9 months later…

There were wisps everywhere.
He didn’t have a specific connection to them, like with the one he had in Split. Somehow, The Split Wisp was different. But ever since then, he noticed wisps. Different ones. Ones he never would have noticed if he hadn't noticed that very first one.
They weren’t SUPER common, obviously, but they left a lingering trace. Nico had once, after feeling a wisp, stayed in the same spot for about two days until it finally faded on the third. So they weren’t hard to find, now that he knew to look.
What were they? How does one even summarize the feeling you have when you're around one? Nico described them best as “the barest memory of how something once felt, but not the actual feeling itself”. The slightest prick of déjà vu. The tiniest spark in the mind.
And he didn’t know why he could feel them.
He asked the Seven, after the war, if they could feel them. Not even Hazel knew what he was talking about. He went to his father, but his dad was too caught up in celebrating his victories to really care about Nico’s “wisps”. It’s also possible that Hades knew what Nico was talking about and was trying to avoid the question. Once, after Nico had given up on talking to his father because Hades was being busy (or pretending to be busy) with guests, he’d suddenly said right as Nico walked out the door to “not look for any trouble”.
Nico had turned around, but suddenly Good Old Dad was right back to partying with the ghosts.
It had to do something with the dead- he knew it. And he was going to find out what that was.
He gritted his teeth, and, after locating another trace of wisp, started following its trail. He knew how what he had to do.
****************************************************************************************************************************
“First word was manos- hands!” Christopher cried, ruffling his daughter’s head. Family and friends cheered as they settled into a sweltering spring day. A picnic was set up, a cake had been brought- Elena’s first birthday party.
“Manos,” Elena kept repeating, her gleaming silk curls bouncing wildly as she crawled around. “Manos, manos, manos, manos.”
Actually, her first word had been “manes”, which was “ghost” in Latin. No, scratch that. Her first word, unbeknownst to everyone but the Fates, who didn’t particularly care, was actually “salve”- “sal-way”- and her second word could arguably be “bellua”, depending on if you think “el-a-a” gets the same point across. Together, they said “salve, bellua”, which was what the ghosts had been saying to her ever since they first realized she could see them.
“Salve, bellua.” Hi, monster! Aw, how sweet. They really showed a lot affection.
Despite them calling her a “thing”, “monster”, “animal”- the ghosts were fascinated with Elena.
“Look! Look what I can do!” one had cried one night, realizing finally what Elena was most interested in. He stabbed his friend in the brain.
“Claudius!” the other had screeched.
“Are you a little brain-dead, now, Rufus?” Claudius had grinned, looking at Elena for support. She was wide-eyed and watching.
“YES, you moron! We are all brain dead! You are so annoying. Swords in the brain suck. They start getting in the way of everything,” Rufus complained.
Claudius stabbed Rufus in the brain again. His hands spread wide in bow to Elena. She continued to observe.
Rufus stabbed Claudius in the heart, proclaiming dramatically, “Arde in infernum!”
Burn in hell.
Claudius rolled his eyes and glared. “I already have.” It was a touchy subject.
Rufus dropped his arms, embarrassed. “Oh, yes. Sorry about that.”
To which Claudius promptly stabbed him in the head a third time, which caused a sword fight to occur between the two, and it was that moment that caused Elena to decide- as much as a baby could decide- that they were going to be her best friends.
More ghosts came.
Elena’s room quickly became the place to BE for sword fights. When space filled up, ghosts poked their head in from the walls and watched through the window. Many times the ghosts accidentally toppled over through Elena’s crib, to which she’d spread her hands out wide like all the ghosts did when they gestured proudly to themselves. And then everyone in the room would clap and hoot for her. Awww. Look at that. The thing did a thing!
It wasn’t just Roman ghosts. They were funny ghosts with animals on their heads, scary-looking women wearing chunky armor, and many Spanish spirits who continue to do their washing or farming or wandering as they peek into the fights.
She couldn’t sleep at night, so she slept during the day.
In fact, that’s what she was doing now. Elena crawled over to the base of a tree, where it was shady and cool, and nestled her head in the crook of the roots. Her mother kept an eye on her, “aww”ing her lovely child before turning away to talk about wine and things, glancing back at her daughter occasionally.
If her mother noticed more, she might’ve seen the tree curl up around her sleeping child and lower the branches to give the girl more shade. If Elena was awake, she’d notice a curious tree nymph, who had heard stories about the Ghost Fights and the mortal who could See.
It wasn’t terribly unusual for children to see through the Mist. Young kids embrace the differences and magic and beliefs of the world. But actually interacting with spirits of the dead was different… Most babies didn’t care or didn’t want to see them. And so they didn’t. Also, most babies couldn’t communicate with ghosts, especially those from other cultures…
The tree nymph nestled the girl’s head on a patch of grass. Elena's cheeks an olive glow, her hair a whispery silky ebony, she looked like a little baby Spanish princess.
Or some sort of baby goddess.

Notes

I'm sure you can guess who Elena is by now.