Percy Jackson: An Endless of All

After the creation of Nimbus. Nimbus and I went off to Naxos to visit Orpheus's temple for a quick stop before our quest starts.

The island air shimmered with warmth, thick with the scent of fig trees and ocean wind. As Nimbus and I arrived at the sacred temple built to hold, care, and protect my son. As so, time itself seemed to hush. The sea lapped gently at the cliffs, and the white stone of the temple stood tall and serene, cradling the mourning and love of centuries.

Nimbus sniffed the air immediately, his wings fluttering and his tail wagging, eyes alight.

"Woof—he's been here."

"Of course he has, this is his home and resting place," I said to the silly dog.

" I can smell recent echoes, too. Emotional ones. Strong... but not fearful. Full of longing."

I nodded slowly. "Must be feeling his longing to reunite with Eurydice and his child Eirenious. That boy knows how to love deeply to the point it hurts."

Before we could enter the temple to get a better scent, a young voice called out:

"Excuse me… is that a flying dog?"

We turned.

There he was—Orpheus Hardwin Potter the II. Thirteen-year-old, bright-eyed, curious, and entirely unaware of the full weight of the name he carried. He had a head of messy dark, messy, curls that stuck up everywhere like a typical Potter. His sun-kissed skin and a small pendant of Apollo's lyre around his neck.

Nimbus trotted toward him proudly. "Woof! I am not just a flying dog. I am Nimbus—dreamhound of Lord Dream himself, tracker of souls, lost people, and lost stories!"

The boy's eyes went wide, jaw dropping. "You… you can talk?!"

Nimbus tilted his head smugly. "Woof, obviously."

I chuckled softly, watching their interaction unfold like sunlight on still water.

"You're Lord Dream?" the boy asked, turning to me.

"I am, and we met the other day around midnight, when Orpheus's was stolen, and you must have been too tired and sleepy to remember me," I said with a faint nod and smile.

Orpheus went on to smile cheekily as he rubbed one of his hands through his hair. "Yeah, sorry, Lord Dream, it was past my bedtime when the alarms went ringing."

"That is to be expected. And you, young one, carry a great name," I said to him with a smile on my face. He reminds me of Orpheus when he was his age, but I can see the differences as well. They are not the one and the same, but their own individuals and persons.

The boy flushed shyly. "I like to read the poems they wrote about my many great-grandfathers, Orpheus. The songs. I think he must have been sad... but also really brave."

My gaze softened. "He was." Even the young ones in the family could tell.

I knelt a little so we were eye-level. "We're here to find him, actually, and figure out where he was taken to. His head has gone missing, and we're tracking it before something worse can happen."

The boy's expression became solemn. "He deserves to be at peace." He is smart for his age and sees through my blindness and selfishness. 

"He will be," I promised. "We came here to catch his scent. From here, Nimbus and I will journey across the waking world."

The boy stepped back and bowed slightly—half reverence, half childlike awe. "Good luck, Lord Grandfather Dream. And goodbye, Nimbus!"

Nimbus licked his cheek, and the boy laughed before running off to play with Leukos, the giant silver dire wolf who guarded the temple grounds and the Potter family. Their laughter echoed behind us like the fading notes of a lullaby.

Once inside the temple, Nimbus's nose led us straight to the altar—a place where Orpheus's presence still clung like silver fog. Nimbus sniffed the marble, the lyre etched into stone, the soft golden offerings left by his carers and his living descendants.

"Woof… got him," he said, wings flaring. "He was taken. But not violently. The trail is... sharp. Clean. Cold."

I closed my eyes, letting the Dreaming ripple beneath my skin.

"Then we go." With that, our journey begins towards Britain and beyond.

Nimbus and I followed the trail across the British countryside, through old abbeys and manor halls, weaving through dream-hazy fields and waking alleys. The scent grew fainter as we traveled, but never disappeared.

Eventually, we reached the cliffs of Dover.

Nimbus growled softly, wings twitching. "Woof… the trail crosses the channel."

"To the mainland of Europe," I murmured, already feeling the disturbance in the dreamscape.

"France," Nimbus barked. "Something violent brews there. Something loud."

I nodded. "The French Revolution is still underway." It will be a few years later till the revolution comes to an end. You could feel the presence of the God of War.

Dreams in France had become loud, broken, vivid with terror. The Dreaming rippled with the cries of men who feared death, women who longed for justice, and kings who begged in their sleep to remain immortal. Guillotines sang in the streets. Hope, fear, and blood boiled into the cobblestones.

"Woof," said Nimbus grimly. "We're headed straight into war."

"Then we move carefully," I replied, eyes narrowing as the wind shifted.

The trail led forward—into the heart of revolution, into a world where dreams were being rewritten in fire and steel.

And somewhere in that chaos… Orpheus's head was waiting. I can only hope it will be so easy to find his head among the many.