"The gods tie an invisible red string around the ankles of those that are destined to meet each other... the two people connected by the red thread are destined lovers, regardless of time, place, or circumstances... this magical cord may stretch or tangle, but never break"
-Chinese Legend

Athena had once read about it somewhere, she was sure, but she hadn't believed it at the time.

It sounded ridiculous, almost, but now quite, improbable. Nothing more than a myth, surely. A Chinese Legend.

But by the time one of her daughters, Annabeth, had turned twelve, Athena had began to notice some feeble, wispy tendrils of weak, red mist around one of her ankles. Athena had discarded it off as a trick of the light: maybe Helios or Apollo were messing with her again.

It was not until a few weeks later when that son of Poseidon arrived at Camp that she had seen a much similar thing on the boy's right ankle.

As the years passed, Athena had watched them with curiosity. The red thing was not mist anymore, but a string. One that was thickening with alarming speed.

Sometimes, when they would argue, the red string would get tangled and knotted. But it was never long before it found its way to its usual smooth way of being.

When the son of Poseidon followed Achilles' steps and bathed in the Styx, Athena had observed attentively for any signals of change.

Alarming seconds passed before the string began thinning rapidly as the river's acid waters enveloped it and then it proceeded to lose some of its color: it became a pale pink. The string twisted and floated around next to all the junk belonging to the Styx river.

Then something changed when Perseus had swam out: the string was thicker than ever, and brighter red still. Athena observed this with an unknown sense of pride.

Not even a year passed when the boy disappeared from her daughter's side. His memory was wiped by Hera herself and he was sent to the very opposite side of the country. Athena had been a little upset at this, but, finding no apparent solution, had approached the opportunity to observe.

Terrible headaches began to take hold of the deity, and she was no longer much herself anymore.

She rarely had any periods of peace, but once she did she checked yet again for the string, the rope, the mist, the whatever it was that had been ever-so present. The Red String of Fate, she had come to call it.

To her great surprise, the string was still there. Athena had frowned at the discovery. How?

The String was stretched almost to its breaking point every here and there, but never did it break. Not even for all those months: It went from Perseus' right ankle for miles and miles, states from states, until the very end of it was stubbornly tied around Annabeth's left ankle.

Finally now, as Athena watched with a feeling of helplessness, she couldn't help but think that the Red String of Fate had never given off a light so bright, had never been so firm than when Annabeth and Percy went tumbling down to the very depths of hell, hand in hand.