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You arrive at the place you were told was safe, delivered by a creature half-goat and half-human to a creature half-horse and half-man. He asks you your name and you reply, you ask him his and he says, “Chiron.” You’ve heard that name before, in the stories you heard as a child, he’s the one who trained heroes like Heracles. You wonder if he’s trained any heroes since then, and if you might be one of them someday.
He shows you to a cabin that’s bursting at the seams. There are kids in every bed, on the floor, and in hammocks. A tall boy with a devilish smile and kind eyes greets you; he asks if you know your parents and you say only one. They’re dead now. His smile falters a little, you can tell it’s a story he’s heard before. He puts his hand on your shoulder and squeezes it gently, “That’s okay, because here, we’re all family.”
The empty corner, the only one in the whole place, is where you set up your sleeping bag and small suitcase full of your earthly possessions: a framed picture of you and your parent, a thick book on mythology, a few articles of clothing, and a single gold coin you call your lucky charm. The book was theirs before it was yours, something read to you before bed, and you continue the tradition on your first night alone.
Demigod. The word sounds weird but you know its meaning. You’re half human and half god, like the rest of the people here. You can understand Ancient Greek, and Modern to a certain degree, your hyperactivity is the result of battle reflexes starting to form, your dyslexia is because English isn’t what your brain is supposed to be reading. It all makes sense, it explains some of the hardships in your life, and you finally feel understood. The only thing that bothers you is your other parent, the godly one, the one you never knew. Why couldn’t they love you?
You make friends easily; it’s not that hard when you already have so much in common. You spar with children of a war god, children of a wisdom goddess teach you, you learn how to play music and sing from the children of a god of music. It’s fun, you think, learning to shoot a bow with the help of someone proficient from birth. Everyone seems naturally gifted, some more than others, and you don’t feel alone when something doesn’t fit for you. Because some of your friends are the same way, jumping from one activity to the next, trying to figure out what they’re good at. They hope that if they do, they’ll be claimed by their godly parent, given a new family to come from. You want that too, you want your other parent to smile down and show the world you are theirs, because you would show the world that they are yours.
Your eyes are locked on the slowly moving image above your friend’s head. It’s beautiful and astounding. Everyone around you is staring at it as well, finding it difficult to believe that your friend has been claimed after so short of a time being here. You smile at your friend, trying to reassure them that this is okay, that this is supposed to happen, but your heart is burning. You’ve been here longer, you’ve trained harder, and you’re still not worth the effort of being recognized. It hurts more than any injury you’ve felt in training, than the pain of magic gone wrong, than the night you lost your human parent to the monsters in your books. You resolve to end this, to be someone worthy of your parent’s attention, so you decide to become a hero.
You almost die during your first quest. A rookie mistake that took almost a week to recover from, but you don’t care. You succeeded. You completed the quest and returned alive to tell about it. There’s a celebration at your cabin, even though you’re not fit to partake. The people you consider family sit at your bedside and listen as you tell the story of your first quest. They jump when you talk about monsters, cheer when you retell a battle, and cry at the suffering you and your comrades endured. The boy who greeted you when you were still very young gives you a box and a bead, the box is for your souvenir and the bead is for the leather strap around your neck. The bead is green with a white design, reflecting the quest you undertook. It makes you smile when you slip it on the strap beside the four other beads from previous years.
You go on many quests in the name of the gods. You can’t just say one you have to include all, because you still don’t know who your godly parent is. They haven’t claimed you in all this time but that’s okay, you’re still figuring things out, trying to find your footing in this new life. Never mind the fact it’s been almost ten years. You enjoy questing, it makes you feel closer to the people you consider family. You’ve made friends, enemies, even fallen in love once or twice. You’ve been to fantastical places and fought creatures that used to only live in the pages of your books. It’s fun and exciting. You don’t even care when one of your friends or someone else is claimed by their parent, your jealousy died long ago, along with the dream of ever knowing your parent.
Poison hurts more than you thought. More than a blade, more than misused magic, more than the jealousy that used to burn you when you saw godly parents claim their child. You don’t mind though, you’ve lived longer than some of your friends, and now you’ll get to see them again. Maybe. Hopefully. If the Fates allow. It’s been a good life. You went on countless quests, you were even part of a couple of prophecies, not something every demigod can claim. You almost laugh. This was supposed to be an easy fetch quest, something you did when you were a child. You’ve dealt with much worse than this.
You can hear your friends’ panicked screams, calling out for you, for help, for someone to change this course you’re on. You try to tell them it’s okay, that you’ll be fine, but all that comes out is your breath and a trickle of blood. The poison doesn’t hurt much now. Actually nothing hurts now. You can feel the earth beneath your hands, the slight breeze blowing over your skin, and hear the quiet that comes with the inevitable fall into the abyss. You try to keep your eyes open, trained on the sights above your head, watching as your friends weep over their impending loss. You love them all, they’re your family, the ones that mattered most in your heart. You don’t want to leave them, no one ever wants to leave, but you can’t help it this time. Someone squeezes your hand, you squeeze back or you hope you do, and you whisper a promise to return, or at least you hope you do.
Darkness creeps into your vision, you can feel your heart slowing and your soul fading from your body. In a matter of seconds, you’ll be gone, returned to the underground realm you visited a few times during your quests and prophecies. You wonder if the god down there will be pleased to see you, or if he’ll remain indifferent like he is with so many demigod souls. It almost makes you laugh, to think about him and the other gods you met in your short, full existence. Just as the emptiness swallows you, you look up one last time. You hear the gasps before you see the image above your head. You can’t tell what it is, but you don’t care. You died recognized a hero, and honestly, that’s all you ever wanted.