On a street corner in Concord, North Carolina, Lucas lounged in a shaded chair, sipping a Coke while half a sandwich sat forgotten on the table beside him. The august heat shimmered off the pavement in waves, but the shade and a cold drink made it tolerable. He leaned back, letting the stillness settle in.
He liked quiet. He'd earned it.
That's when he saw him.
A boy, maybe his age with sandy blond hair, sharp features, and a lean frame, a golf club was slung across his back like a makeshift weapon. He moved with practiced ease through the crowd. His eyes were bright and sharp.
And his hands?
Quicker than most would notice.
Lucas watched as he lifted two wallets in the space of thirty seconds, slipping them into his coat like it was second nature.
But not just that.
Lucas felt it. A familiarity beneath the surface.
He narrowed his eyes, thoughts already turning.
The boy drifted toward the café, clearly locking onto Lucas. Their eyes met. He saw the surprise and suspicion in his eyes, analyzing, gauging.
Lucas didn't look away.
Instead, he gestured to the empty chair across from him.
The boy hesitated, cautious.
"Relax," Lucas said casually. "You're the first demigod I've come across. I've got some questions, but if you don't want to answer, you don't have to."
The boy's posture softened, and after another moment of calculation, he sat.
"Name's Lucas," he said. "Lucas Thorne."
The boy gave a small nod. "Luke. Castellan."
They sat in silence for a moment. The café's awning creaked in the wind. Somewhere across the street, a radio blared the ending notes of a country song.
Lucas took a sip from his drink. "How long have you been on the road?"
"Few years." Luke didn't elaborate.
"You alone?"
Luke's expression flickered, just slightly. "I do better that way."
Lucas nodded. He understood.
"I left recently. Heading to Camp Half-Blood."
That made Luke pause.
"What Camp?"
"My dad told me about it. Said there are others like us there; interested in going?"
Lucas leaned forward. "What do you know about the gods?"
Luke looked at him sharply. "Why?"
"I think you're a demigod. Like me."
Luke scoffed. "That word again."
"You've heard of it?"
"My mom used to talk about things like that. Said I was special. Said my dad was someone important..." His jaw tightened "When she was normal"
Lucas nodded slowly, the pieces falling into place.
"She wasn't wrong," Lucas said. "Your dad probably is important. In a divine sort of way."
Luke blinked. "You're serious?"
"Very."
"And you just… know this?"
"My father explained. He's mortal, but he knew things. And my mother…" Lucas hesitated. "She's a goddess."
Luke let out a low whistle. "That's a hell of a family tree."
"It's not as glamorous as it sounds."
Lucas reached into his coat and pulled out a folded piece of parchment. It was a copy of the map Elizabeth had drawn: annotated with routes, creature sightings, hidden safehouses, and, most importantly, a small X marked Camp Half-Blood – Long Island, New York.
"It's supposed to be safe. A home. Of sorts."
Luke's fingers drummed against the table, looking at the map.
"I don't know if I'm looking for a home," he said. "Homes… they don't last."
Lucas gave a quiet hum. "Maybe not. But sometimes a stop on the road is enough."
Luke didn't answer right away. He traced a finger across the map, toward the X.
Finally: "It beats wandering alone."
A pause.
"Care for a companion on your travels?"
Lucas smiled.
...
They didn't head straight for Camp Half-Blood.
Luke insisted on detours, claiming it was best to experience the mortal world before getting bogged down in camp life. But Lucas saw through the excuse. It wasn't the camp Luke was avoiding. It was the possibility of facing his father, Hermes.
As for why Luke chose to travel with him, Lucas had a guess: part of it was simple human loneliness, the kind no amount of bravado could hide. The other part? A quiet attempt to force himself toward the camp, despite his fear.
Months passed in wandering, and it wasn't until they reached Georgia that Luke finally made his decision.
He would go to camp.
The forest around them crackled with soft firelight.
Lucas crouched near the flames, carefully adjusting the angle of a cast-iron pan he'd pulled from his pack. A rich scent wafted up, a mixture of herbs and rabbit. His fingers moved with calm precision, focused. Over their travels the past few months he had picked up a talent for cooking, maybe a side effect for his talent of potions and even precision effect from his sequence.
A loud, stuttering clank broke through the peace, followed by the rhythmic pound of bronze feet hitting soil.
Lucas didn't even look up.
"Luke," he called over his shoulder, voice casual. "I'm trying not to burn dinner. Would you mind?"
Luke had already stood.
In his hand, one of Lucas' daggers glinted orange in the firelight. The weight felt familiar now. He'd been using it for weeks, ever since he and Lucas started traveling together. He had lost his celestial bronze sword long before meeting Lucas, acid from a manticore.
From the treeline, the first automaton burst forward. Ten feet of crude, grinding bronze, shaped vaguely like a wolf with gears where muscles should be.
Luke met it mid-step.
He twisted, ducked, and drove the dagger into the joint at its leg's base. Sparks flew. The wolf shrieked in a burst of steam before collapsing into clanking rubble.
Another one barreled after it.
And then another.
And another.
A pack.
From the corner of his eye, Luke could see two automatons flanking him.
He didn't hesitate.
This time, he went low, sliding between their legs, rising with a slash that took out one's joint, and used the falling body to vault into another.
Luke fought against the pack cutting and weaving, leveraging his speed to cut them down.
When the last one fell, twitching and spitting steam, Luke landed softly beside the fire.
Lucas looked up from the pan. "Finally. Thought I'd have to eat alone."
Luke dropped to the ground, panting. "You couldn't help? Even a little?"
Lucas offered him the first bite from the pan.
"I was helping. I made dinner."
Luke took the food. Then paused.
"...Thanks."
Lucas blinked. "For the rabbit?"
"No." Luke looked at the crackling fire, voice quiet now. "For everything else."
Lucas didn't say anything. Just handed him a flask of water and sat beside him.
They ate in silence for a while. The only sounds were the creaking of metal, and the soft rustle of wind in the trees.
Then, as the fire began to die down, Luke spoke again.
"You think camp's really that safe?"
Lucas didn't answer right away. He finished chewing, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.
"I think safety's relative," he said. "But I think you won't be alone."
Luke looked down at the dagger in his hand.
"I've never stayed anywhere long. It's easier not to."
Lucas nodded. "I noticed."
A beat passed.
"You've gotten stronger," Lucas added. "Your form is cleaner. Footwork tighter. All that flailing you used to do is finally turned into actual technique."
Luke gave a small, tired grin. "Is this your way of saying I've earned my own weapon?"
Lucas chuckled. "No, it's my way of saying I'd like my dagger back."
They both laughed, tucking in for the night.