We all laughed, loud and easy, under the stars.
The fire had burned down to red coals, the heat low and steady. Jasper had kicked off his shoes and curled up on the far end of the clearing, already halfway asleep, one hand still resting on Sif's back like she was a living heater.
Rhea and I stayed by the logs, still upright, still watching the fire like it had more stories left to tell.
She nudged me with her shoulder. "So. Before all this demigod crap… what was your life like?"
I let out a breath through my nose. "You want the short version, the snarky version, or the depressing one?"
"Combo platter," she said. "Chef's choice."
I stared into the glowing coals for a moment, then spoke.
"I was… weird. Always felt a little off. Smart enough to scare teachers. Strong enough to break stuff without meaning to. And all the meds in the world couldn't truly convince me that the monsters I saw weren't real."
Rhea stayed quiet, nodding.
"My mom got sent to a clinic when I was a kid," I added, voice quieter now. "They said she saw things too. So I figured… it was genetic. Or bad luck. Or both."
"What about you?" I asked.
Rhea leaned back on her elbows, looking up at the stars.
"Tomboy. Grew up in Spokane. Got in fights. Never really fit in with the cheerleaders or the nerds or the jocks, so I just kind of made my own thing, hunted with mom, she put me to try burn my energy in sports. Hung out with my satyr — the one that didn't make it. Taught me how to survive in the woods. And then… monsters came. Burned my school down with everyone inside."
I winced. "Damn."
She shrugged. "Wasn't that nice of a school."
We both laughed, tired and honest.
"What about Goat Boy?" I asked, glancing at Jasper's sleeping form.
"He said this was a punishment," she murmured. "That the higher-ups didn't expect him to come back. Just gave him a vague mission and sent him north."
"And now he's stuck with us."
"Poor bastard."
We sat there a bit longer, the stars spinning above us, the embers glowing underfoot, the forest quiet.
CP Bank:500cp
Perks earned this chapter: None
Milestones: 12 Labors: Well aren't you an overachiever, welp little demi ... 11 more to go: 500cp
The morning hit soft and cold, like most forest mornings do — dew on the grass, mist hugging the trees, and that faint smell of pine needles and dirt that never really goes away, the fire was just coals now. Sif was already up, tail high and proud, patrolling the perimeter like the world's most enthusiastic security system.
She paused every few steps to pick a tree and, claim it as her own.
"Mark it all, girl," I muttered around the stem of my pipe. "It's your kingdom."
The pipe crackled softly as I gave it a lazy puff. Still the same sweet, herbal smoke — courtesy of the sailor pipe I bought from the KFC warlock, or whatever that guy was. It warmed my lungs, settled my head, and gave me something to do with my hands while the rest of the team ran on caffeine and divine dysfunction.
Across the clearing, Rhea was already halfway through her push-up pyramid, grunting like war was coming in exactly five minutes and she wanted to be ready to punch it in the face.
"Fifty-one," she muttered.
"Rhea," I said, smoke curling from my lips, "you're aware we killed a mythological boar yesterday, right? You don't have to prove anything."
She didn't look up. "Routine matters."
"Yeah, well… so does rest."
"Rest is for corpses."
"Can't argue that," I said, taking another puff.
Jasper, meanwhile, was crouched just past the tree line, poking around with a satchel and muttering to himself as he collected herbs.
I watched him squint at a patch of moss.
"What are you even looking for?"
"Ginger root, red sage, maybe wild thyme," he said without looking up. "Also something to make Sif stop farting in her sleep."
Sif, bless her, barked at a squirrel and returned to her tree duties.
It was all so stupidly domestic. Two semi-functional demigods, an anxiety ridden satyr and a wolf pup playing house in the woods.
And honestly?
I kinda liked it.
The map crinkled as I unfolded it across a patch of dry earth, the corner weighed down with a rock so it didn't flap in the morning breeze. The old-school paper kind — thick, laminated, smeared with ink, dirt, and smudged pen notes.
Jasper crouched beside me, pointing out a few turns on the squiggly red line we'd been carving across the country like a scar.
"Alright," he said, tapping the edge of Pennsylvania. "If we push hard, we could make it to camp today."
I stared at the spot and nodded, but my brain was somewhere else. In the side pouch of my pack, tucked next to a ripped-up hoodie and some dried monster jerky, were two objects I hadn't touched since we left Chicago.
Ebony and Ivory.
Sleek, custom, built for war.
Twin semi-auto pistols that never ran out of ammo. Elegant, brutal, divine.
And the thing is… I hadn't used them.
Not once.
Claws? Sure. Fire-breath? Constantly.
But guns?
I never pulled the trigger.
And maybe it was pride.
Or maybe it was just… not me.
I stood, grabbed my bag, and walked over to where Rhea was strapping her sword back to her belt. She raised an eyebrow as I dropped the twin pistols into her open hands.
"What's this?"
"Guns," I said, lighting my pipe casually like this wasn't a big deal. "Magic ones. Never run out of ammo."
She turned one over, testing the weight. Her eyes lit up instantly. "These are beautiful. Balanced. Holy crap."
"Yeah."
"And you're… giving them to me?"
I nodded. "You're the ranged fighter now. I'm going melee full-time."
Rhea blinked, her expression shifting to something just a little softer.
She just nodded once and holstered them across her back.
"I'll keep you covered," she said. "You just keep jumping on giant boars and ripping their throats out."
"That's the plan."
"Lucas?"
"Yeah?"
Rhea grinned. "Thanks. This is... kind of a big deal."
I nodded once, quiet, then gave Sif a little scratch behind the ear as she trotted past.
"Let's ride," I said. "New Jersey's not gonna hate itself."
We stopped just outside a dusty gas station somewhere in the middle of New Jersey's least scenic exit. Concrete, dead grass with a small forest area behind, cracked asphalt,and a few mangled road signs. It smelled like gasoline and that big city charm.
Perfect place to shoot some bullets to drop the local housing prices.
Rhea stepped off the bike, stretched her arms, and reached for Ebony and Ivory, now comfortably holstered across her back like they'd always belonged there. She twirled one in her hand like a movie assassin and grinned.
"Mind if I make some noise?"
"Just don't hit the pump."
She found a rusty road sign leaning off in the distance — looked like it used to say "EXIT 14B" before time and graffiti claimed it. She paced back, locked her stance, and fired.
BLAM—BLAM—BLAM!
The sound cracked the air like thunder.
Three shots.
Three hits.
One clean grouping, dead center of the sign.
"Damn," I muttered. "Guess you are the ranged one."
"I feel like I've been waiting my whole life for something this cool."
Jasper winced behind the bike. "I'm just saying, maybe we could've found a range or a clearing or—"
BLAM!
Another perfect shot.
He ducked.
"I rest my case," she said.
But before we could crack a joke, before Sif could finish tearing apart a chew toy from the cargo hold of the bike…
They came back.
The world dimmed — just a little — like a filter slipped over the sun. In the back of my mind, I felt it: that familiar pressure, that slow pulse, like stars forming behind my eyes.
I looked up, even though I didn't need to. I could see them in my head.
The black suns.
Dozens of them. Still. Waiting.
Three of them flared.
When the third sun dimmed behind my eyes, I didn't feel a punch of power or a rush of adrenaline.
I felt… music.
Like distant chords rising through the bones of the world.
Low. Ethereal. Like the beginning of a song before the first note is played.
It wasn't loud, but it was everywhere.
And then it settled in me — like the sun setting behind my ribs. Warm. Steady. Deep.
Something shifted, and with it… came understanding.
The first gift came like a breath of wind through trees.
I looked at my lyre — my father's, I guess. The golden lyre of Apollo, still strapped to my bag. I reached out, strummed a few notes.
And the world… listened.
It wasn't just sound. The notes vibrated with magic. Even the birds in the trees paused to tilt their heads. Somewhere in the forest, a squirrel actually stopped mid-run and turned around to face me.
I didn't just play the music anymore.
I was the music.
I knew, without knowing how, that I could pull songs from other magical instruments — not just the lyre. If I learned the tune, if I felt the rhythm deep enough?
I could bend it to will.
Sing the spell.
Shape the world.
The second gift came deeper
A concept. A theme. Something mythic and foundational.
Music.
I felt the world answer.
Every melody. Every rhythm. Every beat of a heart or crackle of a fire suddenly felt understandable. Not just noise. Pattern. Emotion. Power. Influence.
I didn't just sing now.
I understood how the world sang back.
Animals. Weather. Magic. People.
Everything has rhythm.
Everything has a song.
And I could hear it.
And somewhere in that deep well of knowledge, I also knew:
Songs that change the weather.
A song to make time my bitch.
I opened my eyes.
Rhea was reloading. Jasper was scribbling in his notebook. Sif was chewing on something.
I stood there, lyre in hand, the last notes of a divine awakening still humming in my veins.
"Hey," I called out, still holding the lyre. "Try again."
Rhea raised an eyebrow, already pulling Ivory from its holster again. "Trying to see if I can split my own bullet?"
"Something like that."
She took position, cocky smirk in place, lining up her shot at the already wrecked road sign. One hand steady, the other curled around the grip. Her stance was perfect.
But this time?
I was the variable.
I took a breath and sat back against the bike, pulling the golden lyre into my lap. I didn't think too hard — didn't try to remember notes or keys or chords.
I just played.
It started soft — a low, humming rhythm like breath on glass. And as my fingers moved across the strings, the sound grew.
Not louder.
Deeper.
The music didn't just fill the clearing — it filled the world.
I felt it vibrating under my skin, pulsing in the dirt, echoing inside the trees. It was in everything — rhythm in the wind, tempo in the heartbeat of the forest, melody in Rhea's finger on the trigger.
The notes slid into place like I'd always known them.
The lyre shimmered as the last note rang out.
And something in the air around Rhea shifted — almost like it pulsed, once. Not visibly. But the world leaned in.
She pulled the trigger.
BLAM.
The bullet screamed across the clearing, struck the target — and punched cleanly through the center of her previous grouping.
Like threading a needle.
"Holy sh—" she started, lowering the gun.
"Yeah," I said, fingers still on the strings, the last hum of the song fading into the wind. "Thought I'd try something new."
She turned to look at me, her face half-sunlit, half-shocked.
"That was…"
"Bardic inspiration," I said with a grin, twanging one last note. "Courtesy of Dad...I think?"
Jasper, halfway through eating a cracker, just whispered, "We are so going to break reality."
After the whole bullet-stacking magic show, I sat down in the grass with my lyre across my lap again, chewing the inside of my cheek.
There was something else bubbling up inside me — a song, but different from before.
Something more… wild.
More feral.
I plucked at the strings without thinking — slow, plodding notes, round and earthy. Something lower, heavier. Like I was pouring something out of myself. A bowl emptying one ladle at a time.
Speak with Animals.
The music left me like breath in winter — slow, full, and final. I felt… lighter. Not in a good way. Like I'd taken a part of me and burned it for fuel.
I looked up at Sif, who was chewing a stick like it owed her money, her head tilted when she noticed me staring.
"Hey, Sif," I said.
She understood.
She perked up immediately, tail sweeping hard enough to kick up dirt.
"YOOOUUU TALKS LIKE HEAD VOICE!!!"
I blinked. "Like what?"
She got up, bounced in place once. "Head voice!! Not bark voice! Not 'NO, SIF! DROP THAT!' voice! But words-in-the-bone voice!"
"Right," I said, rubbing my temple. "Why did I think you would be smart."
She flopped onto her back, paws kicking at the air. "Stick taste like crunchy tree and I bite it and now my mouth is WET. Why mouth wet?"
"…That's spit."
"SPIT! YES! GOOD!"
I tried not to laugh. "Hey, Sif—"
"FOOD???"
"No—Sif. Focus."
Her eyes crossed slightly. "Focus is the brown chewy one?"
"No. That's jerky. Focus is—" I sighed. "Listen, I'm not gonna explain the English language to you."
She got back up, spinning in a circle before sitting with a plop.
"I likes when you do the string thing. Makes my tail wiggly and the trees stop yelling."
"The trees yell?"
She leaned in. Whispered, "Only when the owls lie."
"…Okay."
The magic was already fading. I could feel it — the connection unwinding, the bridge between us sinking back under the water.
Sif stared at me, eyes wide and dumb and weirdly trusting.
"I likes you, Alpha-Not-Alpha," she said.
"...That's probably the nicest thing anyone's said to me today."
Then she paused. Tilted her head.
"…can I eat the goat's socks?"
"Only if he isn't wearing them."
"OKAY!!!!"
The spell ended.
Sif went right back to trying to bury her face in the stick.
And me?
I just sat there, stunned, trying to figure out what part of that conversation was the most concerning.
That feeling — like music still humming in your bones but no longer playing — lingered, like I had half a song stuck in my throat. My limbs felt a little light, like I'd run a sprint but forgotten the start or finish.
Sif, meanwhile, was chasing her own tail.
Successfully.
I sighed. "Well. That explains a lot."
Behind me, I heard a voice.
"So… you just talked to the wolf."
I turned.
Rhea stood there, arms crossed, one eyebrow halfway to Olympus.
"Ok doctor dolittle, what was that?."
"Yeah," I said, casually tapping the pipe against my knee. "Magic song. Temporary spell. Very advanced, very mythical. Completely professional."
"And?"
"She's… nice."
Rhea gave me the look of someone who expected something far more profound.
"And dumb," I admitted. "Very, very dumb."
Rhea snorted. "How dumb?"
"She asked if she could eat Jasper's socks. Thought 'focus' was a chewy meat stick. Referred to me as 'Alpha-Not-Alpha.'"
That got a full laugh out of her — one of those rare, open ones.
"Alpha-Not-Alpha? You do give that energy."
"I'm pretty sure she thinks the trees are talking behind her back."
"To be fair," Rhea said, "with your life? They probably are."
We both watched Sif try to bite a rock like it had personally insulted her.
"…She's lucky she's cute," I muttered.
"She's loyal," Rhea said, her voice softer now. "That's more important."
I looked down at the lyre in my hands. Still warm. Still humming.
"Yeah," I said. "I guess it is."
Rhea was still grinning at me when Jasper stomped out of the tree line, holding a handful of herbs like he was one camera crew short of being a nature documentary host.
"Found some thyme, mint, and maybe something that's either wild oregano or poison ivy," he said, dead serious. "We'll know by lunch."
I gave him a thumbs-up, still seated, still watching Sif try to bury the "crime scene" under loose dirt like a tiny, furry fugitive.
Then Jasper froze.
Looked down.
"Where. Are. My. Socks."
I blinked. "What?"
"My socks. The clean pair. The ones I tucked inside my boots this morning so I didn't get leaves in them."
Rhea coughed into her hand. "Yeah, about that—"
"I just saw her with a sock!" he gasped, spinning to face Sif. "Sif! No! Not again!"
Sif paused mid-dig, sock dangling from her jaws like a sad, sacred trophy.
She blinked.
Then bolted into the woods with a bark of pure chaotic joy.
Jasper sprinted after her like his dignity was on the line. "THOSE WERE COTTON!"
Rhea and I just stood there, watching the satyr vanish into the brush.
"Should we help?" she asked.
I shook my head, puffing my pipe. "If he comes back barefoot, we'll know how it went."
Thirty minutes later, Jasper returned, sulking, sockless, and covered in dirt. Rhea handed him a piece of roasted boar from a ziplock in sympathy. Sif wagged her tail like nothing had happened.
We packed up the camp, doused the fire, and loaded back onto the bike, playing tetris to fit everything in the bike compartment, roomy but not too much, if Jasper complained anymore I'm fitting him in there.
The new ride, glinting faintly gold in the morning sun, purred under my fingertips like it knew the road ahead.
Rhea climbed into the sidecar with Sif, tossing her sword across her lap. Jasper wedged himself in behind me, grumbling the whole time.
"You ever going to teach her not to eat my stuff?"
"She's a wolf," I said. "Not a miracle worker."
I revved the engine. The hum of celestial machinery whirred under my boots, and with a twist of the throttle—
We shot forward.
Trees blurred past. The road stretched ahead like a ribbon of fate pulling us east, toward something that was finally starting to feel like an endpoint.
The bike roared beneath us — smooth, fast, and gliding just above the road now, thanks to the floating upgrade. We'd been running for hours, the cities growing denser, the trees less wild, and the sky starting to take on that weird smog-filtered gold you only see near the coast.
Then I saw it.
A green road sign whipped past on the right, weather-beaten and a little bent.
"WELCOME TO NEW YORK."
That was it.
Not some divine trumpet sound, not a golden light on the horizon, just a piece of metal bolted to a pole.
I eased off the throttle just a bit, not enough for Jasper to complain, but enough to feel it.
The shift.
The air was different here — thicker. Older.
Like the ground knew what was coming.
Rhea sat up straighter in the sidecar, gripping her sword a little tighter. She didn't say anything.
She didn't have to.
Even Sif lifted her head, ears perked, sniffing the wind like it was whispering something to her.
Jasper leaned in from behind me. "We're close."
I nodded, but my fingers curled tighter around the handlebars.
"Yeah," I said. "I feel it too."
We passed another sign.
"Long Island — 45 miles."
And I knew it in my bones.
This was it.
The pine tree was visible now — standing tall on a hill, its branches catching the light just right. I could see the shimmer of the barrier around Camp Half-Blood. It was so close I could taste the safety in the air, thick and golden, like warm sun on skin.
And then came the scream.
High-pitched.
The sound of feathers and blood and something that used to sing to sailors right before it tore them apart.
A Siren.
But not the kind from cheesy cartoons. No fish tails, no glitter. This one flew.
Wings of black and brown, claws as long as my forearm, and a face twisted into something between beautiful and terrifying — a woman's features, gaunt and sharp, with glowing yellow eyes and a smile like a knife.
She dropped out of the sky like a bomb, claws aimed at the bike.
"SIREN!" Jasper shouted.
"Of course it is!" I snapped, leaning hard to the right.
The Siren sucked air, prepared to bellow her song.
It was music. Twisted music.
The kind that tried to crawl into your ears and melt your bones with promises of everything you ever wanted. I felt it drag along my spine like barbed wire.
"Rhea!" I shouted. "Cover your ears!"
But Rhea was already on it. She shoved bits of cloth into her ears and fired one shot after another, barely missing as the Siren swooped.
Sif barked wildly, trying to jump out of the sidecar again, the monster playing hell on her canine ears.
The bike screeched as I yanked the handlebars sideways and killed our momentum, skidding us to a full stop just before the base of the hill.
The shimmering barrier of Camp Half-Blood flickered on the ridge above us.
"Everyone off," I said, already stepping off the bike. "Let's shut her up first."
Rhea jumped out of the sidecar, both pistols drawn. Jasper scrambled behind her, grabbing his reed pipe like he was about to summon every bird on the East Coast. Sif stood between us and the highway, hackles raised and tail straight like a spear.
The Siren circled above, wings slicing the air, her voice warbling as she dove for another pass.
"Alright," I muttered, setting my feet and unslinging the lyre from my shoulder. "Let's see if this actually works."
I strummed a few notes, just loud enough to spark the magic. I could feel it — like a snap in the air, the song on my tongue curling up sharp.
The melody was sour.
A little mean, it tasted like snark and stage presence.
I looked up at her.
"HEY, CHICKEN WING!"
The Siren's head jerked toward me, fury blazing in those glowing eyes.
"You've got the face of a goddess, sure — if that goddess was the ass of a giant."
The magic snapped like a whip.
A sharp, psychic pulse slammed into her skull.
The Siren screeched, veering hard to the side mid-flight, feathers ripping from her wings as she flailed, blood trickled down her nose.
Vicious Mockery.
Rhea blinked. "Did you just hurt a monster by roasting it?"
"Not yet," I grinned. "But she's definitely in her feelings."
The Siren was still spiraling through the air, shrieking and flapping like she couldn't decide if she was enraged or embarrassed.
I could've let Rhea shoot her midair. It would've been fast, clean.
But something inside me clicked.
I reached for the lyre again, strumming out another quick melody, short and sharp, something trickster-like. A tune that felt like slipping on a banana peel with malicious intent.
"You sing like a kazoo choking on a kazoo," I said as the magic surged.
She flinched mid-flight. Then twitched. Her wings locked for a second. And she laughed.
Hard.
A deep, cracked, uncontrollable laugh that sounded more like an animal gasping than a human voice. Her whole body spasmed. She dropped out of the sky like a sack of bricks and slammed into the dirt in a puff of feathers and screeches, still laughing.
Tasha's Hideous Laughter
She clawed at the ground, trying to stand, but her limbs betrayed her. Her mouth was stretched wide, her body heaving with laughter so fierce it left her breathless. Her voice caught in her throat. She wheezed, still trying to drag herself away.
Rhea didn't hesitate.
She walked over with slow, deliberate steps. The barrel of one pistol pointed at the sky. The other at the ground.
The Siren's eyes locked on her. She choked on another laugh, coughing now, tears in her eyes.
Rhea stopped just short of her, crouched down, pressed the barrel of her gun against the side of the Siren's temple.
"Shut up."
One shot. Clean. The monster burst into golden dust.
Silence followed.
I slung the lyre back across my back. Rhea holstered her gun and turned to look at me, dead serious.
"You are never allowed to talk about my temper again."
I took a drag off my pipe and gave her a crooked grin.
"My insults kill. What can I say?"
Jasper groaned behind us. "Please don't make that a catchphrase."
The golden shimmer of the barrier stretched across the hilltop like heat haze on asphalt—just barely visible, just barely real. We were still a few yards out when I fired the engine back up. It purred under me like it knew we were done running.
Rhea climbed into the sidecar with Sif, who was panting that her ears survived this battle. Jasper threw himself onto the back of the bike with less enthusiasm.
The second the front of the bike passed through, everything changed.
I heard it before I saw it.
Laughter.
Hoofbeats.
The clink of armor and kids yelling .
We crested the hill, and Camp Half-Blood rolled out below us like a painting that had been waiting for us to show up.
Cabins in a semicircle.
A climbing wall spitting lava in the distance.
A big, sprawling house with a blue roof.
And dozens of kids, demigods like us, doing everything from sparring with bronze swords to chasing a pair of satyrs who had apparently stolen a pie.
Rhea let out a low whistle.
Jasper just said, "We made it."
I pulled the throttle one more time, slow and smooth, coasting down the hill toward the heart of the camp.
And yeah—I'll admit it.
We looked damm good.
The bike rumbled gently as we rolled through the center of camp, kicking up a little dust, the golden glow of the enchantments still clinging to the bronze and steel like it belonged here. We weren't trying to be loud.
But the thing was loud, fast, shiny.
And carried a wolf the size of a small bear in its sidecar.
So yeah, we drew a crowd.
Kids started to drift out from behind cabins, from the forge, the armory, even the strawberry fields. Most were our age. Some younger. A few older. Everyone had that look—half wary, half curious. Like they weren't sure if we were some kind of monster trap or the best entertainment they'd seen all week.
One kid with curly black hair and a spear resting on his shoulder raised an eyebrow.
"Uh… what the hell is that?"
Another leaned over to a friend and whispered, "Is that a manticore or something? It has exhaust pipes."
Rhea stood up in the sidecar, one hand casually resting on the hilt of her sword.
"Chill," she called out, smirking. "We're new."
I killed the engine. The silence it left behind was weirdly loud.
Sif hopped out, sniffed a half-eaten sandwich someone had left on the grass, and then immediately tried to roll in it. Jasper climbed off the back of the bike.
Me?
I swung a leg over and stretched. Looked at the growing group of demigods around us.
"Hey. We brought a war puppy and trauma. Who's in charge?"
That got a few snorts. One or two laughs. One very concerned stare from a centaur off to the side, who I was 80% sure was judging me specifically.
Someone was already running toward the Big House.
Camp had noticed us.
And now we were here.
The centaur watching us finally stepped forward. Big dude, tall even without the horse part, with a look that said "I've seen it all"—but also that he was already mentally filing a report.
He trotted over, slow and calm, not like we were a threat, just… a surprise. Which, fair.
"You must be the demigods we've been hearing about," he said, voice calm, steady, and somehow louder than everyone else without trying.
He gave each of us a once-over. Me, Rhea, Jasper, and then a long look at Sif, who had now stolen the half-eaten sandwich and was aggressively chewing it in the grass like she'd earned it.
"I'm Chiron," he said, holding out a hand. "Camp activities director. Also the centaur."
I shook his hand. Firm grip, not crushing. Kinda reassuring.
"Lucas Walker," I said. "This is Rhea, Jasper, and the not so little one is Sif. She's smarter than she looks."
Rhea snorted.
Jasper coughed. "She ate one of my socks."
Chiron nodded politely, like that wasn't even in his top fifty weird introductions this week.
"And… this?" He gestured toward the bike.
"Divine motorcycle. Now hovers. Runs on ego and monster blood, mostly," I said.
Chiron exhaled through his nose. "Of course it does."
He gestured for us to follow him toward the Big House, that massive blue-roofed building at the edge of camp. A few more kids trailed behind, whispering, a couple waving or staring openly.
"I received word from the Huntresses," Chiron continued. "Artemis was made aware of your journey. So was… your father, Lucas."
I felt that last bit land in my chest like a plucked string.
"Right. That makes it official, then," I said.
Chiron gave a small smile. "Welcome to Camp Half-Blood. We've got some paperwork, but I promise we keep it light on the paperwork and heavy on sword training. Come—let's get you situated."
We followed him toward the Big House.
The Big House looked like an oversized farmhouse mixed with a museum, a place that had survived way too much history and was still standing out of pure spite. White columns. Blue shingles. Porch swing that creaked just a little too perfectly, Inside, it smelled like old books, lemon polish, and warm bread. Cozy.
We were led through a short hall, past some dusty portraits of people with sharp cheekbones and judgmental eyes, and into a side room with a long table. Chiron gestured for us to sit while he moved toward a stacked pile of files and binders, flipping through them like he already had this whole thing prepped.
"Let's see," he said. "New arrivals. two demigods, one divine wolf, a hovering motorcycle, and… several monster corpses in your wake."
I smiled. "We aim for overachievement."
He slid a file across the table with my name on it. A second later, Rhea got hers. Jasper? He didn't get one. Just a nod and a "Welcome back."
Chiron clasped his hands. "Normally, unclaimed demigods go to Hermes Cabin until their parent claims them, but… that's already been resolved, and I have been informed of this by Mr D ."
He glanced at me.
"Apollo," I said, like saying it out loud wouldn't still make me feel like I'd swallowed sunlight.
Chiron nodded. "Yes. And a rather direct claim at that. You'll go to Cabin Seven."
He turned to Rhea, whose file was thinner and slightly singed.
"And you, Rhea, cabin Five for you. You'll fit in just fine."
"And the wolf?" I asked.
Chiron raised an eyebrow. "We'll discuss her arrangements, but she can stay in the Apollo cabin for now. Assuming she doesn't eat the furniture."
"She prefers socks," Jasper said flatly.
Chiron gave us a little map of camp, but I barely glanced at it. I could hear the direction I needed to go — not like voices or some divine GPS or anything — more like a hum in the back of my mind. A rhythm. Like the cabins themselves were calling, and mine just happened to be playing in C major.
I followed the pull across the green toward a cabin near the middle of the semi-circle. It wasn't the biggest, but it was definitely one of the prettier ones. Columns out front, painted gold and white. Laurel carvings above the doors. A sunburst etched right over the entrance. The whole place had golden hour energy, even in the shade.
Cabin Seven. Apollo's place.
I stood outside for a second, taking it in. Jasper had peeled off to help someone carry supplies near the armory, and Rhea had stomped toward her cabin like she was expecting to fight it before sleeping in it. So it was just me.
The door was cracked open, so I stepped inside.
It was… busy.
A couple kids were tuning guitars. Someone was restringing a bow on a bunk bed. Another was adjusting a pair of mirrored sunglasses indoors like it was normal behavior.
And then they all noticed me.
One guy — tall, older, tan with a thousand-watt smile — stood up from his bunk and gave me a once-over. He clocked the lyre first, then the pipe clipped to my belt, then my face.
"New blood," he said.
"Guess so."
"You the one that rolled in on the hover bike with the wolf?"
"That'd be me."
He nodded, then offered a hand.
"Lee. Senior camper. You'll figure out the rest."
I shook it. Firm. Friendly. No weird flexing. That was rare.
"I'm Lucas."
"You sing?"
"I try."
"You shoot?"
"With words."
Lee grinned. "You'll fit right in."
He pointed to an open bunk near the back. "That one's free. We rotate chore duty, healing shifts, and jam sessions. And don't touch anyone's instruments unless you want to get pranked."
"Got it."
As I dropped my bag and sat on the edge of the bunk, the lyre on my back gave a faint hum. A few heads turned.
I barely had time to sit before I heard the soft click of claws on the wooden floor behind me.
I turned just as Sif trotted into the cabin, tail wagging like she owned the place.
She paused in the doorway, sniffed once, twice, then locked eyes with the bunk I'd just claimed. Her ears perked up. She let out a low huff that sounded dangerously close to "mine," then launched herself forward.
Thud.
All forty-something pounds of divine wolf pup landed square on the mattress, spun in a tight circle, and flopped down with a huff that shook the sheets.
The Apollo campers stared.
One of them, a girl braiding her hair with golden thread, blinked.
"Did that dog just claim your bed?"
"She's not a dog," I said, slinging my bag down next to the bunk. "She's family."
Sif let out a boof and rolled onto her side, tongue lolling out as if to say, "You heard him".
Lee raised an eyebrow, smiling. "You bringing emotional support murder wolves into the cabin now?"
"Better than emotional support poetry," someone muttered.
"She doesn't bite," I said. Then added, "Unless you're a monster."
There was a beat.
Then someone laughed.
Just like that, the tension dropped a little.
Lee pointed to a hook on the wall. "You can stash your gear there. We've got evening free time soon. You'll probably get swarmed with questions."
I nodded, still eyeing Sif as she snored gently on my new bed like she'd been waiting her whole life to sleep there.
I wasn't sure if I felt home.
But I felt safe.
And that? That was a damn start.
CP Bank:100cp
Perks earned this chapter:Free Bard ( Baldur's Gate 3 ) [Modus] Scholars, skalds or scoundrels, you have a way with words so that you can even bend reality to your whims. Your talent in manipulating the Weave comes from rhythms, words, songs or even dances. You can inspire your allies, manipulate your foes and pretty much do anything a magic user can accomplish. Not only that, but your skill repertoire is also quite vast too. You are the most versatile class there is, a jack of all trades truly. (Forced by Me)
200cp: Memories of the Music (The Silmarillion) [Lore] The Ainur listened to and were a part of the music which foresung the world, and through this and the words of Eru know much of the world. Pick a particular concept, from craftsmanship to light to fire to plants to animals to the sky. Concepts should have more a mythic resonance than precise materialism; a concept of 'spacetime' or 'atomic bonds' doesn't fit thematically with Tolkien's work.
Whatever your chosen concept is, you have deep knowledge and understanding of things relating to that concept. A Maia who chose animals intuitively understands the behaviour of beasts, birds, fish and more, while one who chose craftsmanship is a master of everything from architecture to smithcraft to basket-weaving. Additionally, any magical or spiritual abilities you use related to this concept are uplifted in profundity and strength. Exactly what this means in any given case is fluid, but broadly speaking a Maia will have an easier time and get greater results from doing things with their chosen concept.
This perk may be purchased up to 3 times total. If you have the Arisen in Might perk, you may purchase this perk as many times as you wish. If you are not a Maia, this perk instead represents deep tutelage from a Maia, or one of their students in turn.
May be Purchased Multiple Times
200cp A Song For The Ages (Legend of Zelda: Oracle of Ages) [ Modus ] As it turns out, Nayru is actually a really great singer. Like, woodland creatures come out and gather around to hear her sing. And then don't run away when normal people show up to listen as well. Seriously, this is some disney princess level stuff. But, beyond just having the perfect voice for song and several heaps of talent at singing, you also have a semi-unique skill. See, the songs that are supposed to be played on the Harp of Ages in order to control its power? Nayru can use those songs without the harp. You can now pull this off with any magical instrument, not just Nayru's harp. Now, in order to pull this off you do need a level of familiarity with it, maybe permission from its owner, but after that? Go wild and please don't break time.
Milestones: noneI didn't mean to crash, but between the miles, the fight, and the psychic murder songs, the moment I hit the bed, it was over, I rolled onto my side at some point, arms wrapped loosely around Sif, her thick fur warm against my chest. She let out a snore that shook the mattress a little. A paw twitched. Probably chasing a dream sheep.
I let myself drift, just for a while. Not quite sleep, not quite awake. My hand resting on her side, her tail occasionally thumping against the sheets like she was reminding me she was still there.
When I opened my eyes again, the cabin was dim. Most of the beds were empty. One kid near the front was passed out with a book covering his face. But through the window, I saw it—light flickering, fire crackling, music floating on the breeze.
The campfire.
I rubbed my eyes, sat up slow. Sif yawned, rolled onto her back, then thumped her head down dramatically like how dare you move.
"Come on," I whispered, grabbing the lyre from the wall. "Time to see if I'm just a guy with good timing or the real deal."
She huffed.
I patted her side. "And tomorrow, I'll hunt something for you. You're getting that look in your eyes again. The 'I might eat someone's shoes' look."
She wagged her tail.
I slipped on my jacket, slung the lyre across my back, and stepped out into the night.
The campfire was alive.
Warm light danced over the clearing, and half a dozen demigods lounged on logs and rocks, instruments in hand. Someone strummed a guitar. Someone else tapped rhythm on a box drum. Laughter, off-key singing, and a few harmonies drifted into the sky like smoke.
Music.
It felt… good.
I hovered at the edge for a second, watching. No one stopped. No one stared. Someone even waved me in without missing a beat.
I sat down near the edge of the firelight, letting the noise and laughter wash over me. Sif lay down beside the log, her ears twitching occasionally, head resting on her paws. Nobody paid me much attention — not at first.
I pulled the lyre into my lap, fingers resting against the strings.
I closed my eyes.
And something floated up.
Not a full song. Just a rhythm. A melody. Half-forgotten — like a tune from a dream you remember long after forgetting why you dreamed it.
It felt old, but not unfamiliar.
A soft, dancing melody. Playful. Whimsical. Like it belonged in some enchanted glade filled with leaves that never stayed still and lanterns that always hovered just out of reach.
Lost Woods.
A tune from another world. Another life.
My hands moved before I told them to. The notes slipped out of the lyre like water over stone — clean, smooth, alive. The firelight seemed to flicker in time with it, sparks jumping a little higher.
Conversations started to quiet.
The box drum fell silent.
One by one, heads turned.
The campfire crowd leaned in. Some didn't even realize they were doing it — just pulled, like the song itself was a thread tied to their ribs.
I kept playing.
Each note pulled something deeper from me. That feeling, that other soul buried in the back of my brain — the old one, the one that sometimes made me pause when I looked at reflections too long — recognized the tune.
It had heard it played before. Long ago.
When I opened my eyes again, the camp was still. The flames flickered low and warm. Someone let out a long breath, like they hadn't realized they'd been holding it.
Sif looked up at me.
Then let out a low, content boof.
A few kids stared, a young girl tending the fire clapped excitedly.
The final note faded into the air like smoke, soft and still, when I heard someone approaching through the shadows. The crackle of a chip bag gave it away before I even looked.
Rhea strolled into the campfire light like she was stepping into a victory parade.
She had a fresh black eye, one side of her face swollen, but she wore it like war paint—head high, grin sharp. In her arms was a loot pile: bags of chips, jerky, some godawful bright blue drink, and something suspiciously wrapped in tin foil that I was pretty sure had teeth marks in it.
She plopped down beside me, dropped the bag between us, and grabbed a chip like it was payment for conquest.
"Liberated these from my lovely siblings over in Ares cabin," she said, chewing proudly. "Made one of 'em kiss my foot for trying to hide the stash."
I blinked. "You made someone kiss your foot?"
She shrugged, licking chip dust off her fingers. "He was drawing a fake tattoo with a sharpie, Lucas. He deserved it, besides my councilor got me good too, some bitch named Clarisse, fresh off a quest, she has a mean left hook."
Around the fire, a couple campers stifled laughs, others just shook their heads like, Yeah, that tracks.
"You know there's a dining pavilion, right?" I said.
"Yeah, and it closes. This? This is called late-night taxation. War god privilege."
Sif perked up and immediately tried to nose her way into the snack bag.
Rhea gave her a strip of jerky without hesitation. "You earned it, fluffy, oh before I forget, here you go."
She pulled the cloak I gave her off her shoulders, it was wet with something…Gonna have to put it on the spin cycle.
I leaned back, lyre across my lap, letting the warmth of the fire settle into my bones. The music had faded from my fingers, but it still hovered somewhere just behind my ribs, soft and content.
This felt like something I hadn't had in a long time.
Not just rest.
But peace.
Even if the peace came with a bruised war child, a divine wolf, and chips probably stolen under threat of a suplex.
I could get used to this.
"Alright, rockstar," she said with a yawn. "That was actually nice. Don't let it go to your head."
"It's already there," I replied with a smirk. "Camp's not ready for my mixtape."
She snorted. "Camp's barely ready for your wolf."
Sif, now sprawled belly-up next to the fire, the young girl from earlier patting her belly, sneezed like she'd heard her name. She thumped her tail against the dirt a few times before flipping upright, ears perked.
Once everyone peeled off and the fire died down, I gave Sif a scratch behind the ear.
"Alright, girl," I muttered. "Let's get you something real to eat."
She perked up immediately, tail wagging. That got her attention more than any spell or song ever had.
We slipped away from the camp's glow, into the shadows between the trees. The air shifted the moment we passed the outer lanterns — cooler, denser, filled with wild smells and distant rustling.
The lyre stayed strapped across my back, untouched. I didn't need music now.
I crouched low, Sif padding ahead of me in practiced silence. Her head lowered, nose twitching. I let her do the leading.
With a thought, a feeling more than a command, I felt it again — that sharp, internal click.
Three claws snikted out from between my knuckles, smooth as breath. Metal met moonlight with a faint shimmer. The adamantium sang in my bones.
My other hand followed suit.
Sif stopped.
Ears flat. Eyes forward.
A rustle in the brush. Low, heavy breathing. A shape moving through the undergrowth.
Perfect.
I nodded to her. She sank low.
I took one slow step forward, claws ready, and let instinct take over.
Time to eat.
We moved like shadows between the trees, my boots barely brushing fallen leaves, Sif just ahead of me, ears up, nose twitching with purpose.
The deeper we went into the woods, the stronger the scent of life became — wild, real, untamed. It wasn't like the forests we'd passed during the trip, where something always felt off or too quiet. This place? It was alive. Breathing with the same rhythm I'd played hours ago on the lyre.
Sif stopped dead in her tracks and let out a low, short chuff. Her head tilted to the left, and I followed her gaze through the branches.
That's when I saw them.
A herd of white-tailed deer.
Six, maybe seven of them, half-shrouded by brush and moonlight. Grazing in a small clearing, peaceful, unaware. One lifted its head — a young buck — and flicked an ear before returning to chewing lazily.
They didn't smell us yet.
I knelt beside a tree, claws already drawn, the cool weight of the adamantium resting easy in my hands. I wasn't breathing hard. My heartbeat was steady. The tension that had been wound up in my spine for days had eased.
This was clean.
Sif stayed low, eyes locked on a smaller doe to the right. Her muscles twitched with every move it made. I placed a hand on her back — not to stop her, but to keep our rhythm synced.
I picked the buck. Bigger, stronger, enough meat to last days. Sif could gnaw bones for a week off that one.
One breath.
Two.
My legs tensed. The claws hummed.
Then I moved.
I moved like I'd done this a thousand times before—maybe I had. Maybe the instincts weren't just mine anymore.
The moment my foot touched the earth, the world narrowed.
I closed the distance in a handful of silent steps, every ounce of weight controlled, every breath drawn in slow.
The buck turned its head slightly, ears flicking.
Too late.
I lunged, left hand catching its neck, claws already extended. My right arm swept through in one clean motion—sharp, fast, deep. The adamantium sliced through fur and muscle like silk.
It staggered, legs buckling before it could even think to run. No cry, no struggle. Just a clean fall, heavy and final. I knelt beside it, hand on its side, feeling the last heartbeat slow.
A good kill. No panic. No waste.
I looked up. The rest of the herd was already gone, vanished into the trees, nothing but a rustle left in their wake.
Sif padded up beside me, her tongue lolling slightly, but her eyes respectful. She didn't dive in, didn't tear or yank. She waited.
Good girl.
I took a slow breath. Not for show — for thanks.
"Thank you," I muttered to the buck, more ritual than prayer.
Then I got to work.
I had just made the opening cuts along the deer's side, claws now slick with blood, when Sif froze.
Ears forward. Tail stiff. Her breath caught in her throat like a growl waiting to happen.
That's when I smelled it too.
Not deer. Not dirt. Something else.
Musty. Wet. Fungal.
Like mold growing on rotting bones in a place sunlight forgot.
I looked up, slow. Let the quiet settle. The forest didn't breathe.
And from the corner of my eye, I saw it.
Crouched low in the brush, maybe ten feet back.
Short. Pale. Wrong.
Its skin was sickly gray, splotched with moss and filth, and its teeth were far too large for its skull. Long, pointed ears twitched under a red, soaked cap that dripped something far thicker than rainwater.
In one hand, it held a blade.
No — a dagger. But for something its size, it looked more like a damn sword. Rusted, jagged, and stained the color of liver.
But where there's one…
Sif let out a low growl, teeth bared. I held out my hand to her — a warning.
She whined. She wanted to rip its throat out.
I didn't blame her.
The redcap smiled.
It licked its teeth.
Didn't move. Didn't blink. Just watched.
Waiting.
I reached behind my back and pulled the lyre forward.
The strings were already humming, like they knew what was coming.
I strummed three sharp notes — high, fast, dissonant.
The air around the redcap shivered.
Then—
BOOM.
Thunderwave
The bush exploded in a concussive blast of sound and force. Leaves, dirt, and splinters of bark shot into the air, scattering like shrapnel. The redcap let out a shriek, flung backward through the underbrush like a rag doll.
But I didn't get the satisfaction of watching him land.
Because that was the signal.
Four more redcaps burst from the trees.
Two from the left, one from behind, one dropping from a low-hanging branch like some grotesque goblin piñata. All of them short, fast, and grinning like this was their birthday.
Each held a dagger that looked like it had been used too many times.
I didn't hesitate.
The lyre slid back onto my shoulder as I dropped into a crouch.
Snikt.
Three claws slid from each hand, warm and familiar, already gleaming red with deer blood. No time to clean. Didn't matter.
One of the redcaps lunged.
I met him halfway, driving my shoulder into his chest and slicing upward in a brutal arc. His momentum carried him straight into my claws. He let out a hiss — not a scream — before his body went limp and puffed into golden dust.
"Alright," I muttered through clenched teeth. "Round two, then."
I turned to face the others.
The second redcap barely had time to hiss before Sif crashed into it like a wrecking ball in fur.
They hit the ground in a tumble of snapping jaws and claws. She latched onto its throat and wrenched, the creature's rusty dagger clattering to the dirt as it turned to golden dust beneath her.
I didn't stop moving.
Another came at me from the left — fast, teeth bared, blade overhead like it thought it could land a killing blow on a demigod.
I ducked under the swing and drove my claws up into its gut, twisting hard. It let out a gurgle, eyes wide, and then burst into ash as I kicked its body off me.
The last two came together, trying to flank me. Classic move. Would've worked on someone slower.
Too bad for them, I wasn't just some punk kid anymore.
Sif growled and barreled into the one on my right. Her jaws clamped around its leg and yanked — hard. It howled, flailing wildly, until I put it down with a clean slash across the throat.
The final redcap tried to bolt.
I didn't give it the chance.
I leapt forward, planted a foot on a stone, and launched myself at it, claws-first. We hit the forest floor together, and I pinned it under me.
It snarled something in a language I didn't know — sharp, guttural, too fast for my brain to catch.
But I understood the look in its eyes.
It was scared.
I didn't ask questions.
I ended it.
Another puff of gold, and then… silence.
Sif let out a low whine, circling the clearing, nose to the ground. She was still tense, hackles up, waiting for more.
But nothing came.
No more footsteps.
No more rot-smell.
Just broken branches, disturbed earth, and deer blood.
I straightened, claws sliding back into my arms with a faint metallic hiss. My breath came in slow, steady pulls. No wounds — not this time.
But something was off.
I scanned the brush, eyes narrowing. There — where the first redcap had been blown apart by the Thunderwave spell, I spotted something strange in the dirt. A faint outline. Bootprints.
I knelt, touching the edge of the print.
Fresh.
Sif padded up beside me and sniffed it.
She growled low, soft and steady.
We weren't alone out here.
The bootprints led deeper into the forest, cutting through bramble and leaf litter like they belonged here—like whoever made them wanted to be followed. Sif stuck close to my heel, nose low, tail still high and twitching.
We moved fast but quiet.
This wasn't about meat anymore.
This was something else.
The farther we went, the colder the air got. The scent of deer and blood faded into something subtler—earthy, damp, the unmistakable smell of mushroom rot and magic left too long in the shade.
After maybe five minutes of following, I stopped short.
Sif did too, freezing in place, a low whine building in her throat.
There, in a small hollow between three gnarled trees, was a ring of mushrooms.
A near-perfect fairy ring.
Twelve toadstools, each the size of my fist, caps a bruised purplish-red, glistening faintly in the moonlight. The grass around them was too green, the soil too dark, and the air above the ring shimmered like heat haze despite the cold.
I didn't need Jasper here to tell me what this was.There were prints around the ring — boots, bare feet, clawed feet. A few deep impressions like something had leapt or disappeared. Even the leaves nearby had curled in, like the forest itself was trying not to touch the thing.
I crouched down, claws half-extended just in case, and sniffed the air.
Must. Iron. Blood.
Sif growled again, quieter this time.
I crouched beside the fairy ring, hand hovering over the mushrooms, the back of my neck itching like a whisper was brushing against it.
Sif gave another growl — lower this time, more guttural. Warning me without needing words.
I looked at the ring again. Perfect circle. Mushrooms practically pulsing with magic. It reeked of invitation.
I stood up slowly. Took a breath. Felt the pressure build under my tongue, behind my teeth.
The venom glands next to my salivary ducts flared with heat. Familiar now. Natural.
I leaned forward — just slightly — and spat.
A thick, greenish glob hit the center of the ring.
And ignited.
The fire bloomed instantly — not a normal flame, but that burning-oil-meets-hellfire kind of magic. It raced around the edge of the ring, following the circle like it had been soaked in gasoline.
The mushrooms sizzled and popped violently, spewing tiny puffs of sickly yellow smoke as they shriveled.
Sif backed up, tail low, watching the fire roar to life.
Within seconds, the ring was gone. Charred earth, scorched leaves, and a blackened scar in the shape of a perfect circle were all that remained.
The pull?
Gone.
Whatever door that ring led to, I slammed it shut.
Sif wagged once — slow, but satisfied — and we turned back.
No need to go chasing Fae into their little traps. Not tonight.
I still had meat to harvest.
The deer was right where we left it, and I still had a hungry wolf to feed and a god or two to thank. I popped the claws back out, knelt beside the carcass, and got to work.
I worked in silence, claws slicing clean through muscle and tendon. The deer was still warm, steam curling into the cold night air. I took only what I needed for now—clean cuts, best pieces—and left the rest intact.
Sif sat a few feet away, tail thumping softly, eyes locked on every move I made like a kid watching a buffet come together.
"Almost," I muttered, flicking a bit of blood off one hand.
Once I had enough meat packed in a roll of cloth, I hoisted the rest of the carcass onto my shoulder and carried it back through the trees. I found a thick, high branch not far from camp—a good spot, hidden from the main trail, just outside the scent range of most curious predators.
With a little effort and a lot of grip strength, I hauled the body up and lashed it in place using some cord from my belt and the natural notches in the tree. It hung cleanly, no drag marks, no easy reach for scavengers.
"Sif's stash," I muttered. "Wolf girl buffet."
She circled the base of the tree, tail high now, eyes bright with pride.
"You earned it," I said, handing her a cooked portion from the fire I'd built nearby. She chomped into it like it owed her money.
I took a smaller piece of meat—cleaned, seasoned with whatever herbs I had left from Jasper's stash—and skewered it above the fire until it was charred just right.
Then I made another small fire. Just off to the side.
I placed the cut on a flat stone, knelt beside the flames, and whispered, "For Hestia."
I watched the flames rise as the offering smoked gently into the air. The fire took it calmly, no divine response, no booming voice.
Just warmth.
Comfort.
Thanks.
CP Bank:200cp
Perks earned this chapter None
Milestones: Get to camp: Step 2 on demigod-hood: 100cp