Athos was no stranger to hangovers. He had been an alcoholic for two years after all, and he had drunk himself to sleep more times than he could count...more times than he would have himself admit, but this had to be the weirdest alcohol-induced dream that he had ever experienced.

He woke up in the body of what he could only presume to be a newborn baby. He was calm at first, thinking it to be one of the many odd dreams he usually experienced when drinking himself to sleep, albeit one that was a tad more realistic, but once a few hours passed, he felt that something wasn't quite right.

He was currently snuggly wrapped in a blue towel, lying in what he could only assume to be a cradle. The giant wooden walls surrounding him were a touch intimidating and it didn't help that he never saw his mother.

Just when he had given up all hope and felt the beginnings of a mental breakdown, two large hands grabbed him and lifted him out of his aforementioned prison.

The man held him up, as though scanning him for something but after a few seconds, his expression shifted to one that was tender and loving with a touch of helplessness. The man was tall and well-built, not too stocky. He was handsome enough to make his messy, jet-black, I-just-slipped-out-of-bed hair work, which contrasted greatly with his electric-blue eyes. But his clothing sense was quite odd. An old-fashioned Greek tunic adorned his wide, rugged figure and laced leather sandals covered his feet. What seemed to be the skin of an animal was draped across his shoulders, a faint golden hue surrounding it.

"Ah, you poor thing, abandoned by your mother at an age so young", the man sighed, bringing Athos close to his chest.

'My mother left me? Seems I won't be getting motherly love in this life either, but who is this man? And how does he know?', Athos thought, thoroughly confused. He knew very well that this was too realistic to be a dream, but having a man cosplaying as some ancient Greek hero show up made him rethink that possibility.

The man then lifted a finger and gently poked Athos' cheek, who let out an involuntary giggle, which made his expression soften.

"To think she named you Athos. Was it to spite me? She did know I wasn't the biggest fan of that old man", he mused while staring down at the baby in his arms.

"No matter, it is a strong name. Normally, I would have to dump you in an orphanage somewhere, until the monsters come, before claiming you and sending you to that pathetic excuse of a camp. Dad really has no idea how to raise a child. One would think that with his promiscuity, he would've picked up that skill. Zeus and his stupid rules."

The sky rumbled and the man's eyebrows twitched.

"But it shall be different this time. I shall not have you follow the whims of those too scared and lazy to leave their mighty thrones. I shall not have you bleed for those who think of you as a mere pawn. I...I shall not have you suffer as I did"

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The man's voice cracked, and he closed his eyes as though reliving a particularly sad memory. He took a deep breath before opening them again.

"I am Herakles! Slayer of the Hydra, the Gatekeeper of Olympus, and you, little one, shall inherit my strength. You shall inherit my will. You shall inherit the powers I was too prideful to use. You, my son, shall be named Athos Apsifoun, a name I hope shall strike fear into Tartarus itself."

Herakles snapped his fingers and a flash of light engulfed the father and son, leaving behind an empty, rocking cradle.

***

5 years later.

A young, five-year-old boy lay down on a sandy beach, his arms splayed out, enjoying the sunshine and the waves that tickled his little feet. He was Athos Apsifoun, son of the God of strength, Herakles.

Herakles, after giving Athos his name, teleported them both to an island in the middle of the Mediterranean. It was a beautiful island with white sandy beaches and frothy waves, but his father, Herakles, never let him wander too far into it.

At first, he wasn't sure which world he transmigrated into, but after hearing about the Olympian pantheon, and the fact that the phrase, 'Non plus Ultra' or 'Nothing further Beyond' was written on the seabed near the island, he was pretty sure that it was the world of Percy Jackson.

He showed signs of ADHD and dyslexia, and he spotted some monsters in the forests, convincing him of that fact. He had no idea who or what was responsible for his transmigration, but he wasn't complaining. He grabbed a pebble the size of half his finger next to him and applied some pressure, before hearing an audible crack. He chuckled, being a demigod had its perks.

It took quite some time for him to fully take in the fact that he had left his old life behind, transmigrating into a son of a God. But eventually, he got over it for he didn't have anything he particularly wanted to do in his old life. He was an alcoholic cripple, nothing more. In fact, He was glad he got this second chance. A chance to be something more. He didn't want to be a coward this time, shrinking away at his very first setback.

He would probably be much, much stronger, at least physically, than any other demigod. Just like Percy possessed hydrokinesis being the son of Poseidon and Jason possessed both Aerokinesis and Electrokinesis being the son of Zeus, he possessed superior strength and resilience. He even had a tiny healing factor that superseded what normal demigods usually had, but it was nothing like regrowing lost limbs.

He threw away the broken pebble and stared at the rising sun in the distance. He liked waking up early and wandering the beaches of the island. It was where he would always find his father who would always gaze at the horizon, his back akin to a spear, straight and unyielding, an air of melancholy and sometimes even regret constantly surrounding him. Yet whenever he talked to Athos, it seemed as though he were a different man.

When he was still a baby, Herakles used to sing him to sleep as best he could, and once he grew older, he regaled him with the adventures of his youth, which was frankly, quite entertaining. He really was a good storyteller. Athos never had a father figure in his past life, and it was only now that he understood how much he had missed. Storytime was usually during dinner when Herakles cooked some animal he caught on the island over the fire. He doubted whether Herakles truly needed to eat but he couldn't blame him, for the food was truly delicious.

Athos thought he knew most of his father's legends, but he was wrong. When Herakles was still a demigod, he practically killed almost every monster in greek mythology, was a major factor in the gigantomachy, and dabbled in too many wars to count. His life, although tragic, was fascinating, and all it did was stoke the flames of ambition in Athos' heart.

After all, he finally had the chance to grow stronger. Stronger than his previously weak body, and to fight to his heart's content. But what truly captivated Athos, was not the chance to become a strong demigod, but the chance to achieve immortality. The chance to become a God.