AN: It's been eight months, I've heard. Eight long months of me not updating. I'm really sorry about that, and I hope this rushed chapter makes up for it. Longer post at the end.

THE SWORD AND THE SHIELD

"What is your name?"

The voice was in Alex's head. He tried to blink but his eyes weren't there. He couldn't feel them, couldn't feel his face or the rest of his body. All around him was darkness. It was black and suffocating and Alex wanted to scream but his mouth was somewhere else. He began to cry but he remembered his absent eyes. He was deaf, blind, lame, and utterly alone.

Except for the voice.

The voice was familiar. He knew it was familiar because when he heard it he felt safe. Relieved, even. He knew that the voice was there to save him from the darkness and take him home, take him home to London and his friends and Jack Starbright, who would welcome him with a motherly smile and embrace him like…

Jack Starbright.

Jack Starbright was dead.

Alex's speech returned. "Ian," he said, giving a name to the mysterious voice. "Ian Rider. My…uncle."

"You didn't answer me. What is your name?"

"My name. My name is…"

What is my name? The thought came to him idly, as if he was wondering what he should get for lunch. But soon the question grew more urgent, like his life depended on him knowing. For all he knew, it did. His heart began to pound, and each harried beat brought his body to life and existence. Bones and muscles knit together, and he could move. But he was floating in that abysmal blackness and he could not see anything.

What is my name?

What is my bloody name?

WHAT IS MY NAME?

His heart stopped.

Text on an ID. Black letters on an annual. Words from his loved ones' lips. Whispers from his dying enemies. They all said the same thing.

"Alex," he gasped. "Alex Rider."

Memories hit him with astounding, almost physical force.

This time, he managed to scream.

"Focus," came the voice. "Focus, Alex. Breathe, breathe. You know your name."

Alex curled into a ball, wishing for the pain to go away. It seared into him like a scalpel dipped in molten lava, burning his essence and scorching his soul. Alex wept.

"What is your name?"

"I'm…" he said in between sobs. "I'm…I'm Alex Rider."

"Who are you?"

"I'm Alex Rider!" he roared, suddenly furious at his uncle's voice. "Didn't you hear me?"

"Who are you?"

"I'm…it hurts."

"I know it hurts."

"Make it stop."

"You know I can't."

"How do I make it stop?"

"Tell me who you are."

Alex's head hurt. He clutched his skull with both hands and pressed tightly. He grabbed his long blond hair and twisted, hoping that the pain would inspire an answer. Alex looked up, thinking perhaps Heaven would exist in the abyss and deign to grant him his desires. Suddenly, pictures of what seemed to be his past parachuted from the darkness, like falling stars in the night sky. They were full of light and color, and they were heartbreakingly wonderful. His sobs receding, he tried to grab them, but they floated away mischievously. He frowned and tried again, but every time they danced away like dandelions in the breeze.

"Some in the business would call these little things clues," Ian's voice said, this time with a hint of amusement.

Alex managed to grab one. It was nearly intangible, the edges light and silvery against his palm. It was a group photo, with him and several other boys in football gear posing ridiculously on a stretch of green. The goofy smiles on their faces meant that they'd just won a game. He recognized one of them as Tom Harris. Tom was making a duck face and sticking his rear end out comically. Tom, his best friend.

"I'm a boy from Chelsea, London," Alex whispered. The memory of that game returned to him, and the smile that grew on his face matched the one in the photo. "I love football and tennis. I am a black belt in karate. I enjoy scuba diving, abseiling, mountain climbing, rifle shooting and snowboarding. I go to Brookland Comprehensive School and Tom Harris is my best friend."

"You're getting closer. Who are you?"

Before Alex could snap at him, another picture floated into view. Alex snatched it out of the darkness, because the image was dear to him. It showed a woman who was now dead holding Alex to her side as they stood in front of a monument in Italy. Jack's smile nearly drove Alex to tears again.

"I am a boy from Chelsea, London who loved Jack Starbright, and in turn she loved me. She was the mother I never had. She cared for me and in the end she died for it. She taught me to stay true to myself. She will always be in my heart."

"Good, Alex. Very good. Who are you?"

The pictures were falling steadily now, filling the darkness with their marvelous light. As they fell, Alex felt reassured. Each one that dropped into view contributed to his being, solidifying who he was and always will be. One of them caught his eye.

"I am a boy from Chelsea, London with an uncle named Ian Rider." Sadness overwhelmed him for some odd reason. "Ian Rider taught me all I know. He taught me how to be a man. Ian Rider was killed by Yassen Gregorovich when I was fourteen. His death caused MI6 to recruit me. He is the reason I am what I am."

Ian's voice took on a measure of immense grief. "Who are you?"

Alex caught another picture. It was a large building with the name of Royal & General Bank on the front. It was square, austere, and plain. But Alex knew it was so much more than that.

"I am a boy from Chelsea, London who is also a spy. A man named Alan Blunt and a woman named Mrs. Jones took me under their wing and sent me all around the world. I have defeated madmen and toppled tyrants. I have saved the world from their evil many times." Another memory almost closed Alex's throat. "I am a murderer. I shot and killed Julius Grief, a boy who looked just like me. I watched as Abdul-Aziz Al-Rahim was crushed to death by a pile of salt."

"Who are you?"

The next picture was of a handsome man, tall and fair, standing by a beautiful woman in the city square. The woman, the most beautiful woman Alex had ever seen, was several months pregnant and happy for it. Alex knew who they were.

"I am a boy from Chelsea, London who is a son of John and Helen Rider. John was the greatest agent of the Secret Intelligence Service to have ever lived. He and his wife, my mother, were killed in a plane accident as revenge by a woman whose love was spurned. My godfather, Ash, helped engineer their murder."

"…Who are you?"

The picture this time was of a picturesque family standing on a hill overlooking the Golden Great Bridge. Alex stood awkwardly by them, the out-of-place blonde boy. Alex, although he'd seen this picture a thousand times, thought Sabina looked beautiful as ever.

"I am a boy from Chelsea, London who was adopted into the Pleasure family. I love them for what they have sacrificed for me, and I am in love with Sabina Pleasure. I will gladly die for them."

"Who are you?"

Alex instinctively grabbed for another picture, but any that came nearby passed through his fingers like mist. He clutched at them frantically, panic widening his eyes and sending his heart a flurry.

"Who are you?"

"Give me time!" Alex snapped. "I need more time!"

"Time is a luxury you cannot afford. Not when the fate of the world relies on you understanding your heritage. Think, Alex."

"I'm a boy from Chelsea, London!" Alex almost whined. It wasn't fair. It wasn't fair that his past should be so muddled in confusion or that he should be kept in the dark. He knew who he was, where he came from, what he was all about.

But yet…

There was something at the periphery of his mind that he knew was important but he couldn't seem to grasp. It was as insubstantial as the pictures floating around him. He almost cursed in frustration, but he realized that his uncle was there, and he wouldn't approve.

But his uncle was dead. Why was he worrying about misconduct around a bleeding, bloody corpse-!

Focus. Breathe, breathe.

"I…don't…know."

"Who are you?"

"I don't know. I need help."

And just like that Ian Rider was standing in front of him, hands in his pockets. His face, although incredibly sorrowful, bore a small smile. "Ah. Now you understand."

Alex unconsciously brushed his face. He felt dampness on his cheeks as he did so, and he frowned. He was still crying. "Why don't I know who I am?"

Ian shook his head. "You are all that you said you are, Alex. You are a boy from Chelsea, London. You are a spy. You are the son of John and Helen. But you are so much more than that. I am here to help push you into the realm of comprehension."

Alex scowled. "I've waited long enough."

Ian laughed. "You most certainly have." He gazed out into the darkness with a thoughtful expression on his face. "Walk with me, Alex."

Ian turned around and began to walk away. Alex stood from his kneeling position and followed him, relieved that he could use his legs. They walked in silence, and Alex took the time to try to figure out where he was. His memories were still falling, and the light they gave out revealed pockets of his surroundings. They were striding across a marble floor, and they seemed to be in a spacious hall. The ceiling was wide and vast, and great white pillars supported the structure. It looked grand, ancient, and very familiar.

"You recognize this place, don't you?" Ian said.

"We're in the British Museum, aren't we? You took me here when I was ten."

He remembered standing in awe at the beautiful portraits and sculptures and traversing the huge museum with utter amazement. It was a highlight of his life. His former life, when everything was understandable and the world was fair.

"The Duveen Gallery, to be specific. Among other things, it houses the Elgin Marbles, a collection of classical Greek marble sculptures that were originally a part of the Parthenon. They were an integral part of Scorpia's plan to kill you, Alex. Well, to be more accurate, you were an integral part in the plan to return the Elgin Marbles to Greece."

Alex did recall hearing something about that, but his last mission for MI6 was so traumatizing that he'd shut away most of the details in the darker recesses of his mind. He shrugged. "Well, I'm still alive."

Ian chuckled. "And the Marbles remain in Great Britain. Scorpia is a disgrace because of you. A powerful one, but a disgrace nonetheless. You caused the greatest criminal organization in recent history to fall into shambles."

Alex felt uncomfortable at the praise. Especially when it came from his uncle. "They'll come back. They always do. Anyway, why have you brought me here?"

Ian led him down the magnificent hall in silence once more. Their footsteps echoed as they walked. His uncle stopped at one of the great, white marble sculptures, and the moment he did it changed. Alex took a step back, but Ian lifted a hand. "Watch," he said.

The sculpture was of a muscular man fighting a centaur against a slab of marble. The half-man half-horse being reminded Alex of Chiron, the teacher at Camp Half-Blood. His stomach lurching, Alex realized what this was all about. The marble morphed like liquid, flowing and swirling like pale eddies.

The sculpture became a bust of a lean, almost gaunt man. He had a short beard and defined cheekbones, and although it was marble, the eyes held a semblance of contempt in them. The top half of a robe was clasped on the shoulder.

"This is Kronos," Ian said somberly. "He is a Titan of ages long past, an ancient being from Before. His are the mantles of Fate, Harvest, and Justice. He also has some power over Time. He wields a wicked scythe, which he used to castrate his father Uranus."

Alex grimaced. "Ugh. I know the story."

"Of course you do. You're a learned boy. But you know precious little."

Alex frowned. "Enlighten me."

Ian continued. "Kronos was the youngest and most powerful offspring of Uranus, Sky Father, and Gaea, the Earth Mother. Aided by his mother, he deposed his father and ruled over the other Titans as king of the First Ages. He was mighty but cruel. And you have something in common."

Alex's frown deepened. "What do you mean?"

Ian ignored him and went on to the next sculpture. This one changed like the first, but this time it became something much more recognizable.

"That's Percy!" Alex cried. The bust was a near if not perfect copy of the demigod's face, right down to the tiny, almost unnoticeable scars. He looked proud and noble in this form, nothing like the formidable but fun-loving guy he met in San Francisco.

"Why him?" Alex asked. His confusion was only increasing as they went on. "Why Percy?"

Ian jutted his chin at the bust. "Percy is a demigod. The child of a god and mortal. With this unique parentage, he has superhuman abilities: he's faster, stronger, and more durable than mortals. With Poseidon being his father, he can manipulate water and communicate with horses and fish. He's one of the greatest of his kind to ever live."

Alex fought back the urge to roll his eyes. "That's great. But what does he have to do with me?"

"Do you know the tale of Theseus, Alex?"

Alex crossed his arms and furrowed his brow. "I think so. He was the bloke with the string and the labyrinth, right? The one who killed the Minotaur."

Ian nodded in approval. "Good on you. He was a demigod from long ago, Percy's brother, but separated by great gulfs of time. Do you know how he was conceived, Alex? Before he was a hero?"

Alex blanched. "Much like everyone else, I'd say."

Ian smiled. "No. Let me explain: There once was a Greek king named Aegeus. After many years of searching, he finally found a suitable bride in the form of Aethra, the daughter of King Pittheus at Troezen. They lay together on their wedding night, and thus Theseus came to be."

Alex held up his hand. "Hold on there. Theseus was a demigod. Unless either Aegeus or Aethra were divine, that doesn't make any sense."

Ian's smile took on a sense of pride. "Very good. Well, here's the catch: later, after they slept together, Aethra waded through the sea to the island of Sphairia. There, she met with Poseidon. And there, they lay together –"

"Wait just a minute!" Alex yelled. "That's…that's just…"

"So very Greek, I know," Ian said. "Believe it or not, such was the case for many a demigod back in the day. Double paternity was a common trait in these warriors."

Alex, despite being slightly disturbed, urged Ian to go on.

"So when Theseus was born, he had a combination of divine and mortal characteristics. More so than your average demigod. His father went away, and he was raised by his mother until he grew up to be a fine young man. His father, the mortal Aegeus, had hidden his sandals and sword under a huge rock. Once Theseus was of age, he would move the rock and claim his inheritance. So, as an adult, Theseus moved the rock, retrieved the materials, and traveled to his father. The rest is history."

Alex would've regarded it as myth rather than history until recently. Things were still so confusing it hurt. Perturbed, he pressed his uncle. "So what was the purpose of that story?"

"You tell me."

Alex almost punched Ian right then and there, but he held back. There would be plenty of time for that after he figured out what the hell he was. "Okay. The only real thing you told me was that it was possible to have two fathers. A double paternity, like you said. Theseus was both the son of Aegeus and Poseidon, and he received the respective traits from both. But I still…"

Alex trailed off, his stomach falling.

Oh, God.

Oh, gods.

"No." It came out as a weak croak. Alex's legs trembled. "No, that can't be. It's impossible."

Ian sighed. "I'm so sorry, Alex."

Alex rounded on him. "Fuck that!" he hissed. He jabbed his finger at his uncle's chest. "You lied to me! I'm your nephew, and you lied to me!"

Ian stayed calm. "I did no such thing."

"I'm not a demigod!" Alex spat. "Fuck that! My father is John effing Rider, and that's that!"

Ian didn't say anything, which infuriated Alex even more.

"My mother was not a…a…"

"Whore?"

Alex let out a wordless roar and punched Ian. His uncle took it full on the chin, dropping like a loaded stone. Alex, snarling like a wounded beast, straddled him, battering him with wild punches with everything he had. Ian made no effort to fight back.

The fact that his uncle was just lying there taking his hits sobered Alex's fury. He stopped, eyes blurry and out of breath. Ian was rubbing his jaw, and the beginnings of a black eye were showing up. He glared sternly at his nephew.

"You done?"

Alex swallowed back his shame and stood up, clenched fists shaking. Ian got to his feet and dusted himself off. He turned back to Alex, and to the boy's surprise, he looked none the worse for wear. The split lip from a second ago had vanished.

"Perks of being a spirit," Ian explained. "I get to decide what I look like. Still hurt, though."

Alex ignored him. "Take what you said back."

"What did I say?"

"You called her a…whore."

Ian sighed. "No, I didn't. I just said what you were thinking. Saying it and calling her one are two entirely different things."

Alex bit his lip. "Then who was she? How the hell am I…me?"

Ian nodded. "Now, we get to it.

The gallery disappeared as a rush of darkness descended on the pair. Alex's heart leapt to his throat, but Ian raised his palm. "Don't be afraid. You won't be harmed."

It was true. There was no all-encompassing numbness as the abysmal dark settled over them, and the crushing sense of absoluteness was fortunately absent. But his uncle's words did little to ease his discomfort. There was, however, a feeling of apprehension deeply rooted in him that he couldn't shake off. Was he about to find about who he was?

Finally? After days of utter confusion?

Ian was suddenly by his side. He felt warm, not like a cold spirit or ghost. It could've been like he was standing right next to him as they waited in line for a pastry. Ian was real and raw and there, and his presence was enough to dispel Alex's anxiety.

"Are you ready, Alex?"

Alex took a deep breath. "I am."

"Good."

Ian put up an outstretched hand, and the dark world exploded into blinding light.

Alex gasped, covering his face with his hands, but Ian clutched his shoulder. "Look," he said. "You must look. Everything you're about to see is essential to what you are. Look."

Alex dropped his arms and complied.

They were not in the abyss, but in a great menagerie of light and color. They stood above what seemed to be all of reality. Galaxies swirled lazily below them, giving off such majesty that tears prickled Alex's vision. Burning balls of gas died in blooms of massive energy, warping space and time and even sucking matter into its death throes. But even as they collapsed under the weight of their own supernovas, stars were born. Nebulas of cosmic dust floated in the heavens like clouds of fiery dawn, trailing the darkness with a sweltering loveliness that belied anything Alex had ever seen. Stars that still lived twinkled in the stretch of beautiful infinity, sentinels, silent and sure.

Alex realized that he'd been holding his breath as Everything That Was enfolded around him.

"This is the Universe," said Ian. "Or a fraction of it. It's growing, you see. Always has been. It will grow and grow until the end of Time itself, if there is such a thing."

"It's…it's…" Alex gasped.

"Beyond words," Ian cut in. "There's no need to confine it so. It cannot be defined by mere tongue, or our feeble minds. It is infinitely vast and absolutely uncontrollable. Chaotic, you could say."

"It's amazing," Alex said, eyes glued to the wonders before him. "But, again, what does this mean?"

"What does it mean?" Ian said, almost bewildered. "Why, Alex, you're looking at the cot of the gods."

Alex blinked. "I'm sorry?"

"This is where divinity is birthed. Where dear Kronos breathed his first, and more importantly, where your heritage can be found."

"You'll have to explain."

Ian waved a hand, and time reversed. Galaxies broke apart, planets crumbled into space dust, stars collapsed into nothingness, and the circus of bright, hazy lights became a chaotic muddle of indistinguishable colors, like a toddler's painting. But, as Alex peered closer, there seemed to be an order to the chaos. There was Dark, and there was Light. Soft Beauties and Furious Tempests. The wondrous complexity of it all caused Alex's head to ache.

"Now I warn you not to look too long," Ian cautioned. "It might reduce you into a gibbering wreck."

"How are you doing this?" Alex asked with his eyes shut. He massaged his temples to ease the pain.

"I'm merely presenting my own opinion on what occurred eons ago," he said. "But the effort requires subtle inputs of power, and that is what makes it hurt so bloody much."

"Just get to the point," Alex grumbled.

"Long ago, before there was Kronos or Poseidon or any god for that matter, there existed great Powers. Sprung from the birth of the universe, created at the heart of the unimaginable energy necessary to initiate such an occurrence, they simple were. They were absolute, yet their very existence threatened to bend space and time and undo Creation. It is the greatest paradox and strongest glue that holds reality together."

Alex nodded, understanding some of what his crazy uncle was saying.

"These Powers were the primordial deities, mighty beings that were the ancestors of the gods. Chaos was their parent, genderless and ever-shifting and the first of what was to come. Creation rests under the Serpent's Shadow, the gods say. From that Void came Gaia, Uranus, Tartarus, Eros, Pontus, the Ourea, Hydros, Chronos, Erebus, and…"

"Aether…" Alex whispered.

He didn't know why he said that. He didn't even know what it was. But the memory of a dark place in the bowels of the Earth somehow surfaced in the mess of his mind, the memory of a pale god and his pale son, and the mysterious waters below. Hades had called it the Aether, and Alex had survived its potency.

Ian was uncharacteristically silent. "Yes," he finally said. "Aether. If Erebus is the Power of Darkness and Night, Aether is Light and Day. He is the shield between the cosmos, what protects Creation from the evils of stormy Tartarus and the weight of angry Uranus. And all around them, always watching, is Chaos."

Alex closed his eyes. "Aether. I survived it back in the Underworld." He swallowed, his throat dry. "Why is that?"

"I think you know the answer to that."

When he opened his eyes, tears spilled from it. "But…that's just impossible."

Ian sighed. "Think about it. You survived a fall from orbit, Alex. Even in an Escape Capsule, that shouldn't be possible. Not for a boy your age. And you withstood the substance of Aether. Not just withstood it, if I recall correctly, but swam in it like a bloody goldfish in a tank."

Alex shook his head. "No. You're wrong…"

"Think about what I've explained to you. Back in the Museum, Kronos' past and the tale of Theseus. The start of Creation and the primordial deities. Aether. Always Aether."

Alex began to shake. "So my mother…she was really…"

"No! You mustn't believe that. Your parents were in love, Alex, and they were never unfaithful. But they were a part of this divine scheme long before they were an idea in their parents' heads. The Aether planted it's essence in Helen while she was pregnant. It began as a seed in your soul and it grew. It has grown for your whole life, enabling you to be extraordinary, and more importantly, a light in other people's lives. It is only now coming to fruition at the apex of your maturity. It was all planned, Alex. You are a part of it. This is your destiny."

Alex finally gave up. He didn't fight anymore; there was no need. He felt numb inside. He expected to feel furious when he found out about his past, but all he felt was…nothing. Absolutely nothing.

And that scared him.

"Who are you?"

Alex answered without hesitation.

"I am a boy from Chelsea, London. I enjoy the things I do because you taught them to me in preparation for what was to come. I am a spy, recruited by the coldest man I've ever known. I've defeated lunatics and helped save the world at the cost of many brave men and women. I am a murderer, the killer of Julius Grief and Razim. I will never forgive MI6 for what they did to me. I…"

Alex's throat closed.

Ian took his shoulder once more. "Don't be afraid."

"I…I am a boy from Chelsea, London. But I am also a demigod. My father is John Rider, who truly loved Helen Rider with all his heart. But before I was born a primordial deity called the Aether placed a part of its essence inside of me."

"Who are you?"

"I am a son of the Aether, the Light and the Day. The Sword and the Shield. I am the Protector of Creation." The words were not his own, the voice too deep, stentorian, and terrifying. He felt warm, and then he felt hot. Soon, he felt like the heat of a thousand summers burned inside of him.

"But above all," he said, above the sizzle of his own brilliant skin. "I am Alex Rider."

The light from within slowly dimmed, and Alex breathed. The air felt warm and familiar. He was standing in the lounge of Hades' home, the fireplace still cackling merrily in the hearth. They had returned. It looked the same, but it felt different, alien. It was then Alex realized that nothing in the room was out of place. That is, except for him.

"That is who I am."

Alex was exhausted. Despite what he'd discovered about himself, all he could think about was Sabina's warm smile and a cozy bed waiting for him in San Francisco.

Ian smiled, and a tear trickled from one eye down his cheek. For some reason, Alex never got used to the sight of his stoic uncle shedding tears. It felt unnatural.

"Good. You understand."

Alex tried to think up of something to say. Something to do after this mind-numbing realization. There was a myriad of possibilities, most of which involved the premature destruction of Hades' expensive furniture, but in the end, given the current atmosphere, he settled for one thing.

"Yay?"

Ian cracked a smile. "That's the spirit. Now, there's still a lot of things to explain, but it'll be easier since you know what you are. First off, there's the issue of –"

Before Ian could say anything more, the side door burst open. Nico bustled into the room, a large section of his black T-shirt missing, like a claw had torn it open. His torso was pale and wiry beneath. Nico was about to speak, but he closed his mouth. He narrowed his eyes at Ian and Alex, came to his own mental conclusion, and nodded, satisfied.

"You'd better hurry," the son of the death god said, coughing. "Something's happened."

Ian frowned, annoyed. "Can't it wait? We're a little occupied here, as you just deduced."

Nico shrugged. He looked unperturbed, but the way he was constantly shifting his weight from his right to his left told Alex that something was amiss. "Depends."

"What is it, then?"

Nico looked down at his feet. "Well…" he said. "While you guys were doing your thing, my dad and I went to check on the incoming traffic. Things were getting a bit hectic down there. Midas was AWOL, and the spirits were howling for admittance. That sort of thing just doesn't happen. Cerberus, who's normally keeping them in line, was hiding in his doghouse, so Dad went in to check on him."

Nico took a breath. "Cerberus didn't like that. So, I need your help."

"The suspense is killing me, Nico," Alex sighed. "Help with what?"

"You see…" Nico was fidgeting like crazy. "Cerberus ate my dad, and I need you to help me get him out, because if you don't, the spirits will flood into the Underworld and crush us all."

AN: Oh, God, this was so rushed. And very short compared to my other chapters. I really hope you're satisfied with what Alex is. It's been my plan since before I started writing this story, so I'm sorry he didn't turn out to be what you thought he would be. If you're confused, I totally get it. If you'd like me to do some editing, I'll do it. I just wanted to get this updated after so long. Well, like always, please R&R, even if you hated it.