[ Sharing memories is already something Nico does, part of his power that he's been working on to control. Yet this time of year has him more absent-minded than usual. Sanctuary is a place he spends a lot of time in, and he gets around with helping out in various ways. Touching plenty of items, including those wreaths.
As for what Viktor is seeing...
It's Nico not much younger than he is now, but in much worse shape, standing beside an older teen - they look like complete opposites - one dark and the other bright. It doesn't look like Nico has eaten or slept in far too long and a weight heavier than he felt capable of carrying rested upon his shoulders. Nico's companion looks like he's taken the brunt of the physical hits so far, rolling away from an invisible attack that collapses a wall.
“Stop it!” Nico yelled. “It’s me you want. Leave him alone!”
Poor Nico di Angelo. The god’s disembodied voice was tinged with disappointment. Do you know what you want, much less what I want? My beloved Psyche risked everything in the name of Love. It was the only way to atone for her lack of faith. And you—what have you risked in my name?
"I’ve been to Tartarus and back,” Nico snarled. “You don’t scare me."
I scare you very, very much. Face me. Be honest.
The blond teen pulled himself to his feet even as the grass at Nico's died and earth shifted, stones split, as if something was moving underground trying to break out.
"Give us Diocletian’s scepter,” Nico said. “We don’t have time for games."
Games? An invisible force struck, slapping Nico sideways into a granite pedestal. Love is no game! It is no flowery softness! It is hard work—a quest that never ends. It demands everything from you—especially the truth. Only then does it yield rewards.
The blond picked up his wayward golden sword. "Nico," he called, "what does this guy want from you?"
Tell him, Nico di Angelo, the voice said. Tell him you are a coward, afraid of yourself and your feelings. Tell him the real reason you ran from Camp Half-Blood, and why you are always alone.
Nico let loose a guttural scream. The ground at his feet split open and skeletons crawled forth—dead Romans with missing hands and caved-in skulls, cracked ribs, and jaws unhinged. Some were dressed in the remnants of togas. Others had glinting pieces of armor hanging off their chests.
Will you hide among the dead, as you always do? The voice taunted.
Waves of darkness rolled off the son of Hades. They struck the blond who wavered on his feet, almost consumed by what he was seeing and feeling in that pitch-black pool, nearly knocked unconscious by the force of Nico's emotions and memories.
Images flashed through his mind. He saw Nico and his sister on a snowy cliff in Maine, Percy Jackson protecting them from a manticore. Percy’s sword gleamed in the dark. He’d been the first demigod Nico had ever seen in action.
Later, at Camp Half-Blood, Percy took Nico by the arm, promising to keep his sister Bianca safe. Nico believed him. Nico looked into his sea-green eyes and thought, How can he possibly fail? This is a real hero. He was Nico’s favorite game, Mythomagic, brought to life.
There is the moment visible when Percy returned and told Nico that Bianca was dead. Nico had screamed and called him a liar. He’d felt betrayed, but still…when the skeleton warriors attacked, he couldn’t let them harm Percy. Nico had called on the earth to swallow them up, and then he’d run away—terrified of his own powers, and his own emotions.
Meanwhile, Nico’s Roman skeletons surged forward and grappled with something invisible. The being struggled, flinging the dead aside, breaking off ribs and skulls, but the skeletons kept coming, pinning the being's arms.
Interesting! The voice said. Do you have the strength, after all?
"I left Camp Half-Blood because of love," Nico said. "Annabeth…she—"
Still hiding, The voice said, smashing another skeleton to pieces. You do not have the strength.
“Nico,” Jason managed to say, “it’s okay. I get it. ”
Nico glanced over, pain and misery washing across his face.
“No, you don’t,” he said. "There’s no way you can understand."
And so you run away again, The god chided, for that is surely who that is - a god. From your friends, from yourself.
“I don’t have friends!” Nico yelled. “I left Camp Half-Blood because I don’t belong! I’ll never belong!”
The skeletons had the god pinned now, but he laughed so cruelly at Nico's words. From here, it's easy to see that the blond teen wanted to punch the invisible figure or something much worse.
“Leave him alone, Cupid,” Jason croaked. “This isn’t…”
It's clear that the blond is struggling to find the right words to say, silence hanging in the air for a moment.
Nico’s voice was like broken glass. “I—I wasn’t in love with Annabeth.”
“You were jealous of her,” Jason said. “That’s why you didn’t want to be around her. Especially why you didn’t want to be around…him. It makes total sense.”
All the fight and denial seemed to go out of Nico at once. The darkness subsided. The Roman dead collapsed into bones and crumbled to dust.
The god became visible—a lean, muscular young man with snowy white wings, straight black hair, a simple white frock and jeans. The bow and quiver slung over his shoulder were no toys—they were weapons of war. His eyes were as red as blood, as if every Valentine in the world had been squeezed dry, distilled into one poisonous mixture. His face was handsome, but also harsh—as difficult to look at as a spotlight. He watched Nico with satisfaction, as if he’d identified the exact spot for his next arrow to make a clean kill.
“I had a crush on Percy,” Nico spat. “That’s the truth. That’s the big secret. ”
He glared at Cupid. “Happy now?”
For the first time, Cupid’s gaze seemed sympathetic. “Oh, I wouldn’t say Love always makes you happy.” His voice sounded smaller, much more human. “Sometimes it makes you incredibly sad. But at least you’ve faced it now. That’s the only way to conquer me.”
The god dissolved into the wind.
All of this isn't getting the weight off his chest, it doesn't ease up any of Nico's feelings or make him feel like he just mounted an insurmountable hill. It only left him feeling vulnerable and as though salt had been rubbed into a wound that had only festered openly for so long. Like the skeletons that had been unearthed, that was what had been done to Nico. ]
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As for what Viktor is seeing...
It's Nico not much younger than he is now, but in much worse shape, standing beside an older teen - they look like complete opposites - one dark and the other bright. It doesn't look like Nico has eaten or slept in far too long and a weight heavier than he felt capable of carrying rested upon his shoulders. Nico's companion looks like he's taken the brunt of the physical hits so far, rolling away from an invisible attack that collapses a wall.
“Stop it!” Nico yelled. “It’s me you want. Leave him alone!”
Poor Nico di Angelo. The god’s disembodied voice was tinged with disappointment. Do you know what you want, much less what I want? My beloved Psyche risked everything in the name of Love. It was the only way to atone for her lack of faith. And you—what have you risked in my name?
"I’ve been to Tartarus and back,” Nico snarled. “You don’t scare me."
I scare you very, very much. Face me. Be honest.
The blond teen pulled himself to his feet even as the grass at Nico's died and earth shifted, stones split, as if something was moving underground trying to break out.
"Give us Diocletian’s scepter,” Nico said. “We don’t have time for games."
Games? An invisible force struck, slapping Nico sideways into a granite pedestal. Love is no game! It is no flowery softness! It is hard work—a quest that never ends. It demands everything from you—especially the truth. Only then does it yield rewards.
The blond picked up his wayward golden sword. "Nico," he called, "what does this guy want from you?"
Tell him, Nico di Angelo, the voice said. Tell him you are a coward, afraid of yourself and your feelings. Tell him the real reason you ran from Camp Half-Blood, and why you are always alone.
Nico let loose a guttural scream. The ground at his feet split open and skeletons crawled forth—dead Romans with missing hands and caved-in skulls, cracked ribs, and jaws unhinged. Some were dressed in the remnants of togas. Others had glinting pieces of armor hanging off their chests.
Will you hide among the dead, as you always do? The voice taunted.
Waves of darkness rolled off the son of Hades. They struck the blond who wavered on his feet, almost consumed by what he was seeing and feeling in that pitch-black pool, nearly knocked unconscious by the force of Nico's emotions and memories.
Images flashed through his mind. He saw Nico and his sister on a snowy cliff in Maine, Percy Jackson protecting them from a manticore. Percy’s sword gleamed in the dark. He’d been the first demigod Nico had ever seen in action.
Later, at Camp Half-Blood, Percy took Nico by the arm, promising to keep his sister Bianca safe. Nico believed him. Nico looked into his sea-green eyes and thought, How can he possibly fail? This is a real hero. He was Nico’s favorite game, Mythomagic, brought to life.
There is the moment visible when Percy returned and told Nico that Bianca was dead. Nico had screamed and called him a liar. He’d felt betrayed, but still…when the skeleton warriors attacked, he couldn’t let them harm Percy. Nico had called on the earth to swallow them up, and then he’d run away—terrified of his own powers, and his own emotions.
Meanwhile, Nico’s Roman skeletons surged forward and grappled with something invisible. The being struggled, flinging the dead aside, breaking off ribs and skulls, but the skeletons kept coming, pinning the being's arms.
Interesting! The voice said. Do you have the strength, after all?
"I left Camp Half-Blood because of love," Nico said. "Annabeth…she—"
Still hiding, The voice said, smashing another skeleton to pieces. You do not have the strength.
“Nico,” Jason managed to say, “it’s okay. I get it. ”
Nico glanced over, pain and misery washing across his face.
“No, you don’t,” he said. "There’s no way you can understand."
And so you run away again, The god chided, for that is surely who that is - a god. From your friends, from yourself.
“I don’t have friends!” Nico yelled. “I left Camp Half-Blood because I don’t belong! I’ll never belong!”
The skeletons had the god pinned now, but he laughed so cruelly at Nico's words. From here, it's easy to see that the blond teen wanted to punch the invisible figure or something much worse.
“Leave him alone, Cupid,” Jason croaked. “This isn’t…”
It's clear that the blond is struggling to find the right words to say, silence hanging in the air for a moment.
Nico’s voice was like broken glass. “I—I wasn’t in love with Annabeth.”
“You were jealous of her,” Jason said. “That’s why you didn’t want to be around her. Especially why you didn’t want to be around…him. It makes total sense.”
All the fight and denial seemed to go out of Nico at once. The darkness subsided. The Roman dead collapsed into bones and crumbled to dust.
“I hated myself,” Nico said. “I hated Percy Jackson.”
The god became visible—a lean, muscular young man with snowy white wings, straight black hair, a simple white frock and jeans. The bow and quiver slung over his shoulder were no toys—they were weapons of war. His eyes were as red as blood, as if every Valentine in the world had been squeezed dry, distilled into one poisonous mixture. His face was handsome, but also harsh—as difficult to look at as a spotlight. He watched Nico with satisfaction, as if he’d identified the exact spot for his next arrow to make a clean kill.
“I had a crush on Percy,” Nico spat. “That’s the truth. That’s the big secret. ”
He glared at Cupid. “Happy now?”
For the first time, Cupid’s gaze seemed sympathetic. “Oh, I wouldn’t say Love always makes you happy.” His voice sounded smaller, much more human. “Sometimes it makes you incredibly sad. But at least you’ve faced it now. That’s the only way to conquer me.”
The god dissolved into the wind.
All of this isn't getting the weight off his chest, it doesn't ease up any of Nico's feelings or make him feel like he just mounted an insurmountable hill. It only left him feeling vulnerable and as though salt had been rubbed into a wound that had only festered openly for so long. Like the skeletons that had been unearthed, that was what had been done to Nico. ]