, too bright that it was almost painful to look at. The curved surface of clean-cut stone glowed white above him, forming an archway. Under his feet, slick and glossy tiles padded the flooring, the same whiteness as the walls. The endless expanse of color, or lack of color you could say, reminded Nico of Will's shining teeth whenever he grinned at one of his cheesy puns. Light emanated from each stone, probably marble from the looks of it, engulfing him in more illumination than Nico had experienced in a lifetime.

Was he dead?

A sense of logic told him no. If he truly was dead, he would be in a much darker place than this. He'd be in the Underworld, and his whereabouts was definitely not part of his father's territory. Instead, he determined he was likely in a coma, and this was just a dream. After all, he couldn't even control his own movements, which was common in many of his nightmares.

His feet shuffled forward without his permission. One step after another, alternating each foot as he continued on. Nico noticed how peculiar it was that he was wearing socks, no shoes. It was difficult to keep track of time. Since he had assumed his comatose state, he wondered how many hours had passed. Or had it been days already?

He instantly stopped thinking about that when the paper appeared. Blank white sheets blended in well, hanging on the walls by what seemed like magic. There weren't any clips or thumbtacks to do the job, as far as Nico could tell. Through a slow process, though, the sheets of paper began to form images. Images he was almost too familiar with.

His childhood appeared right before his eyes. Bianca was smiling down at him, her toned olive skin and green cap matched perfectly to the version of her he remembered. His mother was there too, her mouth wide open to either laugh with him or chide him lovingly in rapid Italian, Nico could never tell. Nico attempted to reach a hand out to touch the walls with fondness, but his dream didn't allow him. So he walked past picture after picture of moments he now vividly recalled like they happened yesterday. The images seemed to shimmer in waves simultaneously although there was no wind, but it released the kind of shininess one might associate with fakeness and dreaminess.

On the contrary, it was strange to see them here because back then his family couldn't afford a camera to snap these happy times. Nico supposed this symbolized how impermanent such a pleasant experience his childhood would be.

Since it was clear the images faded into color in chronological order, Nico knew what was coming up. And surprisingly, he felt ready for what was about to come. At least this was the first dream in a long time he had without the trepidation and terrors of a nightmare mixed in. He had nothing to dread.

In front of him, Nico watched as one blank sheet constructed a boy with raven-black hair and sea-green eyes. Young Percy Jackson, his former crush. In this made-up photograph, Percy was about fourteen years old, sword in hand, fighting a manticore. It was the first day they had met, at Westover Hall, Percy having been sent to recruit both Nico and Bianca to Camp-Half Blood, but running into a bit of a scuffle. In that moment, Nico had stared in awe at his heroism.

But he had been childish, and those feelings of infatuation morphed into bitterness after Bianca's death. Nico had wrongly blamed Percy for something Bianca had chosen to do herself. Oh his stubborn, brave sister. What he would trade anything for to have back in his life.

Too concentrated on the pictures beside him, Nico failed to notice the dimming brightness earlier. With alarmed apprehension he watched as the spread of white sheets failed to continue across the walls. There were no more sweet, nostalgic memories to visualize. The white walls were now rapidly crumbling to gray ash, and the smooth tiles cracking to a point of no repair. He strained and screamed, anything to snap his own body's posessment, anything to just turn around and look at hope straight in the face, one more time. Nothing worked.

Nico was wrong. This wasn't a dream, it was a nightmare. He had slept through nightmares of murderous monsters, his loved ones' deaths, oozing blood wounds, and countless other catastrophes, but this one was his worst one yet. All because his demons gave him a dose of happiness first, making it the most painful to tear away from.

All of the sudden, the arched ceiling above him collapsed without warning, narrowly missing Nico's head. The scintillating pathway behind him: gone. The once endless flow of light from the tunnel was completely cut off. He lost every happy photograph he never got to take in his life.

Finally, his feet stood still, settling into the rocky ground. He could feel wave after wave of darkness seeping through his socks, drowning him in his own fears. But he wasn't sure if the darkness was acting like a stormy sea, or a snarl of prickly vines. Drowning or entanglement aside, Nico knew the purpose was to trap him, just like his old deoxygenated jar in Tartarus.

A giant figure of bronze came before him. It would have been a magnificent statue if it hadn't been moving. But Nico easily identified it as an automaton he didn't know, yet knew too well.

Talos, the true killer of Bianca.

As if by perfect timing, his sister rushed towards the automaton, her expression fierce and determined, not noticing Nico watching with absolute horror.

This nightmare had only just begun. And Stage One: reliving Bianca's death.