus had grown them. Each one was rune-branded, Titan-made, the symbols carved deep enough to look permanent.

The air around them felt heavier, sharper—like the seals didn’t just hold bodies, but held rules. Inside, shapes moved.

One eye opened in the dark, reflecting a dull glow.

Then came the sound of metal scraping stone as something massive shifted, slow and deliberate, as if it had all the time in the world.

Poseidon swallowed. "Those are... big."

Zeus’s expression sharpened, pride and focus tightening into something dangerous. "Cyclopes."

A voice rumbled from one of the cages, deep and rough like it hadn’t spoken in centuries.

"Gods..."

Another voice laughed—dry and bitter, full of dust and old anger. "Or snacks."

Poseidon raised his eyebrow. "I don’t like the way it said that."

Hades stepped forward without rushing, calm in a way that made

Poseidon even more nervous. "We’re not here to fight you."

A third Cyclops leaned closer to the bars, its single eye narrowing like a blade. "Then why are you here?"

Zeus lifted his chin, as if the answer should’ve been obvious. "To free you."

Silence followed

Then, a simple question that carried centuries inside it."Why?"

Zeus paused—just long enough for Damon to notice. It was rare to see Zeus hesitate, even for a breath.

Damon answered instead. "Because we need allies. And because Kronos thinks you’re useless."

He held the Cyclops’ gaze without blinking.

"We disagree."

The Cyclops stared at Damon for a long moment, as if weighing his words like metal in its hands. The chamber stayed still around them, listening.

Poseidon tightened his grip. "Are we sure this was—"

The first Cyclops cut him off, voice like stone grinding. "Yes."

Zeus stepped forward again, unwilling to lose control of the moment. "We need weapons."

The Cyclops laughed—one booming sound that shook dust from the ceiling, making the chains overhead rattle. "You don’t ask small things."

Hades replied evenly, "We freed you."

The Cyclops’ eye narrowed. "You did."

It leaned closer, and for a second Poseidon thought the bars would bend just from the weight of its presence. "So we pay debts the only way we know."

Poseidon’s brows lifted. "With weapons?"

"With weapons," the Cyclops confirmed, as if there was no other answer worth giving.

Everything went well for the brothers after that. They freed the cyclopes from their prisons, and in gratitude, the cyclopes joined them—and forged a weapon for each one.

For Zeus: a lightning bolt, but not just any lightning bolt. One that gave him total control over lightning itself, as if the sky obeyed the weapon before it obeyed the god.

Poseidon received a trident capable of calling storms and shaking the earth with earthquakes, a weapon that felt like the sea had been condensed into a single piece of metal.

Hades was given a helmet that made him invisible, quiet, and simple in appearance, yet dangerous in a way only the Underworld could understand.

And lastly, Damon received a long, single-edged sword.

Its blade and guard were white as snow, clean and cold-looking even in firelight. The handle was marked with black ornaments, and at the very end, a small black chain held a beautiful red jewel—red like blood, bright like a captured ember.

The sword was capable of cutting anything.

But Damon didn’t just stand there and accept it like a normal gift.

When the cyclopes started forging their weapon, the metal fought them. he asked to take part, as he wanted to understand how forging was done. The cyclopes agreed. One of the cyclopes cursed under his breath. "This one’s stubborn."

Damon stepped closer, watching the blade misbehave for a moment before speaking. "Let me help." Damon used his power to shape the blade, transferring his strength to it, and, unconsciously, this formed the principles of the domain of creation that Damon would one day possess.

The Cyclopes watched in amazement; they hadn’t expected him to have that ability, but it was certainly welcome: "Your weapon will become stronger and more in tune with you."

The Cyclopes returned to hammering the blade into form; in the end, the sword took on something the Cyclopes did not recognize. But everyone realized that this weapon was incredibly powerful; merely seeing it absorb energy from existence gave them an idea of how powerful it would be if Damon learned to use it.

Unfortunately, this would take some time for Damon because there was no one in the world capable of teaching him how to wield it—or at least that’s what the Cyclopes and Damon thought.

"I must say, Silent God, that this weapon is perhaps one of our best creations. It was a pleasure to work on it together." Damon nodded, looking at the blade and how beautiful it was.

"Thank you for teaching me the principles of forging. I am forever grateful to you. With your help, we are one step closer to winning this war."

The Cyclopes showed respect toward Damon and assured him that with a good purpose and strength, they had no problem following him and helping him forge whatever he might need in the future.

The brothers were surprised to see their brother essentially winning the loyalty of the Cyclopes, something that pleased Hades and Poseidon but not Zeus. Zeus was about to say something but was interrupted by Hades.

Damon blinked once, then gave a small nod, trying not to look too pleased. "I have a name, you know," he said. "Damon works."

And with a handshake, Damon smiled. "Keep the respect," he said, glancing at the blade, then back at them. "And I’ll remember the help."

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