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Chapter Text

HOW TO BE A HUMAN BEING: Camp Half-Blood

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day one : HEPHAESTUS

The world around him was warm.

Hephaestus opened his eyes, with the unfamiliar feeling of hands on his body, touching him confidently, but without being invasive, and he waited just for a few moments. When his chest started to hurt he disclosed his mouth, and his body acted on its own- he took a deep breath in, and the pain lessened, the air in his lungs now going out once again, and again inside- something got stuck in his throat, and he coughed so hard and so suddenly that the boy in front of him flinched.

Immediately an hand shoot out to get a grip on one of his shoulders, to help him sit down on the bed, and the other one went to his back, to keep him upright.

"Breathe- like this, breathe" he encouraged him. Hephaestus had his mouth wide open, and felt something churn in his guts- "Breathe with me, come on. One, two three- one, two, three."

He said something else, but Hephaestus could barely pay him any attention at all, because he needed to breathe, and he was starting to suspect that not-breathing would have killed him.

He followed the boy's directions, until the pain subsided and finally disappeared, and his stomach settled.

He closed his eyes for a moment, he opened them again, and he saw the light coming in from the windows. Open windows, the glass a beautiful, delicate shade of blue, white curtains, embroidered, pulled to the side to let the light come in. He could see a sea of grass, then blue. He found himself unable to say if it was the sky, or the water of a lake, or even the sea.

He stayed there, sitting on the bed, processing all the new sensations, and feeling with every second that went by. 

There was a clock somewhere, that ticked with no exceptions, thankfully not loud at all, as noisy as the far away chatter, suffocated by the heavy wooden doors, maybe ten meters away from the bed he was on. The sheets under and covering his body were rough, but not unpleasantly so, and they smelled of something chemical and delicate at the same time.

The smell of nectar and ambrosia was strong enough to make him tear up.

The boy moved, he walked away, and then he came back, in his hands a glass jar filled with what looked like honey, thick and dense and golden.

Hephaestus followed every movement he made with his eyes. He smiled, like one smiles at a frightened animal found on the side of a road, to calm it down and take it to a mortal vet, his face framed by blonde curls that, hit by the sun, became like light itself, an halo around his head.
"Can I?"

He pointed at Hephaestus' legs, who blinked.

Perhaps he nodded, said something, but the boy sat next to him, on the edge of the bed. The sleeves of his shirt were pushed back, the skin of his forearms still covered- by white, slightly marred bandages. The t-shirt underneath had a large, red stain on the front, as if someone had thrown up blood right on top of the pegasus that Hephaestus was sure was at the centre of the orange garment.

He extended his hands, a little pair of scissors in one for them. Hephaestus felt the metal vibrate in the air, reacting to his weak pull, but he couldn't touch it, mold it, absorb it and play with it like he could play with everything that was artificial.

With the utmost carefulness the boy pulled at the hem of the jeans covering Hephaestus legs, and he cut the fabric until both of his legs were uncovered.
Hephaestus barely held in a sound of pain, when the fabric attached to the fully uncovered meat of his legs was moved away, sticky and uncomfortably wet. With a cloth he cleaned the zone from the almost dry blood surrounding it.

He opened the jar, after leaving the scissors on the metal plate (Hephaestus could feel the soul of the moving-tray it was on, but couldn't do anything else), and buried a latex covered finger in the dense liquid.

He took it out, and it was coated by a honey-like substance- and Hephaestus felt that heavenly smell, as sweet as nectarine and as familiar as his forges.
The boy smeared a thin layer of it on the long, vertical cut that covered part of his scars. Someone had already stopped the hemorrhage. He did the same with his other leg, his worst leg, where an angry bruise colored the skin covering his ugly, twisted bones.

Then he moved a hand, over the zone covered by nectar, where the pain had already become bearable, and closed his eyes.

Hephaestus blinked, warmth flowing in his veins from that one, single cut.
The boy shone of a light of his own, soft but warm, and the hand touching him, despite the bandages and the gloves, was scorching hot- but it burnt a familiar heat. The heat of the forge after days of work, accompanied by the sparks of his creations, the heart of his beloved Mount Saint Helens, that stuck to the humid walls and made his skin warm.

It was a beautiful feeling, that rivaled the moment of peace the nectar had given him and that won that fight, and for the first time in thousands of years the pain subsided truly.
His deformity exposed to the eyes of the world like it had been only at the beginning, skin not covered, no metal to help him stand up and move as a god should have been able to from birth, no dark drapes hiding scars and ruined skin, old and horrible.

The boy's forehead was shining with sweat, as if he was exhausted- for a second. He closed his eyes, reopened them and smile again, like he'd never been tired at all.

His smile was soft.

"The damage to both bones and muscles is too old for me to heal" he frowned "Too old, I must be more tired than I thought." Then his face softened again, the expression on his face inviting and encouraging "Does it still hurt?"

Hephaestus' mouth was dry.
He was sure he knew the place he'd woken up in.
"Where am I?" he asked, anyway.

"Somewhere safe, where those monsters won't be able to get close enough to hurt you" he said, simply. He put an hand on Hephaestus' chest, and forced him to lay down again.
"Rest, now" and he gave him a little cube of ambrosia, small enough to be just a crumb to a god such as Hephaestus. He ate it mechanically, and almost fainted on the spot.

He didn't faint, the world became clearer, and he felt strength come back to his body.
Strength, he realized, that was more than weak. Infinitely so.

Never in his life he'd felt so weak.
Not even when his body had been thrown down from the sky for a second time and it had carved craters and canyon on the land of men, not even when every bone of his divine body had split in a million pieces and he'd spent months laying still, alone, waiting for his body to stitch itself back together.

"I'm gonna check on the others, but try to rest, alright? Medic's orders."

Hephaestus saw him bent over another bed, and study the gash on the right arm of the boy lying down, and Hephaestus inhaled sharply, almost able to sniff (regardless of the distance) the smell of sulfur and humidity that permeated the air around him.

He closed his eyes, and felt tears threatening to slip out of his control; hoping to see the golden halls and infinite woods of Olympus once he'd open his eyes, he called for Zeus and prayed for him to tell him if that was a punishment or a trick or a curse, and no one answered.
No one listened to his prayers, not his mother, nor the sky, because the mind who called for them was trapped into a mortal and weak body, so wrong that Hephaestus felt like he could go crazy just from those new sensations alone.

He opened his eyes, and saw the son of Apollo move to the side of another bed. Cut the shirt that the young man lying unresponsive was wearing, just like he had with Hephaestus' pants, and pull a new shirt on the chest of who Hephaestus knew was Zeus- like he was a normal patient, and not the Father of the Gods, like he couldn't perceive the ozone, the wind, the burning smell and the crushing power that were hurting Hephaestus nose, eyes and mind.
The medic couldn't feel that.

He quickly traveled from bed to bed, one after the other, and he left the room- the building, after telling Hephaestus to use the little bell on his bedside table if he felt even the slightest discomfort or pain.

Then, the girl on his right got up, having probably waited for the mortal to get out.
Her hair was short, dyed a shocking shade of pink, her skin dark and stained by badly-removed make-up, and someone had dressed her in a pair of too-short sweatpants and a too-large Camp t-shirt, one of her shoulders left uncovered and hit by the sun coming from the windows. A mole on her neck, just over her collarbone.
She stared at Hephaestus, and Hephaestus recognised Aphrodite even if her body and her face were different.

She sat up, staring at the door for a few seconds, as if waiting for the boy to return immediately, and after what felt like five minutes of intense silence, she jumped out of the bed.
She walked to his bed, and and sat next to his knees, and she wasn't smiling.

Her round, small face was still, the pinched expression on it frozen, and the bruise on her cheekbone proud and purplish.

Hephaestus looked around, for real this time, with his mind clear, and he saw bed after bed. They were all occupied by mortals, ten of them.
Not counting Hephaestus and Aphrodite, who were just as mortal.
Twelve was a familiar number.
The feeling of nausea pervading him was just as familiar.

Aphrodite didn't speak a word, not that they'd ever talked a lot, and Hephaestus didn't break the silence, choosing to stare at the other then, he immediately noticed the one moving around, on his left side, and who opened his eyes with a sudden movement, his body almost frantic in its attempt to free itself from the clutches of cotton sheets.

His uncle Poseidon noticed him and Aphrodite immediately, and he understood, eyes wide.

"Nephews?" he called them, disbelief clear in his words, and Aphrodite smiled, waving, like the situation wasn't a reason for worry. Her nails (the nails of the mortal body she was in) were colored with six different colors, distributed between the ten nails without a recognisable logic, and the polish was half-peeled and ruined at the sides.
His uncle's face darkened with her confirmation.

Then he looked around too, just like Hephaestus, and his breath hitched.
"We're…"

Aphrodite stood up, and Hephaestus watched as she began to clap her hands vigorously, walking barefoot on the parquet floor.
"Wake up!"
Her voice lacked the natural musicality that characterized every word she said, made up of melodious and allusive sounds, lewd when she wanted or as tender as the words of a mother, tinged with hatred as thick as honey or gushing with love.
It was, now, a voice like any other, the voice of a mortal teenager, which ringed through the airy and light-filled environment like a bell.

One after the other, seven rose.

The first one, as stiff as a piece of wood and anger-filled dark eyes, was maybe the oldest between them, and he didn't even look twenty. Hephaestus wasn't good with this sort of things, but he'd met enough of his children in the last centuries to have a… vague idea of how mortals were supposed to look like, as they were still growing.

"Brother" Poseidon called him, voice unwavering, and Hades' rage only grew.

"Brother" he hissed, voice low, as threatening as a mortal as he was as a divine being "I hope this isn't some trick."

"I do miss you, brother" that word, said again and again, was now heavy with things Hephaestus didn't want to see or know "But not enough to do something like this."

Something like this. Hephaestus tried to think of this as a project to plan, steps to write down, materials to search for in the best hidden places on earth, months spent in his forges- and he breathed a little easier.

"I hope so."
His mother looked down at the clothes she was wearing, and then raised a hand to touch her face.
She'd always been quick to anger, but the fire in her eyes rivaled that of her oldest brother. She turned to them, a hiss ready to fall from her lips, when she saw her husband, eyes closed, expression serene, body bandaged and as mortal as she was, and her skin got two shades lighter.
"What kind of curse is this?" she murmured to herself.

Demeter walked to her sister the moment she woke up, as Hephaestus' half-brother's resigned "Not again" ringed through the room. Apollo was still blond, but he was also small and thin, not older than fourteen, and he exhaled that thought like a prayer.

Hermes and Dionysus didn't even wait. They opened their eyes, and before even trying to think of a possible reason why they were there, they walked to the twins, Artemis her brother's look alike if not for her dark hair.

Aphrodite touched lightly Ares' face, and he sat up with a jerk, just barely missing her with his head, a choked-out scream half swallowed down. He touched his chest, as if surprised that a heart was beating that hard and quick, under the skin and the ribs. Hephaestus moved his eyes away from, and he looked at his mother, his uncles, aunts, brothers and sisters.

Zeus, powerful Zeus, Father of the Gods, King of the Gods and the Sky, didn't open his eyes.

There were twelve of them.

But where proud, tall Athena should have been, was Hades.

Their sister was missing, and Hephaestus ignored the blooming worry in his chest.
(The embers of a fire long asleep, after centuries of conflicts and silence.)

Apollo noticed it.
His voice, just like Aphrodite's, lacked the beauty and perfection that had been making mortals faint and immortals swoon like youth for centuries.
"Where's our sister?"

And Athena's absence became evident, like a punch to the sternum, for all of them.

Poseidon's lips formed a thin line.

"What ails our Father?" asked Artemis as she raised, but Ares almost screamed, his voice choked- "What ails us, you mean!".
Aphrodite ran a hand through his messy hair, but he barely calmed down. His eyes were wide open, and his hands trembled.
Almost like they would usually tremble, still but in constant movement at the same time, in all the glory of a god who knew extremes and nothing else. He was a mortal, yes, but the fire behind his eyes was alive and familiar. Hephaestus knew it well.
"What, in Zeus' name, happened to us?"
His mouth was curled in a terrible grimace (so alike their mother's), terrible enough to scare even a giant, but Hephaestus wondered what had happened to him.
His neck was fully covered in bandages- not white, but a dull beige.

Their uncle Hades let out a guttural noise from the depth of his chest, similar to the screech of an empusa, and he stared at them as if waiting for the earth to open up and swallow them at his command.
(He wouldn't have been able to even as an immortal, but Hephaestus had never been the victim of his uncle's fury and didn't want to change things.)
"We're mortals, if it isn't obvious enough for you. We're demigods. And we're-"

"At Camp Half-Blood" Poseidon finished, and Hephaestus almost waited for Hades to jump him and kill him, take him to the Hades, but the only answer the King of the Underworld gave was a clenched jaw, and a diverted gaze, a deep breath. An attempt at calm.

Silence ruled, for a series of long second that felt like minutes.

Apollo rose, out of the blue.
The smirk on his face was genuinely amused.
"We'll see who will laugh, this time."

Hephaestus remembered the times that Apollo had spent as a mortal, at the service of a mortal as a punishment from their Father, and he still remembered how not one of them had spared him the humiliation.
That was their family.
Apollo would have done the same, hadn't he been the one suffering, but Apollo was a being ruled by emotions more than any of them, blind in the face of love and hate, and no one doubted the honesty of the God of Truth.

Poseidon, the only one who could have shared Apollo's feelings (other than Dionysus), sighed.
It looked like their real ages had influenced their physical appearance, in some way, and the children of Kronos did look older than the other Olympians.
"We're all in this together, nephew. Rather than being petty, think about how even our King" no one could make that word sound as uninfluential as him "Is here with us. It seems… bizarre of him, to punish himself with his favourite punishment."

Hephaestus thought back to the hundreds of time where his uncle had tried his best to stop their petty fights from turning into wars. And to the hundreds of times where he hadn't been able to, and everyone had suffered the consequences.
He thought back to his hypocrisy, and to the anger that not even a deity as old as him was able to hide, too busy being agitated like a sea snake in front of the thunder of his little brother's voice.

Hypocrite, yes, but only when it came to the King and Father of the Gods.

Hades showed his teeth in a private grin, and the tension between the brothers seemed to dissipate, thanks to their shared contempt for their young brother.

(Nothing was a secret in their family, but everything was ignored. Until it was too late.)

Artemis frowned. She walked to the wall opposite to the door, and she took the white paper calendar pinned to it. She gave it to Hermes, without saying a word: he probably read the date written on it, and then sat at the feet of Apollo's bed, weak like a wireless puppet.

"We're mortals" he repeated. He was the youngest of them, not because he truly was the youngest (that title was Dionysus') but because he was small and his eyes were too big for his young face. "And the year is 2012 AD."

From Hermes' expression, that was a bad thing.

The last time Hephaestus had been interested in what year it was, the year 1983 had been running. He didn't know how many years had gone by- but Hermes lived out of Olympus, rather than inside of it, and more than anyone else he saw the world change with his own eyes. He lived those changes in a way not one of them did.

When more than one of them looked at him without a clue in the world (Hephaestus included), he angrily pointed to the words on the calendar. It was in Ancient Greek, hand-made.
June 2012.
"It's 2002. Or- it was 2002, when we weren't mortals."

Again, silence.
Time was a strange concept, for immortals.
They may not feel minutes, hours or days go by, but could they all miss ten years of history, of life and death?

"What trick are the Fates playing on us." Demeter raised a hand to touch her forehead, next to Hera, who finally stopped staring at her husband to look at her sister and scowl, dark eyes inscrutable.

"Don't be so- undignified, sister." Her voice was hard as marble, more familiar than any caress. "We're gods, no matter how weak are the bodies we're trapped in."

"And ten years have gone by without any of us knowing it, sister. You can fake your dignity as much as you like, but things won't change. Run to your husband's side, instead."
The animosity in her voice was almost tangible.

Hephaestus saw his uncle try to climb down from the bed, and the King of the Sea almost fell down, unstable on his feet, and Hephaestus peeked at the bandages wrapped around his ankles and knees.
They'd all been hurt somehow.
"This is not the moment" he gritted out, once he became able to stand "To fight."
His skin was too pale, like he hadn't spent enough time under the sun, but his dark hair were as wild as ever. The fact that they didn't look like moving water itself didn't make them any less disastrous.

He spoke of peace, maybe, but the urge in his words reached their ears.

Ten years? What had changed in a world like the one they'd begun to know fully, where things changed so quickly and harshly?

Hera, without saying a word, walked to the bed where the Father of the Gods was resting. She touched his cheek, gently, and called his name.
She did it again, and again, and no answer came.
He was breathing, his heart was beating, but he didn't wake.

Before any of them could talk again, tired of their useless debates even before they could really start debating, Hephaestus opened his mouth and spoke for the first time.

"The son of Apollo who healed us will know what to do."

He could still feel the warmth of the touch of his skin. A shiver ran down his spine, human and horribly weak. The boy had bandaged his leg, before leaving, and he'd covered it, and Hephaestus thanked him in the quiet space of his mind.

He couldn't have tolerated to be so exposed in front of his family. Their stares full of amusement and pity had always been able to irritate him endlessly, more than anything else in the world. Metal didn't know who he was and what he was, it only knew that they were each other and that they couldn't fully live without the other. Hephaestus craved the hot, stifling air of the forges more than anything else, like a baby who craves the warmth of his mother's embrace.

His mother's lips curled.
"A mortal?" she asked, full of disgust "You would ask for the help of a mortal?"

"Isn't that what we usually do?"

Her nostrils flared.

He didn't let her answer to that way rhetorical question.
He'd spent the last seven thousand years training to stand the presence and existence of his family- and even if his mother didn't look at him with the same disgust of that first fateful time she'd laid eyes on his deformed body, he remembered the disgust. But he didn't recoil from her anger.
"He'll know what to do. If you'd rather stay here and fight, go ahead. But I doubt our time is endless, as we are now."

Apollo frowned.

Ares showed his teeth. "You want to waste our-"

Apollo clapped his hands, thankfully interrupted Ares, and smiled brightly.
"I wonder who it is, that you're talking about! Should we go looking for him?"

Hephaestus pointed at the bell next to Apollo's bed- there was one for each one, and Apollo nodded, smile stuck on his face less annoying and more human than usual, ignoring the others' protests.
It didn't produce any sound, and it was of such a light material that it moved in the air like a feather.

And they waited- for the furthest thing from a long time.

Maybe a minute, where Hephaestus studied the hand he'd used to point at the bell- tanned, but smooth, that had never seen a day of work in its life, and he wondered if now he was as unsightly as he'd been as an immortal. Was his face different, like Aphrodite's? Or did it held some similarities, like Hades' and Apollo's?

And the door was opened.

The son of Apollo walked in, and it was like seeing his father in his stead, a large, blinding smile on his lips, tanned skin and blue eyes that almost looked made of gold under the sunlight- and the warmth that surrounded his whole body.
He also looked painfully mortal, which made his mere sight almost… dizzying.

He wasn't alone.
He was shaking his head, amused by something the other demigod had said as they entered, which was probably why he was smiling so widely, but Hephaestus could see him regain his composure.
All amusement disappeared when he was Poseidon standing.

And in a second, he was at his side, an hand on his shoulder, the other on his back. The god didn't even have the time to blink, as he was ushered towards his bed.
"Hey, it would be better if you don't get up- not yet."
The same warm (warm, everything was warm) voice, slightly rough and not naturally so (maybe so for the strain, or a illness?), encouraged the mortal whom he didn't know was a god to lay down.

Only when he succeeded did the smile get back on his face, his shoulders relaxed once more.
 He wasn't wearing the same shirt as before, but a new, white one, under it the orange Camp t-shirt. This one was clean, but there was still a blood stain on his pants, short enough to show his calves, all tanned, dark skin.
The flip-flops on his feet were almost jarring to look at, neon-yellow against the brown of the parquet.
Around his neck a string, and in it exactly eight beads.

Hephaestus stared at him, and even if he couldn't see anyone else he heard Apollo's chocked sound. Everyone did.

The boy clicked his tongue. For another second he kept his hand of Poseidon.
"I'm sorry" he admitted, genuinely so, retreating a few steps "But I didn't find the time to look at your ankle before. Give me a minute."
He darted away, opening a door directly in front of Hephaestus' bed and disappearing in a room, where Hephaestus saw a tall bookcase and enough light that he could hardly imagine a wall being there to filter the sun- rather than that nothing at all, or maybe glass covering the other half of the building's front.

The same room they were in, the Camp Half-Blood Infirmary, was huge, full of windows, and Hephaestus saw an extraordinarily large wasp crash into an invisible wall when it tried to enter through one.

They were left alone with the other demigod.

He was taller, taller than all of them, even Hades, and he studied them with pursed lips. His arms were crossed, and Hephaestus had no problems guessing who his godly parent was.

The scar running down his right arm, from his wrist to the start of the sleeve of the orange t-shirt, was thick and raised; the kind of scars one could only find on soldiers' who'd had no medical assistance (like the scars on Hephaestus' body, some caused by his mother and some put there by their King and Lord of the Sky), or on Ares' children.
The one on his face, a zigzag that went from his temple to the dip under his ear, was lighter, barely noticeable.

He stepped forwards when Poseidon tried to get up again, and the sound made by the metal of his prosthesis almost echoed in the room. Poseidon stilled.

Hephaestus barely hid a sound of surprise.

It was a work that would have made even the best of smiths proud, the anatomy of it visible thanks to the shorts the demigod was wearing and the missing left shoe- the metal touched the ground, the wood of the parquet.
It started just under the boy's knee, where the skin was strangely smooth and free from any kind of scar, and its shape was almost delicate. Made of black metal plates, and celestial bronze whose particles Hephaestus could feel as if they were flowing in his veins- because he knew the hand that had built that wonder of a creation.

His son, Charles, was only eleven, and had yet to learn how to manipulate so precisely celestial bronze, especially after only two months in the forges of Camp Half-Blood, and yet that jewel had been made by him.

(Hephaestus knew about his progress.
His son was a quiet boy, but ever since he'd spent his first night in the forges he'd decided that, if he talked with himself for hours, eventually some of those words would reach his father.
Every word, etched with a curious kind of distraction reached Hephaestus, muttered over the workbench he was the patron of, and Hephaestus thought that working while listening to his son's endearing rambles was pleasant- more pleasant than one of Apollo's songs, as pleasant as the mechanical sounds of his favourite clock.)

He saw Ares stare at the boy, eyes widened, in a sudden and surprising show of angerlessness.
He was shocked, like he'd never been before (at least in front of Hephaestus), and Apollo was his mirror, twisted on himself to stare helplessly at the door his son had shut behind him.

"Stay down" he ordered, his voice low. It was almost… delicate. He looked them all over, his dark eyes shone of something unknown.
He spoke, and it wasn't clear whether he was worried, angry or annoyed.
"None of you should be up."

Demeter was standing tall, so were Hermes and Artemis. He pointed his almost black eyes on them, and didn't even spare a glance to those who were sitting on someone else's bed, like Aphrodite and Dionysus.

Artemis stood where she was, weak and short but confident, and Hephaestus was hit by how young they looked. Even Hephaestus himself.
He tried to imagine how he would have reacted, if a mortal boy had come to him pretending to know more about mechanics- and he understood the reason behind the harsh lines of Artemis' small face.
"Your companion did not deem it necessary to tell us."

The boy watched her, critic.
He hummed. "Mh. I don't care. Sit down."

Apollo patted the empty spot on his right, and that was the only thing that stopped Artemis from jumping on the boy and tearing him to pieces. Hermes touched her shoulder, and she followed him to Apollo's bed, where now the four youngest Olympians were perched upon, a tight-knit union.

The mortal didn't relent.
In his eyes was becoming more and more visible the ghost of a familiar anger, and his good foot started to tap on the parquet.
Demeter stared at him in silence.

"Sit down" he repeated, and she didn't, again.

Hephaestus felt more than saw the spark that resulted from his feet moving against the floor too harshly, but he certainly saw one of his hand curl around his bicep and tighten his grip until nails bit into skin-
Then he breathed, and he stopped moving again. His crossed arms relaxed, and his face did the same.

"You were recently wounded, badly, like the ones with you- and it's a miracle you're still alive. Sit down, please, and let Will check on you and reassure us that you're not about to drop dead. And you'll be free to do whatever the hell it is that you're so anxious to get done."

"I don't think you know who you're talking to, boy."

His aunt’s voice was not threatening, it was solemn, almost somber- but still harsh. As if she was sorry to be forced to punish such a naive, reckless boy, and was ready to do it.
Hephaestus wondered if the fierce six (five) had already accepted their powerlessness.

The mortal didn't rage again.
He merely drawled out a monotonous "Enlighten me, then", his head slightly tilted, and Hephaestus realized that he needed some kind of information from them as much as they needed it from him.

Twelve demigods had reached Camp, somehow, all of them wounded and some almost dead, together and probably followed by terrible monsters. What did they think had happened? Who did they think they were?

Demeter straightened more than what was humanly possible, and when she opened her mouth to speak not one word got out. It looked like someone had suddenly choked her, and when she managed to speak her strangled words were "Dalia Hawthorne".

The boy stared at her for a long second, and sighed like the mere sight of them exhausted him. Hephaestus felt empathy bloom in his chest, for a bizarre, short instant.
"Sit down, Dalia. You'll have fun explaining to me why I should let you kill yourself later."

And Demeter did as she was told. She sat down, light eyes lost in bigger thoughts, and everyone understood what had happened.

They were trapped in weak, mortal bodies, ten years from when they came from, and no one could know.
Not even their children.

Ares' voice came unexpected.
"Who are you?"

He was staring at the boy, eyes as cold as ice.

His son gave a grin, but it was clear his face was not used to the action and that he didn't really want to smile at them.
"Sherman Yang. You're in Camp Half-Blood Infirmary, and that one was Will Solace, Head Medic and the one who saved you from having to pay Charon's too high tax. Do what he says, or you'll spend a month in here."

Seeing how Ares looked at him, the boy had to be a ghost.

Sherman Yang looked like his father. His nose, that had once been straight and perfectly set, had been broken more than once, and it was almost hooked. The scar on his skin was made even fainter by his light complexion, but it was there, visible under the sunlight.
He had Ares' presence, just like all of his children, imposing and burning and constantly fluctuating from one emotion to the other. But there was something calm, composed in him that Hephaestus struggled to reconcile with the (metaphorical) blood flowing in his veins.

Will Solace, son of Apollo and Head Medic of Camp Half-Blood, came back, and he did to Poseidon's ankle just what he'd done to Hephaestus' leg.
He covered the bruised, purple skin with one of his hands, firmly wrapped by almost too tight white bandages, and the warm light glowing under his skin was visible regardless of their presence.
Hephaestus saw that light escape from the spaces between his and Poseidon's skin, between his crooked, thin and long fingers, and when he removed it he offered the god a lopsided smile.

"Thank you" offered Poseidon, voice composed, and Will Solace waved his now free hand.

"Pfft, don't worry. It'd be best if you stayed here tonight, to avoid any risk, but you'll be ready to live and function again by tomorrow morning."

Then he turned towards them once again (his gaze didn't stay on his father for more than a short moment, and Hephaestus prayed that was because he'd never met his father and couldn't even suspect- an irrational prayer) and when he saw Aphrodite his cheeks darkened slightly.

He raised an arm to scratch at his neck, and made a beeline for her.
"Sorry, I forgot to fully heal your fractured cheekbone- that drakon did a number on you. Let me look at it now?" he asked, and Aphrodite didn't hesitate.
She stuck her face out, but Will Solace healed her just with a light touch of his fingers against her cheek, and the bruise disappeared.

He sighed, less red than before.

A drakon, Hephaestus wondered, and it had almost killed them.

"I couldn't heal all of you at once, so sorry again. It's a luck you came before summer break, or we wouldn't have had enough beds for the lots of you. But some help wouldn't have hurt either. Anyway, let's wake your friend up."

Hera stared at him without blinking.
She was the only one who still looked like a goddess. Or maybe Hephaestus thought so only because she was his mother and he was cursed to forever see her as the most regal and scary thing in the cosmos.
"Wake up?"

Will nodded, and walked towards the bed where the Father of the Gods was resting with his eyes closed and face still and calm like Hephaestus had never seen before.
"His body needed the rest, so I put him into a healing trance- nothing dangerous, don't worry. He's strong enough to get woken up, finally."

As he moved his hands over Zeus' chest, Hades asked "How long has he been in this healing trance?", to which Will answered, promptly and without sparing the other a glance, focused on the sleeping body of their King "Two days an' a half".

Hephaestus closed his eyes, and when he opened them Zeus woke up, rising with a choked growl.

He set eyes on Will, and for a brief moment he almost relaxed- Hephaestus knew now that he wasn't the only one who saw Apollo, at the boy's place, with his golden hair and delicate, beautiful traits and a presence as warm and bright as the sun's itself. But then he recognised the mortal for what he was, a mortal, and not his son Apollo, the strongest of his children, the revered and most holy Apollo.
And if Apollo was the only one they trusted with their health, his son didn't have the same privilege.
(If that could be called a privilege.)

"Stay back, mortal, in the name of the Lord of the Sky!"

Will Solace didn't bat an eye, and just smiled placidly.
"Don't worry, bud. You're all safe now, and I'm here to take care of you. Of you specifically. Can I check your wounds?"

Their Father thundered- he tried to, the voice of a teenage boy not adapt to demonstrate the anger residing in the soul of an ancient and raging god "You surely have no right to step so close to me, mortal."
Again, he called him mortal, and Sherman Yang started to get antsy from behind Will Solace.
"And you won't have it, not now nor ever."

Will Solace stopped smiling.
He looked resigned.
"You're sure?"

Zeus looked ready to burst from the anger and indignation.
Will was faster.
"Just a few hours ago the wound on your stomach was still open. Four of your ribs were fractured, and they'd perforated a lung which I was miraculously able to heal- your left leg was broken, and you almost lost your hand, not to mention your heart which almost gave out from the stress, twice. You really want to risk that again?"

"Don't you know who I-"

"You could be the Lord of the Sky, or some evil giant, and I wouldn't care. You're my patient, and my responsibility, and as your medic I'd like you not to die."

He then took advantage of the raw surprise on the god's face (who was, actually, the Lord of the Sky) to get close enough to start unbuttoning the shirt that covered his upper body.

Hephaestus saw Hermes exchange a look with Aphrodite- amused, surprised and maybe a 'bit scared for the boy. Hephaestus saw the way his mother was staring at his husband and at the boy busy undressing him.

He went on "I'm sorry if this makes you uncomfortable, but there are worst things", he revealed the thin chest of the mortal boy, and started to expertly undo the bandages with his face pinched in a focused frown.

Hephaestus understood why Will Solace had been so insistent- there were no huge scars, but on the skin was the sign of where it had been torn, red and angry.

As if he'd read his mind, Will Solace said "The mark will disappear in a few weeks, don't worry. No initiatory Camp scar" and he smiled, like he'd said the funniest joke in the whole world.
(The only scar that the Father of the Gods let others see was the one his father had left, as a sign and reminder of what he'd done to become King, and just whom he'd managed to beat.)

Hephaestus looked at his leg, pain the furthest thing from his mind, warmth still present on his skin.
Will Solace had no need of prayers or to beg his father to heal his patient. He just smiled, satisfied, at the sight of the healed skin, and after covering it with a clear and almost solid paste he wrapped him with a new set of clean bandages.

He moved on to the leg which had apparently been broken, and it was clear that the fracture had been severe, from the way the skin was as red as his chest's- the bone had come out, shattered, breaking skin on its way.

"So, you should rest for at least two days, and try not to strain your leg too much, but I understand that it's boring, so I will settle for just one day here and a check up in a week or so."

Sherman let out a sort of derisive snort that Will Solace ignored.

Ares' son was calm now, and he didn't look at Zeus as if he was ready for him to jump Will out of the blue, not anymore.
Zeus noticed.
"You took a warrior with you to force me to bear your healing, mortal?"

His brothers both looked on the verge on slapping a hand on their foreheads- which was normal for the god of the Tides, but Hades?- and Hephaestus could understand them. If Zeus didn't stop calling Will Solace a mortal the boy would have probably lost the ability to justify the strange name-calling with some brain injury.

Maybe they should have hoped for that.
(Stupid hope. If their destiny wasn't to reveal themselves to their children then the Fates wouldn't have been tricked by such a simple ruse.)

Will Solace shrugged, ignoring that 'mortal', again.
"He had to protect me, if you were crazy. Or particularly violent. His sister once broke my wrist, when I was nine, because I'd dared to try to fix her dislocated shoulder. And she did it with the dislocated shoulder's arm too."
Sherman smiled, and Will did the same, full of fondness, as if he was living again a good memory.
The fondness was quickly washed away by the same friendly expression he'd been wearing since their first meeting.

"I wanted to avoid a broken bone this time, since there are twelve of you. And it's strange that so many half-bloods came here together- you could be crazy, for all I know."
Sherman Yang sighed, all happiness disappeared, and he sat on the chair next to the door, after sending Will a disapproving look. When he lowered himself on the seat the distinct sound of the weapons on his body reached their ears, just as much as a warning as his intense gaze.
"And this old, to make things worse."

Will Solace pointed at the bed were Hephaestus, Zeus, Poseidon and Hades were sitting, the ones that Aphrodite and Hermes had left empty, and told them to all sit on that side of the room.

Artemis didn't move.
"Your companion ordered me" and the thing had more than irritated her "To stay put, and now you ask me to move around to your liking?"

Will Solace seemed confused, to then frown. Worry laced his words.
"Is your leg still giving you problems?"

The goddess blinked.
"No."

"Oh, thank Zeus. I'm sorry, but I asked Sherman to make sure you didn't move before I got a chance to check on you. But if you don't feel any kind of pain then you're free to do as you please. Unlike him" he pointed at Poseidon with his head "your legs are ready-to-go. And the same for you."

They all did as he'd asked, until they were all together.

It became evident why he'd made them get close to each other when Sherman Yang went through the mysterious door, and walked out of it with a large white panel- a whiteboard?

They sat down in front of them.
On rolling chairs.

Will Solace was suddenly serious, completely serious, and Hephaestus started to feel like they were about to hear a long introduction to their own pantheon from their children, when Sherman Yang rolled on his rolling chair to give the whiteboard to Will Solace. It was large enough that his head had to be slightly tilted upward, as the wooden edges dig into his chin and thighs.

"Now, what are your names?"

"She's Diana Hawthorne" Sherman Yang looked first at Demeter, than at Will Solace, as if waiting for him to recognise her. Solace nodded and smiled at the goddess blissfully, and stared at the others with trepidation. Sherman Yang stared down Diana Hawthorne as if waiting to recognise her.

Maybe he believed her to be a famous actress, or the daughter of some rich European businessman.

Apollo grinned and didn't hesitate as he exclaimed a loud "Charlie Astle, and she's my sister-" "Charlise." "Exactly!"

One after the other.

Hera spat out that "Saffron" like it physically hurt her to say it out loud, even if Hephaestus privately thought that Paul was so much worse, and Poseidon wasn't whining about it.

Dionysus' Ean was short and nonplussed, Hermes gave a simple Emilio, then Hades' Michele Orlandi was spelled out with a perfect accent, and when Hephaestus's turn came the "Lennon" came out of his mouth without his mind even thinking it- he suddenly knew that Lennon was it. It was his name. The only name he could go by.

Aphrodite introduced herself, Anaïs Celice, and Ares said "Deonte" with their mother's voice and expression, way more angry to be a mortal in general than to have that specific name.

Hera was the one to present her brother, Zeus, who was still trying to burn alive the two mortals by staring them in the eyes unflinchingly. Yuvan was his name.

Will wrote down every name from a piece of paper he took from his pocket (with a battered and somehow bent pen). He put it away and clapped his hands once.

"So, you know anything about Greek mythology? Gods, monsters, titans, giants?"

(The words choice and order was strange. But Hephaestus was still feeling the after-effects of the ambrosia. So he ignored it.)

"We do, mortal" Zeus shot daggers at him with his eyes, and Solace looked relieved.
And worried. Maybe the brain injury excuse was becoming weak, and the guy calling him 'mortal' was starting to weird him out.

"Well, perfect. All of you?" no one said anything, just Hermes gave him a curious 'Yeah'. "Weird. This makes you more suspicious, but it also makes my work easier."

He gave the whiteboard back to Sherman, obviously not needing it anymore.

"Your work?"

Hephaestus blinked as he finally saw what was written on it, black marker on white, shiny plastic, now that Will Solace wasn't hiding it against his chest anymore: a family tree of their family, and Hephaestus squeezed his eyes (squeezed his eyes) trying to understand the words.

Before he could manage to, Will sighed.
"The Head Counselors made me Official Camp Initiator. I voted no, of course, but we're a democracy. So I have to be the one to introduce you to this Camp before giving you to Chiron, who will fill your heads with myths and stories. I'm here to give you all the information that you really need, since you're newbies. I mean, who cares about Mother Earth's hundreds of children's names if you don't even know what their existence means for you?"

He pointed at a small name written alongside one of the edges of the board, linked to one of the bigger names with a dashed line. Sherman moved closer to him, to stop him from toppling over.
"Him. Yes, he's that Chiron, the one from the myths, the centaur. It's hard to find something that he can't explain better than any book or teacher, so ask him for anything. Nothing about modern art, he goes crazy and starts ranting."

He pointed at the only other name that was readable, and for some reason it was Dionysus'. Whoever had made that family tree needed some orthography lessons.
(Not that Hephaestus could talk.)
"And then there's Mr D- Dionysus, yes, the god. Gods exist and they're your parents, at least one of them, which is surprising but not as much as the winged beast that tried to eat you. Mr D will never remember your names, he called me Will once in the ten years I've known him, but he's alright. He's been Camp Director for a decade or so, it's a sort of punishment- please don't ask him anything about it- and he'll stay here for thirty or forty years more, so you'll see him around.

"Camp Director" Dionysus repeated those words like they terrified him, and Will Solace jumped to comfort him, maybe thinking him scared of the idea of a powerful god.

"Yeah, but don't worry. Of all of them" he moved his bandaged finger in a circle over the many names "he's at the top of everyone's list, since he become our sort of therapist, psychologist and sometimes psychiatrist. I mean, he's helped me lots these last years. Just don't say something about his rites and family, and he'll be chill."

Hephaestus felt his eyebrows almost touch his hairline.
Dionysus, the mortal's favourite?
Dionysus, who hated heroes like none of them did, who after his marriage to Ariadne had never asked a hero for their assistance ever again out of pure principle- showing without wanting to (debatable) that half the times it wasn't even necessary to ask for their children's help?
Dionysus?

("His family."
He wasn't talking about them. About Ariadne, obviously, who Dionysus loved like he had never loved and would never love anyone else ever again. His children? The immortal ones, the mortals with whom, believing Apollo's latest gossips, he'd been spending most of his time in the last few years?)

Dionysus was as baffled as anyone else.
"Psychiatrist."

"He can't kill us or make us go crazy, so he does the opposite. He'd die of boredom otherwise. It works for everyone, and Connor takes care of burning wine in the campfire every evening."

Sherman rebuked him "Explain yourself better".

Solace groaned, muttering something akin to "Guess why I didn't vote for-", but Sherman ignored him.
Instead, he firmly made hearing Will impossible, by saying "With the advent of Christianity we lost most of the texts that recounted how the gods were actually honored, and even if many have been rediscovered Dionysus is not the kind of god that kids can worship freely."

"Too many strange orgies," added Will Solace.
Sherman glared at him.
"You wanna steal my job? I’m willing to let you have it, since you think you're better at it."

The other's glare was burning with barely hidden amusement and pity.
"Sacrificing food and other things at the Campfire is the best we can do in normal situations, but it's enough, so you'll have to do that too.

Apollo's son took over, acting like he'd never been interrupted.

"So, if you need-"

Aphrodite raised her hand, and Will blinked.
"Uh, yes… Anas?"

"Anaïs" she corrected him "A drakon attacked us? A real drakon?"

Will gave a nod, somber.
Hephaestus wondered if his fingers were bandaged because of it, or if something else had happened.

It had been centuries, since a drakon had found its way out of Tartarus' pits. One had been able to, and had almost killed them.

Had a group of demigods traveled to Camp Half-Blood only to have their body suddenly filled with their divine souls? This wouldn't have explained Hephaestus' leg, or how some of them did look like themselves.
Or maybe they were all occupying the body of one of their children.

Hephaestus' leg wasn't damaged because of some sort of genetic factor, but because of his first terrible fall from Olympus. Not one of his children had ever had muscle, bone or tendon injuries like his own. None- but ten years had gone by. The seed of doubt grew and flourished with a fear that he refused to recognize.
He forced himself to be rational.
His mother and Artemis were there. The children theory was a dead-end.

A drakon had followed them?
Or maybe they'd just materialized outside of the borders, or maybe fell from the sky, and the beast had smelled and reached them?

"This one didn't spray poison, thank the Gods" he grimaced "But he did spit fire, and it was really passionate about cooking you alive. Luckily- and you are really lucky- the right people where there to stop it from killing you- and us."

"Are you this brutally honest with every… newbie?" Aphrodite batter her eyelashes "Or do you find us particularly unpleasant because of the drakon?"

Will Solace deflated like a sad balloon.
He started to rub the fingers of one hand against the palm of the other, and he did it until the top of his pointer was accidentally revealed. He didn't notice, and he sighed, his hands still moving.
"No, God. It's not your fault- it wouldn't have been even if you'd known that a drakon was following you and you'd lead it here. No, I'm pretty sure I can't be as- attentive and careful as I'd like to. You deserve way better, and I'm sorry. For what it's worth."

Hephaestus had never particularly cared for organic beings, were they mortals or not.

(Because even gods were organic, no matter how happy it made them to feel superior to all.
Their bodies could be destroyed: ichor coursed through her veins and gave them strength. They couldn't die like mortals did, the organic matter from which they were made could regenerate in a fraction of a second, but they could fade, they could be consumed, they could be trapped and weakened.
That organic matter was animated by a soul, by something superior, just like with the mortals, and by emotions, by thoughts, by the environment and the situation they lived in.)

Organics were eroded by time, and Hephaestus disliked watching that slow corrosion and knowing himself unable to stop it from happening.

His family was organic, no matter how divine, and Hephaestus kept his distance.
He didn't visit Olympus, if not for important occasions that required his presence there, and he didn't talk to his brothers and sisters- they were the one who talked to him, like with Apollo who had yet to give up on trying to lure Hephaestus into the rabbit hole that Divine Gossiping was. He even tried to pull him out of his forges when he felt particularly strong and steadfast.

Even Apollo would have been corroded, one day, just like Hephaestus.

His children did it so quickly that he wouldn't have even noticed, hadn't he chosen to. If he hadn't chosen them to be the only thing worth watching, as they grew and decayed to end the cycle.
The mortals in front of him would have done it, with time- Will Solace, Sherman Yang and his son, Charles, whom he almost felt in the room with them, his hands forever etched on the metal attached to the son of Ares- they would have become dust and the fire in Hephaestus' forges would have burnt for a long time after.

That didn't stop him from feeling pity, at the sight of Will Solace's guilt.

Sherman Yang didn't look that guilty.
"Thirteen demigods who know each other" Hephaestus glanced at his brother, almost without thinking about it, and Ares was already watching him. Thirteen- Athena was with them. He didn't know if it was right to feel relieved, because even if Athena and him weren't that close anymore it would have been cruel to wish for her to be down on Earth with them, weak and powerless "That all find Camp together, with a scent powerful enough to raise a drakon, and haven't been claimed by anyone even though they're way older than thirteen? You're a match about to fall in a pool of oil."

Will Solace whipped his head towards him, his face stern. He tightened his fingers in a painful fist, and the uncovered skin of his pointer became sickly purple: Hephaestus saw a short, bitten nail, and burnt scarred skin. Raised and white and then red.

"Yes, you are, but it ain't your fault, so ignore him" he told them, without taking his eyes away from the son of Ares, who grinned, apparently amused. He stood up, to put the board down next to the door, and as he did he looked at them.

"Not everyone wanted to let you in- or stay here, as if nothing about this was suspicious. And I'm one of 'em- one wrong move and you'll wish for the drakon."

Will Solace stood up too. He pointed at the door with one hand, the other busy torturing the bandages and the uncovered fingernail.
"If you came here to be an asshole get out."

"You're throwing me out Solace?"

"Yes, I am."

"Not scared of being jumped anymore?"

Hephaestus couldn't see his face anymore, but his shoulders were tense and squared. He walked closer to Sherman, not to hit him or shout in his face- his words were hissed, his voice low but not enough to stop them from hearing.
"I didn't spend hours busy attaching a kid's missing foot on his ankle for you to come here and tell me that I should have let them die. So get out now, or never set foot in here again."

Sherman Yang walked out without saying a words and without guilt or embarrassment, and Will Solace sighed.

Hephaestus took the risk of glancing to his right, in time to see Apollo looking at his son with a strange expression on his face. Hephaestus could have sworn that the emotion in his eyes was fear.
He thought it was reasonable.

Will Solace turned again, and Hermes didn't wait.
"Who lost a foot?"

The fact that they had to ask said everything about the boy’s abilities.

(Hephaestus remembered the last child of Apollo whose abilities had matched his, because the Father of the Gods had made them all watch as his Bolt turned the boy's body to a burnt mess.)

"Paul, right?" Poseidon nodded "I'm sorry, didn't think it would've been pleasant to you. Not that I- wouldn't have told you. But don't worry, you shouldn't even have circulatory problems. Chiron will check on you, just to be safe. And it didn't got cut all the way, or I wouldn't have even tried to, uh, put it back on" then he seemed to realize what he'd said, and his cheeks reddened "Not that I wouldn't have liked that, but, it's better to have limits when you're dealing with forced cell regeneration, you know?"

"Thirteen."
Their Father stared down the mortal boy.
"Where is she?"

Will looked relieved for the change of topic.
"With Chiron and Mr D. Out of all of you she's the only one who didn't get hurt. You were found three days ago, and she's already familiarized herself with everything here. She's alright for demigod standard."

"We're a threat to them."
Artemis jumped to her feet, but just for the sake of it, as she stayed close to her brother, who kept looking at Will with vaguely empty eyes.
"Why?"

His smile alone was an apology.
"You heard him" he pointed with a wide gesture of his arm to the door that Sherman Yang had used to walk out second before that.

"Why is our age so important? And what- our parents didn't claim us, what about it?"

Hephaestus knew that demigods came to the camp when they were young, but most of them were inhabiting the bodies of- little more than children. And even though some like the children of Kronos seemed to be older, what made it so important?

"Oh, serious topic, I thought we'd last longer."
(Until then it hadn't been serious enough?)
"There was this a big fight a few years ago, where the gods were helped a lot by a demigod, who asked as a reward that they would all swear on the Styx to claim their children before their fourteenth birthday. They all sworn, and have since kept their vow, but not with you. And the situation is… complicated. If there are problems up there then we need to know what to do. Your arrival made everything a little messier but, as I said before" he slightly raised his voice "It's not your fault, and you're welcome here."

A fight, a war maybe, a rewarded demigod- with something so small?
Hephaestus had seen mortals gain immortality, thanks to their service to the gods.

And what was happening out there to make them so agitated.

He was sad, as he spoke to Zeus, whose fists were tightened. Hephaestus could almost see his Bolt, held by long, pale fingers, and read what the god was feeling on that mortal body.
(Hephaestus hated organics, organics scared him, but you didn't survive without knowing how to read the Kind- and if you did, you didn't live well.)

"Your friend, Amara?- she told us that she has nothing to do with all the rest, and I believe her" he shrugged "Not that my dad's domain makes me a truth machine, but I'm pretty good at knowing when someone lies. And I can't bet someone else's life on my irrational fear. So- please don't go around without someone accompanying you, these first few days at least. But it won't last, and they'll se reason. They always do, and this Camp is for every half-blood. All of them."

Hephaestus didn't doubt it.

If only they'd actually been half-bloods.

His legs still didn't hurt.

——

Chapter Text

HOW TO BE A HUMAN BEING: Camp Half-Blood

——

day two: APHRODITE

After Will Solace had disappeared in the adjoining room of the Infirmary, which had to be some sort of office or inventory, silence hadn't lasted long, and they'd started whispering-shouting at each other like children.

Aphrodite, for the most part, had stared out of the window.
Her family was really fun, on good days, the perfect entertainment, but in days like those, when you wake up in mortal and terribly weak bodies, she didn't feel ready to deal with them.

Aphrodite was more than interested in the body she was inhabiting.

While the others were busy fighting, their voices kept low only thanks to Hera and Poseidon constant reminders (as if they didn't care about the fact that a mere walls kept them separated from the mortal- they probably didn't) Aphrodite observed that body.

Her hands were small- she was small. She'd never been this short. She thanked the sky for the plumpness of her new body: had she been as lithe as a twig her stay in the mortal realm would have been way more unpleasant.
(She liked experimenting, but she still liked her everyday life.)

Her body usually looked different in the eyes of every person, mortal or immortal, who looked at her, but Aphrodite was always the same. She looked in her mirrors, in the still surface of water, and the woman she saw was one no one else saw, but that she knew well.
But this body was different, her body was different for the first time ever, and the feeling of it was- curious.

Her fingers were short- the fact made a smile blossom on her face. The nail polish was cute, she had to admit, the orange used on the right pinky and left middle finger was truly of a beautiful hue.

The color of her hair, she only saw it when she went to the bathrooms, and stood in front of one of the mirrors.

It was well cleaned, the natural light hit her face, and she stayed there for an unknown amount of time, busy watching herself and that new face until she memorized every trait and particular.
Anaïs Celice was the name of the girl, her face was round, her eyes dark, her skin darker than honey, and the polish on her nails adorable, no matter how messy.
Anaïs was a real girl, perhaps, whose body Aphrodite had stolen.
Anaïs had good taste.

Whoever had put those clothes on her didn't, but Aphrodite was ready to forgive him (she knew it had been Will) because of the strange situation they'd all found themselves in.

At one point Ares had come to her side. He'd never been taller than her, but in this new form she had to bend her neck to see him. And she listened.
Apparently Will Solace and Sherman Yang were supposed to be children, and here they were, almost adults by mortal standards. Ares was troubled, Apollo even more. They were all troubled and worried.

And when they were worried about something, they fought.

So, Aphrodite spent that long, slow afternoon looking out of the windows.

The larger one, the one behind Hephaestus' bed, overlooked green grass and then a path. No one could see what was going on inside the Infirmary, but Aphrodite saw everything: the insects moving outside the glasses and pretty curtains, the demigods moving up and down the beaten path, alone or in small groups. She listened passively to them, and to their silences that became almost scary at times.

For dinner Will Solace brought them food.
He was alone, this time, and he had to go back to whatever place he'd taken the food from three times. Aphrodite then saw him sit on a ugly, vomit green couch in his office/inventory, and eat half of the steak he'd chosen for himself, before starting to furiously write on some sheets of paper- and forget the food.

"We'll find you a better place to sleep in tomorrow" he promised, but didn't go back to his Cabin. Instead he wished them goodnight, not hurt by their silence, and went back to his office/inventory, locking the door behind him. He only left it the morning after.

That morning, Aphrodite woke up at dawn, to find Apollo busy staring at the rising sun, and Dionysus staring at the ceiling with his arms and legs spread open like a starfish, eyes wide open.

She stretched, feeling stiff as a block of marble, and when she got out of bed neither or them spared her a glance.

"Hey, isn't it strange to look at the Sun knowing that another version of you is in its chariot?" she asked Apollo, walking up next to him, voice not louder than a whisper.

He stared at the star moving in the sky, and their mortal eyes were unable to see that movement clearly. The sun was a still globe of burning gas, and its position changed only when they closed their eyes and opened them after a good while.
It was a far away circle in the sky, of which they couldn't even discern the borders.

When he didn't answer she went on "Not worse than seeing you son be so different. Or maybe it's your first time meeting him?" and Apollo's eyebrows knitted more closely.
(Bad for his skin.)

Aphrodite didn't have to crane her neck much to look at him, thankfully, because he was several years younger than her.
(Studying their ages and the categories they'd created, Aphrodite had been glad to not have been included in the ranks of Zeus and Hera's children. She'd have seen it as a pretty big offense, and the Fates would have heard from her.)
She could now see his eyes, from up close, clearly.

He was different, as they all were, but maybe the least of them. He was a child, a few years younger than the age of his chosen and preferred form, an eternal boy who eternally protected their world's young boys, and he stared at her with badly hidden dread on his face.

"No. I'd only ever seen him from afar. In a dream."
He finally answered, his eyes now on the shining water, the sun forgotten for the clear surface of the lake. His voice distant.
"I knew he would be strong. Not this much. Never this much."
He added those last words, whispering as if sharing a secret with the air.

Aphrodite put a comforting hand on his shoulder, hit by the pitiful fondness that she so often felt for Apollo- young, sweet, foolish, strong Apollo, who was somehow able to both do less than what he was supposed to do and more than what he should have done.
Who still had to find balance, after four thousand years, who still deluded himself into thinking he'd found it in distance.

(Will Solace wouldn't be another Asclepius. Aphrodite hoped so, for her kind, sensible, hot-headed brother.)

He let Aphrodite touch him, and he breathed out, shakily, not in control of his body as much as he'd liked. He threw her a brief glance, and then added "I've already watched the sun rise with mortal eyes. It is not hard for me to see. What about you, sister?".

Aphrodite grinned.
"I'm thinking that I'm as delicious as ever, and that I'm too short. But mortal food seems even sweeter, now that it's matched with hunger, and its pain and fatigue."

Her grin was matched, and his eyes less absent than before.
"Wait to get tired, sweat and have to clean parts of your body you'd never thought could get so dirty."

"Never!" she exclaimed with an agitated whisper "Don't curse me, or it shall be the end of you."
She didn't become somber per se, but she almost felt the air become colder- or maybe that was just a strange, mortal feeling, and she straightened.
"Maybe they won't appreciate it, but we'll know how to, won't we?"

"You know better."

Aphrodite was in no hurry to be immortal once again.
Before them she could see a sea of opportunity, and they would sacrifice it all- and for what? Because of the humiliation they felt, living under the conditions of a mortal? Because they felt pathetic, weak? Because they had to rely on mortals, their children, for whom they would then feel gratitude?
(As if things were normally different.)

But Aphrodite? She would seize that opportunity without hesitation.

Apollo?
Apollo knew humans intimately, and had already been in a mortal body twice, forced into that state by his King and Father, and least of all would suffer, at least in theory- they didn't even have a mortal to serve.
The Father of the Gods was there with them, not in Olympus, on his throne, to watch them obey the orders of mortals, cruel and not.

In theory, he was right.

A power like Will Solace's could be dangerous, Aphrodite couldn't deny it, and Apollo had always loved and cherished his children. He'd put some unnecessary distance between himself and them, after two thousand years of unconditioned and absolute love, when Asclepius had died before his eyes, hit by his grandfather's Bolt, and Apollo had watched as a spectator.

Aphrodite wondered if Will Solace knew his father, seeing his abilities. If his father had chosen to watch from afar without getting too close (and failed, as always), or if luminous Apollo had chosen to warn him him like had hadn't been able to do with Asclepius, and guide him in hope of making him survive their world, that wasn't as cruel with anyone as it was cruel with powerful demigods.

A shiver ran down her spine.

Being in the presence of creatures like Apollo was always a blessing for someone like her, because their love could seem infinite, and no matter how much he hid it it was always there, ready to overflow and submerge them.

Apollo knew, Aphrodite knew, and they weren't the only ones.

Everyone would know, sooner or later.

So Aphrodite decided not to wait for them. They would wake up sooner or later.

In the meantime, she would investigate.

She gripped Apollo's hand, and dragged him to the door of the office/inventory, where she knocked softly: this way, had Will Solace been awake, he would have heard her, and the others wouldn't have woken up.
(She didn’t know if Will Solace had put something in their food to make them rest or if they'd been tired enough to collapse. The night before, seeing how agitated they were, she could have sworn that none of them would sleep.)

Aphrodite didn't turn to look at the surely panicked eyes of Apollo, but rather smiled and waited for his son to open the door.
Nothing moved or made even a noise from behind it, but nevertheless the boy opened up after a few seconds, a confused expression on his pretty face.

"Hey" he greeted them, his voice low, a small smile on his face "You need anythin'?" He sneakily cast a glance at the still occupied beds, and grimaced "Come inside, they need to sleep a little more."

He let them in, and closed the door again.

"You can talk as loud as you want, it’s all soundproof. Sit down."

Aphrodite dragged Apollo down, to sit next to her on the ugly couch, and Will stood leaning with his back on the desk, his hands on the wooden surface. He was wearing a black hoodie now, but the same cargo shorts as the night before.

She shamelessly studied the room.
The bed, a few steps from them, was long and narrow, smaller than those where they had slept, and no one had slept there that night. The blankets covering it were perfectly folded, as if they had just been ironed, and three books lay there next to more papers and documents.
The high cabinet behind the desk was full of books and cardboard boxes, almost all of them tightly closed, and on the third shelf there was a small coffee machine- even though she didn't see any glass around.

"Slept well?"

Apollo nodded weakly.
Aphrodite smiled "Of course! Thanks for taking care of us! Even more since it was so… difficult to do so. It wasn't our intention to be a problem to any of you."

"And you ain't, they're the ones making everything difficult" he scoffed, and then he lightened up "Right! I have to ask you a thing. Or two."
He turned around, and picked up one of the black sheets of paper, and a purple ballpoint pen.
"It's better for you to stay here at Camp, at least for this summer, but if you need personal items from home just tell us your address and we'll send someone to get it. Or- write down what you need, and we’ll buy it. You can’t go on with my clothes forever" he joked, pointing at the soft trousers that Apollo was wearing, which he'd had to roll up in order to not trip all over himself.

Aphrodite immediately took the paper and the hard-covered book that he handed her.

"Thank you, we’ll write everything down."

He nodded, and seemed sad for a brief, almost unnoticed moment.
"Good. Ah, if you don't need anythin' in particular I'll go change, but you- stay here as long as you want. Get a coffee, the manual is up there." He pointed at the coffee machine. "And do whatever you want. Try not to wake them up, they need as much energy as they can," he concluded, mysteriously, and left them there- and Aphrodite sighed annoyed as soon as he got far enough to not hear them.

She didn't hesitate to get up and start looking through the papers scattered on the bed and desk. He wouldn't have left them there if he'd cared so much about the secrecy of information written on them.
"And here I was, hoping to ask him some questions" she complained "And get you to know him better!"

"I don’t need you to introduce me to my son, honey."

"You sure about that?"

He glared at her, arms crossed, and Aphrodite chuckled.

She was a little disappointed, but at the same she was glad to have a chance to look around without anyone there to stop them.
And she almost shivered when she realized that she didn't have much time to do as she wanted, and that she would also have to waste her time reading through everything to find something interesting.
If there was something that Aphrodite liked, it was a challenge.
(That whole thing was a pretty big challenge.)

"Whine less and help me, sunshine."

The files on his bed were, exactly, thirteen.
They only had a few sheets inside each of them, and Aphrodite opened them - their names were written on the front, the names that came out of their mouths without them even knowing they were called that.
Most of the spaces were empty, but Will Solace had filled them out anyway, and written in pencil a year of birth for each of them, probably the one closest to their bodies'.

The only properly filled space was the one dedicated to medical interventions and medical history.

Of course, their medical history consisted of a single accident, but it was a… consistent accident.

Apparently, in addition to a fractured cheekbone, Aphrodite’s shoulder had been completely dislocated (she was ready to bet it was the drakon's fault), and her wrist had been crooked.

He'd been meticulous, and at the same time brief, and Aphrodite almost smiled at the circled "ALLERGIES", as if he wanted to remind his future self to ask them if they had allergies.
Aphrodite was not surprised when she found out that she was more than sure to be coeliac.
Her name was Anaïs, she was seventeen and coeliac.

It was fun to read the description of Zeus' wounds, after deciphering the boy's almost incomprehensible writing: his almost brutal explanation from the day before had been endlessly amusing, and seeing that he'd said exactly the truth made her grin.
She was the goddess of love, but this didn't mean that she felt much love for her pompous king.

Apollo, instead, took the only one that looked more like a folder, seeing how full it was. Full of entries, and covered by their own empty ones, and he opened it with furrowed brows.

Aphrodite looked over his shoulder, hitting his arm when it covered her sight, to read the never ending list of times that this girl- Clarisse La Rue, born in the second half of March, 1991- had gone to the Infirmary.
The first one, obviously written down by someone else, was from June 28th, 2001: a broken nose, cuts on the right shoulder and a few minor fractures.
They went on in a way that almost made her laugh, page after page, from little things to what sounded like battle wounds, until they reached July 2008- where the writing changed. Messier, less careful in writing down details, that wrote down twice as much injuries in a few months.
Then, August 17th, 2009, the writing became Will Solace's. Multiple fractures, burns, lacerations, a finger almost eaten away by acid, mild concussion.

From then on there were few, months and months apart.
The girl had left the Camp, but still came back often enough to get hurt.
The last entry was on June 16th, 2012- three days before, when they'd been attached somehow by a fire-breathing drakon that had been killed by the 'right person'.
So Clarisse La Rue had killed a drakon before- one who spat acid. Probably in the great battle of which Will Solace had spoken, or perhaps before, when the head of the Infirmary had changed for the first time.

Which of the two events had been the great battle that had seen the gods personally reward a mortal? Of course, some might have thought of it as a little prize, but an oath like that was no small thing.
Aphrodite herself had sworn on the Styx before, but to make the Father of the Gods do it? For a mortal to do so?

Will had mentioned a boy, so the mortal was not Clarisse La Rue.

Apollo was gripping the paper firmly between his fingers.

Aphrodite blinked.
"Brother?"

"Lee was in charge of the Infirmary. I recognize Michael’s writing. Lee once made him write me an apology card, where he managed to insult me in six different ways. And then Will's."

"The boy's abilities make him perfect for this job. They must have chosen him for this."

His eyebrows were almost touching in a painful grimace, and his eyes were staring at the words scribbled on the paper with a blue ballpoint pen.
"Lee is… he wouldn't do something like this. Not to-"

"Don't jump to conclusions, we don't know anything about this. We're stumbling in the dark, you can't think to understand all of this just with a piece of paper."

Apollo glared at her, cutting as a sword.
"It's not just a piece of paper."

And so, the ten past seven of Aphrodite's second morning as a mortal saw her looking through the enormous, metal drawer, where tens of similar papers were organized by an unknown, confusing order.
Probably all the campers of the last decade.

Aphrodite found names of children that she knew to be too young to spend their summer at Camp, but old enough now, after ten years, and she smiled seeing them, just like she smiled seeing names of children old enough to have left it.
Silena, Mercy, Helen, they were all there.

But other papers they opened, read, and almost all of them had reported serious and minor injuries from those two days.
The first dead was Elly Haber, fifteen years old, dead by the summer of 2008. Another boy, dead the year after, eighteen years.
Then, still in 2009, the first familiar name, familiar not to her but to Apollo. One Cari Saavedra, fourteen, dead, whom Apollo told her was one of his daughters.
Going on, name after name, they found came across Alicia Memphis, 2009, seventeen, another daughter of his.
Then, Steven Paige, twelve years old, his son.

After what must had been forty minutes, spent alone, in that beautiful and poorly furnished office, they heard Will Solace's voice from the window that overlooked the beaten path, and Aphrodite took Steven Paige's records from Apollo's grasp.
They'd been taking one and putting one back, to not mess up the strange order of the drawer and get find out: Aphrodite pushed the metal handle back, closed the drawer, took Apollo's wrist and pulled him towards the window.

Will Solace came in, and found them like that. He was wearing another t-shirt, without the ugly flannel from before, a pair of new cargo shorts- brown ones, just as terrible. Same scary, blinding yellow flip-flops, slightly wet hair- completely covered arms.
He didn't close the door, instead pointing at it, a relaxed smile on his face.

"I'll wake them- it's time for breakfast and I'm gonna take you to Chiron. Come on."

Aphrodite nodded, and maybe Will saw something on his father's face because he didn't wait for them to follow him.

Aphrodite, once again, touched Apollo's shoulder.

He looked at her, eyes big.
"Five of them- Will has six other older siblings. Who could have taken his place."

Aphrodite didn't hate death, but she despised it in times like these, and she thanked the sky for the weakness of her empathy, since she was only perceiving a sliver of Apollo's pain. She'd felt it more than once, in the past, in all its intensity, and even just the doubt of having lost eleven of his children had to be a heavy blow- heavy even for him, master of hiding from everything and everyone.

"Get yourself together," she ordered, quietly "And then we will find out what truly happened."

Many voices rose, and when they joined the others no one could have said that something so- heart-breaking had happened in the office: both because Apollo had erased from his face every sign of emotional distress and because, apparently, his son had tried to help Zeus get up and their Kind hadn't taken it well.
(He didn't call him mortal, at least.)
And also because a new person was in the building, arms crossed as she glared at the God of the Sky with the mightiest and darkest glare that Aphrodite had ever seen.

Will Solace ignored him, mostly, and then he went around giving them clothes- well, half of them. The girl, the woman, as tall as Hades and with double the muscles, did the other half of the job, passing around the clothes taken from the plastic bags at her feet.

It only took to see the hand that have her a t-shirt, its dark skin covered with chemical burns from the tip of her fingertips to her elbows, to recognize her as Clarisse La Rue.

Will confirmed what she thought, introducing Clarisse, who didn't stop watching them with an expression that was somehow both disgusted and professional at the same time. It was very clear that she didn't want to be there.

Hermes asked "Aren't you a little too old for Camp?"- understandable, since Clarisse looked even older than her actual age (21, if what they'd read was true), and his innocent question didn't cause any big reaction in the woman, who stared at him like one stares at an annoying insect and answered, more to Will than to anyone else "And I'm not putting foot in here anymore".

Which made Will laugh quietly in a very cute way.

They all received a Camp t-shirt of their size.
Aphrodite was starting to really like the orange, and it looked really good with her complexion- not with her hair. She would have to dye them, then.

(She'd never dyed her hair before, not like mortals did, because its chemicals wouldn't work on the hair of a deity, but now that her hair were normal she could have fun. She grinned to herself, thinking of how much attention she would have to pay in order to not ruin and damage it.)

The pants Will had took for them were way too many, at least two for each of them. They all took a short pair and a long one, as Will had suggested.
(Poseidon thrust the short ones in Hades direction, who stared at them as if they'd personally offended him.)
He told the others the same things he'd told Aphrodite and Apollo, in his office, and to get out as soon as they'd gotten ready. As he left the building Clarisse La Rue followed him, dismissing them with a glare.
Aphrodite changed, using then the clean towels they'd been given the night before to have a shower in the Infirmary's bathrooms, and left feeling as light as a feather.

Aphrodite saw Camp Half-Blood with human eyes for the first time.

It wasn't even nine o'clock yet, and the sun was high in the southeast, shining on their back.
Will Solace lead them on the beaten path, going right, towards the building from which, she could see even from her position, young campers were going out.

The Cabins, Aphrodite stared in confusion at the extra eight buildings- and she almost came to an halt seeing the tallest one, built in obsidian, lacking any window, two torches of bright Greek Fire on every side of the entrance.
A cabin- for Hades' children? What had happened to have his children be welcomed into a place where they'd never been truly allowed into?
The god didn't stop to stare at it as Aphrodite would have done in his stead, but kept on walking. But she saw him glance more than once at the Cabin, in disbelief.

The others, smaller but just as beautiful, closed the U-shaped formed by the twelve main Cabins.

One of them was made of an iridescent material and its color changed with every step she took, shining more than gold itself, small lakes as clear as air surrounding it.
The one next to it was less tall and almost- anonymous, its structure almost bland, in its entirety almost boring, and so modest and unassuming that it took her a moment to notice that it lacked any sort of corporeality.

Then another, a huge wheel of celestial bronze hanging over the entry, walls as white as snow.
Another one, she could see two entries, and it was painted an intense purple that looked almost blue and then the fifth one, similar to the fourth but light-blue rather than purple, a shade that made it close to impossible to discern the Cabin from the sky.
Then gold, gold and gold, a Cabin taller than the others, green lining on the walls.
Lastly a building built from dark stones, as simple as it was intimidating.

The young ones were still few, but as Will Solace was telling them it wouldn't last long. All the others would arrive in the next three or four days, and the Camp would be fully filled.

Those who went out and saw them walking, a wide group of people with Will, Clarisse La Rue and Demeter (who had gone forward to observe the new and old cabins with narrowed eyes) at its head, stared.

No one tried to talk to them.

Aphrodite saw a young boy hit the arm of who was visibly his sister, and whisper something in her ear as he pointed to Clarisse, who didn't even spare them a glance, walking as if the entire Campo was her property.
The way her father (because only Ares could be the father of such a beautiful and proud creature) walked. With the air of someone who would have survived everything, master of everything and above all master of himself.

She overtook Hephaestus and Hera, to almost run to Clarisse's side.

The woman looked down at her, frowning, and then raised her eyebrows in a silent question, and Aphrodite offered her the best smile that she could muster in that body.
"You’re a daughter of Ares, aren’t you?" she asked, chirping.

"Is it that obvious?" she wondered rhetorically, without giving her the attention that Aphrodite was starting to really want. In her mind she scoffed indignant, but she also shivered, as happy as ever in front of this new challenge.

She studied her profile, her large nose and dark eyes and full lips, her arms, uncovered by the tank top she was wearing, scars overlapping one another, hair that, hadn't they been shaved, would have probably been as curly as it could get. A real warrior. A mighty warrior.
"Why do they gawk like you're a celebrity? Are you?" she inquired, and clearly saw her mouth twist in a grimace.

"It must be your fault. You're the new freaks in the circus."
Rude. Aphrodite straightened.

"Well, they're mostly pointing at you. Are you famous?"

Her left eye twitched.
"No. Stop asking stupid questions."

Will's head appeared from her side "She lead our forces in the big fight I told you about, and since we wax poetics about her the newcomers have heard a lot and are curious."
He almost got hit by the hand that shot out from Clarisse's side, crouching down swiftly as if if he was used to it.

Aphrodite blinked quickly.
"I thought you'd talked of a boy."

"Jackson?" Clarisse laughed, an amused and mocking sound, that sounded more like a snarl. Behind Aphrodite someone almost slipped and fell down. "Our little hero."

"Well, yes, but Clarisse was really impossible to miss" he tried to explain. "That drakon was at least two-hundred feet long and it had spent the last day covering us with acid, and she tied his head to her chariot. No monster wanted to go near her- and you should see the painting one of Aphrodite's did of her." He grinned mischievously "They say she shone like a star, more akin to a god than a mere mortal soul, that her body grew in size and her spirit-"

"Shut it" She wasn't amused, at all. "Fucking titans and their pets."

Aphrodite's body froze before she could realize it, controlled by a natural instinct that only a few times in her long, long life she'd felt- the same instinct that drove away a young doe at the slightest noise, in the world's most dark and forgotten forests, to not risk death or capture.

Clarisse La Rue gave her a confused look when she almost tripped- stuck between wanting to go on walking and and the instinct to run away.

Aphrodite didn't like this feeling.

She didn't like thinking about the Titans. She hated thinking about them.

Aphrodite didn't like doing things she hated.

The fight that had almost seen them dead. That would and had seen their children die, probably. The fight that had seen a young demigod save them, and ask for their sacred oath in return.

Titans.

And Aphrodite remembered Apollo's face, twisted in a strangely tense expression, his form changing over and over as if he couldn't pick one, now an adult and then a small child, a boy they knew well, an old man they'd never seen before. The way his voice had sounded so firm in the sudden, deep and unsettling silence, and their complete attention had been drawn to the words he spoke. To the Great Prophecy.

She could still feel on her perfect skin the static air, could still see anger blemish the beautiful face of their Father and King as he hissed rage-filled words at his son, just as shaken as they were after hearing that terrible promise of death.

Titans.

It hadn't even taken sixty years to make their efforts to stop a demigod from having their whole life in their hands… futile. Useless.
And she thought back to the desperate anger in Apollo's voice, as he told his father that it was all useless, that the couldn't stop a prophecy from happening, and hadn't they learned nothing in millennia, that their silly Pact was as useless as their hope. She didn't turn to gauge his reaction.

She could imagine his face to be as pale as hers.

"Your name?" Clarisse La Rue asked her.

That half-blood had grown, reached sixteen years of age, and saved them all.

"Anaïs Celice" she answered without thinking.

"Hm."

They hadn't stopped despite everything. They reached a wide pavilion, surrounded by tall doric columns, where tables upon tables were placed around a large fire, surrounding it on every side.
Some of them were empty, on others there was only one person, few were almost completely occupied.

Clarisse left them, with a last menacing look, going to the fullest table and Aphrodite saw her sit heavily on the wooden bench and put an arm over the shoulders of one of the boys, muscles suddenly contracted as she tightened her grip around his neck- from which he tried to get free unsuccessfully. They grew, tense under her skin, and Aphrodite wondered if maybe it was better to find a way to distract herself from- everything.

Will led them to one of the other tables, where two campers were sitting: a dark-skinned boy with long braids decorated by green and blue beads, and a girl with her face hidden between her crossed arms, practically smashed against the white tablecloth. The only thing she could see was the back of her head, covered by messy red hair that someone had tried to (badly) dye with a terrible shade of green.

Will pointed at the empty benches (made out of wood but well maintained, thank the Sky, Aphrodite didn't want splinters in her thighs), and Aphrodite sat down and looked around to find the others looking probably as bad as she did.

The girl's head shot up. Her eyes were the same shade of blue of Will's eyes, and the eye-bags under her eyes were almost impressively purple, more so against her sickly pale skin. She let out a choked out sound when she saw them.
She let her head fall against the table again, burying it between her arms again, and her elbows hit the wood with a loud sound. Her glass swayed dangerously and the milk inside almost ended up covering the tablecloth. She didn't notice it. If she did, she didn't care.
"What the hell did you tell 'em?"

He scrunched up his nose, offended.
"Nothin' at all, shut it."

"Are you sure?"

The boy, another son of Apollo, smiled kindly and told them "Your glasses will get filled with anything you want, and soon the food will be served."

"Rather, what happened to you?" went on Will.

"Who knows, ask Austin!"

"I was nervous." The boy, Austin, didn't say anything else as he moved to the side to make space for Artemis. The beads in his braids produced a soft and melodic sound as they hit each other. He must have done something to those pieces of glass to make them sound like a thousand of small, light bells.

"For Cassandra" she spit out, raising her head again, glaring at her brother "He burst my eardrums, I didn't sleep a wink-"

"Really, you say that like your voice doesn't burst my eardrums every time you talk," he suddenly attacked "You could have slept at the Infirmary if I was being such a disturbance."

She gestured broadly in their direction, and almost hit Will's face with her elbow.
"Where should I have slept, Austin, on the ground?"

"The office's couch turns into a bed- if your mind can comprehend these strange and astonishing innovations."

The dryad that walked up to them left many plates on the table.

Aphrodite met Hermes' eyes over a pile of bread and fruits, and she wished for the first time in maybe a millennium (or maybe six millenniums) to have a chance to be in a room with her family, to have a chance to speak openly and freely.
It was surreal, to sit there and ear and talk like they hadn't just found out about a future second Titanomachy.

Then she stopped to think for a second, told herself that Zeus would have probably said that it was 'Impossible!' and that there were 'No reasons to worry!', and she thanked the Sky from which she had been created and the sea in which she was born to be there, rather than in a room alone with them.

She took some food, and smiled when her teeth carved a path into a perfectly green and juicy apple, and freshness invaded her mouth. With her other hand, having to remind herself to move her body forward since she didn't have such long arms anymore (she'd never known her arms were long), she grabbed two slices of bread, and a little jar of jam.

Will first covered two toasts with butter, then he set them apart and started to cut a red apple into large slices- after cleaning his knife from the butter with a paper towel that he balled up and left next to his glass.

"She's Kayla," he said, after introducing them, again (he'd memorized their names in a night, somehow. Not even Aphrodite remembered them all) "And he's Austin."

"Nice to meet you."

"'Sup" Kayla stared at her milk, that turned into coffee, and drowned the cup in a gulp.

When Will took the eight slices of apple, and started to cut them into little squares that he put in an empty glass, a boy threw himself in the empty space between Dionysus and Demeter, without a word of greeting for them and with a large grin on his face. He clumsily tried to uncover his eyes from his own stray, dark curls.

"So, Malcolm broke Mark's nose" he announced without preamble, and Aphrodite heard Will's "Finally", a heartfelt mutter that told her everything she need to know about his feeling for this Mark.

The newcomer ignored them all in favor of the other demigod, wildly moving his hands in the air as he went on talking.
(Aphrodite wondered how long they would last, after a live of reverences.
She wondered how long would their King put up with that blatant disrespect, and how he would accept it- because for now he couldn't do anything else.)

"Chiron banned him from the Counselors' meetings for a month, but Mr D- you had to be there, he looked ready to give Malcolm Chiron's job- and I would do just that in his stead, if only for the huge gift that he gave to our flourishing community. And Piper reminded the bastard that it's not summer yet, so you're the only one who can heal him, so he kept the broken nose and now looks like a horse stomped on his ugly face."

Kayla started laughing and the sound startled Apollo, sat next to her, who'd spent the last few minutes staring at them like he couldn't quite believe the sight before his eyes.

Demeter glared at the boy with a severe frown on her face, but the demigod was too busy nodding like a madman.
"I know!" he almost shouted with a grin that matched Kayla's.

Will took a peach, and started to cut it like he'd done with the apple.
He smiled.
"Think he's gonna keep his mouth shut for once?"

"Well, I saw him try to talk to Piper, like five seconds ago, and I could swear on my life that hands were about to be thrown- by Piper, I mean- of course Piper, and I think that she would have stabbed him in front of everyone if he didn't look as bad as he does."

Piper- Aphrodite could see Tristan, as clear as if he'd been in front of her, one of the most beautiful souls and faces she'd met in her long life. Piper was what, eight? Was she a grown woman now?

Will scoffed, shaking his head.
"He'll learn, sooner or later."

"Of course he will," Kayla teased him.

"I asked Malcolm to marry me on the spot, in a totally ironic way, but you know how he's with sarcasm, so after a long monologue about honesty and faithfulness he told me that he's taken. Malcolm Pace is taken."

Kayla leaned forward, eerily alert.
"Who?"

"You think I'd waste my time here with you if I knew? I would have gotten rid of them in a second- Clarisse would have helped me with the body."

"Maybe they're not a camper."

"I mean, to irritate him to the point of violence Mark must have done somethin' really bad. Oh, maybe he dared to insult our mysterious fair lover?" Will put the pieces of peach with the apple's, and then took a banana. Aphrodite noticed Clarisse got up and walked away.

The boy fixed him with a glare.
"Shut up," he snarled, and reached out with an arm to hit Will’s head, who opened his mouth to protest. Then his eyes widened and he became still, slack-jawed, and Aphrodite followed his gaze.
He was looking at a boy who would have been very attractive, if it wasn’t for his nose, swollen and red, and the bruised state of his cheek.

She doubted one punch would have done all that.
"This Mark must be a joy to be around" she quipped, and ignored the burning stares of her family members- she would think and worry about Titans and Prophecies later. Now she wanted to have a gossip session with the demigods. They could ruin their breakfast, she would take another bite out of her delicious sandwich.

The boy, who Aphrodite guessed was one of Hermes' sons (he looked terribly alike to one of Hermes' favorite forms, even if his nose was straighter), frowned and Will copied him promptly.
The banana ended up in the glass, cut in two long halves and then in smaller half circles.

"He's a crazy guy who thinks that any kind of romantic or sexual relationship between half-bloods is incest." His frown became even deeper, and his almost unnoticeable southern accent slightly heavier as he went on talking. "Which I would like to specify is straight-up bullshit. Our divine parent's blood doesn't work the same way our other parent's does- and the reason why incest is fundamentally wrong is that there's a high risk of diseases transmitted by recessive alleles, and certainly Apollo didn't give me a genetic disease, so where's the risk?"

"Yeah, and nobody cares about recessive alleles, we certainly don't fuck members of our own Cabin, that would be so awkward for everyone involved and not. And it’s not like you and Nico will ever have kids, right? So even if you were-"

Aphrodite straightened.

"I'm sixteen, I really don't want to have kids with my sixteen years old boyfriend Connor, what the fuck?"

"You could be one step ahead, just saying."

Will ignored him.
"Anyway, now I'm sure we weren't the only ones who got tired of hearing him talk and preach."

Probably not, seeing his face.

"Malcolm?" she asked.

"Head-Counselor of Cabin Six. I hope he won't hit him again tho, or he'll miss too many meetings and half the times he's the only one with a brain between his ears. Other than me."

"And me," tried the boy, and pouted when Will acted like he'd never spoken in the first place. He turned to look at them instead.
"Uh, sorry, your friend is gonna come in a 'bit. I thought she would've been here already."

Demeter had given up and accepted the mortal's presence, and nodded, tense.
"No reason to ask our forgiveness."

Aphrodite wondered how they could have mortal children if they couldn’t even pretend to be mortals for breakfast- and they didn’t have to concentrate on changing their bodies, they just had to behave differently.

Finally Will grabbed the first of the two toasts. He took a bite out of the first one, his face relaxed slightly, and then was interrupted again.

A little girl who couldn't be more than eight years old touched Poseidon’s shoulder, who was sitting next to Will, and asked him loudly to 'move please, she wanted to sit right there'.
Poseidon did just that, moving as if he didn’t know what to do now that he had a child attached to his side (it was a tight fit by now), and she sat down.

Immediately one of Will’s hands went to caress her blond hair, and she yawned as she grabbed the glass that Will handed her- the fruit salad he'd prepared while speaking.

She raised her head, and smiled at them with such a bright joy that Aphrodite almost had to cover her eyes.
"Hi!" she greeted them. She turned to look up at Poseidon, meeting his dark irises with her own clear, almost transparent ones. "Are you my new big brother?"

Poseidon gave her an awkward smile. "Uh, no, I'm sorry."

"Who's your mom or dad then? Why are you sitting here?"

"I- don't know."

"What?" The little girl tilted her head, eating a spoonful of fruit and covering her mouth with one hand to talk anyway. She was so small. Did many demigods reach Camp when they were this young? "Why not? You're old. You shoul' know."
It sounded almost like a reprimand.

Then she looked at the others, and her gaze got stuck on Hera.
Aphrodite suppressed a grimace. Even though she was the goddess of motherhood, Hera rarely showed any maternal instinct. Aphrodite had married one of her children and had been her other son's lover for years, she knew intimately what the goddess considered could be called love.

"Then are you my sister? You’re almost as pretty as my daddy."

"You don't say these things to strangers, Gracie" the son of Hermes scolded her behind a smile, and Aphrodite saw Demeter grinning privately.

Aphrodite then turned to look at Apollo.
She smiled freely seeing his expression.
After such dark new it was nice to see that mortals went on flourishing without ever stopping.

Gracie showed the boy her tongue, and smiled at Hera.
"I hope you're my sister!"

Hera smiled a little less coldly than usual, and slightly bowed her head. Gracie straightened, proud of her own success, and took another spoon of fruit.

Aphrodite leaned closer to Apollo, until she was breathing straight in his ear, and muttered a satisfied "See?". He pinched her arm, and she giggled.
Dionysus whispered something in Artemis' ear, who was staring at Gracie the way she always looked at her twin's daughters- as if they were her jewels to protect with her own life, a sentiment that was allowed only to cold Artemis.
For how cold, for how proud and similar to her father, Artemis loved every girl she met, mortal or immortal, how not even their family and lovers could. It was part of her own being as their protector, and Apollo's girls always shined bright in her eyes.

Many of them had joined her Hunters- many had died, many were still alive, but all had been welcomed with open, warm arms.

Will Solace sank his teeth in his toast, swallowing down the second bite of the day, and Aphrodite didn't even feel surprised as they were once again interrupted.

The girl was small- it was the best word to describe her. She was small, not higher than five foot, with dark skin and even darker eyes, and young. More than any of them, for some reason.
Athena had ended up in the body of what wasn't even a twelve year old, probably, and walked like she was- well, five-thousand years old.

Aphrodite was glad to see her, despite everything.

Behind her was Chiron, whom Aphrodite hadn't seen in decades but looked kind of the same. The centaur saw the full table, and asked sarcastically "Did I perhaps miss Lord Apollo's claiming of our newcomers?", a reprimand that was both serious and amused at the same time.

Will shrugged.
"Their doctor signed a permit."

"Damn, from one man to thirteen. You're more promiscuous than I knew buddy."

Chiron shot the son of Hermes a look that was just exasperated.
"Go back to your table, Connor, or you'll eat at the stables all summer."

Connor bolted with one last funny face to Gracie.

Chiron then smiled.
"Please, follow me."

They did just that.
Aphrodite saw Ares put an arm around Athena’s shoulders- almost crouching down to do it, since from a distance they almost looked like father and daughter, and say something in her ear quickly, masking the whole thing and acting as if he was just happy to see her again.

With Athena, she told herself, she would be willing to talk about the strange situation in which they'd found themselves.
But only in the absence of her father, because when Zeus was present Athena bit her tongue in a way that irritated Aphrodite without limits.
To see a being like Athena bow down to Zeus irritated her as much as it irritated her to see each of his mighty children do so.

Zeus didn't hesitate to reach her side, and Aphrodite stayed behind.

She looked at Will, who was twisting on his seat to see them walk away, elbow on the table. He noticed her looking, and smiled.
"Go on."

"And you?"

He blinked, confused and a little worried, but still calm.
"My work's done. For this morning. We'll se each other later, to give you a decent place to sleep in. Go, now, or you're gonna lose Chiron's epic teachings."

Aphrodite followed his words, running to reach the others.

Poseidon and Hades were speaking, voices low and heads close, and she pushed herself between them, one arm on each of their elbows.

"So, what do you think of this… adventure?" she asked, joyful, and suddenly noticed their tenseness. "Are you thinking about your children?"

They became even more tense.

"Oh, what are you worrying about? The Prophecy came true, like my shining young brother had predicted, and Camp is still here, Olympus is still there, everything went well!"

"You missed the part about titans, maybe," quipped Poseidon.

Aphrodite shook her head.
"Of course. I tremble at the thought. But they were defeated again, weren't they? We're here, aren't we? And one of your son saved us all- Percy, right. I bet on you." She looked at Poseidon, loudly whispering. "This one would have thought of a better name."

"No, Perseus Jackson is not my son," said Hades. He knew of the boy's existence, then. Zeus didn't. Were there children of Hades running around that only Poseidon knew about? How many secrets were they keeping from their brother and King?

"Then be proud, nephew."
Referring to the children of Cronus like this was always satisfying.
Not only did they dislike to remember that Aphrodite was older than them, but they hated even more to be reminded that Aphrodite was closer to a primordial than an Olympian.
But how else should she have called them, uncles?
"Perseus has brought you honor, no doubt. And you? What bothers you so much? Your new Cabin?"

Hades gave up on being secretive, because he put his hand on his stomach, angling his arm so that Aphrodite's could fit better on his elbow.
"It's impressive, isn't it?" he asked, not waiting or wanting an answer. "The son of the sun mentioned a demigod."

"Nico."

"Nico."

Aphrodite connected the few pieces she'd been missing, and almost jumped up. No, she did just that, euphoric in a body where adrenaline seemed ten time stronger, and Poseidon shot her an amused look.
"What a romantic story, oh, a child of the light falling in love with one of the darkness! They would have written songs about them, in better times!"

"You want to focus on that?"

"Of course! Will was such a darling, what a kind boy, you must be happy to know that your son is in such good hands!"

"Even if I wasn't you'd be happy enough for all of us, wouldn't you?"

"Don't use sarcasm with me, Lord of the Darkness." Her tone didn't change, but her words were charged with a sudden weight.
"This Camp and Olympus thrive, not without paying a heavy price. But I'm counting on our strategist, who will have surely found out more than us."

Neither of them agreed with her, and Aphrodite didn't let them go until they reached the Big House, a big house painted with blue paint and surrounded by an open porch.

Before that they walked near the Cabins, again, and Aphrodite sighed, seeing the black obsidian.
"Impressive" she granted, even if it was too... dark for her taste. Hades grinned, satisfied, not even a bit embarrassed by his obvious pride.

Then the Infirmary, that Aphrodite saw from the outside for the first time.
(She'd been a little distracted when they'd left it.)
It wasn't a particularly tall building, but it was maybe the largest of the whole Camp, painted in white. The pillars were instead of a different shade, an almost yellow one, and Apollo's sun was over the entrance, under an ancient Greek inscription that blessed those halls as sacred to Asclepius and his father Apollo.

Chiron didn't led them into the Big House, but to the porch, where were chairs and one single person.
And Aphrodite wasn't ready for the pure pressure that hit her skin, that grew with every step she took towards the god, who looked at them without blinking, eyes a set of purple irises, their colour changing with the light, moving as their were alive, tracking their every movement without even needing to try.
Red, black, purple, something too bright to be defined by the words of mortal men, iridescent, as warm as Helios' sun, as-

Aphrodite had known Dionysus ever since he'd been a simple demigod and fought by their side in the Great Gigantomachy. She'd been curious enough to look from afar as he grew, from a child to a man- and not become one a moment after his birth, like most of them had done. By the Gods, Aphrodite had never been a baby.
She'd seen him become a god, a powerful god, deserving of the title and throne he'd received- he'd taken out of the universe's hands with the vice grip of a wounded, mortal man. She'd known him intimately, she'd loved him and still loved him, as a brother and as a lover, a companion, a friend, no matter how much time had gone by.
Their nature as gods hadn't mattered- it never matter, with Dionysus, who had never been quite as much as a god as them.

She saw him and instinctively smiled, so widely that she had to cover her mouth with a trembling hand.

It was obvious, evident that he'd done his best to look like a scruffy, unkempt man- a drunk, with bloodshot eyes and blotchy skin and a bulging belly- and it was obvious that he wasn't all that good at maintaining that form.
It was obvious, to Aphrodite, what he was doing- and it made her only more amused.

Such a childish and petty move just screamed Dionysus, who'd become a god while never quite becoming one, always too tied to his mortality, to his dear humans and their life- always more than the rest of them, he who was son of his father only in name but still (somehow) hugged his divine nature with no control or inhibitions. A walking contradiction, a never-ending puzzle.
Who, even punished and banished on earth, found a way to get his little revenge, presenting himself in such a state to those who should have worshiped them all.

Aphrodite, who knew him, saw that form as a badly-worn mask, evident to her eyes and anyone who knew him, but clearly invisible to their children's eyes. And to his father, probably.

The flames in his eyes were just as harsh and biting as they'd been the last time they'd seen each other.

Despite all, his gaze was almost bored.

And his voice wasn't all that different.
"You're way too many for my taste. Bill could have spared me from one or two, no one would have missed you probably."
He lowered his gaze on the table in front of him, covered by cards positioned in long columns.

"If you'll let us, my Lord," Chiron asked him, unfazed, but Dionysus carelessly moved his hand in the air, and the centaur made them sit down.
He wasn't smiling, even if his expression stayed gentle and soft.

Half-bloods where their children, yes, but Chiron had been training and looking after them for centuries, and in his eyes they now where nothing but that- demigods.

Once they were all sitting down, and Aphrodite could press her shoulder against Ares', hard enough to hurt, silence fell.
Dionysus moved some of the cards around, and smiled to himself, all satisfied. A few seconds went by, and when Ares opened his mouth to talk Chiron shook his head, and Ares did the smart thing.

Athena didn't look surprised by any of that.

Maybe two minutes went by like this, until Dionysus sighed loudly, and fell back on his large armchair, legs crossed and the very image of boredom.
"So, brats. Amelia here-" "Amara." "-says that you don't know how you came here, and that you don't know what is here, and why you're here. Any of you wanna tell a certainly entertaining, different story?"
He sounded sarcastic enough that his words sounded like poison- not necessarily mean, but rude and on the border of unacceptable. Dionysus had been riding that border for as long as he'd been alive.

"No," Hermes lied promptly "We don't know why that… drakon, was it? Tried to eat us. I don't remember much, really, and I'm not the only one."

Dionysus stared right into his eyes, suddenly, and Aphrodite saw him tense.
Dionysus, Mr D, shrugged.
"I hope you understand why I don't really care. You know each other, right?"

Athena glared at him.
"I already told-"

"Not you, Anna. You." He pointed at Artemis "Tell me what you know about this story and your friends here."

Artemis didn't back down.
"My brother is here. I'm a demigod, and- but I don't know who's my godly parent." She grimaced for a moment, and Aphrodite guessed she'd tried to say who she really was, and failed terribly again. "I know them all. I don't know how. But I know them."

"Convenient." He nodded. "I know you're lying, girl, so try again. You have two other possibilities, and if you lie a third time I'll make sure to make the earth itself refuse to feed and give you safe passage."

"You can't hurt campers," hissed Athena, through clenched teeth- Dionysus didn't even spare her a glance.
"Of course, and I won't hurt her. Someone else could, and very easily. So, girl, speak now. One out of three."

For how bored, for how unkempt, Dionysus was being serious. He believed them to be dangerous for the Camp.

Artemis bridled up.
"I already told you what I remember. I don't know how we're here, and why we e-"

"Two out of three. Last chance. Think about what you want to say next. Word of advice."

Chiron was clearly unhappy with this, but his lips were drawn into a severe line and he gazed at them with sad eyes, as if what was happening to them was something that he knew to be very necessary, for how cruel.
(Aphrodite didn't like that look, or that feeling.)

Dionysus didn't have the power to read between the lines and find every little lie, not like Apollo did, but he could read the souls of men, who lost control and got rid of every mask when in his inebriating presence. He could read mortals, with or without powers-because he knew them.
He knew their minds.

And he knew Artemis', somehow.

Aphrodite breathed out, and Ares was tense as if ready to jump in some reckless move.

Artemis spoke again, her voice almost chocked. Just like Demeter had sounded when she'd tried to tell Ares' boy her name, when the words had gotten stuck and different ones had found their way out.
"We don't know how we came her, and we didn't want to come here. We don't know what happened before our awakening- we lost days."
They'd lost years, but days worked too. "And I know all of them. I grew up with them. He" she pointed at Apollo "Is my brother."
Her last word sounded like a growl, challenging Dionysus to tell her she was lying.

He sighed instead.
"See? Not that hard. Now, you know each other- thirteen demigods raised together. Different ages, different parents, and put together you smell enough to wake every beast in Tartarus from its sleep. How are you still alive? A god protected you? You know how to manipulate the Mist enough to cover your scent- or, let me guess, you don't remember?"
No one answered, he sighed again.
"I hate when I have to take this job seriously, and they force me to take it seriously," he whined to Chiron, who nodded full of empathy.

"Your circumstances are unique, I beg you to understand, but our circumstances are even more complicated," he explained "You are welcome here, as every other half-blood on this earth, but we can't be anything but careful

"Just because we don’t remember how we got here?" asked Hermes, incredulous.

"No" the god smiled derisively at Hermes, once again looking straight into his soul, who this time was able to stand the pressure of his eyes. "Because you could be spies. Maybe you’re not, maybe you are. Perhaps you had the protection of a certain someone, and now that you no longer have it you come to seek shelter, like others before you. I don’t think you’re important enough to risk everything."

Aphrodite smiled.

So typical of Dionysus, to get attached to a Camp of mortal demigods that he had surely tried to hate with all of himself.

Poseidon asked, genuinely confused "Spies sent by… whom?", and Chiron smiled.

"If you’re not" and it wasn’t clear whether he thought they were or weren't "There won’t be any problem for you."

Aphrodite wondered if they were talking about Kronos, or something worse.

She didn't want to think of what could be worse than Kronos.

Dionysus, the Dionysus trapped into a mortal body, asked "If you can tell when we're lying, why not interrogate us and be done with this?".

The god made a can of Diet Coke appear in his hand- and Aphrodite shivered as she realised the lack of wine in the vicinity. No glasses, bottles, carafes, not even a good old-fashioned barrel.
His punishment couldn't involve abstinence, didn't it?"

(Why drink a Diet Coke otherwise?"

"Are you a spy, boy?"

"No" he answered without doubt.

"Good. If you are, you'll stop being campers the moment we'll find out, and I'll be able to do whatever I want. Our Dusty Laws stop me from attacking who doesn't attack me, but an attack to Camp is, sadly and in the most annoying way possible, an attack to my own person, its Director. And I will have to avenge my wasted time. I hate wasting my time on useless matters. I- really, there's nothing I hate more."
He laughed, no happiness on his face, an almost cruel sound.
"If they aren't faster than me."

Aphrodite felt her body become stronger, as she breathed in and out and let out the pressure in her chest, and she marveled at the- fastness of it all.

And with that premise and promise, they became campers of Camp Half-Blood.

——

Chapter Text

HOW TO BE A HUMAN BEING: Camp Half-Blood

——

day three: APOLLO

Camp Half-Blood's Orientation Film was shit, and Apollo swore to himself that when (if) they'd become normal again he would direct a new one, a better, less pitiful one. Featuring him, of course- what could reassure a terrified boy more than him, Apollo, god of everything that's cool, and his shining, billion dollar smile?

They watched the film, and spoke with Chiron a little more.

It was disturbing, in a way, to be with him and be treated like a kid since Apollo had literally raised Chiron and taught him everything he knew- all the things that Chiron was now explaining to Apollo, Apollo remembered explaining to Chiron so clearly that it seemed impossible to think that millennia had gone by.
But he would adapt. He had to, because he had no other choice.
Wasn't that a terribly annoying knowledge.

So he watched the film, shared an amused look with his aunt Demeter, listened to Chiron, and they let themselves be properly guided through Camp- a Camp he'd helped built, with his twin Artemis, as protectors of young girls and boys and charged with guiding them to adulthood, and he let himself feel surprised by every little change.

Like the new Cabins, and the Infirmary, and- the air itself.

Rarely he'd spent such long times away from earth, always too weak in front of the temptation it represented, and never times long enough to let him perceive changes so starkly.

Artemis didn't leave his side for a second.
Apollo wasn't about to whine about it.

At lunch they met up in front of Hestia's fire.
Apollo frowned as they walked closer to it, flooded by a sense of wrongness that didn't make much sense, but he forgot it all when he saw that one of the three demigods waiting for them was Will.

His son shined under the sun. He was talking with the girl next to him, he wasn't smiling, but nodding and his face was relaxed, and he was beautiful- he could see it.
Apollo could still see the soft light his skin had radiated, when he'd put his bandaged fingers over his patients' injuries and healed them with a light touch- regardless of the barrier represented by the bandages, that made it impossible for him to touch them decently, regardless of his evident tiredness, without even needing to sing an hymn, or whisper a quirk prayer, or even think about his old man, probably.

He was a big, living question mark and Apollo was scared of finding its answers, even if he wanted to.

As they got closer he called out a joking "Still me, I know" and Aphrodite smiled and gave him a thumbs up, to which he answered with an amused shrug.

"I'm leaving you in their more than capable hands, then," said Chiron, to then tell Will to come to the Big House later, once he was done with them.
He nodded, frame a little tenser.

"She's Piper McLean, one of the two Heads of Cabin Ten, the one where Aphrodite's children live, and he's Connor, Head of Cabin Eleven, Hermes. You'll stay in our three cabins, since our parents gave their blessing to us welcoming you."
Had they split them up because they didn't have the space in only one Cabin, or because they didn't trust them enough to sleep in the same building as all thirteen of them?

Hermes' boy, the one who'd shit-talked about Mark, the wounded camper, and grinned like a mad-man as he recalled everything and played with Apollo's daughter, took a small piece of paper. "Uh, Ean, Emilio, Paul and Diana with me," he read, a little hesitant.
Dionysus and Hermes moved as one next to the boy, and Poseidon and Demeter followed them shortly after. The son of Hermes repeated their names under his breath, as if trying to remember them.

Piper McLean had long, brown hair, braided and decorated with small, colorful beads and threads of fabric, and she didn't smile.
She wasn't hostile, but she apparently had no warmth left for them.
"Amara, Anaïs, Saffron and Yuvan with me."

Aphrodite looked ready to start crying out of joy, while Athena eyed Piper McLean with distrust- but now the girl was smiling, less indifferent than before. Had she already met Athena? Apollo started to feel bad for her.
And then he grimaced at the idea of his father and his wife forced to be in the same room as each other, in their delicate situation- and in a place filled with empaths, to make the situation worse.

Lastly, Will called "Lennon, Deonte, Michele, Charlie and Charlise." And they followed him quietly.

Hephaestus looked less irritated than usual- but maybe that was because his usual frown, that Apollo could guess he'd been born with, didn't have the same effects on his new, mortal body, as young as Apollo's and a little softer and rounder.
Next to him, Ares first glanced at his mother and Aphrodite's backs, that were getting smaller as they walked towards their new Cabin, and then he snarled to himself and followed Hades.
Artemis looked at him, and Apollo smiled.

Kayla had grown, and so had Austin, but Gracie? Apollo hadn't even met her mortal parent yet.
He would live with them for all the time they'd spend as mortals, because he doubted any god was about to claim them- that they would claim themselves? It was complicated and confusing to think about.
(It had been hard enough to see Dio talk with Dio.)
And Apollo, regardless of his wants, wouldn't have had any chance to actually get to know his children otherwise, but now?

He didn't want to think about his father, who'd been quiet and gloomy, who would only speak once they were alone. He didn't want to think about him, and so he didn't.
His father couldn't touch any of them, anyway.

(And he ignored that voice in his head, sounding tragically like Artemis and somehow their mother, reminding him of the price he paid every time he chose to get to know his kids. Reminding him why he hadn't visited Camp in decades.)

So, at lunch they all sat at the same table as breakfast, and they ate. Gracie and Kayla weren't there, Austin and Will ate with them.

Shortly after, Will disappeared.

They were showed to their new Cabin.

Apollo walked in, and most of the beds were empty. Austin told them that one of his siblings had yet to arrive, and would in the next few days. For a total of five children of Apollo, god of the sun, music, archery, truth. Light.
 The empty spaces were flooded by light, light that entered from the windows covering almost all of the walls.

And Apollo threw himself on one of the empty beds, and thought about the three children he knew to be younger that Will that weren't there, and whom he would never see. He thought- fourteen, fourteen missing children.
Fourteen.
He prayed for them to be not all dead, and for himself to not be forced to go back to his body just to spend ten years watching them die.
He wouldn't have been able to do anything but watch.

Just like his eyes hadn't moved from Asclepius not even for a second, when the sentence had been given and the determination in his son's face had gotten weaker, and Apollo had promised to avenge him with a simple look, and the same confidence that had made it possible for Asclepius to do the impossible had shined in his eyes once again, as he raised his head to look the Father of the Gods straight in his eyes with irises that were as gold as Apollo's, a bet and a promise and a challenge- Apollo had watched, because if he couldn't so anything else then he had to watch.

Austin was kind to them, even if Apollo could read the slight tension of his shoulders, and he explained them how things were done in their Cabin.
There was a tab on the wall where, he somberly told them, they planned the month's use of the record player- and it was very through, with more than ten rules just for the "Genre Matter".
Austin ended his little speech by repeating maybe three times, every time with a little more strength, that the Cabin's peace depended on that single matter, and that when someone got cursed it usually was because of it.

Artemis asked her nephew where Will was, and Austin shrugged.
"With Chiron and Mr D."
He didn't add anything else, and Apollo wondered if it was common for his son to spend his afternoons with the two.

Will came back after hours, and fell asleep the moment he hit the bed, missing dinner- Austin told them to leave him be, and they went to the pavilion alone.
Apollo met Aphrodite's eyes over the sea of demigods, and she was surrounded by her children, just like him. She shot a look at their king and queen and offered him a grimace that told him everything he needed to know. He laughed, and whispered into his uncle's ear "No one is having fun, but they really aren't," and the God of the Underworld let out one of those choked laughs that only he could make sound distinguished and not like terribly ridiculous snorts.

That night Apollo fell asleep early, since there wouldn't be any Campfire songs because of some problems the forest spirits had been having with the fire, and he didn't speak with anyone- and that night he dreamed.

He'd dreamed before, but as a mortal and as an immortal, he knew what it felt like to dream, but that dream felt, to say the least, strange.

He was on a ship, a Greek trireme made out of wood and covered with celestial bronze- thin foils that shone under the light of the moon, bright under the clear sky- the sky was close, closest than ever. Apollo ran to the parapet, and looked down.
He didn't see water, seas or oceans. Not even a puddle. There were clouds. A sea of clouds, white and foamy, and the moon was hovering on him as big as his closed fist.

The trireme was flying high, and in the night's silence even the wind was silent. Apollo looked around, trying to understand where he'd ended up, and a few steps from him stood a boy. A mortal, who couldn't be older than twenty, with hair as dark as the night sky, and who had his elbows on the parapet, and was looking down with his head bowed, like he was waiting for something to come out of the clouds.

Apollo didn't move a finger, waiting for the boy to notice him, but he didn't. He let minutes go by, and once he was sure that the boy wouldn't move, he moved too, walked away, cautious like few times before.
The mortal didn't even glance at him.

Apollo reached the bow, where the head of a dragon had been molten with the foils of celestial bronze- no, wait. It was made of celestial bronze too, but it was wedged in the front of the ship, like the owner had wanted it to be detachable. And it was massive.
One of its eyes were as big as Apollo's head, and one of them suddenly moved when Apollo surged forward to get a better look at it. He almost jumped, and his light blue eyes met the creature's bronze ones, which he was starting to doubt was alive.

Those irises were similar to Apollo's, but more metallic. Not liquid bronze, but a shard of metal stuck in a rusty piece of stone. Jagged, sharp, threatening.
He told himself that if the boy couldn't see him but the dragon head could, then something had gone wrong with the latter when it'd been created, and Apollo didn't want anything to do with it.

He walked around for a little more, not daring to touch to anything, until steps were heard, loud and clear in the silence.

Another boy appeared, and he walked next to the first one.
The light wasn't strong enough to let Apollo see his face, but there was a white thing on his face: a big band-aid, he realized as he walked closer. He could see the silhouette of a nose, cheeks that became slightly fuller as the boy smiled, a shrug.

He got closer to them.

The boy's voice was low, steady, and as calm as the sea on one of Uncle Poseidon's good days.
"… wouldn't, I trust him not to, if not the others."

The other scoffed, his laugh a bitter one.
"Yes, trusting them always goes well for us. Wise choice, buddy."

"Something big is happening," tried to reason the first. His hair was light, maybe blonde? It was longer than usual, covering the back of his neck, and Apollo struggled to think him anything but youth. "There could be a valid reason."

"I thought you'd given up on wasting your time trying to justify them- that you'd finally understood," burst out the dark-haired boy, his voice loud enough to startle Apollo, but the tallest didn't even turn to look at him.
Apollo didn't see his mouth move, but the other, head protected and covered by the hood of his sweatshirt, still lowered his eyes to stare at the sea.
 He was feeling guilty, for what he'd said.
He hadn't been that harsh, or mean, but there was some sort of important context behind their conversation that he could almost see, as it weighted on their shoulders, while Apollo was completely clueless.

He hated not knowing. He was the god of knowledge, for Zeus.

"Give them the benefit of the doubt, Percy. Some of them would never disregard their oath- not after what has happened. But if you're right, then I'll be at your side when you'll storm Olympus to have a shouting match with my father."

He smiled broadly, and before Apollo could stop his eyes from widening at the realization that the boy was the Percy to whom the gods- to whom he had sworn on the Styx to claim all of his children, he was falling.

Not falling from the sky- he'd tripped and he was rolling down a hill, and every movement send pure agony into his veins.
He reached the hill's end, where he landed- agony once again, but he felt so much pain that he couldn't even understand what was causing it anymore, where it was hurting.

Everything hurt.
Like thousand arrows were piercing though his skin, more than he could ever count, and had gotten stuck in his flesh, and as he rolled they'd been pushed in, deeper, and now they were part of his body, cutting his soul.
 He tried to get up, he saw white and then his vision blackened out. He didn't faint but he fell with a moan of pain, and turned his head, his head bleeding.
Next to his eyes, a shard of glass stuck out from the ground. It was two-inches of thick glass, sharp enough that, had he moved slightly to the right, it would have cut his eye open like butter.

There was another one behind it, another one closer to his chin, another one had already pierced the skin of his cheek- it stung, and blood trickled down on to the ground.
All around him were those shards of glass as sharp as blade- he was laying on those same shards, he'd rolled down a hill covered by them. They were the same things that were hurting his whole body in one deep wave of pain. Not arrows, not knives or the spines of a strangely large hedgehog.

He opened his mouth uselessly, and a silent moan of pain came out as he breathed and saw the air become white in the air over him.
His eyes were burning, they shone with unshed tears, he blinked, he squeezed them tight shut when pain spread evenly to his temples, his brain, and then he saw a red ceiling- no, the sky was black, and it was covered by clouds as red as blood, just like his own body was covered by his own blood.

It wasn't black like the sky had been back on the beautiful, shining ship.

This was an abyss.

He moved, and felt one of the shards embedded in his back get pushed in deeper, and deeper, and then they tore apart his very heart and he woke up.

He was in the same position he'd fallen asleep in- lying on his back, one arm straight next to his side and the other folded under his head, his legs slightly bent towards the door.
He inhaled sharply, and he didn't dare moving, fearing more pain, but nothing came.
He was in Cabin Seven, the Cabin of the children of Apollo- his children, and it was the 20th day of June, year: 2012.

The sun was rising, it was still early. He sat up, feeling dazed, almost like he'd hit his head rolling down one of Tartarus' hills, feeling as light as a feather, almost like he'd truly sailed on a flying ship, and he saw that the other beds were still occupied. Not Will's. The soft sheets were pulled up, but the bed had obviously been used.

He blinked, his eyelids heavy even though he'd slept many hours, and he let himself fall down on the bed, again. He wasn't sweaty, he hadn't moved an inch even if haunted by those strange dreams, and no one could have said that he'd dreamed at all.

He fell asleep again, and when he woke up his bed was a crime scene.

His pillow was wet, a stain left by the sweat on his neck, and his t-shirt was just as soaked. Will had given him that t-shirt with a slight smile and he'd taken it after promising to not destroy it, because it was one of Will's personal favorites. He touched his back, and felt that the cloth there was drenched. Nothing different for his armpits.

He felt, to put it simply, disgusting.

The sun was high in the sky, and Will raised his head to look at him from where he was sitting on the floor, his back against the side of his bed, papers strewn across it and around his feet. He met his eyes, and got up.
He got close enough that, when he spoke quietly, Apollo heard him perfectly.
"Demigod dream?"
He didn't comment on the t-shirt, and Apollo felt strangely guilty and grateful.

Then he blinked.
"You named them?"

He shrugged. "It's more normal than you think. Come on, let me take you to the showers."

When Apollo looked down to gaze with heavy judgment at his conditions (he was disgusting) Will smiled. It was a soft, delicate thing, less large and flashy that the one he'd worn as he showed them around, more private. Warmer, somehow.
It fit him.
"Don't worry, all campers have to do their Walk of Shame sooner or later- it happens so often that nobody finds it awkward anymore. Come on now."

He let Will guide him.
 His body hurt, but not like in his dream. It was more like a sting that somehow covered his whole body, and pulsed consistently and never gave him a break. Will saw the grimace on his face that he had yet to learn how to control, touched his shoulder with the excuse of helping him get up, and after a few seconds the pain disappeared. His son gave him a wink, mouth grinning and eyes shining. Apollo smiled back.

It was no Walk of Shame in the end.
Being in a human body covered head to toes by sweat was humiliating, obviously, Apollo had never missed that part of being mortal, but no one gave them a second look. They looked at him, of course they did, he was one of the newbies, but not because he was sweaty and visibly shaken.

There wasn't a line for the showers, and Apollo washed himself quickly.
With no lack of malice he hoped that the others had dreamed dreams as upsetting as his, and laughed as he thought about it. He stopped smiling when he almost slipped and ended up with his ass on the floor, and he had to answer to Will's worried "Charlie?" with not so reassuring apologies and every effort.

He put new clothes on, and left feeling ten times younger.

Will gave his shoulder a pat, looking down at him. He was probably as tall as Apollo's favorite divine form, and mortal-body-Apollo barely reached his shoulder.

"Hungry? The others are already eating. But I wanted to wait, so that you wouldn't wake up in a empty Cabin."
As if realizing what he'd said he backtracked quickly. "And I have to look over Gracie and the others' study plans, I couldn't waste time with everything else."

Apollo furrowed his brows.
"Everything else?"

"Ah." Will gave him another pat, somehow even kinder and softer. "I'll tell you and the others."

The 'others' were already there.
Artemis pulled him down next to her, worry painted on her small face and the promise of an annoying conversation to come in her eyes, and Will sat just in time for Ares' "What the hell is wrong with them?".

And something was wrong.
The campers had multiplied- there were so many of them that it almost looked like a different place than the day before. Every table was full of teenagers and kids, except for the empty ones and the ones where only a few were sitting, and the sound of talking and laughter was loud. Satyrs, nymphs and demigods went from table to table, and a buzz was alive in the air.

It was enough for Will to ask "Did they tell you about Camp Jupiter?", after leaving a loud kiss on Gracie's blond head, to make the six gods' eyes become as wide as saucers. Not Apollo's best moment, but his new trend was being ridiculous.

"What?" asked Hades, words laced with astonishment.

Will frowned, almost annoyed.
"I knew it. Had y'all been evil people tryin' to kill us you would have known, but look at you," he muttered, taking a toast from the plates. He covered it with purple jam.
"Camp Jupiter is another Camp. A lot different in organization, training philosophy and many other things, but still a safe place for half-bloods. But their parents are the roman counterparts of our parents, or just roman deities. If it makes sense. Not children of… Ares, but children of Mars."

"And you're… in contact with them?" Hades looked ready to start laughing, or pacing. It was strange to see him in a form that wasn't as pale as a corpse. He wasn't tanned, but his olive skin looked healthy- not white as paper, like he was about to start smelling like a rotting body.

"For a year and some months. We didn't always get on well with each other, but-" he paused mid-sentence "They at least told you anything about the Second Great Prophecy?"

Apollo, this time, kept a grip on himself, but the little owner of the voice in his mind threw itself on the ground, desperate. Two Great Prophecies in what, a decade?

"Well, it told of seven demigods who would save Olympus, and then three of them ended up being roman. Two of the seven, a Greek and a Roman, were swapped so that the two Camps could be linked and united by something, and then after they saved Olympus old grudges were forgotten. Most of them, at least. Some of 'em." he frowned. "Alright, no, we have to break out fist fights half of the times, but we don't kill each other on sight."

The feud between Greeks and Romans… settled? Forgotten?

A feud that was two-thousand years old, settled so easily?

Apollo had seen his sister change, with the Romans, become Diana, adapt into Diana Nemorensis, wilder and kinder.
He'd seen Ares become Mars, Aphrodite become Venus- his father become Jupiter, just as tall and as imposing but somehow harsher and more affectionate. Hermes had become Mercury, Demeter had changed into Ceres- they'd all changed, who's adapted without even knowing why.

Apollo had kept on being Apollo Phoebus, Medicus et Averruncus et Articenens, patron of healing and prophecy and music, and he'd never had any problem dealing with the greatness of Rome.
(He'd still created his own version of Roman Apollo, because it was really hard to be two deities at the same time, and deal with both worlds at the same time. He'd been forced to.)

His family had never dealt well with the change.

Had that prophecy been delivered by his oracle, pained and tortured and trapped into a corpse, or by the Cumaean Sibyl?

"They're coming here?" Hephaestus asked, his voice cutting, obviously uncomfortable in the mess of that strange morning.

"They're supposed to land before lunch. Percy and Annabeth are coming too- she's a daughter of Athena, smartest person ever and his girlfriend, they're pretty famous around here. And other people, so get ready for the chaos. But." He straightened "Your things will be delivered!".

"You had the roman demigods buy us new clothes?" Artemis' eyebrows stood high, and Kayla smirked, abandoning the whispered conversation she'd been having with Austin.

"No, of course not. He sent Nico."

Nico, his son's boyfriend, a roman?

Will challenged her, his expression mirroring Artemis' in a delightful way.
"What's got ya laughin' so much, uh?"

"Nothing, nothing- just the thousandth confirmation that you only love him for his money."

Will didn't even bat an eye.
Austin pulled at one of Kayla' lock of red and green hair, and she batted his hand away, ignoring him.

"Want me to remind you who replaced our record player when you broke it?"

"He only did it because he wanted my permission to date you."

"Kayla. We were three months in when it happened. Nico doesn't give a damn about your permission."

Kayla's eyes widened.
"What?" she half-shouted, betrayed, and Austin gave her a disgusted glance. He went back to his food instead, ignoring his siblings and winking at Gracie, who was happily eating a pancake that hadn't been flavored in any way.
(Scary.)

Apollo whispered in his sister's ear a low "We need to talk", and she gave him a nod.

While they were wrapping up breakfast she asked Will if they could have some privacy, just them, and Will looked at her like she'd asked him is she could shoot a puppy.
"You don't have to ask me. But don't go too far, or someone will think you're plannin' to blow up Camp."

He sounded amused by the idea.

(Apollo was worried. What if they'd been spies, sent to Camp to blow it up? Will wouldn't have trusted them this much, right?)

They walked until they reached the beach, finding a good spot, with no one in sight, and Apollo sat on the sand without giving it a second thought.

"So," he started "Did someone else have strangely realistic and terrifying dreams?"
Artemis sat down next to him, her back straight. Ares started to kick at rocks and pebbles. Hephaestus and Hades stood still, one with his brows furrowed and the other deep in thoughts.
"No one?" He tried again, when no one breathed a world.
"Because, other than Tartarus, for some reason I dreamed of Percy Jackson. The great hero. At least I think that was him," he conceded, seeing Artemis' doubtful frown.

"Tartarus?"

He nodded, and Hades sighed. "The boy. What was he doing?"

"Talking with someone, on a flying vessel- a trireme covered with celestial bronze. The mystery boy was promising him to be at his side when he would climb Olympus' walls to scream at his dad."

"Perseus Jackson," said his uncle, eyes on the waves.

Apollo followed his gaze, set on the water, and finally got it.
"Uh. New water cousin?"

"Poseidon's. I know he's been asking around, to find out more about him- we all should. Too much has happened in this small and frail decade," he finished somberly.

Ares didn't stop kicking rocks.

"Two Great Prophecies in five years?" wondered Hephaestus, and Apollo was ready to answer.
"Three, I think."

When Artemis shot him a tense look he added, voice lower "Me and Aphrodite sorted through the Infirmary's archive and my children's… we found a lot of death reports. Casualties. All around two time periods, even if there's a third one I still don't understand."

"I hope there is no Third Great Prophecy we ignore the existence of."
Hades sounded exhausted at the mere idea.

"I don't think so. The Battle against the Titans, between these three, is the second one-"

"The drakon with the venomous acid."

"Yes. The third one goes back to one year before this time. 2010, first day of August. We didn't have the time to find anything else. But I think we should just ask Will."

Ares suddenly turned around to shot him a glare.
"Ask Will? You think that you will solve things like this? We're blocked in these weak bodies and in this pathetic place-"

"I consider that to be a personal insult."

"-and playing detective isn't gonna bring us back!"

"We can't do anything else, if you hadn't noticed." Artemis was as cold as ice, as cold as winter, her eyes almost silver under the right light. "We can ask, listen, try to understand what has happened to them, maybe to us, and we can't do anything else. We can't tell them the truth, or explain this- weird situation. Even our brother doesn't recognize us, and we have to accept that if not a god, no one else will."
Ares approached her with a snarl, but she didn't stop.
"Accept this and stop whining. Get settled. We don’t know how long we’ll be here."

Hephaestus stared at them. When he spoke he broke a silence as heavy as the Sky.
"Apollo is right. We ask, and we try to understand. We will meet Perseus Jackson, and the other six heroes of the Prophecy. It won’t be much, but at least we won’t wander in the dark."

Artemis stared into Ares' eyes, her head tilted back because of their height difference. They stayed like that for a while, and it was Ares who looked away first, taking two steps backwards.

Hades was watching them carefully. Then he sighed, again.
"Oh, useless banters, brother's children. We will ask Will Solace to tell us more about this matter, and we will talk to Perseus. And we will talk to my brother."
His frown made it clear for everyone which of those things irritated him the most- and who was the brother he was talking about.
(Ares smirked, anger forgotten.)

Apollo chuckled, now leaning down on his elbows.
There was nothing to laugh about, but it came out of his mouth naturally.
"The Titans," he asked "Including your father, right?"

His uncle nodded, strained.
"I don’t know how he got out of the hole we trapped him in, but he did. Or he will, I assume. And I question your father’s readiness to accept it."

At that even Artemis, who was always readier than anyone else to protect their father from their (well-deserved) hate, grimaced.

Then Ares turned to him and asked: "The demigods' dreams let them see the past and the present, but some of your children share your gift of Prophecy. Tartarus, did you see it because you will go down there?"

What a nice thought.

Apollo had wondered the same. Not everyday you dreamed of dying in Tartarus, under a red sky, lying on a sea of glass.

"I was dying, so I hope not," he answered with a light grin, but then he added "I don't think it was prophetic. Those children of mine, who are born with power over the domain of Prophecy, they're few, rare, and their visions are never this clear. Only flashed, sudden images, sensations. Very few times there have been such clear and long visions. Someone must have gone down there. Perhaps one of the seven."

Not even Apollo could believe it.

Even the Lord of the Underground found the idea unpleasant. But the truth was that no one lived as close to Tartarus as Hades did, who was its lord and guardian, but from far, far away.
 (No distance was enough, when it came to Tartarus.)
Still, somehow, too close to their worst enemies- the giants, the cursed primordials, the titans, Typhoon and Kronos, all together in one sick, sick place. The idea of them coming out of their prisons, when so much had been sacrificed to put them there the first time, was disheartening.

It was maybe nine o'clock, Apollo guessed by looking at the sun that shone on the calm water turning waves into jewels.
He was hungry, he realized, because he'd only eaten an apple- he was so hungry it was almost painful.
It was strange to answer to those needs. The last time he'd been human it had taken him weeks to get used to the feeling of needing things like food and water. And he'd been a simple mortal. Now he was a demigod, and staying still was almost as bad as being hungry, and he got hungry at the first small exertion.
He didn't envy the demigods who'd had to go on quests in these conditions.

Artemis got up.
"We should go back."
He used her hand to get up, and she tightened an arm around his waist.

(The best thing about that disaster, he thought, was Artemis.
How long ago had it been, the last time they'd truly spent time together? Truly spent time together, not for a few minutes and to call in a favor.
And Hermes, Dionysus? When was the last time they'd had a good chat, like they used to?
They weren't the kind of family that communicated, but the four of them were the youngest amongst the Twelve, and they were one thing, and yes, they could communicate. Rare, but possible.
Apollo could, at least.)

They walked back to the Cabin, where Will gave them papers to read, and told them they needed to fill in as many blank spaces as they could, that it was necessary for the Infirmary.

Apollo wrote down his new name, his age (fourteen years old, wasn't that a strange feeling?), not his birthday because the day of his birth wasn't something that his brain had suddenly learned without him realizing. He wrote down a fake one. Next to allergies he wrote 'red fruits', for some reason. He just knew.
He exhaled heavily.
He didn't write where he came from, and Will stayed quiet again so he told himself it was good enough.

Then, once they'd all finished up, he gave them more papers, and Apollo blinked startled, reading the questions.
"Why are you making us solve algebraic equations?"
Will scratched his jaw, a little awkward. "I need to understand what's your academic level, to sign you up for summer classes. Only the year-rounders are exempted, and we're the minority, so you won't be alone, don't worry."
Yes, because that was what they were worrying about.

So Apollo started working on his quiz.

He saw Aphrodite answer everything correctly without hesitation, and he decided that it wouldn't hurt to do the same.
He had no powers, but his mind was still the same. A few things were a little blurry, but he could describe an empusa and list the children of Gea, and he knew how to solve second-degree equations.
 He almost laughed reading the literature and history section.
Between ancient history and American history, Apollo answered without a worry and handed the paper to Will.
Hades and Hephaestus had already delivered everything, and his son’s eyebrows grew higher as he read them over. It didn’t take long for Artemis and Ares to do the same, and they waited in silence for him to finish correcting them.

To read them.

"Uh. You won't need summer classes. You will have to follow some of them, but it's nothing you have to study for- the mandatory ones are all about gods and monsters, because they give out the kind of information that usually saves your like. Other than these, you're all free."

After a few minutes, while Will was starting to tell them about what he'd planned for the next days and their upcoming first training session ("Unless you're all geniuses at that too"), and explained what Cabins they would work with ("Especially with Capture the Flag, most importantly"), someone knocked on the entrance of the Cabin, and walked in without waiting for an answer.

The boy, tall and athletic, called out Will's name, loud and clear.
"They're here," he added in Portuguese, which Apollo was happy to realize he still understood.
Will looked confused for a second, and then he jumped up and said "Percy and the others are here. I'm going to meet them- you wanna join?"

They didn't hesitate.

The boy looked them over, and asked "The one with the missing foot?", with a strange mix English and more Portuguese that Will understood.
"No, Paul's with Connor."

The scars running around his biceps, on both right and left arm, were almost unnaturally white against his dark complexion.
Apollo wondered if Will had put his arms back together. Years ago? How long had it taken him to find out about the power residing in his fingertips, how long had it taken him to master it?

"Paolo Montes," he introduced himself briefly, adding a quick "Son of Hebe", before starting to mutter something in Will's ear, still in Portuguese, to which his son answered with a groan and something else that Apollo didn't catch.

He had to almost run to match their pace, but it was a good thing, because when the same trireme he'd dreamed appeared from the sky and the white, rich clouds, he saw it from the front lines as it slowly came closer to the clearing of green grass near the start of the forest.

Now that he saw it from the outside he could notice the burns on the sides, and some broken oars, but it was still a masterpiece of engineering- Apollo wasn't the god of engineering, he tried to stay as far from it as he could, but just like he could do equations with his eyes closed he knew a lot about engineering.
For two reasons: one, it was the only topic that Hephaestus was willing to discuss; two, he was really, really old, and sometimes immortal life could be kind of boring.

It looked like half the campers were there: at least thirty demigods were walking towards the trireme, and even if most of them were smiling and laughing with each other there was something wrong. Something bad going on. Apollo could feel it.
There was tension, and now Apollo understood that it wasn't the good kind of tension, caused by seeing loved ones after a long time- it was the bad kind of tension. The one that weighted in the air when someone was about to start a fight.
Fight against whom, the Romans?

Ares left them to walk in the sea of mortals, reaching Aphrodite, her hair a stain of bright pink, and Apollo could see them all- but not Demeter, and Hermes for some reason. He rose up on his tiptoes, looking for him in the crowd, still nothing.

Not everyone was out to see the Romans, then.
(Why?)

The dragon's head looked smaller, seen from afar, but Apollo still felt like it was staring into his soul.

The first children started to climb down, and they were wearing the purple t-shirt from Camp Jupiter, a bright gold SPQR surrounded by laurel branches. Then one demigod, who was instead wearing a white t-shirt, started walking towards them, getting closer with every second rather than stopping to bring more things down like his companions were doing.

He was tall, this Apollo could notice even from afar, well-built but still slender, and all his strides were long, firm, meticulously coordinated, similar to a soldier's- no, just like a soldier's.

Someone else jumped down and joined him, and this time it was a boy with dark hair, as tall as the other but way skinnier, who was wearing a black and orange t-shirt (he'd never seen a Camp t-shirt that looked like that) and black jeans- long ones, which scared Apollo.
How could he survive in those clothes when the sun seemed ready to cook them up like sausages?

Apollo saw Piper McLean hug the first, and touch the cheek of the other who slapped away her wrist- it was difficult to understand from the end of the group if it was a joke or not, but the daughter of Aphrodite's melodious laugh told him enough.

And then, the two walked towards them.

Just like, step after step, Apollo managed to notice that the blond boy had one of the most beautiful faces he'd ever seen in his long, long life, he also noticed the thin, red lines that ran through his skin, like the roots of a tree, and branched out on his shoulders and neck.
The red of it was almost too bright, while in some places it was light enough to not be different from his skin, in other it was discolored enough to be white.

But they were alive.
Apollo could see it, and he held his breath when he truly saw them- when he saw how it looked like electricity was still running along his body, those thin lines wrapping over the boy, disappearing inside of him- a boy who instead smiled freely, acting as if he didn't bear the signs of Zeus' Master Bolt on his body.

Apollo almost stepped back when he walked up to them, but the mortal had eyes only for Will. He hugged him warmly, with a low "Finally," and Will answered with a twin smile on his face, and gave him a loud pat on the shoulder when he retreated.
His eyes shone with deep, deep fondness.

The boy let his son go, his hand on Will's shoulder and his arm raised enough that Apollo could see clearly the SPQR branded on his skin, and the thirteen lines under it, to show how many years he'd served the Legions- almost all his life.

His smile was a quiet but sincere thing, and then he moved his eyes from Will to them- unnatural, electric blue eyes, and Apollo, with four thousands years of experience and a terribly weakened eyesight, found himself unable to understand what was behind those eyes- if it was an emotion, a feeling, or a detached interest that was as cold as those irises.

When he greeted them with a quiet "Good morning", Apollo recognized him as the same boy of his dream, the one who'd been speaking and almost fighting with Perseus Jackson.
Who'd spoken of his father, an Olympian, whom Perseus Jackson was ready to tell off- Apollo hoped, intensely, voraciously, with all the strength he had, that the mortal was not one of his half-brothers.

The other boy spoke, his hair very dark and skin very pale. "Go away, Grace," and Apollo had his confirmation, his heart sinking into his stomach. He felt his sister’s hand touch his own, but ignored it.

He couldn't pay attention to his son’s boyfriend, who now embraced him and left a quick kiss on his lips, too busy staring at who was Thalia Grace's brother, his father’s son, his half-brother, who they'd all thought dead for more than fifteen years, who was alive and who must have done something terrible enough to deserve the Bolt- and who was breathing. Walking, smiling. Alive.

Who bore its marks, who didn't hide them.
It would have been impossible to do so, seeing their extension and- brightness.

He would have become a mummy, and maybe he should have done just that, because Apollo couldn't think of a greater insult.
Nobody, nobody in the history of their world and Pantheon had ever survived Zeus' Master Bolt, and the boy walked with the proud proof that he was the first on his skin. A brand, a- a mistake.
Anyone, looking at him, would have known. Would have known that the Father of the Gods had failed.

How the hell was Jason Grace still alive?

His son was furiously touching his boyfriend's arm.
"How the hell did you manage to fracture your humerus in three different places?"

"Ask Jason and Percy. It's their fault."

"Anythin' to say for yourself, Grace?"

Jason Grace shrugged, a little nervous but still poised.
"Monsters attacked us, nothing serious, and Percy bet he could kill more of them than me using only a bat, and I had to accept or I would've been a coward, but then Nico joined us because a manticore was about to rip Percy's head off and Percy- I'd like to repeat Percy- accidentally hit Nico, thinking he was the manticore, and fractured his arm."

So this was how one felt, Apollo wondered, to fly in the sky only to have one's ankle grabbed, and be knocked to the ground like a basketball.

Will looked like he was also discovering the feeling, and his disbelief was almost comical.
"A bat?"

"Percy's the oldest," Nico jumped in "He's the one to blame."

Percy was Perseus Jackson, son of Poseidon, and Jason was Thalia Grace's brother, Thalia the daughter of Zeus whom he'd turned into a pine, while Nico- Nico raised his hand, to point at one of the people walking towards them, bags and packages on his arms and back, somehow still in balance.

Apollo saw Nico's long fingers, the meat covering their tips almost see-through, to the point that Apollo could swear he'd seen his bones, he glanced up at his messy dark hair and familiar, too familiar eyes.

He almost giggled, and he couldn't bite down an amused huff that bordered on hysterical.
A son of Hades.
He'd taken after his father when it came to height, for sure. Uncle Hades didn't even have to change his physical form to tower over them all.

All the fuss his Father had made, when the Great Prophecy was first pronounced, and here Apollo was, standing in front of three mortal demigods, each of them a son of those who'd sworn they wouldn't father any children.
And one of them was his son’s boyfriend, just when he thought Will couldn’t surprise him anymore.

"… You won, right?" asked Will, glaring at Jason Grace with sharp eyes.

Jason grinned, and it still somehow looked reserved- sharp and a little scary, yes, but private.
It didn't matter what expression he made, Apollo was struggling to find some traits he shared with his father, both Roman and Greek version.

If he hadn't known his sister's name (how could he have ever not known it) he would have believed him to be one of his children, or one of Aphrodite's, even Ares- but not Zeus'.

"You can see him, right?"

Perseus Jackson, now that he could see his face, looked like his father in a distant way, but he did look like him.
The grimace on his face was probably caused by the crazy amount of things he was carrying on his shoulders, and he was fully and strongly glaring at the two demigods he'd arrived with.
Will looked really tired for a second, and then he moved to help Perseus Jackson, taking some of the things in his hands- three plastic bags about the size of his torso, and one that was even bigger, but made of paper.

Poseidon's boy snorted. "Have they already blamed me? Well, Jason was the one who suggested the bet, and who accepted it, and Nico shouldn't have jumped in front of my bat."

"Should I've let a manticore eat your brain?"

"Maybe that was my destiny and you stopped it from happening."

Perseus Jackson was smiling, before he saw them. Then he saw them.
His smile dropped.
"You're the unclaimed?" he asked.

It sounded like everything depended by their answer.

Hades raised his eyebrows.
"Yes."
He was studying his nephew, but it was clear that he was having trouble not looking at his son, to whom Will was whispering something as they smiled and gazed at each other's eyes.

"Nice to meet you. I’m Percy."

He smiled, but his face was tense.

Connor arrived, and without being even noticed he pulled two more bags from Perseus' back, quiet and fast.
"Percy Express, convenient," he exclaimed, and then high-fived Percy with a smile that was equally tense, but less evidently so.

The girl that took the last two, leaving the demigod with only three bags in his hands, was as tall as him, dark skinned and with blonde strands of hair braided with her natural afro in braids that reached her shoulders.
"He lost the bet because he also lost his bat and had to sacrifice one of the bags to not get eaten by another manticore."
Perseus stared at her, betrayed.

She looked at them, didn't smile, and furrowed her eyebrows.
She didn't say anything, and didn't even introduce herself.
(Rude. Very familiar. Her mother's girl.)

"Clarisse?" she asked instead.

Connor gave her a lazy shrug.
"Family emergency, she had to leave."

Both Perseus and the girl looked disappointed.
"Perfect," he celebrated sarcastically "As if things weren't complicated enough."
He moved to the side, just barely saving himself from the girl's elbow in his guts.
Then he stared at them again.
He looked at Hephaestus, and Artemis, eyes big and curious and restless.
"What you needed." He raised the bags, to direct their attention to them.

(Hades' son made an indignant sound, mumbled something about 'lack of details' and 'mysterious, real bastard-like tendencies', but the others didn’t pay any attention to it.)

Then he looked around "The others?"

"Some of them with Piper and Mark. I don’t know the others."

"Head-Councilors meeting?"

Connor gave a cynical grin. "Hell yeah."

"Then-"

A tall, very tall guy with a rainbow tattoed to his arm (honestly, sick) interrupted them.
"Chiron wants you to go to the Big House. Now. Come on."

At this the four new-comers blinked, but didn't ask.
Jason Grace offered them a polite nod, taking his leave with a clumsy "See you later", which was incredibly out of place with his general mysterious look, and Artemis reached out to take over Perseus' remaining bags. He waved a hand and followed the tall guy with the sick tattoo.

Paolo returned from where he'd gone to speak to a Roman demigod whose head was almost completely shaved, and looked at the bags all doubtful.
"Do you need a hand?"

Connor threw them all in his hands with a fake smile, and Paolo glared at him, but they pretended to stare at the sky when Will gave them a glare of his own.

When Connor guided them to Cabin Eleven to sort through their new things, Apollo barely felt able to focus on the smallest, easiest thing.
He took some t-shirts, he even took another shower to change into his clothes, invaded by a sudden sort of anxiety that he didn't like and that had terrible effects on his mortal, smelly body, but he still thought about it- all they'd learned, in those few days, the fact that Percy Jackson had been talking about Zeus, about Apollo's father, that he'd said he was ready to fight him- that even the son of Jupiter looked ready to fight at his side.
(Maybe in the end it had been a normal dream, produced by his disturbed mind, and not a demigod dream.)

He moved like a doll whose strings had been let loose.

He wore the clothes that, apparently, Hades' son had bought them with his endless credit card (a gift from his dad, Kayla had pointed out) a white shirt open over one of the orange t-shirts from Camp's stocks that Will had given him the night before, and a pair of knee-high jeans, wide enough not to make him sweat.

He stood in the pair of flip-flops that (still) Will had given him (he'd grabbed them the day before because initially the boy had tried giving them to Ares, who'd seemed ready to kill him just for thinking it), and ignored the critical look that Connor gave them, and when he met everyone else- all thirteen, they were all wearing new clothes.

Some of them had the Camp's t-shirt on, others didn't.
Aphrodite looked ready to spin on the spot in her knee-length skirt made of some shiny weave that shone under the light. Hera had taken a pair of tight long jeans (that couldn't be comfortable) and a tank top that left her arms and higher back uncovered. Poseidon stood among them proud with his shorts covered by printed coconuts.

(Seeing his uncle Hades in jeans was perhaps the weirdest thing that ever happened to him. And he'd seen and done some fucked up shit.)

Demeter, in her floral dress, looked like herself.

Once again, they were sent to the Big House.

Zeus, more deadly than ever in his t-shirt and jeans, was just pure fury by now.
Apollo kept his distance.

And this time, no one waited for them outside.

Athena, small and frail in her new body like she'd never been before, walked in with all the confidence in the world, guiding them to the living room, which was just next to the kitchen, that Apollo could see on the left.

It was a nice living room- Apollo had seen worse.
The light wallpaper and the large, open windows made the room look like there was no roof at all, with how much sunrays came in, and the long brown leather couch and small armchairs were perfectly placed, and went perfectly with the many plants around the room, all green and healthy.

One of them, daffodils in a colorful pot, was tall and lush and too bright to be a normal plant. Demeter, tall and with eyes that shone like stars, lightly touched one of its long stems, recognizing it as only a mother could.

In front of the windows, on the other side of the room, another room; its door hadn't been properly closed, and that single inch let the voices reach them, no matter their inability to see what was going on inside.

Connor Stoll was speaking.
"I don't care, dude, he looks like he couldn't even hurt a fly."

"Like Damien and Lucy?" The voice of the daughter of Athena with the blonde braids was almost painfully wry.

"I hope not, Chase, but we can't keep accusing innocents of things they haven't done. For all we know they could be chill, normal people just like the rest of us."

Two kids spoke one over the other, but one won.
"You can't take a risk this big."

Connor snorted, and the sound was loud enough to cover the protests of another feminine voice.
"We take the risks that we want to take, Miranda."

"With Alice and Gracie?"

"Don't tell me how to take care of my own sister." Will sounded cold, like he hadn't been not even with Sherman, when the son of Ares had threatened them on their very first day there.

Jason Grace voice made silence fall.
"They aren't our problem, we all know it, so we should stop procrastinating and debating over the innocence of a group of fourteen year olds. And think about truly important matters."

"Jason's right, have some fucking balls," Connor Stoll supported him.

A beat.

"That wasn't what I-"

"How old was the boy standing next to you? The tall one," asked out of the blue Perseus.

Silence fell, again, deeper than before, and forgotten were the few laughs that Connor's last comment had caused between the mortals.
Will answered him.
"Seventeen," he said.

"And the other? Blonde hair, eyes-"

"Fourteen."

Maybe the wrong thing to say.
The silence was devastatingly uncomfortable.

Jason Grace said something that Apollo didn't catch, and Perseus laughed.
He saw Poseidon stare at the badly closed door with eyes that didn't eye at all his desire to just- get in and look at his son, to understand what was happening and-

"Really? Can't wait to see who they're gonna call, next time dear old daddy wants to pay them a visit."

"Perce-"

Three other voices spoke together, Apollo heard "-just for-" and "-right again-", and Poseidon was pale.

"-they're clearly-"

"-we don't even know-"

"How much are you ready to bet that the kid isn't you brother, Will?" Perseus' voice shook with anger.
Apollo had the feeling that he was talking about him.
"Or would you like to tell me that that one girl isn't a child of Demeter- that the other boy isn't your brother?"

His last words were directed to Connor Stoll, who answered, all mirth disappeared from his words.
"I never liked him much, Percy, but he wouldn't."

"He was the one to tell me that the oath would be useless, and look. How long did they last, three years? Not even three, if we include the black-out."

"Accuse him of- whatever, but my father" (Hermes shot Apollo a look, as clueless as him) "wouldn't do this-"

"Can't you-"

"Not after Luke, Percy."

Silence, again.

Apollo knew what they were talking about. Apollo knew that Luke Castellan would die, because in the same moment that Mary Castellan's mind had touched his Oracle she'd been infected- he couldn't think of a better term. She'd seen images so clear that they couldn't be interpreted in any other way, and it ruined her life.
Hermes didn't know.
Apollo had indirectly driven crazy the woman he loved- mortal or not, Hermes was the type to dedicate himself fully, and with few limits, he hadn't thought it fair to also give him the burden of knowing the future.

He didn't know precisely when or how, but he'd seen enough to know that he wouldn't die in a way he could have described as "good", or "happy". Not the death Hermes would have wanted for him.

"And?"
He must have said something absurd, because Apollo heard sounds of surprise, and even shock.
"They never learned, why should they change now? For what- a promise made to some demigod they're gonna forget in a few decades?"

"Funny. You, just some demigod." He made the mere idea of it sound ridiculous, words dismissive and bitter. "No one demands a change, Jackson. You asked them to claim us, to not let the unclaimed spend summers and years buried in my Cabin under piles of other kids, like old shoes, and they can do it. If they don't, something happened."

"…sorry." Apollo didn't understand why he was apologizing. "I know your dad wouldn't do it," he added "I didn't mean-"

"I know man, don't worry."

Then the son of Hades spoke, voice low but still strong.
"This doesn't change the fact that the guy I saw before is a son of Apollo."

Will's frustrated sound almost spooked him.
"Again? That guy, as you keep callin' him-"

"I have yet to find the time to learn their personal data, forgive me if-"

"-Smells almost as strong as I do, you think that my father would've left him out in the open like that, like- a sacrifice to some monster? He wouldn't have done that even before the oath. I was seven when he sent me here. Gracie was six and a half- Oliver was nine. Charlie isn't different than us in any way. If my father didn't claim him then something's wrong. And this is the only possible explanation."

The son of Hades wasn't mean, as he quietly said "It isn't", but Apollo couldn't quite hide a grimace.

"Then it's the only one I'll accept," more alike to a growl, and Apollo felt his heart beat in his throat.

He was speaking about him.
He was protecting Apollo from- from the accusations of not keeping his promise, his oath to Perseus. But he was doing it with such fervor that Apollo was starting to feel uncomfortable.

Apollo didn't ignore his children, he always tried to contact them at least once or twice every year, in their dreams, but he didn't truly know them. It was for the best, he knew it.
They wouldn't suffer from the lack of a father, if he wasn't a father to them in the first place, and he wouldn't suffer because of their death, if they weren't really his children from the beginning.
But Will looked- sounded like he believed in him.

"You're being stupid," a new feminine, cold voice joined the discussion, not giving it up yet. "What about the consequences of a mess like this one? We'll take twenty steps back, all the progress made these last years will get screwed up. This is the real problem we need to deal with."

"Damn, are you still fighting over what is the problem?" This new boy was straight up bored. "Accept the fact that our problems are never-ending and maybe you'll find some happiness in your miserable lives."

"No one's as helpful as you," playfully insulted him Connor.

"Did I miss your important contribution to the meeting?" Someone walked around the room, the mortal went on, just as bored. "You made them swear to claim us all, unless some superior force made it impossible for them, right? Then if they don't claim us some superior force is making it impossible, easy as that."

"Don't let they hear you or they'll pitch a hissy fit," said the girl, Miranda, with biting irony, and Apollo saw Zeus' face turn ever darken than before.

"Come on, how many times have they almost been reduced to nothing in the last few years?"
(Apollo thought that no one paid due attention to this new piece of information.)

"... you don’t think it’s gonna happen again, do you?"

"I don’t know, man."

The same cold voice spoke just before, sincerely disgusted.
"You're just ready to justify them whenever you can." She walked, because the voice moved. "A nice word and a hug and you forget everything."

"My father never hugged me, and he certainly never told me a nice word." Sherman was more than angry. Apollo had thought he was in the Infirmary, but compared to this the harsh words he'd told them were nothing. "But I'm almost one-hundred percent sure that we shouldn't jump to conclusions when it comes to this."

"I wasn't talking about you, Yang."

"You can say names, Edith, we won't get offended, don't worry."
Regardless of his words, Apollo felt like Will would soon get offended, and a lot.

"Between you, Connor and Pollux I don't know who's the most naive- and at this point it's only your fault," she accused them, her words sharp like a blade. Apollo wondered who was the parent of this sweet, gentle girl.

"I hope you aren't saying that I forgot what it costed me to help them out. Or Connor- or Will."

He tightened his hand in a painful fist. He knew what he was referring to. An empty table, an empty Cabin. The light of the sun filling space left empty by death.
He knew, and he felt like he was standing alone in the sea because no one else did, but Aphrodite was watching him. He ignored her.

"Then why? Why do you keep justifying them?"

"I don't get my coffe with anger and resentment, for once, and also a very old and wise guy told me to have faith. It tastes better and has good effects on the stomach- much better than unconditional hate, you know?"
Maybe the girl would have hit Connor- she was about to, if the sudden steps they heard meant what they thought. Maybe ten people started speaking together, but Jason Grace's, once again, drowned out the others.

"No one is forced to believe in anything. Connor believes in his father, like Pollux and Will do- and I agree with them. At least, I believe in Lord Apollo- I have faith. Something isn't right, this is obvious. We can wait and see what will happen, but we can't do anything else. None of you can attack the other for not agreeing- the last thing we need is more problems to deal with."

It was a reproach but he managed, somehow, to be anything but un-polite or aggressive.

Apollo stood still, feeling his body go cold, the weight of those words hanging on his shoulders.
Faith. Faith. Did they even know what it meant? What Faith entailed, when it came to gods?

He felt the burning eyes of the others target him, all the strength sleeping in their mortal bodies now set on him, scorching warmth, a brand on his skin.
(No one had missed how Jason Grace had talked about Apollo, and not even mentioned his father. Their Father, in the meantime, had a look that Apollo didn't like the slightest bit.)

Apollo started writhing his hands. He didn't understand, he didn't understand, he hated not understanding. He hated questions without answers, that would float in his mind, questions as old and immortal as Apollo, that would stuck in his mind for centuries to come.

But he made a choice, there and then.
It wasn't a prophecy that his Pythia had declared to the world, regardless of the consequences and loyal to her role, to him.
Those were facts, that had occurred in the past and didn't need an interpretation, or a thousand years of mulling over. He was a mortal, and everything was fast when you were a mortal.
Even his journey of truth would be.

Artemis touched his hand, again. She didn't say anything, but gripped his thumb, and then crossed it with her own, and Apollo breathed.

"Superman is right. I'll try to talk with my dad later and find something out. Mr D?"

"Mysterious and mystical as always," said Pollux, Dio's son, a pout evident in his words "But he's always deep in thought lately. I heard Chiron saying that they expect another prophecy soon."

A chorus of desperate moans rose, and someone started laughing, both hysterical and amused.

"It's been what, four months?"

"Five. If Rachel wips out my name again God knows I'll leave Camp to sell sandwich in front of my granny's house."

"Calm down, Solace, you wouldn't last an hour…- and mutilations."

They talked some more, one over the other, and Apollo realized he was getting tired of them not making him understand a thing- couldn't they wait for their turn to speak?

"And the offers to the Athena Parthènos?"

Nothing could surprise him anymore.
(He'd already thought that, but this time he really meant it.)

"Cassandra is talking with Malcolm and coordinating everything."

They talked more, and more, words that Apollo couldn't hear because of the sudden ruckus coming from outside.
It sounded like a cyclop was about to walk in- or perhaps Chiron, who had forgotten that he was not exactly the right size to get in there in his real form, but Apollo at that point also expected that a titan would break down the door to eat them on the spot.

Actually, the commotion was caused by a short boy that Apollo couldn't have described with his sublime poetic skills even if he'd wanted to- because he couldn't see him.
He was half-covered by what looked like petroleum but was probably a mix of ash and dust, and the smell of smoke he brought in the room was so strong that it was worrying to see how the sun shone on his oil-covered skin. Bringing a match close to him would have meant seeing the whole building burn down, probably.

He ran in, faster than wind, and stood still when he saw them, blinking suddenly confused, but then his eyes landed on the half-closed door and he moved like lighting again, leaving behind dark footprints, only to shout a "Grace!" that they probably would've heard even from outside the borders.

Someone let out a scream, seeing the black and- smoking? figure open the door with a loud sound and walk in with a shout, and someone made a chair scrape on the floor, producing a terribly painful sound.

"Leo-"

"What the fuck did you do to my baby?"

"-you're still alive?" Piper McLean sounded ecstatic, but also pretty amused "We thought you dead and gone."

"Not now Pipe, I have to drown these two-"

"It's not our fault we got attacked- and why are you only looking at me?"

"Because I didn't entrust the Argo to Nico or Jackson, but you. Seriously, I told you a million times to not let anyone put their dirty little hands on-"

"Don't interrupt the Head Counselors meeting, Valdez."

"-my ship- don't call them meeting, Miranda, you make them sound more important than they are- and change internal mechanisms! You could've get blown up!"

They could see… Leo's back, as he moved his hands in the air like a madman on a mission.

"Everything has to be as it is, to maintain altitude and not hit earth like a heavy meteorite- even one thing changes and we'd all become pathetic, flat pancakes- and someone made- I don't even have the words to describe it. I don’t even know how I’m gonna get Faestus out without blowing the whole thing up, and-"

"Nobody touched the Argo II, Leo."

He finally stopped talking.
It was almost comical, really, seeing how one of his hands froze in mid-air, how his body stopped moving- the foot he'd been tapping on the ground as he let ash fell from his clothes, as oil dripped from his curls- it was a miracle that they were still attached to his head, a head that he kept moving with every word, to glare at more than two or three people, the other hand knocking on his thigh following a regular beat.

"Someone touched it, Jason."

"I swear it. No one would touch it, they're scared that your greek wizardry could blow up in their hand,

The new demigod scoffed, even angrier, and opened his arms wide. His right hand shone under the light.
"Or someone got over their fear, and almost made it blown up under your feet."

"Why should they?"

"Great. Another problem."

"No, no, this isn't our main problem-"
"If only I hadn't heart that sentence like ten times in the last hour…"
"We have to stabilize it, you idiot, and take it far away from here, immediately."

"Don't you see that we're busy?"

"Busy-" he started shouting full of disbelief, then he turned to look at them, and they were all staring back at him.
He furrowed his eyebrows.
"Who are you?"

"Saint Jesus-"

"Where have you been the last week, Valdez?"

"I was busy."

He left the doorway, turning to properly look them over, slowly, and his eyebrows flew when he set eyes on Hera.
Now, Apollo could also say that his eyes were dark and warm.

"Uh. Would Tìa turn me into a rock if I said that this one looks like her?"

Hera blinked, taken by surprise.

Jason Grace answered, appearing just to see who he was talking about.
"She would turn you into a peacock, and not even one of the pretty ones."

The boy offered him a sound of agreement, still busy staring at the immortal vessell of the Queen of the Sky as is expecting it to disappear and for this tìa (whom Apollo realized was Hera) to appear in its stead.
Hera, someone's tìa?

"Uh, Ok. Any child of Hephaestus? Even just one?"

"We don't know who's their parent. This is the-" "Problem!" "I swear on everything that's holy, Connor, say another word-"

"Guess how much I care if they got claimed- someone who knows anything about mechanics? Enough to be competent? And with the guts to get in a ticking time bomb?"

"Leo," an unknown feminine voice called him "You can't bring in someone who isn't qualified to do such a dangerous thing. It's bad enough that we'll have to take the kids."

"The Argo II could blow up right now and only destroy a Cabin or two if we're lucky, it could have exploded right when they landed, and it would have killed all of you. Do you want to stay here and talk or, I don't know, help me stop us from getting fried?"

The Head Counselor finally came out, and it was amusing to see how this Leo was forced to bend his neck to look into the eyes of who was clearly his sister. She glanced at them in silence, then sighed heavily and offered them one of the saddest expressions that Apollo had ever seen.
(She wasn't among those who had come to look and stare from a distance, like they were particularly interesting freaks out of a circus.)

"If any of you could help us it would be great. There are seven of us, but another pair of hand doesn't hurt. But," she was mostly talking to her brother "Nothing too risky for them, and we're going in first to make sure you won't die."

"They wouldn't fit in the engine room anyway. So?"

Apollo felt sincere surprise when Hephaestus got up, even if he couldn't explain to himself why. Maybe he'd thought they would stay all together- for some strange reason. That they would deal with the matter as a united front, that Hephaestus wanted to do it by their side.

And Apollo wasn't one to cheer, when he had to spend time with his family- it hadn't happened in years, but no matter how much he hated to admit it, in that specific, special, and unique situation he felt like talking to them would help him.
Crazy, he knew.

But who could he talk with, if not them? His kids? His brother who didn't recognize him, his oldest student that saw Apollo as his own student?
Since they'd all seen him and decided that he was his own son, did he have to pray to himself?

Apollo had never prayed once in his life. He'd begged, but never prayed- he was a god.

Hephaestus left and, in a more than immature way (especially for an immortal creature), Apollo told himself that he wouldn't tell Hephaestus anything about what they would soon discover.

He ignored the voice in his head, frighteningly similar to auntie Hestia's, who suggested that perhaps Hephaestus wanted to meet his children and that, probably, that was a wish he could try to understand.
Another voice that sounded like Artemis made him notice how, after days spent discussing and hypothesizing, someone finally did something, and as always it was Hephaestus, who immediately grew tired of empty words and jumped to act (in a less stupid way than Ares).

Artemis did indeed cast a look at him, as if able to read his mind, and Apollo gave up.

Hephaestus followed the two (and Piper McLean, who sprinted after them) and new black footprints were left by Leo Valdez. And a strong smell of smoke.

"Lennon will be alright," Jason Grace jumped in ready to reassure them, and Demeter's eyebrows shot high.
"Couldn't he… 'blow up' with that ship and the whole Camp?"

Jason Grace didn't look worried at all:
"Leo will fix that, don't worry."

One after another, almost everyone walked out of the meeting room, and soon the living room was filled. A girl walked away, rage twisting her face, casting one last glare at Connor who smiled coldly, and another girl lightly punched Will on the shoulder, whispering something that made his tense expression soften a little 'bit.
He was still upset, his shoulders a straight, hard line, and he didn't smile even when he set eyes on them.

Not that he expected Will to treat them like soft little kids, but it was strange. Apollo had only seen him smile until that moment.

His expression was still painted by anger, and the son of Hades shot him a quick glance, barely hiding his own worry.

Someone left, and almost all of them offered them weak smiles or hand-waves, but half of them stayed there.

"That little guy?" Ares wondered out-loud, just a little too distrusting.

As he was hit by Jason Grace's sudden, cold glare, the daughter of Athena answered them.
"Not only can the Argo II sail on water and fly, but it is an engineering masterpiece in every way, and it’s Leo’s. He built it, knows it better than anyone else, and he's the only one who could really put his hands on it." She frowned "That’s why it's impossible that someone has tampered with it."

It was obvious that Ares didn't care much for her explanation, but Athena was staring at her daughter as if she was a divine revelation. Since she was the daughter who had given her back her precious Athena Parthenos she probably was.
The first and only one, since every twenty years or so she sent a chosen one to die in their efforts to find it.

Apollo could feel the burning stare of Sherman Yang, as he leaned against the wall next to the meeting room's door. He tilted his head, almost brushing against one of the paintings.

Perseus looked tired, but he still took one an empty chair and dropped on it. He immediately started tapping his foot on the floor.
He bit the inside of his cheek, and then seemed to surrender to some hidden internal turmoil.
"Do you know why the fact that you weren't claimed is a… problem" just using that word was grating on him, Apollo could see it "To everyone here?"

His father answered him.
"You made a deal with the gods."

His son Perseus nodded, all somber.
"Yes. Before that even the most careful forgot one or two- and the unlucky ones ended up dead, if a satyr didn't smell and reach them in time, or in Cabin Eleven. Had you gotten here a few years ago you would have ended up there. Not even his kids had enough place to sleep at the time."

"Sleeping in you brother's bed is fun and all if you're nine," jumped in Connor, his head appearing from behind the kitchen's door "Not when he'd sixteen and six feet tall and makes you fall on the floor every night- over the people who sleep there."
He disappeared again.

"Exactly. It doesn't… feel good, to know that your mom or dad don't even have the decency to give you a decent place to sleep in when they could probably turn you into a plant with a click of their tongue. And then there are the quests."
He said that work like it had a weight that they ignored, like they hadn't been there when the first quest was issued. Still, Apollo felt like a child being lectured.
"The gods are, well, gods, but they have to follow rules that we demigods can ignore, so they usually send us to do all the dirty work. Which can get tiring, when the only thing you get out of it is a life-long need to see a therapist and maybe, if you're lucky, some words of encouragement. Or you die before getting anything out of it, which sometimes seems the best thing.

"And this has been going on since- forever. But no one thought that a half-blood would get to the point of trying to destroy Olympus to get back our dignity. They should have expected it, no one did."

Apollo blinked.

"What?"
A single word from his father's mouth, cold enough to freeze the room- for them, not for the demigods, who saw their reaction as simple surprise and astonishment at the thought that something like 'destroying Olympus' could be done.
Apollo was four thousand years old, and he stopped breathing, as if one puff of air would have taken down the house of cards they were standing on the top of.

"He was tired, you know? He didn't trust them- he despised them, for even worst reasons, and he wanted a different life. So Kronos- uh, Zeus' evil dad, the one who ate his kids to stop them from dethroning him," he explained casually "He took advance of his anger and resentment to convince him that he was the right ally, and used him to get it back at his kids for throwing him into a pit."

Connor Stoll came back from the kitchen. On one hand he held a box of cookies- large one, with chocolate chips and probably made out of sugar and nothing else, and in the other hand a big bottle of Sprite with white plastic cups put over its cap.

Apollo didn't even register it when a biscuit and a cup of Sprite where pushed into his own hands.

But he saw that Connor Stoll had his brows furrowed and his lips tightened into a harsh, white line, looking like he wanted to be anywhere but there, talking about this mysterious demigod- and Apollo felt pity bloom in his chest.

Had Artemis gone crazy and joined a mad titan's quest to world destruction, only to die a painful, terrible death, he would have felt uncomfortable talking about it too.
(But even just thinking of spending another short moment of his life in a world where Artemis wasn't at his side made him flinch.)

Luke Castellan was destined to greater things that he'd ever imagined.

"He eventually understood that no matter how much he hated them, our parents are way better than Kronos- which seems kind of obvious, but Kronos played with his brain and turned it around until Luke-" Apollo stubbornly kept his eyes away from Hermes "became sure that following him was the right thing to do. And not only Luke. Children of minor gods, the unclaimed, demigods who'd had enough, even some deities- they all thought that Zeus and his council were doing a shitty job. Add a big ass army of monsters, who knows how many titans and things from Tartarus and- it was one big, big mess."

August 16th 2009. That was the day.
He took a bite of the cookie. Connor gave him an encouraging wink, he barely noticed it.

"There was a big fight where half the campers gone there to stop that army from entering Olympus got killed, and the ones who fought for the other side died a terrible death after a depressing life. Most of them. So" he breathed in, rolling a pen in his hands "When they asked me what I wanted as payment for my service I told them that if they wanted to have mortal children that bad, then they had to stop ignoring them. That if they wanted kids, they had to be ready to have powerful kids. To not give them life just to take it after a few years. Maybe they finally got it- that even the actions of a god have consequences. Or maybe they knew it and just accepted it, I don't know and I don't care. But they swore. To have unclaimed kids of your age? No one likes what it means."

Apollo almost asked who'd died. Who'd joined Kronos. Why had Olympus ended up with teenage mortals as its last defense. Why had it been necessary in the first place to protect Olympus from Krónos, Titan of Time- how had a Titan woken from his slumber and formed an army without them noticing.

Had it already started?
Before ending up in this new mortal body, Apollo had been doing nothing. Was his grandfather gathering his forces, as he laid in his chariot, thinking of old and new things?

Then Apollo told himself to think about it. He took another bite, and then another one.

He could still remember the sour smell of his own ichor, burned by his father's Bolt, and he remembered how, even with his eyes unseeing and his muscles twitching against his will as they moved on the cold marble pavement where his father had forced him, laying at his feet, a small ant in front of his King, in his mind the words of the Great Prophecy had echoed, louder and louder, fresh and printed in his mind like every other prophecy of his priestesses.
Knowing that those words were at fault for his unpleasant situation.

Would his father ever believe that his own late father was a threat to them? Would he accept the evidence, or only act when it became impossible to ignore even for him, convinced of his own superiority.

The answer he gave himself was painful enough to open a dark pit in his chest.

"I know that I didn't paint a good image of them, or us, probably, but the only thing I can tell you is: Olympian justice is a joke, and we are, most of the time, the butt of it." His cutting honesty almost made Apollo flinch back. "And now you're in this mess too, and we're sorry. But things can get better. They got better these last few years. They got better, in a way. So- let us worry about what's really happening, and you'll have all the answers you want in no time."

Artemis was gripping his hand, free now that he'd finished his cookie, and was holding it with all the strength of her lithe new form. It was a small hand, warm and clammy, and Apollo's wasn't that different.
He felt weak, in that body, and small, like he hadn't felt since Asclepius' death and his own punishment, that once again had seen him a boy in the hands of mortal men.
It was familiar, to hold Artemis' hand like they'd done he couldn't remember how many times in their four thousand years, when things inevitably went wrong.

Hephaestus had missed a lot.
Served him right. Artemis pinched his wrist, and he returned the gesture.

His father was pale, his brothers had solemn expressions on their face. Uncle Hades was raging inside, Apollo read the anger on hid body like a warning that read "MAD AS HELL- STAY FAR, FAR AWAY". Demeter was stony-faced. Hera looked at her husband with a strange expression on her face. It was a familiar expression, full of hatred, that made Apollo shiver.
Rather than thinking about his step-mother's general scary behaviour, Apollo emptied his cup of Sprite and winced at the taste.

"If you're done with the emotionally charged and terribly boring chatter," a male voice badly startled Miranda and Connor, but then the latter lit up, with a happy "Mr D!" that Dionysus ignored. "Johnson, Gray, Nico, with me. Right now."

The only name he hadn't gotten wrong was the son of Hades', but all three stood up and went to follow Dio outside.

Jason gave them a smile, encouraging and bright, and walked under the light pouring from the window before leaving the room, and his scars shone like constellations in the dark night sky- like a lightning among stormy clouds. Nico Di Angelo gave them a nod, and shot one long look at Will before joining Jason, and Perseus left them with one last smile.
His eyes were the color of limpid, clean water, when the sun could shine on it and reflect the world around it.

"See you later then."

They followed Dionysus like ducklings chasing their mother, and the image was almost amusing enough to distract Apollo from the fact that those demigods had said things that would've probably led Zeus to burn them alive, and Dionysus had heard it all and didn’t even care.

Apollo wondered- had he been in his own powerful body, would he have killed them for the unmeasurable lack of respect- or would he have looked at them like his little brother had just done?

He didn't want to think about what he'd seen in Dio's eyes.

Later that night, Apollo woke up in the dark, his ears filled with the hissing of the giant creature that was slithering towards him.

——

Chapter Text

.INTERLUDE.

day three-four // interlude: HERA

That night, Hera stopped in front of her sister's fire. It burned, high and alive and bright. There weren't surfaces where she could sit down, so she could only stand tall, right there next to the heart, trying to get as close as she could to Hestia's presence.
She made do with what she had, and didn't walk too close to the fire, knowing that it would have burnt her, but still she did her best to absorb that undying warmth.
From that positions she noticed it immediately, when someone walked into her Cabin.

There was someone in her Cabin.

 That Cabin had been built to honor her, because Hera had no mortals children that could use it as their home. The only children she would ever have were the children of her husband, Zeus, strong, immortals children. No demigods, heroes and mortals.
 And there weren't half-bloods who went there to worship her- she hadn't had champions since ancient times, neither loyal followers- not even food was sacrificed to her, regardless of how ridiculous she found that one modern tradition. With time this had stopped making her chest burn with envy, a feeling that was more familiar than her husband's touch, because who had reasons to throw food in Hestia's fire for Hera?
No one.

And someone was walking into her Cabin.

Hera had blessed that Cabin herself, when it had been built, and she knew of every person who dared to enter, even from the high top of Olympus. No mortals dared to enter with even a ounce of calmness or unconcern.
Doing it would be a tragic offense- no one would have ever done it, period.

And yet.

Hera left the heart, took a few slow steps, and once she realized that her skin could still feel the kind warmth of the fire, like it was trying to not make her feel as alone as she truly was, she started to walk towards Cabin Two, the Cabin of Hera, Queen of Olympus, Goddess of marriage, or motherhood, of childbirth.

It was a beautiful place.

High ionic columns, lithe and snow-white, frescoes on the walls and one that covered the whole ceiling, a painting of the starred night-sky sacred to her: the constellation that moved in the sky at her will, under the watchful guard of her bovine eyes, and she could almost feel the light air that followed her commands escape the fresco and hit her in the face with a freshening startle.

And it was cold- Hera walked in, and felt the cold set in her bones. An inhospitable and sober place: it was nothing more than this, probably, for every demigod who'd heard any of the stories told about her, a place where not even the warm evening wind could bring any comfort.
So different, that frost, from the heat of Hestia’s fire.

And here it was, her statue.

She didn't have the same face anymore, but seeing that statue was like looking herself in the mirror, and she breathed, feeling lighter all of a sudden. That was her- that was Hera, Queen of the Sky, not that weak mortal body she was trapped into.

Tall, imposing, all marble and perfection- and, in front of the undying fire at her feet, a boy was kneeling.

She watched him from afar. She didn't get any closer.
He stayed still, looking like he was busy focusing on something else- praying, and then he moved his hand forward to touch the marble base, where an ancient Greek prayer dedicated to the Goddess of Motherhood had been engraved: Hera saw this large hand and its long fingers, and the white lines traveling over it, crossing each other and branching out like the roots of a tree, red under the light of the fire, almost moving under her very eyes- and Hera recognised her husband's bastard.

No, he was Jason Grace.

Only a few on Olympus knew about Jason Grace. The boy promised by Jupiter to his wife Juno- the roman version of Hera, as Hera liked to describe her, who'd been furious over the birth of a second demigod from the same woman, even if conceived in a 'different form', abandoned as a child and eaten alive by some terrible monster or by only the Sky knew what.

And Hera had cared about the boy for the same reason that Juno had gotten so worked up over his birth: because Beryl Grace had managed to get both her husband and his roman counterpart's attention, and they'd both fathered her children, and if Thalia Grace was dead and gone, the boy wasn't.
The Greek Pantheon had been kept in the dark.

Jason Grace was alive, and he was praying in her Cabin.

Hera looked around the rest of the large, cold room.
The empty spaces had been decorated with what looked like war relics, as valuable as they were rare, hanging there on the painted walls, or alternatively placed at the feet of the bases of both statue and the columns running along the whole room. Or on rosewood furniture.

Just as the children of Zeus filled their father’s Cabin with symbols and memories of their valiant deeds, to honor him, someone was doing the same thing in hers.

There weren't beds, but there were- decorations. Vases, and pots, even.
Hera observed them, alert. Good workmanship, and she'd never seen them before.
Someone had not only dared to set foot in his Cabin, but had also dared to think that they could decorate it.
Decorate.
She clenched her fists.
She didn't need anyone's pity, or-

Then she noticed one of them- an amphora, the handles decorated with pomegranate leaves and fruit sprouts, so detailed that they looked like they were about to turn ripe before her, and grow into pomegranates rich in seeds.
The black lines around its neck and foot had been made with an almost unbelievable precision. The black figure technique outlined what Hera recognized to be herself, the peacock at her side, the cow to the other, and the inscription Hera Antheia placed above them.

She walked closer, her footsteps silent.
She recognized the smaller characters.
 That amphora came directly from the Heraion of Argos. It was ancient. Not precious in itself, but Hera barely restrained herself from reaching out and touching the carvings, made with a devotion that had survived millennia.

Someone had traveled to Argos (or robbed a museum), and found this- for what reason? Who?

She heard Jason Grace move.
 She turned to look at him, and found his electric stare already on her person.
The light was dim, and his irises were like burning coals on his face. His blonde hair a halo surrounding it.
He was kneeling, feet locked together, his hands now lightly gripping his bent knees, spine straight, shoulders squared up.
He wasn't reverent. He wasn't imploring.
He was kneeling and the Queen of the Gods towered over him, and he looked like he was where he belonged. Like the empty space in front of the statue had been left just for him.

No one could have denied he was beautiful.

Beryl Grace had been beautiful.
The stereotypical Californian girl, with her long golden hair and tanned skin, born in a wealthy family, a girl who'd ruined her own life in her desperate search for fame and attention.

She'd looked for it her whole life, and she'd found it.
She'd snatched and tore from the hands of the world anything she could get.
Scandal after scandal, even a B series film ended up in everyone's mouth when on its poster one could see her name and her face.
 She'd had no children, but when Zeus had knocked her up she'd carried the pregnancy to term and Zeus had done nothing to stop it, regardless of the oath he'd sworn: even knowing he would pay for it sooner or later, he'd wanted so badly to have a new champion that could bring honor to his name, for the hero of the Prophecy to be one of his children. He'd wanted it far more than he was afraid of his broken promise to the Styx.

(Hera couldn't wait to see the say they would all pay.
With their disregard for every oath or promise, lacking honor and dignity- her chest hurt with how much hate, and anger, and envy, envy, envy she could feel at the mere thought.
And contempt, so heavy that just thinking about it made her breath shorten.)

She'd bewitched the god, with her full lips always tilted in a seductive smile and with her long, long legs, bare and smooth like silk, out in the open for everyone to touch, and grab, and take.

Beryl had wanted fame and attention with so much desperation that Hera had even felt pity for her.
She'd ruined herself- had let the world ruin her, just to have its eyes on her.
Hera didn't even know where she was, now. Forgotten by that same world.

Jason Grace resembled her a lot.

The same full lips, even if a white scar run through them, cupid's bow sharp. He had the same face shape, the same ears, the same long fingers. The same perfect eyebrows, his hair just a shade lighter than hers, that covered his neck with blonde waves. The same high cheekbones.
He only had his father's nose, the one of his favorite physical form: straight, imposing, beautiful.
Perfect.

It was still a pure, innocent beauty.

No, it wasn't- her husband's Bolt had tried to ruin it, but even those terrible scars looked like they'd always been part of him.
He bore them with dignity.

The boy was in her Cabin, anyway.
He was her champion, really?
He'd been promised to Juno, Hera had nothing to do with that story.
And yet, that amphora had been brought there from Argo, her most sacred city, all the way from Greece. By someone- who, if not her champion?

Jason Grace studied her, his shining eyes hidden not even a bit by the rectangular glasses on his nose. He blinked. His eyelashes were almost invisible. Irises almost god-like.

"You shouldn't be here," he said, speaking lowly.

His spine was straight and his shoulders squared up, yes- but now Hera noticed the tension running through his body. He was troubled, and his turmoil was so great that he didn't even try to hide it.
 He turned aroundagain.
After putting his hands on the base of the statue, palms up, he took a deep breath. The fire lit up his skin, the branched white lines and the straight black ones.
There were thirteen in total, branded on his skin to last forever. Thirteen years in the Legion- a lot for such a young boy.
 A soldier by now, more than a boy.

Hera walked forward, until she could properly see his profile.
His eyes were closed. He was praying, she realized, and her breath stilled.
This son of Jupiter, who prayed kneeling for her- and he opened his eyes, tilted his head upwards to look at the statue's face, his lips disclosed in a silent whisper, and in his eyes there was no fear.
 He looked at the marble with the familiarity of a son who looks at his mother. With respect, solemnity, and even worry. With- not devotion, no. She didn't dare think the word love.
But still, sincere, open emotions on his face, and so intense. That she knew well.

She found the strength to talk.
"What are you doing?"
Her voice broke. She knew what he was doing, and she couldn't explain it.

Jason Grace didn't look at her. At first he didn't even answer.
Then he let out a breath, a shaking, quiet thing, and spoke.
"I have to speak with her."
Short, dry. Anything but inscrutable

Hera studied that familiar and new face, now twisted with frustration.
"She answers to your prayers?"

From the sour expression on his face his goddess wasn't answering. This knowledge made her feel slightly better.

Jason Grace may have been her champion, but she wouldn't answer to his every whim.
(Jason Grace hadn't even spent a whole day at Camp Half-Blood. One of the first thing he'd chosen to do was coming here.)
What was his deal with Hera? What business did he have with Hera, what could have possibly happened to make him look at her like- like that?

Surprisingly, he answered, not taking his eyes off the smooth marble of her face.
"Usually, she does."

"But not now?"

"The Lady of the Sky doesn't appreciate intruders in her Cabin," he said rather than answering her question, and his voice was cutting. Gone was the polite undertone that had been there, when there had been tens of people surrounding them. "Leave now. Please," he added, with the same lack of kindness of his harsh order.

Hera hesitated, feeling anger invade her- this was her Cabin, her Cabin, she knew rationally that the boy (the bastard-) couldn't know it, but she didn't care in that moment when indignation and rage built up like waves in her chest.
She opener her mouth, ready to protest somehow, and maybe try again to tell him that she was the goddess he was so kindly praying to, when she saw him quite literally prick up his ears, as if he'd heard her mouth move and her intake of breath.

"Get out" he repeated, and the sound he emitted was more akin to a growl than any human word. Jason Grace didn't move, still tense, maybe even more tense, like an animal that had just smelt the presence of a stranger in its territory, that was getting ready to jump the intruder and eat it alive before it could touch what was his. His home.

Hera backtracked, and left the building in a hurry.

She took a deep breath in, let the air fill her lungs, looked around.
Some demigods sent her curious looks, but no one talked to her, or walked up to her, and Hera went back to the heart.
The sun was setting, and it would soon be dinner time, and Hera ate lost in her own mind.

Even Zeus noticed, but when he tried to ask her what was upsetting her she cut him off without a care in the world.
She could feel Aphrodite's eyes on her, could see the fox-like smile on her small face, her nose wrinkled and dark eyes that looked like pools of molten metal. Since they'd joined that table she hadn't stopped talking to her children, she did nothing else, and she was probably the only one amidst them to have found that situation acceptable from the start.

(Hephaestus would soon join her in this happiness, after hours spent handling metal with his new smooth hands.
Ares too, who Hera know was about to accept their situation and start seeing it as one of his oh-so-beloved challenges. No one loved a hard time like Ares.
Hebe would have loved to see him like that and be at their side, knowing her.)

That night, Aphrodite jumped on Hera's bed as she was getting ready to fall asleep, and let out a little shriek.
"Oh, darling, you can't even imagine what I found out- guess who's your modern day champion?"

Hera clenched her teeth, cursing whatever superior being (ah) was forcing her in that situation.
She started to answer, already done with the other, "Jason Gr-" when Aphrodite chirped (still trying to be quiet enough not to attract her children's attention) an excited "Piper!".

The two goddesses stared at each other, they blinked, shell-shocked by what they'd heard, and froze in place. Aphrodite straightened, Hera let out a surprised "Piper?", and Aphrodite shouted a dramatically loud "Jason Grace?" that made everyone turn to look at them.
Hera hissed a warning with a finger in front of her mouth, trying to get the other to lower her voice, and Aphrodite was quick to whisper "Sorry, sorry- but Jason Grace?"

Hera's lips became a pale, tight line.
"I can't understand or explain it either. What about your daughter?" her voice hot even lower, even after making sure that no one was listening in.

"I don't know, we were talking and she told me- like it was a common thing, you know, like it was normal to be your champion."

"Two champions?" Hera wondered out loud, more to herself.

A son of Jupiter and a daughter of Aphrodite.

Well, maybe she could understand her choice regarding the daughter of Aphrodite.

They weren't friends (Hera didn't do friends- Iris didn't count) but Aphrodite had always been the most… sympathetic, regarding Hera's situation.
She could read behind every mask that Hera used to protect herself from the family of sharks they were a part of, without acting like Hera was less of a shark than the others. She was a good mother, Hera could easily recognize it.

Bonus point give for the fact that she'd never been Zeus' lover. One of the many.

She'd revealed herself to them after they'd finally beaten Kronos, beautiful and with the cunning eyes of someone who knew it, more ancient than them and not less powerful, and she'd never showed interest towards Kronos' youngest child.
Yes, she'd run her hands over Poseidon's large arms, she'd buried her fingers into Hades' ebony hair, she'd tightened her arms around Demeter until her naked body had been fully pressed over the one of Hera's sister- but she'd just smiled warmly at Zeus, given him sincere, touching praises that lacked the lust that had filled her eyes when she'd first seen Poseidon.

She'd even asked Hestia if maybe she didn't want to make and exception.
She'd seen Hera, proud and tall with her body half covered by a light-blue and golden peplos, and she'd walked closer, fingers wrapped around a strand of golden hair, and her face had gotten close enough that her sweet breath had hit Hera's mouth with the warmth of ten suns. She'd then grimaced, almost disappointed after reading Zeus' claim all over her just as she'd read hers over his body, and Hera had hated her for years. Decades. Centuries.

Things had changed- no matter their personal wishes, they'd gotten to know each other over the years, and even if Hera wouldn't have called her a friend even in her best days, she considered her a good ally.
As much as two deities could be allies.

(And if she'd been furious at first to learn of her affair with Ares, Hephaestus had simply stared at her all puzzled, like it was so strange and bizarre of his mother to not be happy about his wife destroying their wedding and disregarding her vows, and then he'd explained how the three of them had all agreed on this arrangement since he had no interest in a wife or any kind of lover- with no difference between heart matters and under-the-covers ones.
He'd been quick to throw some water over the fire, fire that had raged with every parallel she'd drawn between her son's marriage and her own.)

Aphrodite was the only one, amongst the many deities her husband had fallen for, who'd thought about Hera. Who had refused to disrespect her so: not because she didn't condone infidelity, but because she respected Hera's vow as much as Artemis's, or Hestia's. Because she knew that faithfulness was important for Hera in a way that she, as the goddess of love, would never fully grasp.

Hera had never treated Aphrodite's children differently, but she could see herself favoring one of her daughters.
Usually they only kept some of their mother's worst and most annoying traits, and they were mortals, so they wouldn't nag at her for all eternity like she did.

She liked Piper McLean, after all.
A tough girl with an iron fist, who didn't trust them- the kind of girls that Hera preferred.

She knew Jason Grace, they were close- maybe they were together?- Hera had probably met her because of him.

Aphrodite was drumming her fingers over her knee, the mismatched, ugly nail polish insulting her skin tone in a frankly embarrassing way.
"My darling, stay with me, don't disappear in the clouds of your mind!"

"I have nothing to tell you."

"Oh, come one, it's like we're co-parenting now- we are her mothers!"

Hera glared at her with all of her might, and pushed her away from her bed, making her stagger. She gained some sort of balance before falling on the floor.
"Don't you dare," Hera hissed, slipping under the thin covers, and Aphrodite grimaced.

"Alright, I'm sorry, but we really need to talk-"

"We have nothing to talk about. Leave me."

The girl wasn't her daughter, but her champion. Just like Jason Grace.
They (he) weren't her children- she was being paranoid, and had to forget such thoughts.

They stuck to her brain anyway.
She slept badly, of course. She wasn't used to sleeping, and only that morning she'd woken up with the sight of a blonde boy with His eyes- her father's golden orbs printed on her retinas, so she laid there stiff as a piece of wood, until she couldn't stay awake anymore- and she woke up once, feeling disoriented, only to fall asleep again in a wink.

That morning, for the surprise of no one, she woke up, at a quarter past seven, terribly upset.

Aphrodite didn't dare talk to her: it had been enough for her to glance at Hera's face to understand that every attempt to strike a conversation would have failed.
(And what did she expect, after saying what she'd said?)
So she ran to Athena's side, which was telling, and Piper's, her older daughter who seemed to have taken Athena's under her wing.

(It had been fun to see the girl's over-protectiveness when it came to the Goddess of Wisdom: it had only taken two days with her, before their awakening, to make the demigod stick to her side like a leech, and Hera had never seen Athena being so confused.
She'd probably surrendered to the mortal's worries by telling herself that it was the rational thing to do, but this only made the whole matter funnier.)

Zeus was the one who found her.

He wasn't particularly tall in this form, and he was skinnier than ever, and he wasn't enveloped in that sky-blue aura of power that Rhea swore he'd been born with, and his eyes were dark enough to seem black- so different from those shining irises that Hera loved so fiercely (that could be softer than a cumulonimbus or as terrible as his Bolt), but when he looked at Hera she felt like she was confronting his real eyes.

"What bothers you so?" he asked her, like he'd done the night before, in a rare show of patience for an impatient soul like his, and this time he wanted an answer.

Hera complied.
They left Cabin Ten, and Hera took his arm, guiding him far from the group to gain some privacy. Two of Aphrodite's kids, Valerie and Branden, whom Hera was sure shared the same mortal parent since they looked exactly the same (ignoring their age difference and different genders), stared at them and giggled, ignoring Hera's glare.

"The boy, Jason," she started, and felt her brother stiffen up "He's devoted to me, apparently."

She had no need to raise her head to look him in the eyes (she would have hated to do it, because even as a mortal she refused to be shorter than her little brother), but when she turned she saw Zeus' face twist in a sincerely surprised expression.

"Devoted?"

"Oh, yes. He was praying, if you can believe this. And he didn't react well to my intrusion in her patron's sacred grounds."

"I thought he was Juno's champion."

"He's also mine, apparently."

"What did you see in him?" she heard him say, more to himself than anyone else, and she let out a frustrated groan.
"Guess what is ruining my day."

He pursed his lips, and didn't say another word.
Hera could easily guess what was bothering him- what a pair they were.

They boy must have done something truly terrible in his father's eyes to deserve the Bolt- which was… bizarre.

Zeus had never been particularly warm towards his sons, and it was Olympus' worst kept secret.
He'd never treated Ares, Apollo or Dionysus with the same fondness that stuck to him every time he interacted with Hebe, or Athena, or (especially) Artemis.
 It was paranoid of him, but that fear had been eating him alive ever since they'd truly learnt about their family history, and how patricide was their most beloved tradition.

(A fear that had worried them all since the start, seeing what their father had done because of it.
And if Poseidon or Hades wouldn't have even dreamed of making their children suffer what they'd gone through, in their father's stomach- or at least Hera hoped so- Zeus hadn't spent years in that cold oblivion.
He knew their father's cruelty, but never as much as Hestia, who's spent more than a century in that painfully tight prison.)

And he didn't hesitate to use his Bolt when it came to his immortal sons.

But Apollo was always in good conditions the day after, and Hermes still had enough strength and liveliness to tear down their patience with his terrible jokes like a children with a toy hammer, so the consequences of Zeus' anger were never that terrible.

To strike Jason Grace, it meant that his wish was to see the boy dead.

It was one thing to remind his… subjects of their place. Remind everyone of his authority, his supremacy, his power and the imortality of his kingdom.
 It was another thing to kill his own child.

Such an act was shameful even among the gods, despite their bloody history.

(And the boy wasn't dead, instead he kept on living under their world's eyes, covered by the proof of a victory that no one had ever achieved.)

Hera scoffed, and hit his chest with her hand.
"Come on, stop that."

He glared.
"What?"

"You came here to ask me why I was acting like someone spat in my cup and now you start doing the same? This is my moment to be in a bad mood, don't steal my spotlight."
 The look they exchanged spoke more than anything they'd just said.

"Then I'll listen to you, my queen," he answered faking annoyance.
He was playing with her, but the faraway, sharp look in his eyes made Hera sigh with contempt.
 She knew her brother. She knew him better than anyone else. She knew that nothing would distract him from Jason Grace, now.

What did he do to deserve Hera's favor, when her favorite hobby is finding my bastards and ruining their lives?- he was wondering.
In what way did he disrespect me so?- he was wondering.
Why didn't I finish the job?- he was wondering, more than anything else.

That was the real mystery, after all.

Hera tightener her hold on his arm, and sighed again.

She was feeling tired, and she longed for a chance to talk with her beloved Iris.
She would have known what to do. Iris, her most trusted advisor, her most intimate confidant, her closest friend.
How else could she have survived her marriage, if not with her help?
More than eight thousands years together weren't an easy feat, not even for the goddess of marriage, especially since it involved her brother.
Perhaps Iris should have been the goddess of marriage, seeing how she'd helped Hera keep things going ever since those things had existed.

Demeter came looking for her, after lunch. Demeter told her, face open in a bizarre show of honest caution, that Hephaestus was back, and they had to meet in Cabin Seven. All of them.

Apparently she and Poseidon had agreed that the best thing to do was talk.
Try to find a sense to their situation, now that they knew more, together. Choose what to do, how to ask for help or how to help themselves.
Together.

The simple idea of asking demigods for help made her recoil.
After centuries spent being the only goddess on Olympus without mortals at her beck and call she'd learned how to fix her own problem- or how to properly throw the responsibility on the laps of both her siblings and nephew, and even step-children when she felt particularly good about her marriage.

(Not her own children.
She loved them all, ardently- she was the goddess of motherhood, in Rhea's name. This didn't mean that she would lower herself to ask their help, unless the situation was that hopeless.
She was the mother.)

She didn't want to ask for those brats' help.

Their inability to communicate with them didn't even bother her, because most of the times she hated demigods. Most of the times they were the offspring of his husband's bastards, since they'd colonized Olympus in a few centuries and kept on doing it.
She could have, at times, a certain weakness for her sister's children, or for Aphrodite's ones, not that often anymore for her brother's, with whom things had gone colder and colder over the centuries.

(Neither of them thought her responsible for Zeus' foolish actions.
They were aware that without her and Athena those foolish actions would have been twice as foolish. But family dinners became awkward, when a children or lover too many had been killed.
And Hera belonged to the sky.)

But now she was depending on the demigods' mercy.
They'd saved her. Welcomed her. Healed her, fed her.
Just thinking about it made her frown.
She was used to be the one people owed a debt to, not the other way around.

Once the Cabin that housed Apollo's children was empty, they walked in as subtly as they could.

The space was large, the windows covered most of the walls, light was everywhere, and Hera would have liked to be anywhere else.
But they had to be there.

Did they? Yes, they did. It was their fourth day on earth, not counting the two days they'd spent sleeping and recovering from their injuries, and they still hadn't properly talked about… this. Their first talk didn't count.

They had to talk, because- the amount of things that had happened, in ten years, was way more worrying than Jason Grace's strange situation and their presence there, in those bodies.
Because apparently they'd almost been defeated twice in ten years, and because the pact between her brothers had been ignored too many times, and because the Great Prophecy had come true, and a Second Great Prophecy had been not only foretold but had also come true together with the first one.

It didn't surprise her that the Fates had let so many powerful demigods to be born in the same decades, like they hadn't seen since Pericles' times.

Hera sat down on the first empty bed she saw: the pillow was covered by sheet music, but otherwise it was clean and well-made.
Demeter was quick to sit down next to her, and Aphrodite did the same with a cautious, hesitating smile that somehow was still full of excitement.
Hephaestus walked in next with Hades whose eyebrows were furrowed in an expression that made him look a lot like his real self, and Aphrodite jumped up.

"Hey!" she greeted her husband, a large smile on her lips. "So, how was you vacation on the demigods' golden ship?"

Hephaestus shrugged, as he sat on another empty bed. There were lots of them.
"I wouldn't call it a vacation."

"What, you didn't risk exploding enough times for your liking?" asked Ares, busy twisting in his hands what Hera recognised as a switchblade.

"I'd say it happened too many times."

"And the children?"
 Hera managed to grip Aphrodite by the shoulder before she could fall on the ground, the other too busy leaning in towards Hera's boys as she waited for a better answer, eyes shining with curiosity, pleading.

It didn't take her long to see him crumble. Hephaestus was perhaps the most stubborn soul Hera had ever met, which was a given seeing his parentage (Hera), but it didn't matter that he'd never loved Aphrodite like a good husband loves his wife, he would always have a weakness for her and her every wish.
(Just like Ares. Which never failed to amuse her.)

"They know their business," he replied, as gruff as ever, but his words were softened by the high, young voice of his new mortal body, and by the obvious softness he felt for them.

Then he frowned, and faced Hera.
"The boy, Leo. Do you remember him?"

Hera nodded, mimicking his expression.
Of course she remembered Leo Valdez. Not only because of his flamboyant entrance from the day before.
She'd been there, when Leo Valdez was born, together with Eileithyia, because Hephaestus himself has asked for their assistance, in such a vulnerable moment.
 Eileithyia had accepted instantly, not even asking one additional question.
Both because Esperanza, Hephaestus' mortal lover, was a woman in labor and was one of her ward, and because Hephaestus was her most beloved brother, and she would have denied him very little.
For the first time Hephaestus has asked for her help for something like this, after a life spent avoiding it because he was aware of it, and a kind soul under all his grumpiness.

Hera had gone with Eileithyia, being curious (leaving a nervous Hephaestus in his rooms, on Olympus): Esperanza was about to become a mother and one of her wards too, regardless of anyone's will, and if Hephaestus held her to such high esteem she had to be special.

At her arrival to the mortal hospital where Eileithyia took the place of the midwife, Esperanza Valdez was discovered to be everything Hera expected.
Stubborn, strong, smart, with calloused hands and gentle eyes- so alike Hephaestus, who always looked for soul similar to his own.
Hera had blessed her. Then she had, just because she could, raised in the air her son, small, young Leo, a chubby infant with a head covered by dark hair, that she was sure would one day grow to be just as curly as his mother's.

Hera, in that fraction of time- that she wouldn't associate with madness because she respected her son enough to recognise her mistakes- when she'd first laid eyes on Hephaestus' face, after hours of labor, to be left disgusted by that unholy creature, she had noticed everything, but not the dark color of his eyes, his pupils as large as hers. She hadn't looked at the shape of his nose, or put her fingertips on the softness of his skin, or touched his small head.

She'd done it with Leo Valdez, swearing that she would keep an eye open.
She'd done just that.
But she'd had to leave him, in the end, and seeing him so grown after ten years had been a pleasure.
(It would have been better to see him cleaned up, but her skin was tough after so many years trying to convince her son that coal wasn't really the look of the season.)

"Apparently he's your champion."

And Aphrodite burst out laughing.
Hera's eyes popped out- not her best moment, but come on.
"Another one?" she couldn't help herself from crying out, and Hephaestus blinked, baffled.

"Another one?"

"Oh, this is all so funny," cackled Aphrodite, trying to stop laughing "Thank you, love, I needed this."

Demeter hit her arm, forcing Hera to look at her.
"What's going on?"

Hera raised a hand to cover the upper half of her face, and her pulsing temples.

"It looks like I have three champions."

Demeter looked like she was unsure whether to cheer or ask her as many questions as she possibly could.
She frowned, instead.
"You haven't had a champion for centuries. Why have three in the same generations of heroes?"

"How can I know-"

"Three? Who?" Poseidon was as amused as Aphrodite (Hera hated the sea and everything even remotely aquatic for a reason, and the reason was that Poseidon and Aphrodite were her personal plague), but he was also aware that something wasn't right with that, seeing the unreadable expression on his face that not even the amusement could hide.

Hera took a second to argue with herself, not sure if telling them was worth the hassle, when Aphrodite preceded her with a happy trill.
Like a noisy, bright canary.
"My beloved daughter, Piper, and Jason Grace!"
Hera didn't hesitate to drive her elbow into Aphrodite's side, and the latter folded herself over what she made sound like a battle wound, with all her fake coughs.

Just when Hera had finally taken a decision: to keep everything to herself.

And now eleven pairs of eyes were on her, intense gazes either incredulous or plain out entertained.
Hades, dramatic bastard who made her miss the years she'd spent in their father's stomach without him, raised a hand to his chest, his mouth wide open.
"The son of Jupiter?"

"You stole Juno's champion?" Demeter stared at her like she was a ghost.

"I don't need to steal Juno's champions, sister. And I'm just as clueless and confused as you."

The following silence was interrupted by Hephaestus, who'd been looking at her strangely for a little now. It was like he didn't know what to feel- which wasn't strange, of course, but now that his face wasn't covered by his beard and the normal amount of oil and dark charcoal his uncertainty was obvious.
"Leo calls you aunt," he added, as if everything else wasn't enough.

(She barely kept herself from groaning.)

Athena straightened. "So he recognised-"

"Even after you threw him in the fireplace as an infant."

Had the brat told him that? Why?
"I knew he could survive it."

Hephaestus' eyebrows raised, his voice became heavier. Charged. "And what if he-"

"I am the reason why his mother survived his birth. She had a debt towards me, and her son payed it. I don't see what need is there to argue about it, when the boy is breathing and walking freely as we speak."

Apollo interrupted her, as noisy as ever.
"And now what, Grace calls her mom?" He shivered dramatically. "Ok, no, terrible mental image. Imagine calling mom the same person who tried to kill you as a baby."

Hera, for some reason (a voice in her head knew the reason but she ignored it), felt a sudden urge to defend herself. To defend her role in Jason Grace's life.
(And again, Hera. Jason Grace was Roman, he was a son of Jupiter and he'd been promised to Juno by his father. He was someone else's.
Maybe Jason Grace was hers in the same way that Hera and Juno were the same entity.)
Her voice was ice cold.
"I have never needed to attempt on either Jason or Thalia's life. Beryl Grace did enough for the both of us."

Apollo blinked, taken aback, and silence stretched out.
Hera kept on staring at him, until she decided that the awkward atmosphere had bugged them enough.

She turned towards Athena, who had sat down on the bed in front of her.
"What were you trying to say, before?"

The younger goddess nodded, her black eyes huge on her face and every blink fast, almost violently so. The light- was it bothering her?
She straightened again, but next to her father she looked almost too small.
"The son of Hephaestus said that you reminded him of one tìa- he must have, somehow, recognised you."

"She isn't the only one who looks like herself." Artemis scowled, and pointed at her twin. "Why wouldn't they recognise him?"

"Because they think he's his own son," was Demeter's brief answer, who started staring at Apollo like she wanted to find every similarity he shared with his real body.

"Exactly. Only two of us have no mortal offspring, and the boy knows you, my lady, while it's not probable that he's ever met you," she reasoned, looking at Artemis, who nodded, still troubled.

"And it's not unusual for my children to look like you, Arty," added Apollo, now frowning as much as his sister.

Hera couldn't deny that seeing them like that made an impression.

They were all weak, and mortal, and it didn't matter that they were demigods and more resilient than normal mortals.
Hera was aware, as she stared at the roof over them, that if one of those golden, wooden beams were to fall on her she would have died on the spot, and with her Demeter, and Poseidon and all the others.
Stepping on the wrong place could have killed them.
A disease could have killed them.
Time could have killed them- they would go back to normal before that, at least Hera hoped so, but some degenerative disease could have sped up the process.
A wound could have killed them.

Tens, hundreds of things could have killed them all, because they were mortals and vulnerable to too many things to count.

But at least some of them were- not adults, but more mature: Athena and Hermes looked like they couldn't defend themselves from an insect.
(Athena wasn't the youngest, but there she was.
What reasoning had been made, by the superior force that had brought them there to live among mortals and suffer the consequences? )

"Well," Hephaestus started, hesitant "Leo said that we were all very familiar."

Hera almost asked him why he hadn't started with that, and why he'd thought that the boy calling him tìa was more relevant, but then she found the answer herself. She scoffed. She expected better from Hephaestus, the only other serious person aside Athena.
(Artemis was too easily influenced by that heathen of his brother Apollo.)
Was it really that strange that Leo Valdez knew her and was her champion.
After all if there was someone who had more chances to gain her favour it was one of her grandchildren.
… It was strange. But couldn't they behave like adults for once?

Zeus addressed him.
"So someone can recognise us."

"Maybe not recognise us, but the simple fact that he finds us familiar is extraordinary, since we can't even use our real names in front of them."
It was obvious that this bothered Athena more than anything else.

Names were powerful.
The greatest punishment that could be inflicted on anyone was to erase their identity, and everything started with a name.
The name of a being, whether mortal or immortal, was its essence, its soul, its identity- what were they, without their names?
Their names hadn't been completely erased, but not being able to use them freely was worse than any chain.

"Do you think it would be possible to... just tell him?" dared Aphrodite (serious only when it suited her).

"I tried but couldn’t," her husband replied "But- I don’t know."

Zeus' voice cut the air, sudden, devoid of all its imperiousness but still heavy as a boulder to their ears.
"How much time do we have?"

"Maybe half an hour. No more than that."

"Well. So," his voice was hard, his accent different, his voice a little more nasal. "What can you tell me, other than that we are stuck here, unable to access our strength and forced to accept not being treated as we deserve by this pack of mortals?"

Hera managed to see the intense emotion that for a second invaded Artemis' face, who had sat down close to her father, how she pursed her lips in a fine line and full cheeks became a little bigger.
It all disappeared in the blink of an eye, but Hera saw it.

She heard Aphrodite stiffening beside her.

No one spoke, for a long second, under the intense gaze of their King.
Not because they were afraid of him, not really (Demeter and Hades would find a way to destroy anyone who accused them of being afraid of their little brother), but because the tension was so dense that it could be cut with a knife.

She wanted to rip her hair out.
Beautiful hair, strong, thick, so dark and rich in color, that shined under the natural light of the sun. One of Aphrodite's sons, a eleven years old boy, had asked her with heart-shaped hair to comb it, and she'd let him in order to stop his mother from start begging and crying. It had been a relaxing experience, and it had distracted her from the nagging feeling of hunger that simmered in her stomach.

"The news of a second Titanomachy has reached everyone, I hope." Demeter came forwards (sacrificed herself), her right hand curled into a fist, lip curled.
Because of her position (leaning on her arms and half-lying on the bed covered by the soft, light duvet) no one could see the tall-tale of her frustration but Hera.

(No once, not even Hera, could blame her.
They were talking about their father, damn it.)

"No doubt about that-"

Poseidon was interrupted by Hades.
Hera looked at him as he started talking, and begged and prayed to her mother to not make him say something overly terrible.

"There was a second Gigantomachy."

Hera, in the darkness of her mind, questioned her mother about her next actions- after all, Hades couldn't have said something worse.
Naturally, her mother didn't answer. Not that she really expected an answer.
Hera had been too delicate, too weak to be raised by Hera, and when she'd finally reached her full potential, far from her father's evilness, she'd lost all will to share it with Rhea.
But she still asked her, like a new-born infant who searched for her mother's breast to survive.

The memories of all the pain her family suffered, of the war that caused it, still hurt like mere months had gone by.
A wound that never healed, that was.
Oh, how she remembered those years.

"How is that possible?" Aphrodite's whisper just poured boiling water over that wound. Her disbelief, her fear, her anger, they shook Hera out of that strange state she'd fallen into, because those were the same things she was feeling, under the numbing effect of denial.

"How do you know?"

There was no space for anger in Hades' eyes when he looked at his youngest brother. He was as tense as Zeus.
"My son. They spoke of the Earth and its children."

Khton. The same earth that mortals traveled. And its damned progeny.
Hera's fists tightened until her anger was almost overwhelmed by an acute pain, and the two sensations fed each other until she started to feel herself slip.

She lost some time, she thought.

"The Second Great Prophecy was about this. The Prophecy of the Seven."

"Seven?" wondered out-loud Demeter.

"Seven half-bloods, of both Roman and Greek origin, that united the two Camps against the Earth and its progeny," answered Athena. And then she added, addressing her father: "I waited for us to be together to share what I'd found out."

"You did the right thing." Hera didn't stutter nor hesitate. She felt her teeth hurt with how much she'd been clenching her jaw. "There's no room for misunderstandings and conflicts, now."

(She hoped so.)

"First out father and his brothers, now this," Demeter didn't hold back a crumble of the flooding emotion she was with no doubt feeling "How did something like this happen without us stopping it first? Are we not the guardians and protectors of this earth?"

"We're in the future, sister, I don't know how responsible we are of these terrible events," Poseidon tried to argue, but his pained frown told everything there was to know about how guilty he was feeling.
He spoke words he didn't believe in.

Hermes was wringing his hands, no wings fluttering behind his ears, a tic that had been bothering Hera for centuries.
"Something this big doesn't happen in a day. It must have started years, decades ago."

"It doesn't happen in a day, you're right, and it wouldn't have happened if it hadn't been for you son."

This was the only answer that the Father of the Gods gave his son, who would have back-tracked if he hadn't already been sitting down, his skin even grayer than before, twisted for a short second in pure sorrow.

Hermes lowered his head.

Zeus' gaze was scorching, Hera could perceive its heat even if she wasn't the one on its other end, and his anger was heavy enough to permeate the room with a- feeling of heaviness. She saw Dionysus look at his father with just as much anger, regardless of the fact that he wasn't the one getting chastised and punished.
Punished- Zeus couldn't punish anyone, in there.

He could threaten his children as much as he wanted to, but they weren't all that weaker than him anymore. Hera wondered if the anxiety and paranoia were starting to eat on him from the inside, like they did sometimes, nights when Hera started to believe she'd somehow woken up in her personal Tartarus.

When her father had devoured her, her mother's legs and the rocks where she'd laid had still been wet from the golden ichor and the ambrosia that had fed her in the titaness' womb.
 Hera hadn't been give the time to produce any sound, any cry or wail- he'd thrown her in a cold pit of pain, where her only solaces had been Hestia's gentle touch and Demeter's voice, as strong as the roots of an ancient tree even if the acids of His stomach wouldn't stop eating at their small bodies, as their flesh knitted itself back together only to get ripped apart again and again and again.
A never-ending cycle of pain, and pain.
Hera had never learned a way to cope with the pain.
Hera had cried for years, defenseless, even if the others were quiet.

She'd begged her father to save her, to not kill her in such a way, to stop Hera from dying because Hera was dying and she could feel it.
She'd thought herself ready to do everything, just to make the pain stop.

Maybe that was why she felt no anger towards Hermes, and no hate for his son.
She understood in a twisted way, because Hera knew her father's cruelty, his malice, his wisdom and his false promises from the inside-out, and it didn't sound so unlikely that he'd managed to corrupt the already unstable mind of a vulnerable mortal.

Hera and her brothers and sisters knew that pain, the power behind those words.

Zeus didn't understand.
He didn't know, he could never, Hera would never let him forget that. Zeus hadn't suffered from that torture for decades, hoping for a chance at life every time light came through only to gain one more companion to suffer with.

Hera did understand.
Perhaps also because she was a mother, and she'd felt on her skin the consequences of her mistakes as a parent and the shame that now burned bright in Hermes' eyes.

She didn't like what she'd heard the demigods say, and Perseus Jackson deserved to have his mouth sewn shut, but she accepted the life, the destiny and the choices of Luke Castellan, the son of Hermes who'd betrayed them, with a calm she didn't expect.

"You think he wouldn't have found someone else?" Hades argued with renewed hatred, forgetting the gentleness he'd showed moments before.

"Hades." Poseidon tried to calm him, always ready to smooth things over,

"Oh, no, I won't let you give the responsibility of this mess to some- mortal and use him as a scapegoat."
Hermes took that hit, but Hera saw Hades' words for what they were: a blessing.

"Of course, the fault must be mine," hissed Zeus "Me, someone who's not the warden of Tartarus, whose most important job isn't to warn his king of the coming of such threats."

Hades turned to stone.
"I am not blaming you or saying you are the sole responsible, I'm calling you a coward."

Zeus could have stood up to attack him.
Had they been seated on their thrones, then the sky would have darkened and pure electricity would have run through Zeus' body, a warning visible for all to see and feel in the air.
They wouldn't have fought- that was what Poseidon and Zeus did every time they were forced to stay in the same room: fights that, despite the strength behind each blow, never hurt anyone.

Hades hadn't let them involve him in their little quarrels for hundreds of years by now (and Hera could feel that distance as an open wound in the side of their family, and perceive it for what it really was).

They'd said that even gods had joined Kronos, why not Hades?
Hera ignored that crazy, irrational thought.

Yes, the chasm that divided their family had started to open up back when Hades had chosen the Underworld and abandoned them, when he'd married Persephone without asking for his brother Zeus and his sister Demeter's permission just to get back at them, when his visits had become rare and then almost non-existent.
But he would never join their father.

No matter how little love he felt for them, his hate towards Him was surely too great to overcome.
Hera wouldn't accept any other option.

"Me, a coward? You hide in your palace under the ground, far from the world, and look with superiority at us, who truly live and don't escape from reality?"

"Stop with the self-pity, Zeus. Nobody knows the truth of humanity as much as I do- or do you really think that fucking and fathering mortals makes you able to understand them? Even some of your children, who are but infants next to us, know about it more than you. Don't call me a coward for fulfilling my duty while you hide from yours by blaming others and calling yourself innocent."
Hades snarled, ignoring Zeus' answer to his accusation.
"You didn't even try to find out more before accusing me- and you accuse me of helping that monster, after what he did to us. Didn't I fight by your side, all these years, every time you called? Wasn't I always loyal to my King?"

"Hades would never." Poseidon was as angry as his older brother by now. "How can you even suggest it?"

"But it's obvious, brother, can't you see it?" Hades smiled, devoid of all happiness. "It's always the same story. I want to steal his throne, take everything he fought for. Cruel, greedy Hades."

"Who's self-pitying now?"

"I can't hear you, I'm too busy dreaming about the throne I will finally get all for myself- I will just have to climb over your bodies to reach it," growled the Lord of the Underworld, mad like Hera hadn't seen him be in thousands of years.

The anger he'd felt for the death of his lover and two children (who were more alive than Hera would have imagined) had been cold, had manifested itself in glares colder than usual, and in an even more colder and cruel revenge.

But this was the anger that they all shared, as hot and scorching as Hestia's fire.

Calling it their father's anger made her nauseous, so she didn't.

"I thought we would talk about the future, not your unresolved dramas."

Dionysus said what his half-siblings were all thinking, probably, and Hera buried the wave of irritation that crushed on her chest, that "They don't know what they're talking about, they're lucky, they're so lucky and they don't realize it" sentiment that attacked her every time those brats dared to underestimate what the world had been like, with Kronos as its king.

Dionysus.

The boy that Hestia had loved so dearly, the boy that Hera had driven mad.

The first time that Hestia had been really angry with her.

Everyone had watched it unfold.
At the time, Hera had smiled, satisfied and proud, hoping to have at least gotten rid of one of the bastards, hoping to deal with Herakles as soon as possible, and then Hestia had left her fire, she'd walked up to Hera, and there had been no warmth in the room, all of a sudden. Not in the room, not in her face, not in her fire.
For the first time in millennia, Hestia hadn't forgiven them for their sins, and she hadn't embraced her with words of forgiveness.

Hera hadn't been able to control her own rage- Hestia had never reacted like that to anyone's misdeeds, and now she targeted Hera with her rare disapproval?
She'd shouted in her sister's face that it was no one's fault but hers if Hera had found out about Dionysus' existence, because Hestia hadn't been able to stop herself from meeting him, to control her love for her family.

Hera could still feel the heaviness of the silence that had fallen on the room, and the innocent surprise in the eyes of her children, of her husband's children, who saw Hestia as this untouchable, sacred being.

She remembered most of all the sorrow that had shaken the immortal body of her sister, a child in body but never in mind or soul. Hestia had drawn into herself, and for years she'd disappeared, her fire alight but never as warm.

She'd came back one day, a smile on her face and words of forgiveness for Hera.

When she drove Herakles to madness Hestia didn't attack her.
And Hera forgot about Dionysus, thinking of him as nothing but a burden who'd almost destroyed the bond between Hera and her favorite sister and person in the world.

And then Dionysus had appeared again, young and beautiful, sane, hair as black as Hera's and his father's electric eyes, and Hera had found out about her mother Rhea's role in his healing, and once again she'd been prey to that warm, uncontrollable anger.
Hestia, her Hestia, her beloved Hestia hadn't been enough, now even her mother?
Rhea, tall and proud, strong and so weak at the same time, who'd sent Hera away in the dephts of the Ocean, far from the only people she'd known for years in the darkness of the pit, as soon as she'd truly seen her for the first time. Rhea had helped the bastard?

She'd torn apart the demigod's psyche with an hatred that shook the earth at its roots.

And despite all of this, he'd returned.
Crazed, unseeing eyes he'd had, when they took him in front of Hera and had her heal him because they wouldn't survive the Giants without the help of a demigod and Herakles wasn't enough.

Zeus had gifted him with immortality, proud of his son's deeds, more than ready to add one minor god to the lines of his loyal servants, and then Hera's breath had been punched out of her chest, because the weak control she had on the realm of madness had slipped out of her hands, too attracted to the boy to give her another glance, attaching itself to him like he'd been born to have it.
And his power had grown for their bewildered eyes to see, it grew and grew without control, fed by the boy's fame on Earth and by a potential that couldn't not be natural.

He'd looked at them with eyes as purple as the wine he'd created, that everyone talked about even on Olympus, the closest thing that mortal could get to ambrosia. Purple like they'd been when she'd forced madness in his head, when she'd made him kill innocents and destroy cities in a night.

Hestia had left her throne, and held him to her chest like a son.
"My soul is yours," he'd whispered in her ear, and she'd laughed with a joy, an excitement, a fondness that Hera hadn't seen on her face for so many years, that she'd never noticed was missing.

He'd taken his place between them, a child compared to the youngest of their midst, and his cult had spread, his strength grown, and the boy had become Dionysus.

And now Dionysus didn't hide, under his father's harsh gaze.
He didn't bow his head like Hermes, he didn't look away like Apollo, he didn't leave the room like Ares, moving with the violence of a hurricane.
As always, he looked at Zeus with just as much fierceness, always ready to make things worse.

But that was a challenge against all of them.

"How did they beat her? The Seven?" asked Aphrodite, frowning, eyes far away from the room.

Athena caught the chance to change topic.
"It's still not all that clear to me. I know that somehow Piper McLean, one of the Seven heroes, managed even in the worst moment to resist the Earth's manipulation and rather manipulate her. That she and a daughter of Pluto separated Gaea-" Hera shivered. "-from her element. Even if it sounds impossible, it's what happened."

Hades went on to explain what was the weirdest story Hera had ever heard in her long life, repeating what his son had told them.
Hera had seen lots of things, but this- this she couldn't believe.

There was something so strange about that feeling- she knew those things they'd said were impossible, but she lived in a reality that proved her wrong.
Things had gone like this. A group of demigods had succeeded in disintegrating Gaea by making her explode thanks to a dragon made by celestial bronze, after singing her a lullaby.
It wasn't a dream, or a vision to be attributed to any type of intoxication.

For four days she'd been feeling like she was about to wake up in her villa in Turkey, laying maybe on the ground with Iris, next to tens of bottles of alcohol they'd consumed to either forget about something or celebrate it.
But this didn't happen, and Hera didn't want to keep on hoping.
It was hard. Really hard. To stop herself from spending hours fantasizing about what she would do to the responsible of this mess.

Artemis was saying something about the fire, Hera met Zeus' eyes.
He hadn't calmed down.
He was just as furious as before, and he was still, once again. Just like the last few days, ready to explode, ready to tear everyone to shreds without remorse.

Oh, how he reminded her of their father.

Hera kept on breathing like she'd learned to do in those four days- counting the seconds it took her to inhale and exhale, to prevent her heart from losing control and start beating out of her chest at the smallest bad thought.

She'd learned it outside of Aphrodite's Cabin, the first night they'd slept there, when she hadn't closed eye for hours, thinking of nothing but her father.
When she'd remembered his voice, the feeling of his strong hands on her frail body when he'd held her for the first and last time, when he'd kissed her on the forehead and eaten her alive, ignoring her desperate cries, her mother's resigned ones, overtaken by his dreams of power and omnipotence.
And her forehead had glistened for the sweat covering it, her chest had become too tight, her hands sticky, her breath short, her heart too quick, and she had covered it with her hand.
Overtaken by the memories of a past she was being forced to remember (not fair, not fair, not fair-), she'd found a way to control herself.

She could do it again, now.
Even if her memories of the Gigantomachy were different.

Clearer, less ancient.
Hera had been a wife and a mother, a queen, a strong and powerful queen.
Not that it had mattered at all, in those terrible hours-

Zeus' right hand was shaking.
Was he remembering those times, just like her?

Did he remember how the Giants had slaughtered tens of young demigods in the most painful, bloody ways one could think of?
They'd wanted to stop the Prophecy from coming true- the one who'd predicted their end by the hands of an alliance between immortals and their mortal children.
(A move that Zeus had copied, not even a century ago.)
Just a few had survived, hidden- Poseidon had taken his three remaining daughters to his palace, Aphrodite had straight up brought her son to Olympus, Hermes had disappeared for days, too busy roaming their land, searching in the darkest corners of Greece for as many demigods as possible, trying to save them.
Ares' children had all died, regardless of their bravery, left defenseless, their father kidnapped, kept prisoner.

Maybe he also remembered how Hera's hands had shook for days.
Zeus had stayed at her side, days and nights, he'd held her close, until her hands stopped shaking.

He remembered and he was angry.

She glanced at Athena. She knew that expression.
She knew something, and she'd chosen not to share it with them- she had that look on her face every time she lied to her king.
Usually, when she did it and raised her head to find Hera already looking at her, she would nod, as if to make a deal with her stepmother: they were Zeus' only brakes, and they would ensure that Olympus didn't collapse.

But this time, when Athena looked at her, Hera saw nothing but a deep, aching concern. Had they failed so badly?

Athena wouldn’t tell her anything, every secret was a weapon for her. Not too terrible, Hera would make it out on her own, as always.

Listening to her husband's words, seeing the anger on her nephews and nieces' faces, the hate reflected in Dionysus' eyes, the pain that had been caused by her brother- Hera wondered if it was their, her right, to be surprised if those tragedies had happened.

And then, then.

The time for dinner arrived before Hera could notice.
Time passed so quickly, sometimes so slowly, and her stomach had been aching for perhaps an hour.
She was hungry, probably. She wasn’t sure. She had never felt that way.
But she was glad to be able to get away from that room full of tension- for once not caused by her.

(Zeus didn't come with them. He left, going only the Sky knew where. She wasn't going to look for him.)

She sat down to eat and was immediately joined by Aphrodite, who didn't hesitate to stark talking with Kath, one of her older girls, and Sharon, the youngest- hair as red as fire, eyes the same color as mahogany, and the longest, darkest eyelashes Hera had ever seen.
Kath tried to talk with Hera too, and asked what she ate to have such a perfect skin, and Hera did her best to remember the last conversation she'd had with Hebe about mortal fashions- and by the way the children around her nodded in approval she'd lied well enough.
She was good at lying. Had always been.

With their words filling her ears, the Queen of Olympus forced herself to breathe just like she'd learned to do.

Inside, outside, inside, outside.

——

Chapter Text

HOW TO BE A HUMAN BEING: Camp Half-Blood

——

day four: ARES

The demigods' ship had been moved while they slept. Ares walked away from the group, that morning. He didn't warn anyone, and walked into the woods. He climbed the tallest tree he could find, ignoring the dryads staring at him from behind a large trunk, high enough to have a clear view of the woods and the water and Camp Half-Blood.
He could see the Athena Parthenos, he let out a derisive sound at the sight, and he could see the canoe lake.

He could see, most importantly, the greek trireme, covered by celestial bronze, half a mile from the shores, still in the midst of the waves.

He jumped down, and walked north, getting as close as he could to the beach while staying hidden in the chilly woods, and climbed another tree.

(There were six dryads now, and Ares kept on ignoring them.)

Now he could see the people moving on the ship- and one little figure that was climbing over the head of the dragon, for some reason, and the small ships next to the trireme that the demigods would use to reach the shores once they were done- if they didn't blow up.

In Ares' opinion, the small guy had been a little dramatic. Why build a warship (a warship worthy of being called warship in the humble opinion of the god of war) if the risks of it exploding were that high?
He frowned.
The kid had said some curious things.

Someone had put their hands in it- someone had tried to tamper with it, a person, not a monster. Someone had modified something that shouldn't have been modified, and had turned the ship into a ticking-time bomb, who?

The body on the dragon's head moved, finally, and disappeared on the deck, hidden from Ares' eyes.

Hephaestus was there with his kids, had been for a whole day now.
He hadn't shown up for breakfast (Ares hated how he needed to eat so much, and yet had so little strength), and when Artemis had asked if he was still on what they found out was called Argo II the son of Apollo with the braids had grimaced.
"They're Cabin Nine kids. When they start working on something we never see them, not even when it's time to eat, and we usually have to force them to show up here and take a break. But this time… it's better if we leave them be. Your friend will be ok. Maria and Connor have already brought them some food."

After what, twenty-one hours?- Hephaestus hadn't shown himself yet, and Ares didn't really want to see him, but he wanted to see what was happening.
He couldn't stay still or follow Apollo's children around for another tour and introduction and explanations that none of them needed, because he knew most of the things they felt the need to explain, and because he didn't care, and because their secrecy pissed him off.

He could feel it in the air, that something big was weighing on them, and he didn't trust Will Solace, the son of Apollo who treated them like children in need of protection, who disappeared from his bed in the middle of the night, whose face darkened the moment he thought no one was watching him.

He wanted to know, and he wanted to beat up someone- or get beaten up, because he felt like he was about to vibrate out of his skin.

It wasn't a strange sensation, per se, in fact that constant need to do had always been a part of him- he was born with that urgency in his bones, but it was strange to feel something so strongly in his new mortal body.
And he needed to- let it out, somehow.

So he chose to take a stroll in the dark woods, to climb a tree and stare at the impressive but still a little boring ship.
Ten minutes had gone by.

He got down once he felt to feel bored out of his skin again.
 And immediately a dryad walked up to him, head tilted an her eyes on him. Her light-brown skin could've been mistaken for tree bark, and the look in her black eyes was sly.
"Are you lost, new-comer?

Ares raised his eyebrows.
"Do I look lost to you?"

Her smile grew.
"Maybe. You're looking for something, I see it. You're impatient. What are you looking for? What are you missing?"

Ares had known hundreds of dryad in his life, some of them very deeply and personally, and he was sure that, to get that uneasy feeling out of his skin, his bones, his body, even sex would have worked, no matter the person or creature he'd propose.
Instead he answered "I'm bored. Y'know anything interesting to do, around here?"

She scoffed.
"What can I know? Me, a simple dryad. Oh, I can tell you about the den of that cursed beast, the one who spits fire- but that's our thing to deal with. You mortals don't appreciate nature as much as you should," she finished speaking, giving him a sorrowful look, like that was his worst fault and the fact pained her greatly.

Ares straightened, and felt himself awaken.
"A beast?"

"That cursed buy, those cursed spit-firing toys," she lamented, encouraged by his obvious interest, moving her delicate hands with every word. They were see-through now, and Ares could've sworn that her fingers started looking like the dirty roots of an old tree. "A few days ago he made everything explode, you know? He didn't hurt us, thank Zeus, but the smoke was terrible. I pray for him to burn himself to death, one of these days."

With every word her anger and conviction grew, and by the end of her explanation her face was twisted in such great rage that Ares finally saw her as what she truly was.
Not a young girl who smiled and blinked up at him with big eyes, but a dryad.

Ares felt his hope grow?"
"You want him dead? Wow. He must be terrible."

What left her throat was a growl. "I will make him pay, sooner or later."

And Ares asked her to take him to the den of this fire-breathing beast, who had to be a demigods, maybe one of Hephaestus' kids, who liked to burn things in the middle of the forest for some reason.

They walked, and Ares asked her lots of questions
By the time they got to a clearing and left the trees behind them, the dryad was shaking, her hands were balled into fists by her side, her eyes were wet and a fire rampaged in them.

Ares was pretty sure that in some way his powers still worked.
Or maybe he'd gotten so good at making people mad over the centuries that he didn't even need his powers anymore. It was enough to talk: to notice what made someone tick and throw it at their face until they could so nothing but become angry.

In the end she left with one last disgusted look at the famed den.
Ares finally got a look good at it.

Truth is, the "den" was a metal square covered by ivy, and the only other thing Ares could see was a small door- small enough that Ares wouldn't have made it through, probably.
The terrain next to it had been recently moved: there was no grass, and it looked like a farmer had hoed with such dedication that not a single sod hadn't been turned around. The smell of smoke had almost disappeared and the air was clear, but Ares could hear it, faintly. The closer he got to the door the closest the smell became.

There weren't handles, so he just pushed as hard as he could, and he growled when it didn't even nudge. He pushed some more, cursing the weakness of the muscles of his body and this body that couldn't be more different than what Ares was. Not the one of a warrior, forged by thousands of years of war, but the body of a boy who'd never had to sweat or bleed in his life.
(He was tall, but he was also not naive enough to think it would be enough.)

He saw that the right corner of the door was slightly protruding, he pried it open with his hand, his fingers between the door and the thick frame, and he pulled- it stayed close.

So he gave up on the door, and headed off to the clearing of tree-less and grass-less dirt, where the terrain was dark enough to look black, not an insect or an animal to be seen walking on it.
It wasn't an easy or regular surface, but Ares didn't think twice about it.

 He should have thought twice about it, because the ground under his feet gave up and he fell, literally, with a shout of surprise he wasn't able to suppress- not when his mouth was already open in a bored yawn.
 He fell for what felt like minutes but were probably one or two seconds, and fell on his back on a metal surface. He didn't even try to keep in a grunt, glad to not have hit his frail human head. It would have split open, probably, and he didn't want to risk it.

With another pained groan he turned on his side, removing his arms from behind his head to hug his mid-section, breathing deeply. He probably had a shit ton of bruises now, but nothing too terrible.
He stayed still, for a moment, and then he pushed himself in a sitting position.

He'd fallen in a trap?

It was obvious that some sort of explosion underground had shaken the soil and filled the woods with smoke, and whoever had tried to fix everything had either done a shitty job, or decided to mess with whoever walked there by creating this sort of covered hole-trap. But how had the boy done that? How had he managed to blow up that thick and unmovable door- and the roof made by hardened steel and reinforced concrete?
Ares blinked, and frowned, getting up.

Now that he noticed, the metal under his foot was different from the door's one. It was just as strong, but different. Less old.
Such a well-hidden place, built under the ground, couldn't be anything but a bunker, and how the hell had the "fire-breathing beast" managed to make a bunker blow up?

And a bunked made by half-bloods, old enough to have been built during World-War Two? Probably reinforced with celestial bronze?
How had anyone or anything destroyed and rebuilt it in a few days?

He raised his head. He'd fallen in what was a six feet and a half tall pit, and nothing had fallen on him- thank Hera. The last thing he wanted was to be buried in dirt.

The sides were slanted enough that he could get out on his own, and he thanked the gods (it was kind of funny to do it) because he would have hated to call the dryad. No matter how useful and beautiful, he didn't want anyone's help.

He took a few steps back, he got a running start, and bolted. His hands sunk into dirt and he pushed himself up, stopping himself from falling face-first into that same dirt, but then he put his right foot wrong and fell down, again, and this time he hit his head.
He closed his eyes, reopened them, did the same thing a few times, until he was sure he wouldn't topple once he got up, and he did just that.

He tried again, and this time he managed it. He cursed Hephaestus' brat, and told himself that he would punch him if he saw him around, see if he cared about what anyone said.

Ares tried to clean his hands on the thighs of his pants- an useless attempt, but when he got a look good at them he noticed the dirt pushed so far under his nails that the grimace on his face couldn't have been hidden with the strongest spell on earth and Olympus. He gave up for now, and walked into the woods again, trying to remember the way to where he'd met the dryad.

He found the second tree he'd climbed, and knowing that he'd walked north to find it he followed the sun. It was mid-morning, and so he walked south-east, in the general direction of the Big House, and Ares told himself it was good enough. He still had to climb a few other trees, when the branches became thick enough that he lost sight of his brother's star.
But he was glad he could still do something so simple.
No dryads followed him, this time.

Once he was finally out of the woods, he grinned.

He could hear the familiar sound of metal going against metal, and the groans and shouts of soldiers fighting- not soldiers, in that case, but demigods, but that didn't change much .

He'd reached a level of boredom that made him alright even with just running the perimeter of Camp Half-Blood a dozen times- anything was better than nothing, than the boredom and the void that he could feel were eating his intestines like particularly annoying parasites.

They'd showed them the Arena, during their little tour, and Ares ran towards it like a man on a mission.

He was a demigod in dire need of means to defend himself, so they couldn't send him away, right?

The Arena, as the noises he'd heard from the outside suggested, wasn't empty.

There were maybe fifteen people, but if six of them were near the bleachers, standing in a circle and talking about something Ares didn't care about, the other nine were training.

They weren't wearing full armor, but enough pieces to be able to fight with sharp blades and not die from blood loss.
Ares could tell, because when he sparred against Apollo or Eris, or Phobos and Deimos (and even if they weren't gods, but more personifications like the titans, they knew how to make him sweat and make him prouder than ever every time they met blades), he only wore the pieces of his armor that made it difficult to hit places that would have had him wait too much time to heal.

Those kids were his kids, it didn't take him long to notice.

Not only because they were training- both them and Ares had a personality outside their 'long live war-making' (even if that was the most interesting part of their personalities, if one asked Ares), but because he recognised them.

Sherman was the easiest, of course.

He couldn't not feel proud, seeing him.
Sherman, his son Sherman, was only six, and he lived with his mother and the honestly pathetic man she'd chosen as her companion for life- an harmless man, but not fiery enough for a woman like Dongmei.
She'd been able to keep up with him, and Ares had liked her a lot- so, when he'd paid her a visit to make sure that everything was alright and that he didn't need to kill anyone for them only to find that beautiful, wonderful woman smiling indulgently at a stuttering, blushing buffoon, he'd almost turned him into a flower on the spot.
Pity was, that both Dongmei and Sherman liked him.
(For some reason.)

Sherman was happy, he fought often with his little dumb friends, and the frown that grew on his face when something was annoying him was hereditary and the frown that Ares gifted to all his children- a frown he was proud of, because it said more than any verbal explanation.

This Sherman was sixteen, he'd lost his leg and had his First Wound on his arm. A deep gash that started at his wrist and ran through his arm, reaching his shoulder in a curve.
Not on his leg, the stump was clean and devoid of any particularly dark scar, and not even the one on his face (Ares wanted to know the story behind it and he wanted to hear it now), but the one on his arm.

The First Wound was important, more than important, for anyone who dared to boast having Ares in their family tree.

Ares still had his own, circular scars covering his wrists.
The skin there had been ruined and torn by the ropes made of celestial bronze that the twins had used to keep him imprisoned, and even if, once back in Olympus, it had taken him moments to be healed, every proof of that terrible year hidden by the amused, judging eyes of his relatives, the wounds on his wrists had stayed.

Ares had accepted their presence, but he'd been surprised when the same had happened to one of his daughters.

For mortals, demigods were a gift, a proof of the love that a deity felt for them even when they weren't able to express it otherwise.
But daughters were different.
A daughter was a gift to him.

Daughters were always precious to Ares, because they were rare.
For every ten sons he had there was one female, a strong, beautiful, fearsome and horrific woman ready to bring honor to his name.
He had just one immortal daughter, Harmonia.
But Hyppolite, Alkippe, Penthesileia, Thrassa- he'd loved them fiercely, and he'd cried for their death like only war could.

There had never been a daughter of Ares who didn't grow into something great.

Because of this he always paid attention, when a mortal woman gifted him with a daughter.

One of them, Nikoleta, had fought against a soldier from Thebe who'd raped her mother to be able to say that he'd shared a woman with an immortal one, only to end up with raised, dark scars on her neck where he'd weakly scratched at her before dying.
(Ares didn't appreciate sneak attacks, he was one for frontal assaults, but Nikoleta had been weak and the man too strong when awake- and he preferred not to think about what the bastard would have done, if he'd woken up to find the twelve year old in his home, her knife to his throat.)

He'd noticed and remembered.
It had happened again with so many of his children, and centuries went by. Ares realized that the First Wound was in his blood.

Not the first wound one received, that was rarely that important, but the First Wound: a wound to their very soul, that they bore with bravery and strength, a wound that hadn't healed easily, that had made them fight their own mind- battle that they'd won.

(One of the few things he and Dionysus agreed one was that- few people knew the mechanisms of the human mind as well as they did.
In a way, because of the obvious bond between war, alcohol and madness.
But they still didn't interact too much- Ares was a little too much for his brother's unstable mind.)

The First Wound to mark them, to teach them a lesson that they would never forget.

Sherman's one hadn't been caused by a blade, probably. Its edges were too irregular.

Three injuries- his face, his arm, his leg, had they all been caused by the same fight? Same incident? Same opponent? He doubted it.

He recognised Sherman, and his smile grew larger as he saw the others.

There were the twins, Augusto and César. Ares couldn't remember if their birthday was at the start or the end of the summer, so he couldn't know if they'd turned seventeen yet or were about to, but they were as similar as ever.
Not very tall, just like their mother, but with the looks of someone who could have fist-fought the Minotaur and pushed it to ground with one big shove.
Augusto's First Wound was a cut under his eye, maybe caused by a short blade, and César's was a bruise on his right cheekbone.

(When it came to bruises, they simply stayed a dark, red-blue color forever. Once, during the Renaissance, his son's had disappeared, but Ares had never been able to explain it.)

Laurence's First Wound, Ares could only see part of it as it peeked out from the collar of his shirt.
(Maybe he'd got it fighting with the other demigods against Kronos' army.)
He was sparring against Augusto and César, and he looked like he'd yet to break a sweat.

There was Andromeda, the only daughter he'd had in the last twenty-five years other than Clarisse, and ten years younger than her older sister: she was already tall and strong, and she was copying Cahya's movements with furrowed brows and an already impressing form.
Cahya was hiding a smile, even if he called her out about some little imperfection every other second. At thirteen he was treating his sister like she was a newborn, but she was too focused to pay him any attention.

He couldn't see their Firsts.

And then there was Ellis, who Ares was sure was spending his last summer at Camp, busy explaining something to a brat that Ares didn't recognize.

He couldn't be older than ten, Ares was pretty sure he hadn't conceived him yet, and he was frowning as he threw a small blade from one hand to the other with the dexterity of someone who slept with a knife under his pillow.

The kid was staring at Ellis like the older was speaking latin, and then he sent a glare to the makhaira in his brother's hands.
Ares smirked.
The makhaira was one of his favorite blades ever, but it was always funny to see others hate it on sight, before learning how to properly use it and regret hating that wonderful tool even for a short moment.

The brat moved his hands again, catching the knife from the handle with distracted eyes, and Ares caught sight of his First Wound.
He must have grabbed the knife from the wrong side, sometimes in the past, and it had almost cut his fingers off. He was there, so he'd survived the severe blood loss that something like this caused.
He was young, but monsters had to have caught scent of him earlier than usual if Ares had sent him away from home so soon.

(He had no doubts.
He sent all his children to train, regardless of the strength of their scents- he would never let one of his kids grow up without knowing the feeling of skin against the smooth surface of a spear, or without knowing that he was their father.
The first thing was more important than the second, but they went together.)

The last one had seen Ares stare, and was walking towards him.

He was holding a dòry in his hands, the leaf-shaped tip shining when hit by the sun and the grip polished but blood stained on two different places. He didn't put it away.

"What the hell are you doing here, newbie? The Arena's ours, we've reserved it all morning, and we still have two hours left- didn't Solace tell you how things work around here? Get lost."

Ares, showing a self-awareness that surprised him and would have made it impossible for Aphrodite not to smile all proud and satisfied, answered "You're scared that a kid will beat you up? Wasn't your bunch supposed to be the best at this?", which didn't anger Mark- it didn't matter that Ares was as tall as him when he looked like he'd never lifted a sword in his whole life.

Or, at least, the body he was in had never done it.
Ares hadn't come out of his mother with a sword in hand, but one could've said that he'd been born with his spear- and yes, Ares could turn it into a sword if he wanted to, but nothing compared to the feeling of driving the sharp blade at the top in the bellies of his enemies and seeing them die under it.

He curled his hands into two unforgiving fists, he felt nails tore into skin and get bloodied, but he ignored the stark feeling- just like he'd ignored how naked he felt, how vulnerable, without his armor, without his spear, without the pressure that he radiated, feeding himself in the process.

He relaxed his hands.
Yes, he really needed to stab someone, or he would soon stab himself.

His words sounded like a challenge, not a threat. The results of a young boy's arrogance.
But Mark's eyes brightened, and a smile grew on his face.
"Oh, really?" he asked, almost excited at the prospect. "Come on then, newbie."

He turned around to stalk towards his siblings, who'd stopped in their tracks to stare with something like confusion, and annoyance.
Sherman was livid. When Mark got close enough, Ares heard his boy produce the human version of a very menacing growl.

"What the fuck are you doing?"

"The newbie's got it, trust me. And we can't let Solace ruin him too."

Somehow, Sherman grew angrier.
"Mark." Augusto jabbed César's side with his elbow, and his twin grimaced- a worried grimace. Worried for Mark, Ares could swear it. "Let Will deal with this since he wants it so much, and go back to your training. Now."

Other than Mark and Cahya, who was grinning as he waited with bathed breath for his brothers to fist-fight, maybe, everyone seemed worried.

"Can't he train with us? I'm telling you it'll be cool."

"You said it about Trevor too, and we all know what happened."

Even before Augusto could finish the sentence Mark started moving his hands in his air, like his brother's words were annoying flies to squash, and Augusto have him the middle finger.
Mark took two steps towards Ares, and once he was next to him he sling an arm around his shoulders.
"Trust me."
He didn't say anything else, and Cahya sighed, disappointed by the pacific end of the argument.

Ares saw Andromeda whisper something in the youngest boy's ear, who didn't even hide his amused smirk as it bloomed in his face.
(A very evil smirk for a shortie with arms as thick as the branches of a one year old tree.)

"I'm Mark, I'm sure you caught that," his son introduced himself. "That asshole is Sherman, Head of our Cabin and-"
"We met," he cut him short, and Mark snickered.
"Oh, I know. No one does first impressions like my bro."

He introduced him to the others, and Ares found out that the boy's name was Beau.
He frowned internally.
It was rare for him to visit France ever since Aphrodite had chosen it as her personal paradise on earth, and it was even rarer for him to find lovers there.
His last french lover (if one could call him french seeing the time period) had been a noble from Charlemagne's court: there Ares had met, under the disguise of a soldier at the service of the great king, one of the few male lovers he'd had in his life.
A very memorable one. And not because of his long monologues about his king's inadequacies.

For a long time he hadn't traveled those territories, having lost interest in the king's successors, and during the Revolution he'd gone there with Aphrodite, who'd fallen in love with the young nation so deeply that she hadn't even tried to resist the urge to make it hers.
Every immortal being could feel her mark on the land, now.

And Ares and Aphrodite weren't always together.
They spent months apart, in some rare occasions they'd let years go by between one date and the other, and most of their time apart Aphrodite spent in France, or somewhere in Europe.
(She was the only one who'd full on rejected Olympus' new location: the different European cities where they'd 'lived' had been easier to acclimate to, but America? She was more Greek than all of them put together.)

And Ares knew that Aphrodite needed time for herself, another reason not to spend time in France.

When he did, it was always with her.
He wondered if that was how Beau had been conceived. He pushed the thought away.

Mark handed him a spear- to be fully honest he threw it at him, and Ares caught it in time, and the boy nodded, satisfied with his performance.

He took another one for himself.

Mark said "Try to stab, newbie, don't cut," before attacking Ares.
He moved to the side before the spear's blade could make a hole between his eyes, and raised his own to hit Mark's rod and deflect the blow. Before he could make the weapons touch Mark had back-tracked three steps, and he was watching him.
After spending three days (not a lot but too many for him) with the son of Apollo, who was all reassuring smiles and kind words, seeing his son's honest, open face was refreshing.

He wasn't hiding anything, as he studied Ares with the focus of a trainer.
"Mhh. Weak. But fast. Look out."

This time he went for his chest, and Ares ducked on his knees, quickly straightening up again to aim at Mark's neck, already branded by his First Wound. He focused on the point where he knew that the boy's step-father had started to cut, and the violence that Mark used to push him away made him stagger.
He heard someone whistle loudly.

He felt the effects of the hit everywhere on his body- his legs, his arms- and had he said that he hated having so little strength?
The blows that followed were even harsher, Mark stopped holding back and gave his best, and Ares felt ecstatic. He was having fun.
One after the other, the violence behind every lunge grew, and it didn't take long for Mark to have him on the ground.

His spear had hit Ares behind a calf, the blade put in a way that stopped it from cutting out a piece of meat the side of his hand, after a feint that he'd noticed but that his body hadn't been able to counter, too slow and weak to do what Ares wanted it to do.
He felt the sharp metal touch the skin over his sternum, between his clavicles, where no bone protected the delicate veins.

Laying on the terrain, Ares said "I would have won with a shorter spear", and Mark burst out laughing, offering Ares a hand to get up. He also lifted him from the ground, effortlessly (which offended him a bit), and let him go once he was standing next to him. Well, he almost fell down, but he was fast to find some sort of equilibrium and glared at mark, who laughed a little more.

"Wonderful! What'd you say about a... boar spear?"

He gave him one, fishing it out from the pile of weapons next to them, and Ares took it, feeling a large smile grow on his lips.
It wasn't his spear, not even remotely, but it was the closest thing to it he would find on Camp, and it was perfectly balanced.
He hold it with each hand, with both his hands, and raised it just to feel how it moved- it cut through air with all the easiness in the world, and the blade looked sharp enough to keep up with Stygian Iron.
It was gleaming under the sun, and it almost blinded Ares when the light reflected towards his eyes.

Mark was staring at him, even more excited.

"Are you tired yet, newbie?"

"I have a name."

"I know. So?"

Sherman was observing them, arms crossed, scowl on, but it was less heavy than before. He let them be, and took Andromeda and beau away as the four remaining brothers started to fight against each other in some sort of 'circle of death'.

Mark beat him down two additional rimes, before lifting him off (for the third time, he sure liked doing it) and clap his hands once, loudly.
The only person who heard him and paid him any attention was a girl sitting on the bleachers, who shot him a disgruntled look.
"Alright, you never got any training, or else you wouldn't look like you'd faint tryin' to lift ten pounds off the ground, but you know how to move. All instinct, uh?"

Ares was offended.
"I guess so," he forced himself to say, jaw tightened, and he tried to distract himself, thinking about anything else (like Hebe had tried to teach him, breath in deep, let it all out, don't stab anyone-), but Mark didn't give up.

"Perfect. I'll make Sherman talk to Solace and have you train with us. I refuse to let Knowles- or even worse, Yan, ruin you."

Ares didn't know who Yan was. Another son of Apollo? Who hadn't come back yet?

But he was relieved. He was getting tired of staying with his brother's kids- he wanted to stay with his own kids. Now he only needed to find a way to move to their (his) Cabin.
If Will Solace disappeared at dawn (two days in and he'd also spent the whole night out once) his sister (not the new-born one) woke up just when the sun rose and no matter how hard she tried she was never quiet enough to let them sleep.
Every morning.
Of course Ares had only spent two mornings in Cabin Seven, but they were two morning too many.

And the music he'd heard out of Cabin Five's doors was ten times better than the shit he'd been forced to hear the day before, when Austin Lake had chosen what to put on the CD player- some whiny ballad from the fifties that had made Ares hope for a quick death.

One of the girls from the other group called Mark with a shout.

He sneered, and answered with an angry "What do you want?".

She didn't walk closer to him. She put her hands around her mouth to project her voice and shouted "Move your ass man, we have to talk Capture the Flag", and Mark spoke as loud as her.
"Ask Sherman!"

"Don't ya see he'd busy?"

"And I'm not?"

"I don't care about disturbin' you."

Mark kept on arguing with her without lowering his voice, even as he left his side to walk to her, and Ares stood still, amused, watching him as he traded barbs with a girl that he recognised as one of the demigods he'd seen the day before, at the mortals' meeting.

Left alone, he focused on the spear in his hands again.

Mark was shorter than him, but he had three times his muscle mass and was twice as large, and Ares was sure that he would have been fun to spar with even in his immortal body.

Mark was six, technically, and he didn't live with his mother but in one of those institutes for orphans that mortals refused to call orphanages. Ares knew that, after what had happened with his step-father, the judges had declared Cara not fit to raise him, and that was why he lived in that place.
He was sixteen now, just like Sherman.

Ares wasn't the type to ignore his kids.
His kids were always great, regardless of what others thought of them, and Ares wasn't the type to ignore greatness.
He couldn't raise them, obviously, also because of his father's stupid rules, but he could still check on them from time to time, see how they were doing, and intervene if necessary.
(Zeus would've never done it, but every- and Ares meant every- god knew how to inform Camp Half-Blood of their children's existence in order to have satyrs sent to them and get them under Chiron's attentive care.
Damn, Apollo constantly used his bond with Chiron to excuse their private talks.)

And only in some cases he'd ignored one of them long enough to see such- obvious changes. Such dramatic changes.
It was strange. Not the only thing that had changed, also.

He then found himself surrounded by his sons.

Augusto was grinning.
"They always fight about whose dick is bigger." He was probably talking about Mark and the girl he was still fighting with. "Ever since Sherman and Miranda got together Mark's been fighting for his attention, they act like they're five years old."
Miranda. She was blonde, and tall, and her arms looked strong enough to snap someone's back in two.
She and Mark had got so close that every word they said was like spit on each other's face.

"She's Demeter's Head Cabin," Cahya told him, "We're allies in Capture the Flag, so they should discuss strategies. We're against Athena's, as always, and no one wants to give Malcolm another reason to preen. His head's already bigger than the Big House."

César snorted, amused, adding "No one but Mark", and Ellis laughed, a low. reserved thing.

Cahya was smirking.
"He and Malcolm are really good friends." Ares felt his very soul retch at the idea of his strong, capable son lowering himself to the level of one of the galactic bitch's offspring. "And Malcolm just beat up Mark- not our Mark, but Mark Patterson, a son of Demeter we're gonna have to work with, so this edition will be remembered for years."

They didn't look sad about it.
The idea of chaos made them curious, excited, and Ares was so comfortable that he started to feel his body relax. His muscles stopped contracting in that almost painful way, his grip on the spear turned less strict, and Ares told himself that he didn't mind this situation.

It could get tiring, to share an immortal life with his family when they were all so… dismissive.
So dumb, in their choice to reject Ares because of a blind feeling of superiority that made Ares angry like nothing else.

Ares wasn't angry by nature, he was passionate.
Every emotion was ten times more intense, ten times faster to born and to die, with ten times the possibilities to be eternal or as fleeting as a second.

He usually was angry when he was forced to interact with his siblings, with his half-siblings, or- may the Fates save him, with his parents.
Nothing filled him with rage more than the ordeal of bearing his mother's cold glare, or of keeping himself still as his Father talked during the Solstices for hours and hours because he just loved to hear the sound of his own voice.

Nothing made him lose it like Athena, always ready to look at him with eyes as cold as the ones of her step-mother, acting like their domains weren't intertwined to the bones.
Athena, who oversaw strategic war, and Ares, who oversaw its more emotional, passionate sides.
Athena who fought with the cunning mind of a fox, Ares with the strength of sentiments that controlled him as much as they controlled mortals.
So close, tied together by their powers, gods of war and gods who depended on it, one respected for it and one despised like a plague.

Ares had seen Athena make decision with the calculating coldness of a monster. He'd seen her kill enemies and allies and children and parents just to win, just because it was the most strategic move on the table.
Olympus had seen him kill for love, for hate, for boredom and sorrow and pain and an animalistic sort of rage, and had rejected him and the war he represented.

Waging war was bad, until Athena did it.

Eris was the only one who truly understood him- and there was a reason why he and Eris had been companions and lovers ever since their birth, why she was even closer to him than Aphrodite, intimate confidant and sister in arms.
Eris was his sister in everything but blood, and she was his, and he was hers.

Everyone wanted to mock them.
His family, his subjects, mortals and immortals- all acting like the hate campaign they'd been moving against him for centuries wasn't a war on its own.
Acting like their arguments, their disputes, their aversions, weren't part of his- of their dominion.
Acting like every insult they threw at each other, every drop of hate, anger, frustration and contempt they felt, weren't nourishment to them.

Eris, the strife that made it possible for Ares to star wars and conflicts, and Ares, whose wars give her a chance to go wild.

His children were like him in many ways.

They felt things in ways that shouldn't be possible for a human, so strongly that those feelings either destroyed them or made them rise higher than everyone else.
They never turned away from a conflict, they never refused to accept it in order to run away or delude themselves into thinking that they lived in a far kinder world.
They took arms and got ready to face whatever the world forced them to face.

Only some of them found someone who could teach them how to survive all those fights without getting consumed by them, and who did was destined to be remembered.

Ares had found it.
He had Aphrodite, Eros and Phobos and Deimos and Harmonia, and Eris and Enyalius- he had way too many siblings, whose presences he could barely stand, but that he didn't love as much as he hated his mother, his father or Athena. He had uncles, aunts and cousins- Triton just got him, even if Ares had never understood why.
 Maybe because the sea was wild just like Ares, and the relationship that Ares could have never had with Poseidon he now had with his uncle's son, a god- a boy that Ares had trained personally for years, despite their never-ending arguments that had started wars at times.

He thought about his Clarisse, a grown woman now, and the wars that had shaped her, and the strength that Ares had felt drop out of her pores even from far way, without being able to read her soul like he'd done during their first meeting, years before, when Clarisse had only been a brat with half of her face covered by snot and blood and a violent urge to break things to somehow deal with the fire burning inside of her soul.

She'd learned how to feed that fire without letting it burn her along with everything else.

(Sherman looked like he'd learned too. Not that he could be sure of it. No more soul-reading for Ares.)

He thought about this- Capture the Flag thing they were talking about, and smirked, mirroring his kids' pure glee.

Yes, he would like it for sure.

The gods, the Fates, whoever was controlling them (where they there, in the future? Would he meet himself but ten years older? Would he see something different in him?) must have heard his thoughts, because in a second the sun was obscured by something and darkness fell upon the arena.

Someone shouted, and César's "What the fuck-" would have been funny if Ares hadn't looked up just in time to see a golden dragon flying in the sky, bigger than the whole arena and perfectly covering the sun.

It was gone in a second and the sun shone on them again, but Ares was too busy realizing that there had been a celestial bronze dragon inside that fuckass trireme to notice how much light they had.
Hephaestus' kid had talked about some Faestus.
That was Faestus?
Who the hell had built a dragon out of celestial bronze.

The creature headed south, and once it reached the borders and turned around Ares saw it disappear in the woods.
So that was the fire-breathing beast.
But she'd talked about a brat. Its creator? The Leo kid?

No one was surprised, aside from him.

Was the dragon some sort of mascot, or worse, pet?

"What wa-"

Ellis didn't let him finish.
"That's a dragon. Not a real one, he's made out of celestial bronze, and it won't attack us."

"Valdez, from Cabin Nine, looks after it. I don't like Valdez but the dragon's cool, and it's always useful when something attacks Camp." Augusto elbowed César in the side, and the latter barely managed to not let a pained groan escape, and quickly added "Not that it happens often. At all. The few times it happened it was useful."

The demigods' camp was protected by wards that the gods themselves had built to give their children a chance to grow up and train in a slightly safer environment, under Chiron's request, and ever since Ares' dad had turned his mortal daughter into a tree the protections around Camp were even stronger.
Was there something on earth that could get in there?

A dragon had to be useful.

Ares frowned.
No, that dragon was familiar- someone had told him about it.
He focused on searching that memory in the huge archive that was his mind, looking for that particular day.
Once, maybe two-hundreds years before, Apollo had cracked a joke about some mechanical dragon protecting Camp, while they were waiting for- Poseidon? to get to Olympus, and Hephaestus had looked proud of his brats.

But Ares couldn't remember hearing about it, apart from that single memory, or seeing it, those few times he'd went to meet with Chiron.

Before they could say anything else Sherman called them.
He wasn't talking to Ares, probably, but Ares went with the others all the same.
"We have another thirty minutes, we'll use them to plan with Miranda and the others what to do next week. Tidy up before you leave, Pace, Jackson, Grace and Di Angelo have already booked the arena for the afternoon and I don't want to hear them complain when they find your shit laying around."

He wasn't addressing the younger ones, but his eyes stayed on the twins and Cahya. They roller their eyes but nodded.
Then Sherman set his eyes on Ares.
"You can't listen in, newbie." He thought he could accept being called newbie by now, but fuck if he didn't like it. Sherman was pissing him off. "We don't know who Will's gonna ally with yet, so get lost."

No one fought his decision, Ellis gave him a pat on the shoulder that almost sent him to the ground, and they left him alone to go where Mark and Cassandra- no, Miranda, were glaring at each other, a son of Demeter standing between them. To keep them from getting violent, maybe.
(Ares saw Mark the son of Demeter, near the bleachers, away from the group, his bruises a little lighter but still ugly to see.)

He started going through the pile of weapons that his kids had taken to the arena, and he found himself pleasantly impressed by them.
Wonderful craftsmanship, even if they were common pieces. Perfect for training, and perfect for sending back to Tartarus monsters and things like that.

Some of them were too heavy for his skinny arms, some were too long, but Ares saw more than one knife and sword (other than the spears) that he could have used without difficulties.
He didn't have the time, because after fifteen minutes the demigods' voices started to get louder, and Ares heard more than saw how his son Mark punched Demeter's son Mark in the guts.

Sherman took his siblings away, exasperated, and justified his choice to César, Cahya and Andromeda by saying that "Will was busy enough without having to heal the whole Cabin Four- the implications made it impossible for Mark's smirk to disappear, even though the vein on his forehead was still pulsating.

Ares first went into Apollo's Cabin, which was empty, he took some clean clothes and ran to the showers, feeling the sweat on his skin starting to dry uncomfortably. There he found his kids, lined up waiting for their turns, and he waited with them.

He probably looked like a loner, seeing that he didn't even try to strike up some sort of conversation, but Ares had no idea what they were talking about.
No, he couldn't tell Ellis about his opinion on Rihanna, he barely knew who she was, and he definitely couldn't share his opinion on the last 007- he knew who James Bond was, obviously, but did he know that Skyfall was meant to be?
No.

Washing away all the sweat was good- more than good.
He wasn't the squeamish type, and he never cared about being covered by his enemies' blood after a long, nourishing battle, but sweat was disgusting- and it smelt, real bad.

His weak muscles hurt after barely an hour and something of training, and he told himself that, if he was currently in the body of somebody else, this somebody should've been ashamed of themselves.

He walked up to the table of Apollo's kids to get immediately searched by Artemis' inquisitive stare.
"Where were you all morning?"

"Walk in the woods. Arena," he replied, sitting down heavily. At breakfast the dryads took foods to the tables, but at lunch and dinner they just had to think about what they wanted to eat to have it appear on their plates. He filled his with meat- proteins after training, always, and he started eating like a starved man. Which he was- he felt like that, at least.

Being mortal was hard- now Ares had to eat even if he didn't want to, because he could die if he didn't. Which was strange, and annoying.

Will Solace raised his eyebrows.
He was eating a salad covered with oil, and the corner of his mouth was all glossy because of it. His chin was resting on his fist, the white of his bandages in stark contrast with the warmth of his tan.

"You're ok?"
Seeing Ares' confusion, who hadn't even stopped chewing the piece of meat he'd bitten out, he pointed at his neck, and Ares tilted his head downwards as much as he could- still eating, not wanting to waste time when he could keep on eating delicious food.
In all fairness, a long scratch stuck out from the collar of the t-shirt he'd picked out randomly: Mark had left it there during their second match, even though the tip of his spear hadn't been sharp at all.
Those two matches had been longer, because Ares had had a spear more balanced and apt to his physique- and more similar to his own spear, which had elated him.
"Just a scratch."

Solace shrugged and focused back on his salad.

Hephaestus hadn't come back yet, the twins were sitting next to the brat and Artemis was cutting her food in little rectangular pieces, Hades was lost in his own head.

Ares blinked- Will Solace looked the type to worry over a scratch. But maybe he'd gotten tired of running after them, finally.
He thanked the Fates promptly.

"Who beat you up, bro?"
The nickname made him shiver, and the urge to throw his steak in Apollo's face got stronger.

Kayla Knowles looked close to apologetic.
"Sherman metaphorically fist-fought Piper and Connor to get the Arena on Tuesday mornings. He wasn't too mean, I hope."

"No. I didn't train with him."

"Ellis?"

"Mark."

Austin almost choked on his rice, and patted himself on the chest to stop coughing.
"Mark?" he asked, his voice rougher, and looking like Ares had confessed to having traveled to the moon with a rocket made out of paper.

"That Mark? Mark, son of Ares, tall five foot and a lot of anger?"

"You're literally as tall as him," accused Austin, but she ignored him to stare at Ares like he'd grown another head.

"So?"

"Yes, that Mark," he snapped, his irritation growing, but she ignored even his anger.

"Hell yeah. You have my respect, dude."

"Mark isn't that bad," chimed in Will Solace, a distracted look on his face as he filled his plate with tomatoes.

Ares glared at him.
"It doesn't look like he likes you that much."

"Uh?" he raised his head, confused, and then he shrugged. "Well, no, he hates Connor and so he hates me by association. And we both had a thing with Paolo when we were kids, and like one week apart, and these things are hard to forget. Mark doesn't, at least."

All that Ares could think of regarding this Connor was his rudeness, his hyperactivity and his mental breakdown when he'd found out that Malcolm (the son of Athena, and Ares had heard his name thrown around enough times to hate him) was dating someone.
So this boy flirted with Ares' son's secret boyfriend, and his son declared war to his Cabin and all his friends?

The move of a winner. He approved.

Apollo tilted his head.
"I can't imagine someone worse than that Sherman."

Will frowned, and shook his head.
"I never met someone from Cabin Five who was innocuous, but Sherman's not that bad. You got off on the wrong foot, nothin' that'll last forever. We've known each other since we were kids, he's a year-rounder too, but it took months to get him not to hate me." He smiled, remembering something funny and then he snorted. "He even tried to give my father a swirly, once."

At that Apollo was the one to start coughing, and the little brat on his side started to pat her small hand on his back, a smiling and excited semblance of support.
"What?" he asked, his words squeaky, and Kayla started laughing with her brother.

"Yes! Nico and Will had to convince him not to, that dad would get his revenge sooner or later, but we had to call in Miranda."

Austin offered his father a glass of water, which he took with eyes as big as tennis balls. He looked at Ares as if betrayed, but Ares only offered him a smile with bare teeth.

"He tried to put a god’s head in the toilet?" Artemis asked skeptically, giving the child back her fork so she could eat. Ares thought she was a little too big to have her food cut, but what did he know about children.
(Very much, and he was pretty sure they were just spoiling her.)

"He wasn't a god at the time, but a mortal," Austin finally explained "He's back to being a god now, and it only lasted six months."

Uh. A mortal.

Ares forced himself to stop thinking about the mental image of Sherman pushing the ugly face of his brother Apollo into a ceramic toilet, and rather focused on- their father had punished Apollo, again, and transformed him into a mortal, again- and he'd spent time in Camp Half-Blood. Why? Why not serve some mortal as a servant for a year or two or even more? What were six months for a god?

(Most important thing, had Sherman knew who he was when he'd tried to give him a swirly? If the answer was yes, Ares would throw a party.)

What the hell had his stupid little brother done this time?

Artemis asked just that, frame tense.

Ares heard Austin Lake reply, some crap about gods and challenges and trials, but he didn't pay much attention. He saw instead how Will Solace stiffened, and then started eating again, looking like he'd regretted ever bringing it up. Like that one topic was something he didn't want to talk about.
Or couldn't.

Ares didn't know what option he'd have preferred.

"Unique experience," Kayla went on, smirking. "I think he fainted like ten times. And well, he did curse me for a month for joking about it too much, but being unable to use a bow without tripping over my feet was worth it."

Austin lightened up at the memory.

Then she added.
"He should come by, one of these days, we'll introduce you."
Which was. Something.

Ares saw Apollo blink slowly, all words lost, and their uncle raised his eyebrows.
"Come by?"

"Only when he can, he's really busy. But he usually finds the time, and- hey, you'll meet your second god. And my dad is way more attractive than Mr D. Just try not to feed his ego too much," she concluded, as if that wasn't one of the strangest thing she could have said, and the most important information she'd shared since their first meeting.

Ares was confused.
Apollo, regularly seeing his children?

Not to say that Apollo was an absent parent- but he wasn't like Aphrodite, who met with her children in their dreams at their first call and tried to be the one to do the explanation, when they were sent to Camp, rather than giving the job to a satyr or her ex-lovers.
He wasn't like Ares either, who tried to at least meet them once, to understand what they were made of.

Hell, even Dionysus spent more time with his mortal children.
(Probably because Dionysus had children with mortals once every lifetime, and in the meantime Apollo could make a rabbit feel inadequate.)

If he had to be honest- yes, Apollo was pretty absent.
They all were, but Apollo was more on the never-even-meeting-them side.

And- visiting Camp?
And their Father's rule, which made it forbidden for them to be too much in contact with their children? They all had their ways of get around one of Zeus' most stupid rule, but doing it so blatantly?
Ares was surprised that Apollo hadn't been turned human a fourth time. Or gotten struck by the Bolt.

Their uncle was staring at Apollo with the strangest expression on his face when a tall boy with long, dark hair that curled at the end sat down next to Will Solace without uttering a word.
In a second he had one leg over Solace's lap, and had stolen his fork to start eating the tomatoes on his plate. Gracie shot up, straighter than ever, and lighted up. Quite literally, since her skin started glowing weakly.

"Nico!" she exclaimed, and this Nico have her a small smile. "Where's Hazel?"

"She wanted to be here, but she's very busy," was the answer "Nico" gave, after swallowing his food.
He glanced at them, and stopped to stare at Ares' t-shirt for a long second.
"Glad the sizes were alright. It was hard and boring to decipher Will's twenty-seven directions and notes about your measures."

Kayla threw a little ball of bread at him. "Stop whining. Where did you disappear to last night?"

"I ate at the Big House- and went to see what was going on with the Argo II and Valdez." He looked at them again, frowning. "What were your names?"

The introduction was as boring as ever, and Ares almost laughed when he offered a short "Nico di Angelo".
If everyone knew about the Graces, of the girl turned into a pine and the toddler abandoned in the forest and eaten alive by monsters (but not really), everyone knew about the Di Angelos.

A woman, Hades' lover, and their two children with her, all killed by Zeus a few days after Apollo's Oracle had prophesied the end of Olympus at the hands of a child of the Big Three. They'd been hit by his sacred Bolt in their home in Italy, without hesitation or a warning, together with all of Zeus' mortal children under the age of sixteen.
The only difference was that if Zeus was ready to kill his mortal kids in a stupid attempt to stop a prophecy from coming true, Hades was not- and Zeus had struck down Hades' kids.
Everyone knew why his uncle had not only cursed the oracle, but also indirectly killed Zeus' daughter- Thalia?

And the boy wasn't dead- was he made immortal?
Seventy years had gone by and he looked like a teenager. Had Hades turned his brats immortal to keep Zeus from killing them?

This made him smile like a little kid in front of candies.
No one, no one, could force his Father to lose his temper like his siblings. It was their favourite hobby, but something like this?
Oh, the King of the Sky must have been mad as hell.
Ares hoped to get a strange demigod dream and see his reaction.

Artemis frowned.
"You aren't a son of Apollo."

"You say?"

Zeus, he had uncle's sassy attitude.

"Why are you here then?"

"My doctor wrote me a note."

"So it's enough for him to write a note and everyone can sit where they like?"

Nico Di Angelo had finished cleaning Will Solace's plate, and Solace put a hand on the knee that Hades' son had thrown on his lap.
"No. But unlike most, my father doesn’t get upset just because I eat at a table that isn’t his. And he likes Will."

"Don’t lie, your father's too busy to hate me or like me. Or form an opinion on my person."

"Well, he thinks you’re funny," granted Di Angelo.

"Like a particularly small and stupid puppy," added Kayla.

Will Solace didn't get offended and filled his plate again without complaining, and he and his boy went on eating with a disgustingly romantic casualty that would have made Aphrodite cry.

"What about Yan?" the taller asked, looking at the empty seat with a frown.
"They're landing tomorrow.
"Uh- any problem?"
"Their mother, as always, but they managed to get on the flight."
"I could've gone there and helped them out."
"That woman would've shot you on sight thinkin' you a demon."

Will was amused, but then he saw something behind them that made his smile freeze. He kissed his boyfriend's cheek and got up- almost running away. Ares turned to look where he'd sprinted to, eyes reduced to slits.

Jason Grace, the half-brother who should have been dead and wasn't (Aphrodite was ecstatic about it, and she'd said that he had to be a descendant of hers- Ares could understand why, seeing him), took one of Will Solace's hands between his as he spoke, not to hold it but to study it with all the attention of a scientist.

He started to unwrap the bandages, and what he saw underneath them made his face harden in an expression that was both angry and shattered.
Will Solace said something that made him even angrier, and he was fast to cover up the skin again.
Ares would have been disappointed if the thing he was hiding ended up being some scar the kid didn't like. He didn't like all the secrecy.

A hand went to his wrists, food forgotten, and he started to rub the too-smooth skin.

"What's up with that one?" he asked without thinking about it, when Jason Grace stormed out of the pavilion, walking like someone was lighting up a fire beneath his feet.

"Well, he and Will haven't talked ever since they came back from their quest, two months ago." Austin winced. "It wasn't pretty for anyone, even if they were successful."

"That's why he looks like a mummy."

"Tell me when you find out champ," muttered Kayla.

Ugh, secrecy.

What was there to hide or complain about, if they'd succeeded?

Will Solace sat back down, face grim.

"What about the dragon?" inquired Hades, looking at his son.

Who looked weirded out that the new kid/stranger was talking with him, but answered all the same.
"Faestus. He's Valdez's dragon. At first he was a dragon, then he got destroyed and Valdez used it make the Argo II while secretly rebuilding him, during the Seven's quest. And now he's a dragon."

"The Seven's quest. Of course. What's that?"

Ares focused on what they were saying, drinking a sip of water from his glass as he looked at his nails.
It was the first time anyone had asked something so directly, maybe scared of being suspicious.

(It would've been more suspicious to act like they already knew everything.)

"Seven demigods fought against Gaea- uh, she's basically the-" "They already know the myths." "-Good, so yeah, there was another Gigantomachy and Gaea tried to kill us all, but the two Camps joined forces and we managed to beat her."

His uncle was pale- not as shaken as he'd been when they'd learned about Kronos, but still shaken.

Ares' brain finally registered what the brat had just said.

His hands tightened into two fists, and all the calm and excited curiosity he'd felt that morning disappeared at the mere thought of-
Giants.

Dionysus had yet to turn three-thousand, and Dionysus had fought with them in his mortal body, back when the first Gigantomachy had happened.
As a demigod he'd proven his worth, helping them defeat their banes, and- they'd defeated them.

Nobody could understand like him that resentment like the one Mother Earth felt couldn't go extinct, and that her waking could shake Olympus at its roots.
He'd been naive.

"You- beat her."

"Yeah. Faestus took her high in the sky once we managed to separate her from the ground, Piper made her fall asleep so that she took on a human, vulnerable form, and Leo blew her up. Lots of other things had to be done, of course, and like- every god had to help us, but we're still alive and kicking."

Ares barely heard his words.
It was- absurd. What- what wasn't absurd, of all the things the son of Hades had said? What of it was reasonable?
Make Gaea fall asleep? Gaea was the earth, she had no vulnerable physical forms, she was the ground where Ares walked every day since his birth, the same ground where their table rested, an explosion couldn't kill her. How could they have helped the demigods in defeating her?
There wasn't a logic that Ares could follow, and if they'd managed to make him search for a logic explanation then things were really bad.

"It's impossible."

Nico Di Angelo regarded his father with cold eyes.
"Since it happened, it isn't. Unless you're an expert on the matter- I'd let you talk, in that case- but I doubt you are," was his only answer.

"You'd be surprised," his father replied, the mirror image of the boy's icy demeanor.

The son of Apollo hit the boy's shoulder with his elbow before he could answer, shooting him a worried look, but the other acted like he hadn't seen anything.

"Don't talk about things that have nothing to do with you."

"Alright, Nico, don't-"

Hades was livid, and an angry Uncle Hades was always a spooky thing to see.
"You want to believe that your lot overpowered a primordial being so easily?"

And that was the wrong thing to say, because Nico Di Angelo looked ready to jump over the table to jump his father and maybe punch him in the face.
His "How dare-" was interrupted by Will Solace, who took him by the wrist and dragged him away without saying another word.

The silence that followed was a little awkward.

Kayla Knowles broke it.
She faced Hades stone-faced.
"If we hadn't won there wouldn't be a Camp, or gods, and we wouldn't be here to tell the tale, obviously. We sacrificed a lot and we almost lost everything, so maybe don't say things like that. And not in front of Nico, or he'll break your arm and no one will blame him."

With all the dignity of the world the King of the Underworld stood up and walked away- the right thing to do, since even Gracie The Smallest Brat was looking disappointed.
Ares couldn't sense their anger, and he couldn't fuel it with a single thought.

He was happy that there was no need. Happiness was a good distraction.

Ares, once again, wished to have his spear, and his body.

He spent the rest of the meal touching his wrists, unable to stop himself from looking for scars that were no longer there.

——

Chapter Text

HOW TO BE A HUMAN BEING: Camp Half-Blood

——

day five: HERMES

Hermes had a good relationship with Dionysus.
They had a lot in common, first of all their age. Hermes was older, but just a few hundred years, and together they were the youngest amongst Zeus' counselors.
They also both lacked their relatives' tendency to try their mightiest to keep themselves at a certain distance from the mortals.

Hermes and Dionysus, for similar reasons, were very close to mortals.
Hermes had tried, over the centuries, to be more like Apollo or their uncles and aunts and learn how to keep in contact with mortals without getting too close, to keep some distance emotionally.

He'd never been good at it.

(Apollo was good, but less than others. His was a self-destructive behavior, since the few times he tore down the walls he'd built to love someone the right way that love became obsession and the loss ended up taking away a part of his soul.)

Hermes was the messenger of the gods, but he was also Olympus' unofficial handyman- and their best link to the outside world.
He was the one who gave plausible explanations to the mortals when their particular type of strange event happened, he was the one who mediated for his family, he was the one to keep them up to date.
Every year, during the Solstice, it was Hermes who gave a full report about the new brilliant devilry the human mind had birthed, because sometimes even gods took vacations and spent months unaware about what was going down on earth.

Something that every, every, Hermes wanted to repeat every god had done at least once in his three thousand years, and something that Hermes found distasteful at best.
 It wasn't envy.
He didn't mind watch over humanity and see how it progressed and evolved, but he thought it was illogical to whine about a world that wouldn't stop changing if one didn't follow up by trying to understand how and why it was changing yet again.

Hermes saw the world change, and he ardently loved humans because of it. He was constantly close to them, and not one day was like the one before.
There was no boredom, when you were the messenger of the Gods.

Dionysus could see into the mortals' minds with a terrific clarity.
He could destroy and heal their psyche, he could play with it as much as he wanted to and his skill in doing each thing made him famous everywhere on Olympus.

(Hermes could still remember that time Poseidon had asked for Dionysus' help, a rare thing since the lord of the waves hated to be in any kind of debt with anyone- and to speak with any of his brother's kids in all honesty- because a mortal son of his had gone crazy, and everyone remembered how Dionysus hadn't asked for any kind of payment for healing the boy who'd gone on to live a long, satisfying life and die with white hair, surrounded by his family, knowing that he had the gratitude of one of Olympus' most powerful.
And he remembered how he'd driven crazy a child of Apollo, who'd dared to kill two of his rare mortal daughters after dishonoring them in the public square.
That boy had died in the most painful way possible, and when his heart had stopped beating not even the most brave creature would have ventured into his mind, torn to shreds as it was.
He remembered it, everyone remembered it.

Dionysus saw society change, and he watched as human kind stayed the same, and he loved them.

His dominion was so tied to humans that the idea of separating from them was… surreal.

Dionysus understood Hermes, and if there was someone with whom Hermes could speak without waiting for the first chance to escape during the Winter Solstice, that someone was Dionysus.

And still, still, Hermes was the reason behind the death of his son.

Hermes knew that Dionysus had spent the last few years with his mortal family, and that he'd had more than one son with his lover.

Ariadne herself had told Hermes, when he'd flown to her palace to catch up.

The immortal princess had never cared much about having to share her husband with a mortal partner, every fifty years or so.
Dionysus had been ready to give up on his immortality to avoid losing her, and even after thousands of years he would have done it in a heartbeat, which did help Ariadne in having faith when it came to him and their marriage- maybe the only sane, decent marriage on all Olympus.

(One of the many reasons why their sweet step-mother hated Dionysus with a burning passion.
Once they were talking just about that, and Dionysus had smiled, lying on a bed covered with velvet sheets and furs- maybe a few decades before the fall of Rome and the Empire, and said that Olympus would have been a much more peaceful place if the goddess had "loved her brats as much as she hated other people's", which had punched a startled laugh out of Hermes.)

It wasn't rare for Ariadne to be introduced to her stepchildren.

It was rare for Dionysus to spend so much time with his mortal kids, but something about the twins had been different.

And now it was obvious that one of them was dead, had died while Dionysus was the Director of Camp Half-Blood, while he was supposed to watch over them and protect them.

There had been talk of titans, of a war, of a near demise of Olympus, of giants and of Gaea, and they'd been hit by shocking new from all sides, and the only thing Hermes had been able to think about was Luke- Luke, his son, his dear Luke, small and already too tired.

Two days since the Romans had arrived, and the son of Poseidon- who'd told them about his son before they met him, all excited and happy like he wasn't admitting to breaking a vow made to the Father of the Gods, and on the Styx- had talked about Luke.

Luke, who'd come to hate Hermes to the point of doing something so terrible.

The first Hermes had done, in his mind, was feeling the anger in his chest, the one towards his brother, grow into waves of dreadful rage. It wasn't enough for his beloved Mary to have been deprived of her mind by his Oracle, no, his brother had always known that Luke would die.
Because Apollo had been the one to tell him with cold pity that Luke would be a hero. He'd skipped the part where Luke allied himself with their evil grandfather Kronos to kill them all.
To destroy Hermes, to destroy his own father.

Then he'd turned around, and found Apollo looking at Percy Jackson with sorrow in his eyes (a pain that Hermes could see as clear as the sky because Apollo was his brother-), and he'd ignored the rising anger.

He hadn't diverted it towards anyone else, but he'd kept the warm and sickening feeling deep in his chest, because he couldn't think of someone to be pissed off at.

He couldn't hate Apollo, because Hermes had known him for too long and knew him too well: so many times he'd seen Apollo be blamed for the prophecies of his Oracles, as if they were responsible for the future they were blessed and cursed to see, and so many times he'd thought of the ones blaming Apollo as irrational.
Could he be angry at Apollo for not telling him about Luke, when he'd already let all of his anger out on him when Mary had gone crazy and not even Dio had been able to do anything?

He couldn't hate his son either.
Not Luke. Never Luke.

In the end, that sick warmth burned Hermes, as it should've been.
Who else had to pay, if not him?

Luke, the son who'd betrayed him, but that he'd betrayed first? His family, Olympus as a whole? The Titans? No, none of them. He could feel the answer on the tip of his tongue, pounding inside of his brain, flowing in his veins in the midst of blood and ichor.

In a way, Dio ended up being the answers, as he so often was.

Because of this Hermes stopped leaving his side, and his little brother accepted his presence without blinking twice, and he tried talking to him only once.

Luke was to blame for the death of his son. Did Hermes have that life on his conscience too? Was Dio blaming him? Did Dio realise it?

He asked him, the night of their fourth day as humans, almost twenty-four hours after that terrible meeting with the Head-Counselors of Camp Half-blood, and Dio just looked at him, for a bit.
He didn't have his eyes anymore, those violet irises that could read the soul of Earth's most strong and private individual, but Hermes felt the urge to hide anyway, to curl up to escape from the violent emotions in his chest.
"No. I- it's not your fault. I don't know the whole story, but no. It's not your fault."

Hermes smiled weakly.
"I think it is."

He knew he was guilty. He could feel it in his bones. He could feel the guilt melting into his chest and sip into every corner of his body. Everything was more- painful.
Hermes wasn't a kind creature- he'd done bad things, he'd been cruel, but he'd always acted as fair as he could when it came to his family. He'd hurt them when they'd hurt him, he'd gotten his revenge, but he'd never been one to make the first move.
Never, in more than three millennia, he'd gated them enough to actively do his best to make them hurt.

Luke was his family- but Luke had almost destroyed Olympus.

He couldn't accept it.

How could he still be a god, respected and immortal and blessed, when his actions had had such disastrous consequences?
His father had punished them for lesser crimes, and with a malice that Hermes rarely understood, that scared him on his worst days.
What- what had happened to him?
(And could he have called it malice, in that case?)

Dionysus stared at him in silence, and said nothing, but his eyes didn't leave him all evening.

And Hermes couldn't sleep.

He laid down, closed his eyes, and tried- he tried, and tried, but every time he started to feel his eyes grow heavy he thought of his son, and Perseus Jackson's words, and the hate in his own father's words when he'd talked about Luke, the look in his eyes when he'd looked at Hermes- and he thought, what if I see him?
He didn't know what he would do, if he were to fall asleep only to see Luke die- or Luke with the Titan.
If he were to wake up with his eyelids tainted by the image of his son, grown, controlled, his body inhabited by a wickedness that Hermes couldn't even imagine- he didn't know it he would've been able to get out of his bed, or keep himself from throwing up what he'd forced himself to eat.

So he didn't sleep.

He got up.

The Cabin was- empty.
It looked empty, if compared to when he'd last seen it, every surface available occupied by his children, by unclaimed, by children of the minor gods.

(Hermes always knew who was who's kid.
The last time he's had a chat with Hecate she's looked at the sky with hatred, and said that his son Travis was a good friend to one of her girls, and that she was grateful for it but wished deep in her heart for her sweet ones to have a Cabin of their own.
Hecate had a Cabin now.
They'd needed a second Titanomachy to give her one.)

Now, only six beds were occupied.

There was Mark, seventeen years old and the vibes of someone who didn't want anything to do with braggarts and dilly-dalliers, and he wasn't the Cabin Counselor despite being the oldest. He had a mean right hook, he shaved his head every two weeks and this always pissed off Kyle, two years younger and not a toddler anymore, who had mentioned finding Mark's hair everywhere at least four times in the few days they'd known each other.

Then there were Alicia and Julia, who in three days had made references to every musical Apollo and Dio had forced him to watch, and who had something to say about every fellow demigod (from insults to compliments to downright outrageous gossip), and who acted like they couldn't possibly live another day if they didn't laugh about someone's life.
They'd both gotten off well with Demeter ever since the goddess had slapped a son of Tyche who'd started flirting with her in a rather irritating way.

Then Alice, nine years old, a printer copy of Hermes, who kept on blushing every time Poseidon smiled at her (and his uncle looked more uncomfortable than ever, forced to interact with such a young kid), and who kept on being kidnapped by her older sisters to go on mysterious excursions that probably consisted of doing something they weren't supposed to.

And then there was Connor.

Hermes got up, ignored the look his aunt shot him (he wasn't surprised that he wasn't the only one who couldn't sleep) and walked out of the Cabin.

He closed the door on his way out, and the cold wind hit the naked skin of his arms, making him shiver as he turned around to find his son who was already watching him, eyebrows raised and a curious glint in his eyes.

Connor was sitting on the steps that led to the pathway- lying more than sitting. He was balanced on his elbows and when he looked at Hermes his head was downwards.
His curls were messier than seemingly possible.

"Don't walk past that line," he said, pointing at the white line drawn on the grass, seven feet from the door, "Or the Harpies will try to eat us."
The light of the Greek fire torches on the sides of the scales was illuminating them both, and Hermes stood still.
Connor straightened his neck and turned to look at him, and moved his head to point at the empty space at his side.
"I don't bite, y'know?" he joked when Hermes didn't move, and only then the god chose to appease him.

Hermes stayed quiet, and Connor quit staring at him. He moved his eyes to the empty space in front of them, what Hermes supposed the boy was doing before his own arrival.
 Following his son's gaze, his eyes landed on the fire burning at the center of the omega shape formed by the twenty cabins. It was dedicated to his aunt Hestia, and it burned alive and bright, regardless of the problems afflicting them, always ready to sooth them.

There weren't clouds, and the crescent in the sky was a pale grey figure in the dark, the stars shining happily far from the artificial lights of the city: there were no skyscrapers and street lamps around them, only endless fields and the natural brightness of fire.
The stars shone.
There were some he didn't recognize. He wondered who they were.

In spite of everything, the silence wasn't uncomfortable.
The boy hadn't looked like someone who could do this: simply be, quietly and without moving, and there he was.
It almost scared him.

He for one wasn't good at silence and sitting.
He interrupted the silence.
"I… had a dream."

Connor hummed.
"Demigod dream?"

Hermes didn't feel guilty about lying, not even to his son- he was the god of liars, and lies were most of the times the best way to find hidden truths. Lies were part of his soul, lying was the first thing he'd done as soon as he could talk.
And he had to know.

"A boy." He pushed through the pain in his chest. Luke would have been twenty-six if he hadn't died. Hermes would have met him, probably. He would have been an adult, a grown man, and he would have lived in the mortal world, far from monsters and quests and his father. "Who lived here."

"Let me guess," his voice was light "Huge scar on his face, blonde hair, a smile that could blind you?"
Hermes didn't answer. Huge scar. Luke had no scars.
But he had his mother's smile.
"It was Luke, probably. My brother, traitor and hero, yada yada."
Traitor and hero. How can these two things be put together, one next to the other? Are they as important as the other? What title outweighs the other?
"You can't sleep anymore, uh? I'm sorry bud, don't think too much about it."

How could he not think about it- how could he focus on anything else?
He tried to think about a face just like Pollux's, Dionysus' only living son, a face that would forever stay young, belonging to a child of only twelve years.
Moments later he could only see his son's face again.

Scared by one of Mary's episodes.
Disappointed after yer-another holiday spent with a mother that burst out crying at the sight of his face, who gripped him by the shoulders and started wailing like a cursed soul about the terrible death he would one day meet, a day that was closer that her son thought.
Angry for another birthday spent hiding in his closet, his bedroom's door locked, a woman who screamed bloody murder about how close it was.

It was hard to think about the few times he'd seen him smile, laugh, with Hermes' half sister and the daughter of Athena, with his siblings.
It was impossible.
There was only space for pain.

"How is it possible that he was both?" he asked, and the words tumbled out of his mouth before he could stop them.

Connor looked at him, brows furrowed, head tilted.
Hermes cursed in his head, and got ready to be ignored, or reprimanded, or to see Connor get up and walk away, but the mortal didn't react badly.
He thought it over.

"I don't know, you know?" he replied, voice kept low, "Well, I know. Kronos was defeated thanks to him, and he was the hero of the prophecy. We would've all died if it wasn't for him."
Hermes felt that "but" hover above them like Damocles' sword.
"But he betrayed us, all of us. It's his fault if so many of us died."

Hermes lowered his head.
He let his elbows rest on his knees, and looked up at Connor. He started playing with the air on the back of his neck, with the dark, knotted curls.
He pulled them.
"I thought it was the gods' fault. Or something like this."

Connor kept on looking at him, for a few more second. He wasn't tense, and his voice was still light.
(How much it had taken him, to be able to do it? To think about Luke, and stay so calm?)
 "Sure. But each of us had to choose between the… love we feel for our siblings and other demigods and all the hate and- anger we have inside of us, when it comes to our parents. Luke made his choice, like I did mine, and he chose that destroying our father was worth killing us. And I'll never forgive him for it."

And Hermes shouldn't have been surprised.
 Perseus Jackson had talked about Luke with respect, almost, and there had been no anger in his words, but Hermes couldn't expect everyone else to be as forgiving of his son as Perseus.
But at least of his son, of one of Luke's brothers, he'd expected better.
He wasn't surprised by the disappointment, and the anger, that grew in his chest with every word said by the mortal.

"I doubt things were that easy and simple for him," he hissed, closing his hands in two fists, eyes staring at the grass in front of them, heart burning.
Luke had reached his limits for a reason, and the fault wasn't his, but Hermes', never Luke's- and anger, anger, now directed towards one Connor Stoll.

When the silence grew longer, and heavier, and Hermes felt a pair of eyes weight on his body, he finally raised his head.

He was as tall as his son, even if Connor's body was older, but he felt small.
Not bigger than the little ant that, had Hermes been in his immortal body, Connor would've been in the face of his power and strength.
Insignificant.

His anger suddenly felt insignificant, when compared to the cold rage in the boy's eyes.

"Things weren't easy for anyone. Luke was unlucky, but nothing can justify what he did."
The air grew colder, and even Hestia's fire seemed to wilt.
(If their new mortal status was a punishment, he wasn't surprised that Hestia, the best of them, wasn't in the same state. But he would've paid any price just to have a chance to talk with her.)
"And a dream doesn't give you the right to have an opinion about it- you don't know Luke, and you don't know the people who fought and died. You don't know my father. If you want to stand up for someone you never even met then go do it with the harpies, they'll find your company more amusing than I do."

The conversation ended there.

Hermes stayed there, a little frozen as he watched the other, and then he got up and went back in his bed.

He didn't see Connor do the same.
Hermes knew he never did, because he spent most of the night lying awake.
He finally managed to fall asleep around three, and he woke up after four hours to find out that the boy's bed was still untouched.

The confirmation came later, when at breakfast he saw Connor sitting next to Dio's boy, Dio himself on his other side, busy arguing about something with Chiron, the centaur's eyebrows so high they were about to disappear behind his hairline.
No one bat an eye at seeing them.

Hermes didn't dare ask.
He wasn't feeling guilty.
He didn't know what he was feeling.
"Where did he sleep?"

Kyle asked a confused "Uh?" before following Hermes' gaze to Connor's sitting choice. "Maybe at Pollux's. Or at the Big House. Or maybe with Will. But I think the Big House, since he's sitting with Mr D."

Mark was the one who looked at all of them, siblings and not, and bark out "Alright, who pissed him off?".

Demeter blinked, confused, and her "What are you saying?" was shadowed by Julia's loud "Don't look at me!".
Alicia was quick to shake her head, and Kyle gave Mark a betrayed look.
"I spent the day with you, when would I've found the time to piss him off?"

Even Alice, little Alice, didn't hesitate to answer with a cheerful "Not me!" as she peeled an orange.

Mark shot the four ex-gods an hostile look.
He didn't like them a lot, but he'd made an effort for Connor who'd asked all his siblings to behave- in front of the "newcomers", just after introducing them.
"So?"

"I have no care for your brother's ever changing moods," was Demeter's only answer.

She'd spent the last few days shooting glares to the Head-Counselor every time he did something she didn't like- which was very, very often. But it looked like her reactions only motivated the boy do keep on acting that way, if only to irritate her, even if there was no malice behind his actions, at least nothing that Hermes could detect.
Not that the goddess cared.

Mark scowled, and before he could curse at her Hermes jumped in.
"We talked," he admitted, re-directing his son's angry eyes at himself.

Julia leaned in over the table, her half-covered in butter toast in one hand.
"About what? No, wait, let me guess. Manhattan? Our father? Luke?"

Hermes sweated a bit, with everyone's eyes on him.
"…All of them, I think?"

The expression on their faces would have been funny in another situation, and Alicia's desperate groan didn't even sound forced. It sounded like a noise born out of genuine, well, desperation.

"Why, newbie?" she cried, "Of all the topics-"

"Come one dude." Even Kyle was shaking his head. "Not cool."

"How could I know what topics I had to stay away from?" he burst out.

Julia blinked, looking at him like he was a particularly dumb kid.
"You think that talking about our dead brother, who went mad before dying and tried to kill us all, that brother- was a smart choice?"
Hermes barely reined himself in, his first instinct having been to just say what he'd told Connor.
He pushed down that frantic need to protect his son.

Poseidon saw his hand curl in a tight fist over the table, knuckles white like clouds, and he jumped in.
"It looked like you have a good relationship with… your father."

Hermes thought back to how Connor had defended him to the other half-bloods, convinced that Hermes wouldn't have made the same mistake again, and then Julia barely bit back a snort, and almost chocked on her food, barely keeping her toast in her hold.
Like she'd never heard something that ridiculous.

Alicia slapped Julia's shoulder and the latter laughed a little more, the toast finally falling down, butter against grass. Then she shrugged.

"Well, things used to be easier, 'cause Connor didn't give a damn about him. Like, had our dad stopped existing out of the blue, let's pray he never does, Connor wouldn't have thrown a party but he wouldn't have cried himself to sleep over it either. Just like our dad wouldn't have cared that much if one of us had a stroke and died on the spot. Let's pray we never do," she was quick to repeat, like the alternative was seeing Connor drop dead because of a stroke.

Hermes didn't move, unable to look away from his daughter.

(Julia, who'd somehow stolen her mother's car last month, despite being barely five years old and the size of a small dog. Whose mother had cursed Hermes with such bright, violent words that he hadn't been able to stop laughing for hours.)

"But I think they talked recently, and finally. Our uncle's being some sort of mediator, but it's not easy. But, yeah, it's still better not to bring him up. Try not to," she pointed her new toast at Hermes, as she picked up a knife with her free hand.

Maybe he should've thought about some kind of reply.

Had one of his children dropped dead right there and then, he would have cared.
Even Alice, a daughter he didn't know- that he hadn't conceived yet, whom he only knew as a sweet little girl who liked strawberries, oranges and the color brown.
She was his daughter, and they were his kids.
They were his children.

(Our uncle?)

"I think your father would care, if one of you were to die."

Alicia sent Demeter a strange look.
"Ugh, they should've explained how things work a little more... thoroughly."

"This happens when you let Will deal with these things," joked Julia.
Kyle hid a laugh as Mike reprimanded her harshly, and she did look a little guilty.

Even Alicia looked sorry, and her voice grew serious.
"Look." Demeter visibly held back a grimace, hating how they talked to her, but it seemed she was slowly starting to accept it as part of their new, hopefully momentary new lives. Hermes was proud of her.
"They're our parents, and while they're pretty important to us, 'cause we only have two of 'em usually, they tend to have one kid every three years. You get how it just doesn't compare? It's better not to think too much about the fact that most of them are too busy to even just say "hi" from time to time- and you only have to wait a few years, until you leave Camp and get to live far from quests and monsters. And gods."

Connor said something that made Pollux laugh, and Pollux whispered something in his father's ear. Dio looked at the son of Hermes like he was a really ugly bug he wanted to crush under his foot. Then he elbowed Chiron's side, maybe repeating what he'd been told, and Chiron smiled, an amused little thing that made Pollux grin.

Hermes forced himself to look away from them, and in front of him Kyle looked uncomfortable. He was frowning as he looked down to his plate, and when he raised his head he shot his sister a glare.

Mike sighed, tired, and Alicia rolled her eyes.
"What, now?"

"Don't put strange ideas into their heads. They'll figure out what to think about their divine parents, and you won't try to influence them with your- your extremist rhetoric."

Kyle's shoulder relaxed at his brother's words, and he started eating again.

"Don't call me an extremist-"

"You are one Al."

"Both of you, stop-"

Hermes made himself to stop listening.
They were saying things that- Mark had called her an extremist. There was a name now, for what Alicia was? How many campers were like her? How many of them were like Luke? And then, he felt a shiver run down his spine. How many of them had joined Kronos, how many had been forgiven and were now walking among them without knowing their real identity?
Was Alicia one of them? Mark? Will Solace, who'd welcomed them with a warm smile and an attitude so firm and familiar that Hermes had managed to calm himself down even in the midst of a sort of panic attack?
He didn't want to think about it. He didn't want to.

Connor was getting up, and walking towards them, where Alicia, Julia and Mark looked ready to start a fight right on their table, and he did it just to tell them "Good morning!" and that they had another thirty minutes to wrap up breakfast. Then he left again, to the Apollo's children's table this time.

He didn't spare Hermes a glance, and Hermes avoided looking at him, and Dio touched his calf with his foot from under the table, face serious.

He ignored him, of course.

He could already hear him.
"A few minuted without me and you mess things up so badly," he was probably thinking. "You make one of your kids hate you and find out that the others hate you even more."

He could even imagine those words being said by Dio's mortal body, by that voice so different from his own- sarcastic and amused and judging in the most extreme, insulting and funny way.

He saw Dionysus, Director of Camp Half-Blood, keep on cursing something as a grinning Pollux stared at him lazily, and he wondered why the hell was his son so close to his brother, to the point that sleeping in the Big House and eating at Dio's table calmed him down.
 Dio was usually the first volunteer when it came to piss of other people, especially demigods and especially heroes. Connor, Hermes didn't know if he was a hero, but he was a demigod, and not the kind of calmly chaotic person whose company his brother preferred over anything else.
No, Connor was- way too exuberant for someone like Dio.
Why then?

Hermes and Dio's good relationship couldn't be the only reason.

Zeus, Connor had tens of bottle of wine (made in some farm from Virginia, Connor had wanted to clarify that it was very good) stashed under his bed that he'd been hiding in his Cabin for years, wine that he sacrificed to Dionysus in their aunt's fire. Years. Ever since he was ten.

What use could Dio have of a ten years old boy?
Maybe he'd had a three decades long affair with one of his daughters, two centuries before, a dryad with whom he'd had no children, but Dio had standards- and limits. A ten years old demigod? No, he wouldn't have believed that even after seeing them with his own eyes.

Connor had disappeared three times already, four if one included that night, and he'd always gone to the Big House.

(It was obvious that Dionysus was a fixture in his life.
Hermes had tried asking him, and his brother had muttered a desperate "I'm more confused than you"- because Dionysus hated heroes, and demigods in general, just like he hated most of their parents, so- why?
It was one thing hearing it, another seeing it.)

When, after half an hour, they met Connor in front of Hestia's heart, which shined brighter than usual and almost blinded Hermes, Hermes was so confused he barely trusted himself to behave normally.

Luke, the titans, his children, the giants and Hera, Luke- and the boy wanted them to focus on their little stay in the forges?

Dionysus refused to even enter them, and Connor didn't force them, shrugging and admitting freely that the forges weren't for everyone, and he did the same with Demeter.

Poseidon chose to walk in, only to poke around: their uncle wasn't letting their weird situation influence him too much, and how could he be anything close to sad?
His son was the savior of Olympus, and he defied the gods with an audacity that spoke about his usefulness, and about how much Poseidon cared for and protected him. About how not only Poseidon looked after him, from the height of Olympus.
 Poseidon's son hadn't woken up a titan from his deep slumber to kill his own father.

The forges were hot, and Connor said it was obvious they weren't a product of Hepheastus' love making (to quote him), which was a pity because his kids "always get the most funds, Chiron doesn't want to admit it's because he had to pay back uncle".
He'd said it showing that habit that was all theirs, of the demigods: referring to the gods who weren't their parents with terms like "aunt", or "grandma", or "cousin".

They stopped by a series of tall buildings made of large blocks of white marble and light-colored wood, which Chiron had already explained were used to host lessons and give freedom to the kids' creativity: Arts and Crafts, he'd called it, and Hermes had understood what Chiron had meant when he'd seen a little girl drag a cube of chalk bigger than her inside one of the entrances.
Connor guided them in, even if they wouldn't have to follow the lessons held there but only the ones taught at the Pavilion every Thursday, and took them to a room so beautiful that it almost took his breath away.

Like the building wasn't enough on its own, with its high ceilings and large windows painted with soft shades of yellow, green and light-blue, there were tens of young demigods scattered everywhere, busy painting, sculpting or modeling for the others.

A girl jumped to her feet from where she was busy working on the feet of what was obviously a statue of Apollo- an Apollo that echoed light even if it was made of marble, youthful face and harsh, burning eyes, stuck in an expression of rage as scorching as the surface of the sun.
 Next to it there were three other statues, human-sized, covered and hidden by white cloths.

She threw herself on Connor, looping and arm over his shoulders with enough strength to make him stagger. Demeter had to straighten him up before he could fall on the dust-covered ground.

She wasn't very tall, and her black hair had been cut rather poorly, but she somehow still looked good. Her eyes were the grey ones that were never missing in Athena's little clones.

"Stranger!" She gave them a curious look. "New-comers! Wanna try? Uh, what a wonderful bone structure." She smiled, staring at Demeter like they were the only people in the room. "Do you have a free evening? Even just a sketch would be great."

For the first time in almost five days Demeter looked not even a bit annoyed. In fact, the look in her eyes as she looked at the statue of her nephew was one full of admiration, a rare thing for the old goddess.
She didn't advert her eyes from it.
"Your work is impressive. I would be honored to be drawn by your talented hands."

The mortal girl blinked, her whole face darkened and she smiled like she'd just won millions at the lottery.
"The honor's all mine. Would later be ok with you? Or tomorrow. Or whenever you want," she added quickly. "Your friends can come, if you want to."

"I'd rather not."

Connor's chocked giggled could be heard even over the noises made by the drill that someone was using next door- by the smallest teenager ever, who was working on the same block of chalk that Hermes had seen the girl move around back when Chiron had shown them around.

"I wrap up the tour and she's yours," he promised. Then he moved, exclaiming "What a bedroom you've got there", and Hermes noticed the mattress thrown in one of the room's angles, put in a way that made it impossible for anyone to notice it, unless they walked in. It was covered in purple duvets.

"Inspiration knows no limits, bro." She made sure no one was near and added. "You have something?"
His son shook his head, and she sighed.
"Damn it, I trusted you. Nothing at all? Something light would work. I'm kind of desperate right now."

Connor thought about it.
"Maybe. But Miri needs more time," he reminded her. He started searching for something in the pockets of his jeans.

"I know," she cried. She light up when Connor took out a small bag, as big as his palm, wrapped in white paper and transparent plastic. She sniffed it, and smiled.
Hermes blinked.
Was that weed?

Before she could talk Connor cut her out.
"First round is free, but you have to organize Alice's study plan."

"Deal. I'd clean your cabin every morning, just to relax for a few hours. Malcolm is going crazy, even tho' punching Mark helped him a lot."

She shot them a look, brows furrowed, but Connor waved his hand.
"They're ok."

"Thank Zeus. Another call and Chiron promised he'd throw me in the lake and make me live with the harpies for a month. Mark's the worst snitch in the world. You want me to roll you one, as a gift?"

Connor shook his head. The boy dealing with the chalk put his hands on his hips, and started staring at it like cracking it would reveal all the secrets of the universe.
"Nah, I have to get back to the Big House and Mr D would tell Chiron just to mess with me."

"He probably invented it.

"Or Demeter."

"Or her daughter. Amen to all three of them." She smiled at them. "Want any?"

Demeter looked at the small bag, intrigued, and Dionysus' eyes were shining with unshed tears of happiness, but Poseidon destroyed their hopes.
"I think it's be best for everyone here to stay sober. But thank you."

"Don't even mention it."
As she turned to Demeter she blushed again.
"Uh, I'm Hoa Luu, nice to meet you. Meet me when you're free, I'm always here- or in Cabin Six, but probably here. Can't wait."

Hoa Luu went back to her statue which Hermes felt was staring at him, so he walked out of Arts and Crafts feeling kid of relieved, as Connor explained to Dio why he would never sell him anything.
"You're way too young, wait for a few years and you'll start giving me your lunch money too."
Not that they had lunch money. Or would stay there for years. He hoped so.
But Dio's heart still broke in two.

Demeter spoke to Connor and for the first time her words lacked contempt or disgust.
"Tell me more, son of Hermes."

And yes, the fact that she kept on calling him that seemed to amuse him a little more every time.

"It's not complicated. It's not regular weed, or Chiron would've worker harder to stop us, but Demeter's kids grow it, we sell, the profit gets split. We fight every year because Miranda keeps on saying that they do all the hard work, even tho' their little side-job wouldn't exist without us. I always tell her that Katie, the old Head-Counsellor, was never this annoying, and she says that it's because she was with my brother Travis- which is ridiculous, since they hated each other at the time. They once tore each other's hair out. In front of everyone, and no one tried to stop them."

Before leaving the boy with the chalk ran out again, and towards the clearing where blocks of every mineral and material were stacked, and then he shouted a high "Chiara!" that made the girl run after him and whine a desperate "Again?".
Always that girl, and Hermes was starting to pity her.

At last they were taken to what Hermes knew was the armory.

A few feet from its door there was a large clearing, surrounded by tall trees and bushes.

"O-kay, I signed you up for the arena every afternoon, from three to five. I know, it's a lot of time, but only this first month. You're too old and your smell is too powerful for you to go around training-less. I hope you're prodigies in this too," he wrapped up his explanation, with a hopeful smile.

They walked in, not before Hermes could see the group of six very young mortals surrounding an almost adult one, half covered in armor and with a sword in his hand he was busy moving in different ways, cutting the air with a delicacy that clashed with his size, while he explained something out loud.
And there were many, many weapons.

Made with iron, yes, but above all in celestial bronze. Enough weapons to arm three times the number of actual campers, and all of excellent quality.

Connor pointed at one of the shelves filled with metal. Hermes noticed with a great amount of amusement that a large one housed lots of shotguns.
"Those are generic weapons, perfect for training. Try to find what works best with you, that you can, like, use without tripping and breaking your nose, and put them there"- he pointed at a cart- "So you'll have them ready for this afternoon. There"- this time he nodded towards a large chest in the farthest corner of the room- "you'll find more… old things, stuff like Odysseus' bow, and you can pick whatever you want. The most important thing is that you don't get killed, we don't care about the rest. I'd tell you to be careful if I thought you were Poseidon's kids, but I doubt that, so- see for yourself."

Once in front of the shelf that housed the 'generic weapons', he stood up on his toes and grabbed one of the handles attached to it.
He pulled it, and each floor expanded, revealing twice as many weapons.
"If you have any trouble we can call one of Athena's kids, they always have a good eye for this stuff. But just do whatever you feel like doing. Try not to cut off any hands or toes."

(Hermes wondered how real, young demigods reacted after being told to just wave around weapons after a lifetime of worldliness.)

He gave a short sword, similar to a Roman gladius, to Dionysus, who took it with a grimace on his face.
Dio probably hadn't held a weapon since he became a god.
He'd hated using them as a demigod, and he hated using them now that he was a god.
However, he knew how to fight with swords and spears with a mastery derived from the need to be able to defend himself, as a mortal at the mercy of immortal and mortal ones alike (even though it hadn't done much good against Hera), and he fought in a way so different from that of a god like Hermes that it was easy to understand who Dio had been before becoming Dionysus.

"You can even work and learn with someone from Cabin Nine, and make your own weapon."
He looked Poseidon up and down, who was the tallest in their midst, and put a long xiphos in his hands, brows furrowed.
"Balanced enough?"
The god raised the sword, and after handling it for a bit he answered "Too heavy".

A shorter xiphos was thrust into his hands. Not a spartan one, made to stab and nothing else, since it was still long enough to properly fight with.
Poseidon looked satisfied, and he put it in the cart, following Connor's directions.

Demeter had grabbed a gladius and put it back shortly after, and now she was deliberating a long two-handed sword, which somehow seemed perfectly balanced to her height and weight.
She was tall, really tall, and perhaps the only one among them whose mortal body didn't look like it belonged to someone who'd never lifted a finger in their life.

The dagger in Dio's hands was shiny.

Hermes stood still, and Connor lightly punched his shoulder. He ignored Hermes' startled look (and the way he flinched).
"Come on bud, you can't be worse than me back when I came here. My brother spent two months trying to teach me how to avoid cutting off my pinky, and look"- he showed Hermes his right hand, where a thick, raised scar ran around the first knuckle of his pinky finger.
"Try a spear too. Or a bow. Kayla will give you private lessons if you want 'em, she loves teaching."

Hermes ended up taking a bow from the pile, its handle covered in what he discovered to be diamond, which did support the entire structure of the weapon. The arrows that came with it were made of that same material.
Connor made a long humming sound.
"Nyssa was experimenting with diamond, and she put everything she made here. Take it, she'd have thrown away anything that wasn't of the highest quality."

Hermes also took a sword, very similar in shape and size to his sword: half celestial bronze and half diamond, Hephaestus himself had given it to Hermes when he'd joined Zeus' Council, in a rare gesture of genuine altruism.
They left the armory. Poseidon was kind enough to help Connor move the cart outside.

Connor's "Ellis!" was loud enough that the young man surrounded by children raised his head. He saw them and asked "Today?".

"Three o'clock."

"You owe me one."

Connor batted his words away like they were flies, and when Dionysus wondered "What do you owe him?" he looked a little guilty.

"Uh, I'm kind of dumping you? Not because I don't want to help you," he pointed out, "at all, but fighting isn't my specialty and Ellis- he's a force to reckon with. There's no one who can teach you better than him, no matter how much he hates it. I asked Percy and Jason to drop by later," he added, as Poseidon straightened up like a dog who'd smelled something interesting in the air, "With them helping out it's sure that no monster will be able to even scratch you."

"This is very… kind of you. Thank you, son of Hermes."
Demeter gazed at him puzzled, as if surprised by his act of kindness, and Hermes couldn't have agreed more with her.

It was kind. It was a bit touching.

Connor blinked, confused.
"Uhh- yeah. Of course. Jason and Percy didn't need me to give them anything back, 'cause they're gentle and altruistic beings, but Ellis will probably make me clean his dirty socks for months. That man knows his worth."
He kept on talking, insulting the son of Ares while hiding compliment after compliment, which said a lot about what was his real opinion on him.

Connor hadn't been distant- the opposite, maybe.

Will Solace had welcomed them, and healed them and guided them in their first, most confusing moments. It had taken them a bit more time to learn that he'd had to fight tooth and claw to stop everyone else for disturbing their rest in the Infirmary, and that he'd quite literally guarded them day and night, since nobody trusted them at all.

And Connor had always been at his side.
It was obvious that the two were friends, and that Connor trusted Will more than anyone else, because Connor hadn't hesitated to welcome them into his Cabin as if they were his blood- the same way the children of Hermes had welcomed unclaimed children into their midst for decades- even if nobody trusted them, not even his real brothers and sisters.

They shouldn't have been surprised, not by now, after all they'd seen.
But they were, and for the first time since the son of Poseidon had said Luke's name Hermes felt his mind slow down and grow quieter. It didn't last long, but the mere feeling of not hurting over Luke for a second shook him.

Ellis shouted a sudden "Take them here!", and Connor gave them an encouraging smile. They started to move towards Ellis, but Connor put his hand on Hermes' shoulder, and tugged at him lightly, to keep him from walking away.
Hermes turned to look at him, a little shocked.

Connor was giving him a strange look, and he let go of his shoulder when Hermes lowered his eyes to look where it had rested.
The skin he'd touched felt warmer, under his t-shirt, and he blinked a few times.
Connor opened his mouth a few times, no words coming out, he frowned and took a big breath in.

"Hey dude, I wanted to say sorry for last night." Hermes stared at him and didn't move. "You get to ask questions, and you should get to do that without me using you to vent my frustration. So, yeah, sorry."

Hermes would have liked to say that it had been the most forced, or heartfelt and honest, satisfying and underwhelming apology he'd ever received, but he hadn't many apologies to compare it to.

So he stayed still as a statue in front of Connor, silent, his throat closed up like the oxygen he'd breathed had chosen to build a barricade in there.
But maybe he stayed still a little too much time, because Connor grew tense and rubbed his neck nervously.
"You don't- uh, you better go or Ellis will kick your ass, but- I didn't make the best impression, so sorry again."

He was repeating himself, like saying sorry was no big thing, and he gave Hermes one last shoulder pat to encourage him to get to Ellis.

Hermes walked in the direction of the son of Ares without thinking, barely grasping what he was saying.
“...not to waste time. Your friend fights with a spear like he was born with it, let's hope you're no different."

He had them positioned on one side, together with the other kids, and he spoke again, but Hermes didn't really hear him, because Hermes felt like everyone had trapped him under a glass bell.

He was an ancient god, and an apology reduced him to this sorry state?
It was probably his mortal body's fault.
And what if, in his three-thousand years of life, he'd received such sincere and heartfelt apologies maybe a few times?
What if nobody Hermes had hurt had ever tried to admit their own blame in the fight- Had Hermes hurt Connor?
He was protecting his son, trying to do what he'd never been able to do, to protect him like he hadn't protected Mary and their family, a family of two that could have thrived without him in the picture. And Connor had- he'd overreacted.
Then why did he feel so guilty.

He didn't like that feeling. At all.

Ellis said something, moved, turned to Demeter, pointing to the sword she had chosen, his face serious and then satisfied with whatever she said back to him, called Dionysus aside, said something to him, and then turned towards Hermes.
He was sure that he wouldn't even be able to answer to the mortal, if he were to speak to him.

It was an unknown, strange torpor. He didn't like it, he didn't like it at all, he wanted to wake up.

His son saved him.

His son Kyle, who was running towards them, small and fast, whose name Connor called worriedly- a worry that quickly spread to all of them, when Kyle got closer and they saw the tears running down his face, the redness of his eyes and the blood on the right sleeve of his orange t-shirt.
He was panting, and he almost hit Connor, who forced him to stop, his hands on the younger boy's shoulders.

"Kyle, what-"

"They told me to make you, Clarisse- she- there was- and he wouldn't stop screaming, and-"

Connor moved his hands to Kyle's cheeks, wiping away his tears with a gentle "Kyle, try to breathe", but he was once again cut short by his brother, who started to frantically move his shaking hands in the air. Ellis ran to their side.

The glass bell was lifted. Hermes could hear everything.

His son's ragged breathing, his lungs tired from the run.
"He was bleeding, and he was so pale, and didn't- Clarisse told me to call you, you have to get to the Big House-"
The words Connor whispered in an attempt to get Kyle to calm down enough to make sense, useless in the face of Kyle's desperation.
"You have to go, Mr D is trying to- Chris was screaming something, Clarisse says that-"
A sharp intake of breath. That name, Chris, repeated, Connor's voice breaking in the middle.
Conno's voice, sharp again, loud over his brother's panicked stuttering.
"Ellis."
The "Go, Stoll", that set Connor free.

Hermes managed to see the terror in Connor's eyes before he started to run. He ran so fast that his mortal eyes could barely follow him. He ran until he disappeared.

Hermes saw Ellis go down on one knee, and try to calm down Kyle, whose tears just wouldn't stop, his sobs the only thing that could be heard.
Then a metallic sound, and the son of Ares undid the straps of his chest-plate.
Hermes could hear them, even more clearly, and he could hear the small gasps of the young demigods behind them.

"Calm down, Artley." He took his hand, put it on his chest, exaggerating every breath. "Breathe with me, alright? Come on, brat."

"But Chris-"

"I know, but you have to breathe, or you'll faint and Stoll will have another mess to deal with- you don't want to make him worry, do you?"

He didn't stop crying, he stiffened even more, but he stopped making any noise. No more struggling breaths, no more devastated sobs, no more murmurs and senseless words.
And he breathed, copying Ellis.
"Good, like this. See? Breathe, brat."
And he breathed.
He kept on crying, quietly.
At one point he stopped that too.

Hermes was looking at them, shell-shocked, with the feeling that hours had gone by.

"Wanna tell me what happened. When did my sister get back?"
His voice was low. Hermes wouldn't called it sweet, but it was- calm.

"Chris isn't feeling good," answered Kyle, eyes red and puffed out. "He was… screaming. And bleeding. And," he lowered his voice, now as loud as a whisper, "Clarisse said he tried to kill himself. She found him just in time."

"But he's still breathing, isn't he?" asked Ellis, gripping Kyle's shoulders. His voice was still controlled, but Kyle became tense again.

"Yes, but- Mr D had healed him- Connor told me, he said Mr D had healed him. That he was fine now. It's been years."

Ellis hesitated.
"Don't worry about it. Your brother's gonna be alright." The blood in Hermes' veins froze. "No one's better than Mr D, right?"

None of his children were called Chris.
He was sure of it.
He wasn't the best father in the world, but he knew when a child of his was born- he knew how many kids he had. This Chris couldn't be younger than ten. He didn't live in Camp Half-Blood, but he had in the past because "Mr D had healed him", and that Clarisse girl was at least twenty, and Dionysus healed the mind, not the body, what did it all-

One of the young demigods who were there with them came forward when Ellis said "Andromeda, get here", a girl that couldn't be much younger than Kyle himself.
"Walk with him to his Cabin. Stay there."

Andromeda nodded, and with furrowed eyebrows she grabbed Kyle's hand and pulled him hard, managing to drag him away like a featherweight despite being way smaller.

Ellis got up, and turned around to look at them.
Despite the encouraging tone of his words to Kyle, his face was dark.

"You", he called the young ones, who were staring wide-eyed, "Get back to your siblings, the lesson's delayed. Don't go around telling what happened, but explain everything to your Counselors. You understand?"
The demigods walked away, one after the other. A lithe girl with red hair was about to start crying, and a boy who looked like her twin took her hand and tugged at it.

Then Ellis looked at them.
"Help me put everything back," he ordered, the warmth disappeared from his voice, his whole body tense and his jaw clenching.

Demeter went to get the short blades laying on the grass, left there by the children, and once she moved they all followed. Hermes refused to meet anyone's gaze.
And Demeter was the one to ask, surprisingly- not that Hermes could read his aunt, but he could bet that she was worried.
"What happened to the son of Hermes?"

Ellis didn't even look at her, as he kept on picking up the arrows that had landed on the grass next to the wooden target.
"Didn't you hear?"

The goddess didn't give up. "I heard perfectly. I don't understand what the things I heard mean."

The muttered "Fuck" that Ellis let out was a good enough explanation. He kept on moving, going to take the cart where the young demigods' weapons had been before the training session. He was doing a piss-poor job at hiding his own turmoil.
But he answered.
"Clarisse, my sister, lives with a son of Hermes. Not that he was ever claimed by his old man, but even the walls knew who was his father. And when Castellan left he went with him."

"He joined Kronos," deduced Poseidon.

Ellis' laugh was as bitter as the god's words.
"I'm two years younger than Chris, and I've known him ever since I was twelve, and he was- Clarisse hated him, always said that he was a weakling. And he was. He wouldn't be able to hurt a fly. But Castellan was his big brother, his hero, and an unstable bastard, everyone knew that. He didn't want him to be alone, probably. And everyone knew that Chris gave jack-shit about that 'let's destroy Olympus' bullshit."

He pushed the cart towards the armory's entry, and glared at Poseidon when he tried to help him.

Hermes' throat was burning.
Everyone. Everyone.

"I only know that Clarisse found him in the Labyrinth, and that by then their dear Lord," he spat out the title like an insult, "had twisted up his brain enough times that he could only talk with his own hallucinations. Saying he was crazy is an understatement. Mr D fixed him up, and he didn't even wait a week to leave. But it didn't last long, apparently."

Dionysus was staring at the mortal, without moving, his eyes intense enough that Hermes wouldn't have been surprised at seeing violet hues in them.
The mortal was saying something that was- impossible.

The power needed to nullify the effects of Dionysus' healing abilities would have been impossible to describe or measure, and even a simple attempt would have made whoever was mad enough to try the object of Dionysus' fury, who'd never hesitated when it came to making other people pay for harming him.

Dionysus was a god, yes, but the human (and non-human) mind wasn't as easy to deal with as light, or love, or healing- it was something so delicate and frail that the smallest mistake would have made the situation ten times worse.
It could fry the brain of the unfortunate one, or just worsen the madness, making it grow wilder and more dangerous.

Every domain required a certain amount of focus, an internal balance, time and effort, but brains- they were as strong as they were weak.
In short, it was right up Dio's alley.
That he would put so much energy into curing a mental disease this powerful, one caused by the Titan of Time, that he would manage it only to have someone throw all his efforts to the winds?
If he hadn't already razed whole cities to find the person responsible it was only because of his punishment.

And the culprit- who could do something like this?

(There had to be a culprit, because Dio's healing arts didn't include the possibility of reversibility.)

Chris- he hoped to hear a last name, sooner or later, because that Chris existed in Hermes' time too, but Hermes didn't have the faintest idea of who he could be.
But he was his son. But still, he hadn't been claimed, what had made the "walls" think that Hermes was his father?
If it was so obvious, why hadn't Hermes claimed him?

It was rare for a god to have a kid without the full intention of having it- there were few exceptions, and it had never happened to Hermes.
Had it?
Had he chosen- would he choose not to claim Chris to avoid claiming a child who wasn't his and somehow terribly offend another deity?

Had he been- too busy?
Too busy to properly check on Camp Half-Blood, to do anything other than his usual check-ins with Luke to make sure that the boy was finally safe, after a childhood of pain and misfortune?

That thought wouldn't leave him alone.

Ellis was the one who took them to the arena, that afternoon, and there they trained for the first time.

Their bodies were mortal, but they still knew what to do with the weapons they were holding. No one found that suspicious, since it was usual for demigods to have good enough reflexes to survive in the wild until they were old enough to spend their summers training.
Maybe that was the real reason why they weren't terrible.
Had he been a normal human being, and not a half-blood, would he have been able to defend himself from Ellis' violent strikes, so similar to the ones of Hermes' older brother? Or would he have been beaten, centuries of experience forgotten in a second?

They didn't stop until six, with a short pause in the middle, and the son of Ares went on like he didn't even know what it meant to be tired, while their weak bodies grew more and more exhausted.

Demeter used her long sword like it was part of her body, and Ellis wouldn't stop nodding at her in approval every time he saw her move.

Then, when they were walking back Poseidon tried to talk about it, but Demeter didn't even let him speak more than a few words before letting out a harsh "It shouldn't surprise us. We know what our father is capable of.", which only made her brother's face harden.

But Dionysus didn't hesitate either.
"I don't just sew a patch on the boo-boo and hope for the best, auntie. I know what I'm doing. If I really healed him someone did their best to undo my work, on purpose, for some reason- and they wanted to kill him, or make it impossible for me to help him. No human mind can sustain so much strain."
He was positively seething.

(Their step-mother had forced madness into his mind twice, and while Hermes had seen what his madness had caused with his own eyes, Dionysus had did his best to ignore the reality of his senseless actions for years, until Hera herself had showed it to him, trying once again to torture him and make him pay for the crime of existing.
It had been too cruel, even for her.
No one hated Dionysus' most powerful domain more than Dionysus.)

"I don't underestimate your abilities. But you shouldn't underestimate my father's."

That silence lasted all evening.

During dinner the atmosphere was just as restless, but unlike the arrival of the Romans, most of whom were already about to depart, it was tenser, quieter, filled with the invisible fear of speaking too loud and breaking some frail balance.

Every few minutes someone glanced or stared at their table, at the empty spots were Connor and Mark should have sat, their absence as obvious and eye-catching as the closed expressions of the four younger siblings.

But soon they stared for another reason.
The son of Jupiter walked up to them, the son of Hades at his side, and Hermes noticed that he was wearing a pair of glasses, unlike the day before, the plastic around the lenses black and light violet- no, lilac.

Hermes couldn't help but feel suspicious.
He would never be a fan of a demigod who was both his father's son and his step-mom's champion. He didn't know which was worse.

Jason Grace offered them a kind greeting, and Julia smiled at him, even if it looked strained.
"We were picking something up for the others to eat, do you know what Connor and Pollux could like? We didn't want to bother them right now, and Mark… he isn't hungry right now," he explained, not awkward despite the worrying hesitation.
The son of Hades looked way more upset, and he was glaring at something.

"Don't sweat it." Julia filled one of the empty plates with what looked like a large slice of pizza covered by tomatoes, mozzarella and what looked like pepperoni. She frowned. "Pollux only eats at his dads, so just take something basic for him."

"This is more than enough," the boy reassured her, already picking up the first plate- his hands were big, the skin tanned but bone white where their Father's Bolt had danced on his body. "Thank you."

He took another plate for Dio's son, and wished them good night. Hermes heard him say "You do Will's, I do ours", before going through the motions of filling the plates of the three central tables, empty if not for that one plate.
He put them all on his arms like a mortal waiter.

They left, and the whispers didn't die with them.

Hermes would have liked to think about his mortal half-brother, but he couldn't.

Connor didn't show up.

Athena's daughter, Hoa Luu, stopped by their Cabin, half an hour before curfew.
She gave them an awkward smile, clearly uncomfortable.
"Hey. I tried to find you at the Camp Fire, but you weren't there?"

"We chose to stay in," answered Alicia "We're waiting for Connor."

It was enough. The girl pursed her lips, and thrust into Alicia's hands the same little bag that Connor had given her that morning.
Alicia gave it a confused look, but then she raised her head to copy Hoa's grim expression and thank her.

Hoa Luu looked at Demeter, and offered an apologetic smile.
"Forgive me for today, but with the mess that happened… Rain check?"
She was hopeful, but most of her energy had disappeared. She looked beaten down.
The terrible mood had influenced everyone, without exceptions.

(For the first time in days, Hermes wished for a chance to speak with Apollo, with an intensity that shocked him. He chase those thoughts and his brother away from his mind.
Stealing his son's words, that wasn't the real problem.
He was still the patron god of thieves.)

Demeter agreed easily, and the daughter of Athena flew after leaving a kiss on Alice's cheek- Alice who's spent the last few hours looking at them with confusion painted on her face, waiting for someone to tell her what had happened, but too anxious to ask and understand on her own.

Inside the Cabin the atmosphere stayed tense until Connor came back, Mark at his side.

They came back, yes, walking into the Cabin with casualness, like they hadn't disappeared for hours, like the whole Camp hadn't spent the whole day gossiping about the return of the crazy and now suicidal brother, a gossip even juicer than the "thirteen mysterious new demigods" one.
Like their siblings hadn't started to chew on the skin and meat around their fingers out of worry, now that their nails had been thoroughly defeated.

Mark stopped just to say a few quiet words to Alicia, and he got in his bed, hiding under the covers.

Julia didn't say anything to Connor, but she gave him the bag, and he took it with a nod.
He walked out again, and with the door wide open they could all see him.

He moved the bag around, took something from his pockets, Hermes stared at him, he heard the sound of a lighter going off, saw the light of the little flame, and he saw Connor's trembling hand being brought to his face, the cigarette squeezed between his thumb and forefinger.
The first cloud rise.

He'd said he didn't smoke, but Hermes knew better. It was too warm outside outside for his breath to condense on its own.
His shoulders were hunched, and Hermes could see his dark silhouette in stark contrast with the fire at equal distance from each Cabin.
Minutes went by, and Hermes stayed still, his eyes stuck on his son's back.

When a figure approached, it took Hermes some time to recognize them.

The stranger, a man, wasn't particularly tall, nor particularly muscular.
He had the physique of a recently retired athlete, cheeks covered by a day's beard, salt and pepper, well-groomed curly hair streaked with grey, large hands covered by thick veins.

It took him one, two, three, four seconds, a few blinks to recognize himself.

He wasn't surrounded by that strange sort of divine aura that they all had, but Hermes had learned how to hide it centuries ago, mastering the art of walking among mortals as one of them and hiding his presence from any deity who would ever wish to find him when he didn't want to be found.
And Hermes did it pretty often for two main reason: to meet with a lover he wanted to hide, and to hide from his father.

Connor raised his head, looked at his father- his real father, not Hermes, trapped into a mortal body and forced to live in a reality he didn't know, with children he didn't know or couldn't recognize anymore. Changed, strange, complicated.
That was the Hermes who'd seen Luke die, and who had- had he got over it? Hermes could feel his eyes become wet at the mere thought of his son's face, but would he forget his face with time, and forget him like he'd already forgotten so many mortals? Or would he remember?
That god who now sat on the steps of his children's Cabin, had he forgotten?

Connor handed something to the god- the joint he was smoking, that Hermes knew contained the weed that the daughters of Demeter produced, that his children sold, and Hermes saw himself accept it readily. Take a hit, and let out another cloud of smoke.
He doubted it would have any effect on him.

Connor broke the silence.
"You shouldn't be here."
Hermes flinched, but he saw the god smile, his expression weirdly- kind. Gentle. His eyes were dark, and they looked so similar that, seeing them on the streets, Hermes would have thought the two were just another normal father-son pair.
Connor moved around the hand holding the cigarette.
"Grandpa will be mad."

Connor's father shook his head, amused.
"Let me deal with grandpa, won't you?"

"Should I trust it?" asked the boy with sarcasm, and his father shrugged.

Hermes-the-god took another hit from the joint, and breathed out heavily.
He leaned back, forcing Hermes to remember the night before, when he'd spoken with a Connor laying in that exact same position.

"I had to see him," he mused, amusement gone and its space filled by a lost undertone that turned his voice even lower and deeper. "At least this time," he added, and kept the joint a few seconds more.

The boy stole it from his hands, with a familiarity that made something in Hermes' chest burn.
Their hands touched, their eyes met. Connor's shoulders were a little more relaxed.

The god of courage in battle was Ares, and not Hermes and no one could prove the opposite, so Hermes climbed onto the bunk bed he had occupied for days, and closed his eyes, squeezed them tightly.
It was somehow worse.
He felt the eyes of his uncle and aunt on him, and the weight of Dionysus join his on the bed, which creaked dangerously but withstood their combined weight.

And he could hear everything, the evening quiet and still, just like Connor's brothers and sisters.

"Mr D didn't want to tell me anything."

"Have faith in him, Connor," and again that gentleness, that aching softness in his words. "There's no one I trust as much as I trust him. He'll know what to do."
Dio didn't say anything, but Hermes heard his breathing stutter. Hearing something like this, words so raw and honest-

"Then why's he like this? It wasn't hard to heal him the first time, so-"

"And who told you this, Dio?"
The rhetorical question didn't receive predictable answers.
"Never trust what he says," was the god's advice, and he shared it like a secret, voice conspiratorial, tinted by something tired and old and almost pathetic to hear.

"You just told me to trust him."

"You know him, Connor." That sentence had a weight. Hermes knew it, they both knew it. "He's almost as good as me when it comes to lying, and I'm the god of lies and liars."

A beat.
The sound of cicadas.

"I wanted to believe him," he admitted, and Hermes felt the sound of the lighter, again. "I wanted things to be easy for Chris- at least once, in his fucked up life."

Hermes heard himself sigh, again.

"This world's monsters made your brother suffer in ways that we could hardly begin to imagine, as did I." Hermes tightened his hands in two painful fists, and Dio held them both. "And your uncle can't just jump in his brain and put a few patches here and there, or we could lose him."

"Wouldn't death be better than… that?"

The silence that met his question was devastating.

But the god, Hermes, answered.

"Your brother deserves a life free from pain, but we both know it's impossible. The only thing we can offer him is... a life. And if we can do it it's our duty to at least try."

"I wouldn't want to live like that, if I were Chris."

"But you aren't Chris. This is his choice to make. And you should believe in my brother a little more."

"Yes, yes, faith," he stated, annoyed and tired. "I do. Have it. Probably like I don't have it for anyone else- but what if he just- goes crazy again in four years, and he tried to…" he didn't end his sentence.

"We can't know."

He heard noises, someone moved, and Connor's voice came out muffled.
"I hope you never find out."

Hermes ripped one of his fists from Dionysus' hold, he placed it between his teeth, trying to suffocate something from leaving his lips.

A sigh, and an amused snort.
"Generous of you."

"Family trait."

They didn't laugh, but then he heard a couple of heavy steps, and then quicker, lighter ones, and two bodies colliding with harsh whispers.

Hermes shut his eyes so hard that they started hurting.
He refused to hear the words Alice was saying to her father. The ones that the god said to his youngest daughter, comforting words, kind words- so kind and soft that he barely recognized himself.
He shut his eyes, and prayed for the god to be lost once he opened them again.

He heard Dionysus' whisper, who stayed with him, on that small bed that was somehow big enough for the both of them, for their thin young bodies.
"You're a good father, brother mine."
He was anything but.

He didn't open his eyes until he fell asleep on his own, exhausted.

As if he was scared that, by opening them, he would see someone too different from him, and a loved, loving child in his arms, Luke's blood dripping from hands that freely touched small faces and vulnerable hearts.

Blood that dripped slowly. That never stopped.

——

Chapter Text

HOW TO BE A HUMAN BEING: Camp Half-Blood

——

day six // part one: DIONYSUS

After three thousand years of being immortal, motionless and perfect, it didn't took Dionysus long to get used to being a mortal again.

His strength wasn't infinite, he was constantly either hungry, tired, sleepy or thirsty, his senses were weak, he couldn't fracture his conscience to be in five places and do five different things at once, and the blood running in his veins was crimson red.

It had took him years to get used to the golden hues of the vital lymph that readily trickled out of his body when he touched it with blades made out of celestial bronze. It had been fun, at first, to cut skin and see how he bled gold, how the wound knitted itself close in mere seconds- and the ichor became the only proof that he'd hurt himself.

Two days, and he was already used to bleeding red again.

A few hours, and he got used to having such feeble sight, hearing and sense of smell, because mortals weren't weak, gods were the strong ones, and Dionysus had accepted his immortality believing it with the strength of ten suns.
His senses weren't weak, the senses of a god were those of a superhuman.

His body wasn't delicate, the hands of the gods weren't careful enough with it.

Dionysus realized, instead, that he was strong.
His body was young, that was clear, he couldn't be older than thirteen.
His face was still soft with baby fat, smooth and round, and there were no muscles covering his bones but only flesh, and he didn't hear all that well from his left ear, but when they were called to train with the son of Ares Dionysus didn't even think before blocking a violent lunge with his dagger.

During his life (the twenty-three years he'd spent as a mortal) Dionysus had used the sword and it had felt like another limb. It had been part of him, the only thing that could truly protect him from those who wanted to kill him (except for his father's wife), and Dionysus had used it to cast away the shredded souls of the mighty Giants, side by side to those who became his family shortly after- brothers and sisters, uncles and aunts, colleagues and equals.
 He'd hated it, like he'd hated using it and being a target for the world to hunt, all because of his father and his ozone-like smell.

He'd hated it, because it used to smell like sulfur, and electricity would run through the metal even hours after he'd used it. Because regardless of his affinity with everything he would become a god of, Dionysus was brought to life as the son of Zeus, and lightning and thunder had been at his beck and call, who cared if he hated it with all his might.

He chose a dagger, because he'd never liked it before becoming a god.

Since he was a demigod, he was a natural with it.
And being a demigod was just different. The world around him could become so detailed, so loud and bright, and he could feel it, and it felt like at the first moment of stasis everything would collapse onto itself.
Never stopping, or slowing down, only movement, always moving and running from Thanatos and his companions.
With the constant ticking of a clock in his years, always there to remind him that slowing down meant for the clock to speed up, for his demise to get closer, for his heart to grow weaker.

It was such a familiar, comforting thing, to move following instincts that he'd never truly buried or lost.

Dionysus would never say that he missed being a mortal, because living as a god was intense to the point of being intoxicating, the perfect way to feed of his body of the pain and adrenaline it was starved of. But being a mortal wasn't all that different at the end of the day, and he realized with his body shacking from the mix of emotions churning in his guts, that he wouldn't have been able to identify and comprehend even if he'd tried.
He hadn't missed being a demigod.

He chose a dagger because his trip down memory lane was painful enough as it was.

Seeing the physical form he'd assumed had cheered him up, as it was a rather smart and amusing way of "showing his Father the middle finger", and now he'd been promised at least forty years away from him.

(Not that he knew what he'd done to deserve that punishment.
 Yes, Father had told him to spend less time on Earth, with the twins and Paola, but that small disobedience couldn't have justified his future. Could it?)

But he definitely didn't want to live in a camp full of demigods- and he didn't know what bothered him most, whether to be forced there, away from his wife and forced not to drink, or to see how he had clearly grown fond of those heroes.

That was the thing that bothered him the most, probably.

Because Dionysus was nothing if not attentive, and a good observer.
He didn't like the familiarity that his brother's son had with his "Mr D".

Yes, Hermes was his closest sibling, Hermes had known him ever since he'd been a mortal infant that moved his fists around as he took in his first loud breaths between cries and tears, Hermes was one of the people he liked to talk with- but that didn't mean that he liked Hermes' kids.
Hermes wasn't that close to them anyway, and he didn't even look, act or sound like the type of guy who would get mad at Dionysus if he were to oh so casually hurt a hero he didn't like much that happened to be his offspring.
Dionysus was kind enough to try not to, but Dionysus was anything but the god of stability and control. Well, he was, in a way, but when it came to heroes Dionysus found it hard to care much for stability and control

The nightmare had started with the son of Apollo- a nice kid, good-looking and kind, who'd obviously tried to keep being positive despite their situation being anything but promising, the type of person that Dio found annoyingly complicated.
 Who preached self-control and autonomy until they crumbled like a house of cards.
A kid who'd talked about "Mr D" with a familiarity he didn't appreciate.
He'd been reassured by the others' unsure looks, by the noticeable fear in their faces when they'd had to deal with the annoyed god, and then he'd met Hermes' son, and the nightmare had started to look like one of his old hallucination.

Dionysus had experiences different types of hallucinations- both the fun and the less fun ones, and when he'd seen this Connor Stoll run to his table (his table) to kiss his son (his son) and tell him (him, as in Mr D, as in Dionysus) something that earned him a nod and a glare that could have been a thousand times meaner, to then smile like the cat that got the cream and then honest-to-Zeus skipping to the table where Dionysus was sitting bug eyed- like that was the norm.
A habit.

Dionysus started to feel like he'd gotten somehow crazier.

No one bat an eye. No one.

Then the wine.
Dionysus couldn't drink, but the boy sacrificed every night (every night) some wine in the fire that the half-bloods used to honor their parents. Wine, for Dionysus.

And- as if what he'd already seen wasn't enough, he was ninety percent sure to have seen himself (or at least the version of him who'd spent the last eight years in that Camp surrounded by brats he was sadly related to) put a comforting hand on the shoulder of the son of Hades- like he was comforting him. Like it was something he did on daily basis.
Dionysus, and a son of Hades.
And yes, he also got along with his uncle, he was the second best after Demeter when it came to Kronos' children, but that was too much.

Or maybe the consequences of three thousand years of partying were hitting him all at once, now that he was in a mortal body again, and he would soon lose his mind.

The first two times had been enough, he wasn't thrilled to gave it a third try.

Nevertheless, nothing hit harder than seeing his son.

Seeing him, nothing more.

On his second day there, he'd seen a familiar face and wondered if the twins were campers- they had to, they were sixteen, and even if their smell wasn't that strong they were still at risk of being attacked by monsters. Would he see them? Would he talk with them? It may not have looked as important as other things, with their situation, but Dionysus found it difficult to chase them away from his mind.
For Zeus, Ariadne had met them.
Paola had been scared, but she and Ariadne had got along like a house on fire, and Ariadne had loved the twins- they'd visited them just a few days before, and Pollux had fallen from the front door steps in his haste to greet them, had landed on his ankle and started crying, and he'd only stopped once Dionysus had taken him in his arms and kissed his head, and Ariadne had laughed as she hugged an exhausted Paola.

Could he truly force himself to act like he wasn't dying to meet them?

He didn't find either of them, it was Pollux who found him that night.

His blonde curls had gotten dark enough to resemble the brown ones Dionysus had lost with his mortality, and he had a ugly scar on his hand- and his eyes shone violet when he gave the son of Hermes a fox-like smirk, his boyfriend hanging from his lips and as eager as a puppy.

He found them: he barely said "hello", glared at them and left after running his hand through Stoll's hair and telling him "Be careful love", and Stoll nodded like he hadn't noticed that Pollux was this close to kidnapping all of Hermes' kids and keep them away from the "newcomers".
He left to sit next to his father, next to Chiron- and next to no on else.

No identical boy- not that boy who Dionysus had already started to daydream about.

Just as tall, but with a different boy. More athletic, less athletic?
Different scar? Shorter curls, a different haircut, just like Paola had always preferred?
Same eyes? Same dark eyeliner, different nail polish? Similar clothes? Same voice, a lower one? Ruined maybe by those coughs that Castor had had a few months before?

No Castor.

Castor, who'd run to his brother when he'd seen him fall, almost falling himself, and who hadn't left Pollux' side for a second, not even when Pollux had stopped crying to touch and grab at Dionysus' smooth cheeks, who'd just stared at them, impossibly careful, ready to jump in at the first sign of pain or unhappiness.

Castor wasn't there, and his absence was so… natural.

Pollux sat down, said something to his father but Chiron answered absent-mindedly, sitting on his wheelchair at his right, Pollux nodded. The boy started eating, Hermes' kids started chatting regardless of how uncomfortable they felt with four strangers sitting at their table, two tables two a large group of demigods laughed loudly, a boy ran away from another one and a girl followed him with a panicked expression, more noises and more young half-bloods, but no Castor and it was like Castor had never even existed.

Dionysus didn't like fear, and fear was what took control of his body.

Castor was- dead. When? How?
No, he could be- not there, that day. He repeated those words in his head.

The day after, he wasn't there.
Dionysus didn't want his son to be dead. But was he?

And then they- talked, and Aphrodite told him that Castor was dead, dark eyes full of sorrow, and their Father had scoffed, something akin to disgust in his words.
"One of your mortal's brats?"

And he had added no "Good riddance", but Dionysus still felt it hover in the air, make the atmosphere in the room heavier. He saw it in the disgust in the look that Hades sent his brother, in his aunt Demeter's furious grimace, in his step-mother's solemn one, and Apollo's hand on his shoulder was the only thing that stopped him from jumping the mighty Zeus to undo all the hard work that the Solace boy had done to keep him alive.
Maybe to open his chest and see crimson blood pour with a steadiness and speed typical of the mortal blood, maybe to put a hand or two inside of the wound to see it widen, to see more skin tear with every ounce of strength he added to the pull. Two hands, joined together and then pushed apart, more and more, inch after inch until the body under his hands would crack in two.

Apollo read it in his eyes, eyes that weren't tainted with immortality anymore- but not even immortality had managed to hide how much Dionysus was lost in his own head, even in his best days. Which wasn't a problem usually, everyone found his dormant madness extremely funny, it amused and entertained them, and it wasn't as bad as it had once been.
But now, that they were mortals and the Father of the Gods was just as weak as the rest of them?

Dionysus told himself that, were his father to say another word about his son, about his boys, he would really do what Apollo feared he would do and rip the bastard's throat with his teeth.

Or with the beautiful dagger he'd stolen and hidden in his pants.

He slept that night and dreamed something confusing he forgot the morning after, as soon as he woke up. His mind empty, probably trying to protect itself from something that must have been less than pretty.

Hermes apologised. He believed Luke Castellan to be responsible for the death of his son, and Dionysus didn't feel like being petty or mean- he started to set it apart for someone who truly deserved it. Luke Castellan was dead, Hermes was innocent, and Dionysus didn't want to think about his son's death, or his murderer.

And then he saw Hermes, divine Hermes, messenger of Olympus, faster than light and more clever than a fox, comfort his son with a tenderness he'd never seen before- no, that Dionysus remembered faintly being in his first memories and moments, that he'd never seen again if not in rare occasions, always subdued and repressed.
Hid by sly smiles and masks of euphoric joy.
And then that admission, words they'd never told each other but both knew were right, now said out loud with a levity that didn't belong there, for anyone to hear.

Dionysus slept in his brother's bed that night.
He didn't want to sleep in his own, next to a stranger, he wanted to think- and he thought.

He was a mortal. He was a mortal, again, and he didn't know why, or if one of their enemies had done this to kill them- but even so, why sending them ten years in the future? Maybe whoever had done this sent them to a time when they were more powerful. The titans? They didn't have powers like this, and they'd been defeated, both in the past (Dionysus' present) and in the future. The giants, and their terrible mother? Same thing.
Or maybe they hadn't been truly defeated?

After all, Dionysus could barely believe it. It was more than surreal.
Or this was the strongest generation of demigods in centuries, or- he didn't know.

They couldn't ask them for help either. Which had been more than funny seeing that his family, after treating their mortal kids like trash for their whole lives, had gone on crisis mode once they'd realised that they were alone in this.
(Crisis mode. The lost looks painted on their faces had made him cackle.)

And they couldn't tell them who they were.

This meant that if Dionysus went up to his son to ask him about Castor, he would've probably been punched in the face and beaten up.
This meant that he had to do it old-style.

He had to make friends.

He chose, that morning, that he would let others deal with the strategy and the difficult grown-up thoughts: Athena, since she liked to do, like, nothing else, and his aunts and uncles, since they'd all collectively forgotten what the word "fun" meant a long time ago- he only forgave auntie Demeter for this crime, because she was his favorite (not counting Hestia- as if, Hestia could be the life of the party without drinking, and Dionysus liked to think he'd inherited that talent from her). He would, in the meantime, focus on more pressing, interesting matters.

The sun rose and hours went by before Julia woke up and started to clap her hands like a madwoman, tearing them away from Morpheus' clutches as they groaned unhappily and got up to form an ordinate line to the showers.
(Dionysus had noticed these kids had no sense of privacy. He'd seen most of them half-naked in places where he'd never thought someone would get undressed.)

From this line Hermes' older kids were missing, again, but no one asked. Alice was grinning, and Hermes was refusing to even look at her.

He avoided everyone else too, to be honest.

His uncle stared at him, furrowing his eyebrows.
"What's up with him, nephew?"

Dionysus raised his head to look at him, in those clear blue eyes luck had given him, and seeing that they were full of honest-to-Zeus genuine concern he sighed, shaking his head.
"Seriously?"

"Had I known, I wouldn't have asked," he answered with a sharp quirk of his mouth, and yes, the Kronos bunch had the admiring ability to piss him off even when they were just existing, but the god of the seas acted like it was stronger than him to express his emotions in the most inappropriate opportunities.
He'd had to hide a laugh when they'd found out about the giants, even if no one other than Dio had noticed.
(And Zeus, who'd almost attacked him.
Honeslty it would have been fun to see, because Zeus was a weak mortal. Which didn't displease anyone. Zeus would have complained about his weakness even if he'd been gifted with a strong, trained body, never appreciating what he had, always wanting more.)

"Have you ever seen Hermes interact with his kids? Or talk with them like 'Dite and 'Phaestus do?"

"Uh, not really."

"There."

Poseidon blinked owlishly. (Ah.)
"Shouldn't he be happy, after what happened with Luke Castellan?

"I know you find it impossible," his aunt cut him off, her left foot hitting the floor as they waited for their shower stalls to be available. "But you try to put yourself in his shoes."

"I did it, sis, and yet."
His sister didn't spare him a look.

He was soon interrupted by his son, Perseus Jackson, who barged into the bathhouse with a stumble and a head of messy hair, looking like someone who'd been trampled by the Minotaur and a few other pretty big monsters, a change of clothes trapped between under his armpit and a stick of deodorant sticking from the pocket of his loose blue pants.
His eyes were half-closed with exhaustion, and that was probably way it took him a while to notice their presence, after he got in line between them.
He didn't even straighten up, giving them a weak wave and muttering something that sounded a lot like "Good morning", but Dionysus couldn't be sure.

It was an amusing sight, in a way. His t-shirt was at least two sizes too big, and now he was scratching the back of his neck with a slowness that made them fear he would fall down any minute.

His body started to curve, feeling the pull of gravity, but he didn't fall only because the next person to get in (Dio was tired of meeting people) gripped his shoulder and took him back to a straight, vertical position.

His roman half-brother didn't let go of his shoulder.
"Will you slip in the shower and crack your head open if you go in there?"
The son of Poseidon blinked, a little more awake. But only a little.
"Do I need to throw you in the Lake?"

"No," he finally spoke, more alert than before. Jason Grace's hand didn't leave his back. "I made a bet with my sweet brother- I have to go through the whole summer without taking a swim in the first available puddle I see."

With his free hand Jason Grace took the other's change of clothes, just as it was about to end up on the floor. "You do know that he makes this kind of bets so that you'll die and your dad won't be able to blame him?"

Another son of Poseidon?
"I know. It's not my fault if he always has the best ideas. Fuck, forget him, my head is killing me."

"Don't tell me."

Jason Grace grimaces, like he was in the same kind of pain as Perseus- a pity, since he didn't look like his cousin: in dire need of a shower and a long, long night of sleep. And a few good meals. He looked like he'd gotten out of bed after eight hours of deep, peaceful sleep to train before breakfast, eat and then ventured out to find Perseus.
(What a mouthful. Percy was a better name anyway.
Dionysus appreciated modernity a lot. Not if he started to think about what he would've been called had he been a lot of centuries younger.
Dennis? Daniel? Dylan?)
The only thing out of place (if one wanted to describe it so) was the fact that the boy was in his sleepwear.
And, again, sleepwear: a black tank top and a pair of large shorts with the strings tied tightly at his hips.

He leaned back against the wall, and greeted them with a nod.
It was too early to talk even for him, probably. Percy basically slumped over his side, letting his head fall on his shoulder.

"O-K man, better if you stay like this."

"Is he alright?" asked Poseidon, stuck between glaring at the son of Jupiter and staring at the boy in said son of Jupiter's arms, filled with worry. His son.
For a second Dionysus wondered what he would have done, if they were to find out that the two were together. He didn't know which Big Three would be more likely to rip his hair out. Hades at least was safe, thank to the son of Apollo.

"I'm good," slurred his son, "Just tired."

"A shower and breakfast and he'll be good to go," Grace reassured his uncle, who didn't take his suspicious eyes off of him, not even for a second.
Grace didn't look intimidated. He noticed the clothes his friend was still holding on, and frowned, the skin between his eyebrows creasing.
"Man, what do you think you're doing with that?"

He took them and unrolled them to reveal what where a pair of women's pants. Or leggins belonging to a man with very thin legs. A quick glance to the son of Poseidon's legs and no, they would never fit.

"Uh?"

"I'm gonna bring you another pair."
"Uh-uh."
"Is the chest still next to you bed?"
No answer, no movements. Maybe he was asleep.

So this was the hero who'd saved Olympus from titans and giants.
(And the boy who'd spoken about them in a way that would have gotten any other mortal electrocuted on the spot.)

Jason Grace looked around, probably looking for a chair- there weren't any, but Poseidon stepped up.
The mortal blinked.
"Paul, right?" he didn't wait for an answer. He slowly moved Jackson from his own arms to Poseidon's, successful in his efforts to not wake him up, with impossible gentleness. He smiled, and quickly walked out.

Poseidon had the boy in his arms, and he was looking at him like he wanted to gaze into his soul, studying his every trait with wonder in his eyes.

The boy looked like just him. Not only for his blue-green eyes and dark hair, but he had the same nose as his father, the same tanned skin, marked by the sun and the constant contact with salty seawater. The shape of his face was longer, younger and softer, probably closer to his mother's, but Dionysus would have recognized him as his father's son in a second.

He was exhausted. The bags under his eyes were dark bruises carved onto his skin.

Poseidon was being charmed. Dionysus could understand.
He rarely had sons, and in the last decades he hadn't had any mortal child at all- it must have been hard, for a guy like him, who was constantly making kids- and somehow managing to be a decent father.
(Decent for their standards.)
Maybe his mother had been a special one.

A girl walked in, and after seeing Jackson she blinked and opened her mouth before electing to ignore them to go wash her dust-covered hands.

Maybe thirty seconds went by, that Demeter spent studying her nephew with a judgemental gaze, as if trying to understand if he was acceptable or not, and Jason Grace came back with a new pair of pants.

When he went to take his friend back Poseidon exclaimed a "Don't worry about it!" that got him a pretty startled look. His eyebrows almost disappeared under his hair- which was saying a lot, since it was cut pretty short.
He stared at them for a bit, his blue eyes looking ready to zap them, inscrutable and intense like- not like his father's.

Dionysus observed him carefully, again and again, looking for an excuse to dislike him, but it was a difficult thing to do when he didn't share even one of their father's traits- he would have even mistaken him for one of his, if hadn't already known the name Jason Grace.
It also helped a lot to see so clearly the opinion of him that Zeus had.
It wasn't rare for the mighty King to use his Bolt against his kids, it was one of his favorite punishments, but on a mortal?
It was a sentence and an execution all packed in one single action that probably didn't even matter that much to its doer.
And yet he lived. The champion of Hera, practically disowned by her husband.

Jason Grace just thanked Poseidon, before turning around. He started to look through one of the shelves next to the bathroom stalls, and took out a few smooth cotton towels and a series of bottles- with sharpie writings in ancient Greek covering their tags. He set them all aside.
Things like "SHAMPOO- ROSE" or "BODY WASH- LAVENDER", and a "AFTERSHAVE- SEAWATER" that confused Dionysus.

So, Dionysus told himself that a good training session was what he needed.

So, he did the smartest thing he could think of: small talk.

"They 'told us you'd be there yesterday." Jason Grace whipped his head towards him, and was left startled after noticing that Dionysus was speaking to him. "In the arena."

"Oh yeah, I'm sorry. I always try to help with the newcomers when I'm here, but yesterday…"

"Chris," concluded Dionysus, and Grace nodded mournfully.

He kept on taking out more bottles, a frown slowly taking more and more space on his face.
Alright, Chris wasn't the best way to start a conversation.

"Do you hate vanilla?"

"What? No, Percy does. Something about it bothering his nose, I think." He set aside all the bottles with "VANILLA" written on the front, until he found a "BODY WASH- BLUEBERRY" and put it on the pile of his clothes, balanced on the edge of the nearest sink.

Dionysus blinked a few time.
"What are you doing?"

Grace picked up two more bottles.
"Wait to go on a quest with someone, and then you'll see how strange it'll feel to help someone take a shower when they're tired enough to faint on the spot."
Dionysus felt like he was hallucinating.

He felt like he was standing in front of his aunt, talking with her, her voice harsh but never mean, her eyebrows furrowed, her eyes stern but never cruel.
First son of Jupiter, then champion of Hera, now miniature copy of Demeter? What else, he would start to name-call them with insults that were creative enough to rival uncle Hades'- or crack the most inappropriate jokes in the world during the worst times possible like Poseidon?

He'd faint. And if the boy kept on being his dad's less Zeus-y son then he would start dancing on the spot like he did with his maenads when they let their bodies fell the passion and freedom in their veins.

"No one's judging you man. I just didn't think you were friends."
The boy started putting away the bottles he didn't need. He looked confused- which was starting to irritate Dionysus, but no, he took a deep breath. Training, he reminded himself. Training. Maybe the boy was slow. Or a little too naive.
(Their father had literally bolted him, if he'd stayed naive after something like this Dionysus would've fired himself to start being the god of fools.)
"Competition, y'know?"

"I suppose it can be a strange thing to see- since you know your myths," he added- had he asked for them? "But we try not to let our parents' feuds influence us. They're old things, most of the times, and they only make things more difficult for us. The more allies you have, the longer you live, trust me."
His gaze softened, when he looked at the other boy, whose arm was around Poseidon's shoulders, his creased forehead against the god's left ear, half-covered by dark, loose curls.
Which meant that his eyes became slightly less glacial.
"And why should I hate him just because his dad fights with mine every two days?"

"Uh. Cool."

"Are you settling in well?"

Dionysus should have probably expected that the boy would take his training as an open invite to talk with him.
Which wasn't so bad, he couldn't do everything on his own.
Hermes was staring carefully at the pavement, and Jason Grace shot him a worried look.

"Yeah, I guess. Lots of strange things."
He didn't need to lie for this, which was good.

Jason Grace grinned, clearly amused, and adjusted his glasses, since they'd gotten a bit too low on his nose.
"I know. It was hard for me too, at the beginning, for different reasons but still hard."

"Because you're Roman."

His face did a strange thing, and he crossed his arms, starting to drum his fingers on his relaxed bicep, on scars that from up close Dionysus could see where raised and puckered. He would've been able to follow the branching lines engraved in his skin with his fingers even with his eyes closed.
 "Technically. But it's complicated."
Dionysus met his eyes with a blank look.
"My father is a Roman god, yes. I've actually never met him, but I met his… Greek counterpart a few times, who claimed me as his anyway."

"Looks like he regretted it."
 Dionysus felt his aunt's elbow sink into his side just as she realized what he'd said to the demigod.
(This was the reason why he needed training, he chastised himself.
He wasn't a god anymore, he couldn't act like his actions and words didn't have any consequence, like nothing in the world could touch him. He had to be careful, as careful as he'd once been. Feel the panic and the fear and the warning bells in his head.)
 Jason Grace stood still, stunned for a second.
Then he failed to hold in a laugh, amused and caught off guard. And for the first time since they'd met him his eyes weren't cold, but danced with hilarity, alight with emotions rather than electricity.

"You know no shame, don't you?" he rhetorically asked, then switched topic without batting an eye.
"Anyway, I like both Camps, so I usually go back and forth between them." He got serious. "The first time I came here it shocked me- but I did it with two more demigods, and we were all older than thirteen, so no one was happy to know us here. I knew even then that it wasn't just for the sake of it, but it still wasn't the warmest welcome we could've gotten. So- I get it, alright? If you need anything you only need to ask. And I'm far from the only guy who's more than ready to help you out here."

It was rather sudden.

Jason Grace looked satisfied with what he'd said- something he'd wanted to tell them for a while, it looked like, and he'd probably been indulging Dionysus to get that chance, and he turned around again.

When they'd gotten to the bath house all twenty showers had been already taken. Someone had put up on the entrance a schedule (a sheet of paper engulfed in transparent tape) with the probable goal of avoiding crowds, but the only Cabins who respected it were Athena 's and Hermes'.
Julia had already explained how Connor and Mark had kept it up even after the war since they'd been raised in a Cabin filled to the brim with teenagers and a carefully contained chaos that would have torn the whole Camp down if let be, and Dionysus hadn't needed anyone to explain why Athena's brats followed that set of rules.

They'd let the real demigods go first for once, and Dionysus wasn't regretting it.

Having allies never hurt anyone.
(Almost never.)

"…Thank you," he answered, acting uncertain, but Jason Grace didn't follow with more heart-to-hearts, reaching for the boy in Poseidon's arms.

"They're almost done. Thanks for the help."

Putting Percy's arm around his neck he barely hesitated before picking him up bridal style, holding him behind his back and knees.
This woke him up, and Percy looked at the other before groaning.
"Seriously?"
"You'll think twice before accepting a bet from Triton next time."
"I'll beat your ass in the arena, in front of the newbies, and they'll learn just how not cool you are."
"You kiss Annabeth with that mouth?"

The first two kids left the stalls, and they didn't spare the sons of the Big Three a glance, busy whispering something with the fury of two alley cats. She started to nod with such strength that Dionysus feared for her neck, and he sighed so deeply that the sound echoes in the space that- Jason Grace had been right, was now filling up with wet, washed-up demigods.

Of the seven people that walked out of the showers, a girl wasn't wearing pants, despite the small dressing rooms, and Dionysus saw her say something to a boy who looked like he could be her brother, who ran away. Maybe to get her pants.
A boy with dyed hair was wearing a Camp t-shirt that had turned just as blue as the skin of his neck.

Ares spawned in front of them, his wet hair dripping water on his clothes. He offered them a smirk devoid of joy, and almost tripped on his feet when he saw Percy Jackson sleeping in their half-brother's arms, but then he walked out without granting them a word. Which, rude.

"Try to avoid the stall Mitchell used, he always forgets to wash the plate from the dye," said Grace before disappearing into one of the now-empty little cabins.

Dionysus thought, under the jet of hot water, almost boiling thanks to the plumbing pipes that ran under the forge, that Connor was his first mark.
Once he was Connor's friend, he would automatically spend time with his son.
Well, there was always problem number two, just after whatever was his kids' deal: Chris, the mysterious crazy kid, who would make it hard to spend time and bond with Connor, undoubtedly.

Not to talk about how that whole mess irritated him.
Not only because something or someone had managed to basically defeat him and his work (and he still couldn't explain that, let alone the rest), but because Dionysus hated madness with a passion.
It was a wretched curse that had followed him no matter how strong or immortal or invincible he got, a curse that had buried its claws in him. He'd been coexisting with madness ever since he was a boy, and only the Fates knew how much he hated to see other battling it.

And being sad meant being angry.
He was the god of wine, of theatre, of parties, of fucking orgies- of fun, on Hades' name, and being sad made him lose his temper.
It made him feel even more human than he was.)

(Dionysus had never deluded himself into thinking he was a god like any other one.

He was too human for them.

They also said it about Apollo, but only because they'd never been humans. Aphrodite would cry in front of Apollo's pain, soft, human Apollo, who suffered for a broken heart, and Dionysus would barely keep himself from laughing in their faces, and his uncle would shake his head, pained but full of fondness for his golden haired nephew who was so, so close to the mortal realm.

In front of Dionysus' real humanity they retreated into their cold fortresses, not used to being in contact with the mortality that still stuck to his skin after three-thousand years, especially not in their home and for such long time frames.

Dionysus made them uncomfortable, and Dionysus was proud of it.
He wasn't like Ares, or Apollo, or tens of minor gods, who looked for approval like strays begged cruel man for crumbs of bread. Even if they didn't notice themselves doing it.

He didn't care if, when Zeus looked at him, he saw something he didn't like- he'd joined that Council knowing that his Father would have preferred to see Heracles in his place or, even better, no one at all. And he found pleasure in that knowledge every time he sat on his throne and gave his Father a chance to look at him and be disappointed.)

He'd healed the boy before, even if he'd served Kronos, for some unknown reason. He wasn't a kind soul, not like Ariadne, so something must have changed him mind him.
And now he was doing it again.
It didn't look very promising or good for the boy.

He talked from experience.

The first time he'd been driven mad, barely old enough to be called a man, his grandmother had found him after years of confusion and taken care of him, healed him, saved him from the life his Father had cursed him with just as much as his regal wife.
And even after the great Rhea's loving attentions, both in his dark days and in his bright ones, surrounded by friends and lovers alike, he'd still felt like he'd never stopped being a prey to that madness, buried deep under the meat and bones of his body.

When Hera had cursed him for a second time, hating the mere thought of him finding a little joy, he'd been healed by the goddess herself per the Council's will, aware that they wouldn't survive the Giants without the demigods. Dionysus had been… healed, but after thousands of years he could barely remember the epic final fight of the Gigantomachy.
He'd fought, yes, to protect Olympus. Like an animal.
He'd killed Enceladus, after Athena had brought him to his knees, he'd done the same with Mimas, once Aphrodite had steered her lover's chariot as he buried his spear deep in his chest.
Clitius, Alcyoneus, Hippolitus- he'd been driven by something he couldn't name, something that had never left him, seeing the demons of his mind in their stead.

Maybe that was why he'd become the god of madness. he'd been the first to truly understand what it meant, to go mad. He wasn't the only one to understand what it entailed. How no one could truly heal from it, not completely.

The boy would die, probably.
And if Dionysus managed to heal him for real, not like Hera had done with him before the end of the war, then he'd live to be never the same as before.

Demeter, once they got out, fled to his side, her expression stern, Poseidon always loyally at her side.
"Did someone boil you in there, nephew?"

"A warm shower is a pleasure regardless of the body you're inhabiting."

"The boy?"

"… I doubt I'll be able to help him."

"Are you sure?"
Dionysus almost startled when he noticed Hermes' sudden presence at his side, his voice rough from disuse- he hadn't uttered a word all morning.
Dio didn't have a kind soul, he wasn't Ariadne and she wasn't there to guide him towards the right thing, but his heart broke for his brother.

But he didn't lie.
"No."

Hermes' kids were walking just a few steps away from them, no one else could be seen, certainly not Jupiter's son and his best friend son of Poseidon.

"But you aren't optimistic."
Hermes knew him, at the end of the day, regardless of how it had been. He, who'd looked over the infant he'd brought on Earth from the high top of Mount Olympus, never revealing his presence but always making sure that Dionysus knew that someone from up there saw him and cared.

"I think that if I'm successful, the boy should be called more than lucky. But I'm also not sure that could be called luck. Not even the mind of a demigod is built to bear such strain, no matter how strong they are."

He knew it- who better than him?

Hermes stayed quiet then, and Dionysus thought about the children they'd both lost, and took his brother's arm.
They were tall the same, and when Hermes turned his head, surprised, their eyes immediately met. Dionysus did nothing but watch him, mouth shut, and looked away only after Hermes did the same.

Then he leaned back, and spoke to his uncle.
"So, how did it feel to hold you son for the… first time?"

"…third.

"Damn. He must've grown a lot, didn't he?"

Demeter's lips thinned into a white line.
"A warrior as great as him shouldn't be so careless with his own health."

Poseidon shot her an affronted glare.
"Be less quick to judge him."

"I'm not judging anyone, brother,"- and even if she made that word sound like an insult, it wasn't mean- "But he looked like he hadn't slept in weeks, while he was perfectly healthy just yesterday."
She grinned, then. "What a luck that Jupiter's son was there to help him."

Dionysus loved his aunt for hundreds of reasons, but the reason why he'd almost fallen in love with her back when they'd met was that Demeter never, never lost a chance to make fun of her divine brothers and sister.
(And Dionysus wasn't talking about Hestia, of course.)

"To my eternal regret," Dionysus backed her up, "I'm even starting to like him."

"Right? Such a well mannered boy, Perseus is lucky to have suck a deep bond with him."

"Alright, it's enough."

The goddess ignored her brother, and turned so that she could walk backward and look Dionysus in the eyes as she talked. "It looks like Perseus has a girlfriend, but if I hadn't heard the demigods say it…"

"Why should a girlfriend stop them from going at it? Sharing is caring and life it's always sweeter with it." He winked, as the target of their bullying threw daggers at them with his eyes.

Even Hermes let out an amused huff.
"What's worse in your opinions, a son of Jupiter or a daughter of Athena?"
He was pale, and the bruises under his eyes were darker than the night sky, and no matter how much he smiled he was missing the spark that made him who he was, that mix of kind meanness and harmless mockery. But it was something.

Poseidon pointed his finger at him like he was a children.
"Not you too."

During breakfast thing were just as tense, the table where Dionysus the God, the Mr D, usually sat empty, more than one camper missing, even though the situation wasn't as bad as the night before.
Demeter went to look for the mortal artist, and Demigod Lesson Time was made tolerable by Artemis and Apollo's surprising company.

By her company, to be honest. Apollo was pissed off at something.

But Dionysus would have picked that Apollo over having to focus on the incredibly accurate description of the right way to fight a manticore and kill it before it could rip your clothes to shreds.
(It was the third time that someone referenced the "clothes issue". Maybe modern demigods had a tendency to end up naked after a blitz attack.)

Apollo, despite his grumpy attitude, sat down next to him and, with a deep sigh, rested his forehead against Dio's left shoulder. Dionysus managed just in time to stop himself from shrugging him off to see said forehead smack on the wooden table. Artemis nodded, proud of him and his self-control.

"Dio," he cried, keeping his voice lows by some miracle, "My daughter hates me."
He glanced at Hermes, who Dionysus could see was trying his hardest not to bolt and run away from them.

"The small one?"

"No! Gracie hates me. Kayla. I don't know what I did to her, but she looks at me like I'm no different than the dirt under her shoe!"

"I hope she'll think about joining my Huntresses." Artemis smiled, gaze distant, like she was picturing in her mind the young half-blood, dressed with the silver jacket that her faithful immortal companions wrote regularly.

"So she'll hate me for eternity?"

Dionysus let him whine.
"You like your nieces?"

"Kayla's dreams are the Olympics, and I'm sure she will find the glory and respect she wants and deserves- Gracie is still young, too young I'd say, but seeing her fills my heart with joy and love."
No one shined in the goddess' eyes as much as her brother's daughters.

"Yan hates me too," jumped back in Apollo, just to bring the mood down.

"They don't hate you."

"Well, they don't hate me, they hate their father, which is the same thing."

"I though we'd established that most of the demigods hates us. Not that it was a secret. Not for some of us," he rectified, when he saw the twins' guilty frowns, "Don't make those faces. Respect doesn't mean love, and it's more than possible to respect someone and hate them at the same time."

"Of course," Apollo answered slowly, "But my other kids…" He took a moment to look around, make sure that no one was listening. They were being ignored by everyone else, otherwise they wouldn't have been able to talk about kids, or call each others brother and sister. Dionysus had tried to call Poseidon "uncle" in front of Kyle and the only word that got out of his mouth had been "dude".
"They seem to appreciate me."

"They love him," Artemis didn't hesitate, "Which confused me at first, before learning what transpired last year."

"Last year?"

"Our father sent him"- she pointed at Apollo with her thumb, "On earth in a mortal body for the third time."

Dionysus gaped at that and whipped his head to stare at Apollo.
They hadn't said a word about it, in their "meeting".
"Why the fuck would he do that?"

"Tell me if you find out," his brother joked, but it was obvious that he didn't like that one topic, and he'd always been shit at faking being happy and lie in general. Everyone noticed when the sun shone less brightly.

"Why not ask the kids?" he pushed.

"I'm not sure I want to know."

"Coward," he insulted him lightly, and Apollo barely reacted.

Artemis, who'd turned to Dionysus, was looking at him with her special brand of disappointment, eyebrows raised.
"Did you hear how William was talking about him, right?", and Dionysus almost whistled.
"Oh sister, we all heard that, trust me." He offered his brother a smile. "You rediscovered the pleasures of parenthood?

Apollo didn't even try to hide it.
Something wasn't sitting right with him.
Especially since he'd been determined to avoid any kind of deep relationship with his kids ever since Asclepius, and he'd never failed quite so spectacularly.

His son Asclepius had inherited a talent for healing that made even his father's powers pale, and that same talent who everyone had thought would someday make him into a minor god had turned out to be another curse. He'd died, and then he'd become a god, but Dionysus had never met him. He lived between the mortals, hidden to their eyes with Thanatos carefully watching over him, and he didn't even speak with his father.
His death had changed Apollo, which was something pretty monumental for a god. What a pity that he'd had to change for the worst.

Regardless of how great their powers were, Apollo's mortals children were always the first ones to pay the consequences.
Youths with prophetic visions that got punished by the Sky and the Fates for revealing the future when they shouldn't have, children that tried to heal something that wasn't supposed to be healed and went again nature, kids that payed the price for not being able to control their control over illnesses and plagues under the hands and fire of mortal men.
The Middle Age had been a pretty hard time for them.

And the first thing Apollo had done after realizing it, had been walking away.
Rather than helping them he'd left them, and nothing had changed, if not that those kids now died without knowing the warm father that Apollo could be and when they died Apollo could say that he didn't feel guilty.

Had Apollo changed again, and for the better? Good for him.

Had he hit his lowest point in the meantime?
Dionysus was curious enough to be slightly ashamed of himself. But he was curious.
Had something happened to specifically make him see demigods for who they really were?

Hermes had joined his hands together to intertwine his chubby fingers, and with the short nail of one thumb was torturing the skin surrounding the other thumb, his eyes lost staring at something right in front of him.
He barely reacted when Dionysus knocked his knee with his own.

"Anyway, things seem to have improved. More than improved." She frowned. "Even though our uncle is quite nervous."

"Nervous?" he asked not quite believing her.

"Nervous. Or, well, the closest thing to nervous he can be. Something about this present isn't right."

"Everyone knows that something's wrong with this present," was Apollo's sarcastic and distracted contribution.

"Thanks a lot, I hadn't noticed. I was about to say- everything is wrong, here. Not only the fact that we are here. The ship that should be impossible to tamper with that almost kills the children living here, the tenseness filling this land's very soul, Hestia's fire- I'm sorry didn't anyone wonder what happened to Hestia's fire?"

"And the boy, Chris."

Artemis blinked.
"How is he relevant?" Her eyes fell on Hermes, who looked ready to chew his whole nail until only its bleeding bed would remain. A second hit under the table didn't stop him. "What I meant was, the boy is… unstable. Mortal minds can be, sometimes."

"Our grandpa made him go mad," Hermes informed her, still lost in his mind. Apollo got out of whatever shell he'd been hiding in, ready to run and help his little brother. "And Dio healed him, but something managed to reverse the process. And now he's even madder than before. It's the reason why the daughter of Ares brought him here."
Not that they'd seen her. She'd disappeared with Will Solace, Chiron, Dionysus and his (only) son. And Dionysus could bet that only the residents of Cabin Eleven had caught sight of Connor and Mark.

Artemis nodded somberly.
"Ah, I understand. Our uncle won't be happy."

"Maybe he'll get anxious."

"Don't be ridiculous, Dio."

Yes, now that he thought about it there were lots of reasons to worry.

And Dionysus would have liked- no, loved to think about it (ha-ha), but his son walked in out of the blue and sat on the table next to theirs.
There lessons were mandatory, weren't they? They were held punctually every week, and campers were split in two group to fit in that room.
The nymph walking next to the chalkboard shot Pollux a look and then started talking again, and the graphic she pulled out was even more disgusting than the one before- and Dionysus had seen lots of disgusting thing.

The Fates were ganging up on him, it was clear.

They stopped talking, all four of them (and finally only the four of them- Dionysus wasn't the twins' number one fan but they were the youngest ones together with Dio and Hermes, and this made them slightly more bearable), and the other three followed Dio's gaze to Pollux, who had sprawled his upper body on the table, his lolling head resting on a closed fist.

Dionysus could see his profile, one dark eye over a greek nose and full lips ruined by teeth that wouldn't stop biting them until they were covered in small cuts, reddish with blood. His leg was moving on its own, up and down, like the mere act of sitting there was stressing him out, like he wanted to be anywhere but there.

He wasn't wearing any makeup, and his blonde curls (the same blonde as Paola, a wheat yellow that Demeter had loved when he's showed her a photo of the twins a few months before) were tangled, like he hadn't even tried to get them to stay put- like he'd combed them and then hadn't stopped running his hand through them, enough to ruin his hard work.

The polish on his nails was clipped, and one of them was broken.

Dionysus kept on looking at him - and perhaps, if only Dionysus had stared at him, no one would have noticed.
But while Dionysus had inherited a considerable amount of intelligence from his mother, his two older brothers and one older sister had taken after their father, so they were dumber than a rock, so they stared at Pollux right along with Dionysus.

Until Pollux turned around, perhaps feeling observed (perhaps?) to find four kids staring at him like vultures pointing at prey.

He didn't blink as he stared back.
He didn't blink, eyes peeled open- his eyes were of a startlingly violet shade, now that Dionysus could see them from up close, like they'd never been.
Fully violet irises?

Dionysus, sadly, couldn't try to remember a kid of his who'd had the same eyes- he'd had a total of eight mortal children, in three thousand and four hundred years, if he counted the twins. One before becoming a god, two before meeting Ariadne, and five after marrying her.

Usually, when his wife warned him that she wished for a few decades to spend on her own, and- Dionysus wasn't the best husband in the world, but he was a loyal husband, and this meant that had Ariadne asked him to be celibate he would've accepted without hesitation, if it meant being with her even for just a few short years. For four hundred years, after their first meeting, he hadn't strayed from their wedding bed, with the thought of Theseus (just his name could make Dionysus lose his temper) still alive in their minds and trying to prove both his faithfulness and his devotion for her, and she'd called him a "ridiculous man" (never a god) and invited him to spend a very eventful night with her and two nymphs she'd met and forged a pretty tight friendship with.

He hadn't seen it as a blessing or, Zeus forbid, an award.

Before Paola he'd had Domna, who'd been Ariadne's lover first and that had spent a lifetime with them. She'd had one daughter from Dionysus, one from Ariadne, and the two girls had been raised into strong, protected women in a time when his Father hadn't yet decided that mortals and immortals weren't supposed to meet.
The girls had been a- whim, from Ariadne and Dionysus. The wish for something that would never make them forget about Domna, stubbornly human and balm to their weak hearts, something that would stay with them after Domna's death.
She'd loved her two girls, and they'd loved them just as much.

Domna's loss, then Glykeria's, and Kalliroi's, they'd been hard and Dionysus had waited years and years before even thinking about having another mortal child.

Paola had been a surprise.
A botanist that he'd met in Ireland where she was visiting her parent after her grandparents' death, and whom he'd followed to America- which had horrified her.
"We've known each other for two months, David. I'm not interested in dating someone who's ready to give up on everything he has for a woman he barely knows and surely doesn't love," she'd told him, and Dionysus had thought it smart to explain just how little he'd had to sacrifice in order to follow her.
Then he'd told her that if following her would have involved sacrificing something of his then he wouldn't have left Ireland at all. Dublin was beautiful in the summer, and don't get him started on Kinsale. And she'd dumped him in the restaurant where they were eating after telling him that his leopard print shirt was "ugly as hell".

After two years together Castor and Pollux had arrived, tiny and with the lungs of two tigers, and Ariadne had helped them return home from the hospital.
Dionysus had no longer been able to live with them, but had reorganized his entire life and routine to ensure that his night were free, so that he could put the twins back to sleep every time they woke up at two AM to scream their tiger lungs out- before they could wake up an already tired Paola.
In six years he'd visited them whenever he could.

(Just the year before, his Father had summoned him to his shiny palace to warn him that his patience was thinning, so Dionysus had become even more careful.
But he had failed to cut ties, despite Paola's concern and Arianna's warnings.
He hadn't been able to, because his weakness transcended his mortality.)

He'd seen them grow and he'd seen how nature answered to their calls, how their father's attention and care only made them stronger, he'd seen grapevine branches sprout out of their house's strangest corners.
(Paola had cursed him once when they'd ended up in her washing machine, and Dionysus, who'd been listening to his many divine relatives fight and squabble like children, hadn't even tried to hide his laughter.)

Castor and Pollux's eyes were dark, a rich and deep chestnut brown, the same dark brown as Dionysus' eyes- the way they'd been before his transformation, just like his mother's.
If the sun rays hit them in a particular way, or if they used their powers, they shone with a light that was inhuman but also all Dionysus, violet and frightening.
Funny according to Paola, who hated purple with a passion but had made an exception for Dionysus.

But the thing all around his son's pupils, that purple shade that filled the space of his irises like an infection- that wasn't a soft light, or a reflection, but color.

His eyebags were extraordinarily dark and deep.

Before they could find the common sense to stop staring at him Pollux asked "You should listen. You never know when it'll come of use- knowing how to dissect a manticore," and then it became impossible to look away.
Pollux still hadn't blinked, and it was starting to be intimidating.

"Was it ever useful to you?" Apollo asked him, Pollux shrugged.
"Nah. But a manticore could break through the wards and attack you. After it jumps on you you would be forced to hit her somewhere, right? And how can you know where to hit her if you don't pay attention in class?"

"… It makes sense."

"See?" he blinked, finally, quickly, his eyes as bright as the sun, or like Christmas's lights. "And Ilya's lessons are always interesting. You should hear her older sister, those are more than boring, I slept for like, three hours straight once just by hearing her voice."

"Doesn't that make you an hypocrite?"

"You can't call me anything at all since I'm seventeen, you brat- what are you, ten?"

"I'm fourteen."

"Same thing," he replied, turning to look at the projector again.

They didn't stop staring.
After maybe twenty seconds Pollux shot them an exasperated glance.
"What the hell do you want from me?"

They didn't answer.

Pollux raised his hand, and the nymph raised her eyebrows at him, not unkindly.
"Yes?"
"Could I accompany them outside? They aren't feeling good, they're new here."

The nymph's eyes openly softened , and she nodded with a sweet smile that Pollux mirrored.
He gestured to the door and took them out of the large room- if it could be called that, since there was no roof over their heads.

"What are-" Artemis started to drill him, but Pollux put a finger over his pursed lips and kept on walking until they stepped outside

Only then he stretched his arms and back, letting out a relieved sound.
"Finally."

"You were there for no more than a few minutes," Artemis noticed with her eyes reduced to slits, unhappy with being interrupted.

"A few minutes too many. You like strawberries?"

Pollux dragged them to the strawberry fields.

They were huge.
Row after row of lush plants followed one another, bathed in sunlight, the star high in the sky. There were only a few shaded areas, given the scarcity of clouds, and Pollux guided them through the identical rows with a confidence that spoke of experience, almost like he was following a route already traced, until he got to- Dionysus didn't know where.
His favorite spot?
He sat down on the dirt without batting an eye, and Hermes exchanged a glance with Dionysus, mentally asking 'What on earth does he want us to do' but he by then Dionysus had already thrown himself on the ground, next to his son, and started staring at the boy again.

Under the sun his hair seemed even lighter.
He'd crossed his legs and, with his hands on the dark dirt, laid back with his upper body. His fingers were starting to sink into the ground and he welcomed it, like the feeling of soil over and around his skin was a comfort.

Hermes sat down next to him, the twins in front of them.

Artemis had asked twice why he'd taken them out of the unorthodox classroom, and by the third time Pollux had finally answered, but with a "Because I didn't want to be there and you were the perfect escape plan" that sounded really fake.

The nymph was very kind, and it was obvious that she liked Pollux enough, so he could've just asked to step out because he wasn't feeling good and come in the fields on his own.
Why had he taken them with him?

Artemis asked him a fourth time, and he groaned.
"Seriously, again? Focus on the weather honey, we don't know how long it'll last."

(It was summer, why shouldn't the weather be pleasant?)

Apollo stole a strawberry and ate it, and grimaced.
"It's not ripe."

"Y'know, strawberries usually have to be red in order to be ripe."

The god looked at the boy like he'd fatally offended him and Pollux tilted his head, shot a look to the same plant, and told Apollo "Try again".

Apollo took another fruit, then a bite and flinched looking more betrayed than before, like a fish taken out of water. He probably got even more dirt in the back pockets of his jeans.
"Come on!"

"Again? Dude, why do you keep picking out the green ones?"

"I thought you'd used your green abilities to make it ripe!"

Pollux almost stood up from the indignation.
"There's literally a red one, like- half an inch from that one. Do you need me to give you written instructions?"

"Why didn't you make them all red then!"

"I didn't want to," was his response, and Apollo crossed his arms, refusing to eat the now-famous red strawberry that in a few seconds ended up in Hermes' stealthy and hungry little fingers. He made an appreciating noise and raised a thumb.

Pollux replied in kind, and looked up to the sky. The purple tint of his eyes was clearer, somehow.

"When did your Cabin sign up for fields time?"

Artemis was on suspect mode even more now. She was sitting with her back straight, her legs folded like she was praying, tenser than the trunk of a tree.
"From nine to ten thirty, every morning, and from five thirty to seven on Tuesday and Friday evenings. Why?"

"And you?" Pollux ignored her. Hermes gave him a blank look and Dionysus blinked.
"Right, I got it. Never mind, it's probably the same as them, but you'll have Sunday, Wednesday and Friday evenings."
At his uncle's even blanker gaze he added "Connor usually matches his hours with mine".

Hermes did react at that, frowning.
"… Connor has to organize the activities of a whole Cabin. Shouldn't it be the opposite?"
Dionysus shot him a surprised look.

"At first he tried acting like I was the one adapting. It didn't last long."

(Dionysus could tell he was satisfied. If his son had to hook up with one of Hermes' kids, at least he'd showed the brat who ruled and who sucked.
Pollux ruled and Connor sucked, to be clear.)

Hermes didn't give up. "Mark doesn't look like the type to just accept something like that."

Apollo blinked.
"Sorry, how many Marks live here?"

Pollux ahh-ed, nodding.
"Four. There's Mark, son of Hermes, he's constantly angry with the world and single as of right now, but he dated a daughter of Aphrodite for two years, she went to college last summer. Things didn't end well. Then there's son of Ares Mark, a madman who hates Connor and by association every kid of Hermes, Apollo and me- strange associations," he explained in response to Apollo's confusion. "Nobody knows anything about his love life, but I wouldn't be surprised if he never even mas-"

"He's dating the son of Athena, right?" Artemis cut him short, visibly disgusted by the mere idea of what the kid was about to say.

Pollux shot up from his relaxed, laid-back position, tenser than ever.
"You… aren't referring to Malcolm, are you?"

At her nod he paled.

"Malcolm… 's dating Mark?" he muttered. His bright eyes were wide open. "Malcolm…. with Mark?" he repeated, slowly growing horrified, and then "Mark? No. No, I refuse to believe it."

"What is the problem with you-"

"I didn't spend the last five days betting my college funds on the identity of Malcolm's super secret partner only to find out that it was Mark all along-" he stopped right on his tracks. And let himself fall on the ground with the abandon of a soldier who'd decided life wasn't worth living anymore. He let out a distraught sound. "This is why-" he murmured, covering his face with one tanned forearm.
Then he sat up again, serious once more as he thanked Artemis.
"Thank you, for real. You don't realise the worth of what you gave me- I'll be able to go to, I don't know, fucking Pepperdine University."

"You're welcome?"

"No, I'm being honest. I'd make you swear on the Styx not to disclose this information to anyone else but I'm feeling trusting today, so I'll settle with a normal vow."

He grinned like the was doing them a great favor by not asking them to do one of the riskiest things ever and swear on the Styx, something that not even gods did lightly, and about something as stupid as the romantic flings of Malcolm son of Athena.
Like it was normal of him to ask people to swear on the Styx.

He stared unblinking at them until they promised to keep their mouth shout with different levels of confusion (Apollo and Dionysus) and annoyance (Artemis and Hermes).

"Right! Anyway, I was saying, there's Mark son of Demeter, an asshole of cosmic-"

"The guy who Malcolm punched the day before we arrived, err, woke up?"

"Exactly. Then there's Mark son of Tyche, adorable little guy, he always blesses Julia when she goes with Connor to play poker with my dad. He knows but lets her do it because he really liked beating her. Or letting her win and think she tricked him. Even though the first time she won he didn't realise Mark's involvement," he confessed in a whisper, gleeful and smirking like he'd been the one to trick Dionysus. When one of the twigs of the strawberry bush near him reached out, and covered itself with thorns to prick his side, Pollux glared at the poor vegetable but soon he started quietly smiling again.

His body was still. It was probable that being in contact with the ground and soil helped him settle, and feel better. Calmer. More stable.

(Demeter owned fields that went on and on, her reign peaceful and endless, where Dionysus had been spending his darkest hours for centuries. His aunt never refused to stay at his side when it happened, or to use her own abilities to connect him to the soil of her lands, so that he could feel nothing but the grass being swayed by the wind, or the lymph running through xylem vessels, or worms moving and squirming as they moved around.)

"Do you have more super secret gossips to share with my humble self?"

"So you took us here in the middle of nowhere to force us to reveal all of our secrets? Do you plan on getting rid of us after?" Apollo questioned him, keeping a straight face- which was ridiculous, since his eyes were huge and his cheeks round- and Pollux was probably thinking the same, as he snorted quietly.

"I'm not that kind of crazy, dude. I won't force anything out of you, don't worry- but come on. For every interesting thing you tell me, I'll answer to one of your questions."

"What makes you think that we care about what you have to s-"

Dionysus talked over his sister. "Are there any limits?"

His son smiled, a cutting and smug thing. "Let's try without them, for the sake of our honesty."

"Deal."

They didn't shake hands, but the four of them started to think about something juicy to tell the demigod.
(Dionysus had enough stories to talk until his kid was grey-haired, but nothing that he could share as a normal mortal half-blood.)
Apollo was the first.
"Oh! I have it- no, I don't," he shook his head.

Pollux had pity on them, perhaps, because he started to say "They can be things that I know too- just lay down something I would be surprised with you finding out-"

"Amanda Laurence from Cabin Four dated Kayla Knowles for two months but dumper her when she found her kissing someone else."

Pollux's eyes were shining.
"Can you tell me with who?"

Artemis straightened out even more, somehow looking down on Pollux despite being way shorter.
"Hoa Luu from Cabin Six."

"How the hell-" Apollo tried to ask, but Pollux loudly clapped his hands, an excited grin blooming on his face.

"I knew you were the funny one! How did you find out!"

"Bie Yan was discussing it with her, during dinner. Why did you take us here?"

Pollux burst out laughing, and Artemis' frown grew deeper, her jaw clenched and nostrils flared. He wiped his eyes, wet from unshed tears, his cheeks red.
That laugh had shook him to the core, somehow.

"Seriously?"

"Answer me."

The boy was still smiling when he answered.

"I could feel your… unrest. If we can call it that. I've been feeling how shitty you've been feeling for days, it's gotten, like, really sad. And stressing. And what's best than some sun and fresh air at ten in the morning?" At Artemis' unmoving gaze he added "And if I really had to stay away from the Big House then I wanted to do something more entertaining than a boring lesson."

Artemis didn't let it go.
"Why can't you stay at the Big House."

"One question every juicy news, love."

"Don't call me that. I'm not your love. Kara from Cabin Fourteen has been in a relationship with the Victor twins for weeks. Both of them, at the same time. Neither of them knows about the other."

Pollux tilted his head.
"To be specific, Laurel thinks that Holly knows it. But- really, how did you find this one out?"

"It's rather obvious. Are you trying to buy time to escape, coward?"

Hermes, Dionysus and Apollo were reduced to spectators, and Dionysus' neck started to ache from how many times he'd moved his face to look back and forth.

It was hilarious for two reasons.
One, if Pollux was a high school student, Artemis looked like a middle schooler- which she almost always did, but she was lacking the same divine aura that made everyone take her seriously, or else.
Two, Artemis was a thousands-years-old goddess and one of the most fearsome warriors of Olympus, and Pollux was making her lose her marbles.

The boy shrugged.

"Alright. You know what my dad's the god of, right?"

"He's the god of wine, archaically of vegetation, then ecstasy, madness, orgiastic feast, metamorphosis-" she began to list.

"Right, right," he cut her short, "With Chris at the Big House he told me to get out. Being near crazies like him isn't good for me, apparently. Makes me, uh, unstable in the long run. And I do risk making things worse for him, so here I am."

Dionysus heard his heart miss a beat, and physically felt his lungs contract, pushing on themselves like a stray hand was strangling them in a harsh grip, his breath hitching weakly. He watched his son's profile, the single purple iris- as purple as Dionysus' eyes.

Just like they'd shined in the memories Hera had given him back as a wedding gift, when she'd showed him all terrible things he'd done under the spell that Hera herself had cast on him, ripping away what little sanity he'd had left.

Of all the many, many domains Dionysus held control over, his son (his only son, the only one who'd survived) had been cursed by the Fates to live with the worst one.
Dionysus had accepted its necessity, and he'd told himself that he would do a better job managing it than most of his other relatives. But it had taken him centuries, and his son was just a mortal.
Mortals lived and died so soon. A few decades, that he would spend carrying that weight.

And- becoming unstable just by being near others' insanity?

Just as Apollo had control over both health and disease, Dionysus had control over insanity and sanity.
Pollux wouldn't have inherited one but not the other, would he?
It would have been cruel. More than cruel.

"Unstable?" Artemis echoed him, clear eyes fixed on Pollux, who nodded with a low "Mh-mh".

He pointed at his head. "Unstable. There's nothing in here to balance all that mad madness. My brother, the little shit, stole the other half of powers in the womb."

And Dionysus felt his eyes fill up with tears that he barely kept from falling down his face. A very mortal thing to do, because Dionysus wouldn't have let go of two lonely golden tears like the divine being he was (supposed to be), but he would've cried until his eyes grew swollen and his face became wet with salty water and snot.
He didn't cry, somehow.

What a cruelty, to create two souls that complemented each other and made the other flourish, only to brutally kill one of them? To leave the other alone on this earth, and gift them a life of wandering alone with an empty spots in their mind, heart and soul? Castor and Pollux were twins, but with his power over the mind split between them- a bond like that should have never been broken. Why had the Fates blessed them with one another only to separate them?

He knew that Castor was dead, and he was grieving him as a father. But now his heart ached for Pollux, rather than for his own pain.

Artemis broke the silence again.
"What happened to your brother?"
Apollo turned towards her, almost terrified by her callousness, and even Hermes shot her a glare, mouth open to reprimand her.

Before any of them could say anything Pollux let out a sigh.
"I took you here to make you feel better and you ask me questions about my dead twin?"

Artemis blinked.
What she did next made Apollo gawk and forced Hermes' mouth shut.
"Forgive me," she told him, a little uncertain but honest, "I went too far. My curiosity shouldn't be satisfied at your expenses"

He studied her for a bunch of long second. Maybe he found the genuineness he was looking for, because he relaxed.
"Don't be sorry. I told you to ask away."

"Still, I'm sorry. I am a twin myself, and the mere idea of losing him makes my soul ache. I can't imagine the pain I would feel if I were forced to live without him. You have my condolences."

Apollo closed his mouth, and deflated like a balloon, staring at his sister, his blue eyes wide open, clear surprise painted on his young face.
Was he really that surprised? Artemis had lived only nine days of her immortal life without him, and Apollo thought she would be willing to live even one more? Apollo may have been the one most similar to their mother (nice lady, Dionysus had to admit it), but Artemis had the same big heart.
There was no Artemis without her Apollo.

But Dionysus never thought he'd see the day when one of the twins would move on their earth without the other. And still.

"Thanks," was his son's uncertain answer, and he wrinkled his nose. "For what it's worth, they will- we'll do our best to avoid getting any of you killed."

The silence was heavy, and it stayed like that, until Hermes opened his mouth and said, still a little doubtful, "Is it true that a daughter of Aphrodite fancied Chiron, arranged a romantic dinner and tricked him into coming- so he made her clean the shower stalls for a month as punishment?", which made them laugh, if only because of its abruptness.

Apollo held onto his shoulder as he snorted, and Hermes let out a dignified squeak and a "What are-" which was interrupted by Dionysus' "Damn dude, this is best than the secret incestuous polycule" and Artemis' "I heard of it, but no one told me about the dinner".
Dionysus calmed down, the image of a flushed teenager offering a bouquet to Chiron, with his beard and a pair of eyes wider than plates, and searched for Pollux like a thirsty desert man looks for an oasis.
He was looking at them, a slightly satisfied curve to his smile, his eyes lighter than before. Even his eyebags looked less heavy.

"It's all true. Kath still avoids the pavilion, even though Chiron acts like nothing ever happened. Your question?"

"Uh… your favorite color."

"Blue. Come on, it's getting good."

Dionysus found out that Paolo Montes, son of Hebe, had once told Will Solace that they absolutely had to date each other because William was the only one who'd openly admitted to not being straight- even though William had never come out himself and everyone knew because of not so kind but still truthful rumors, and that William had banned Paolo from the Infirmary for almost two months, to readmit him only when the boy lost both hands. Then they'd become friends, but in the meantime all this had happened, and a daughter of Demeter had told it to Apollo as if it were the story of the century.

Pollux grimaced, probably knowing even more about it, but when Apollo asked him with a grin to rank of the prettiest people from Camp Half-Blood he straightened out, as if they'd ordered him to speak before the Father of the Gods.

"We're gonna exclude Connor, since he'd be automatically at first place for me."
At Apollo's dramatic sound of disgust, Pollux moved a strawberry barbed branch to poke him.
"So, of course Piper. Seriously, have you seen her? If I had those eyes I'd use them for evil, and I admire her for not doing the same."

Dionysus had seen her. The children of Aphrodite were always beautiful, and Piper McLean wasn't ax exception. She was beautiful in an almost unrealistic way, with those dark eyes that shone like rainbows and star under the sun rays to make her look like something out of a book, contrasting against her dark skin- and it didn't matter that her face wasn't symmetrical, when she looked like that.
Aphrodite already looked at her like she was the sky's brightest star.

"Then… alright. Uh, Jason, that guy looks so much like his mom, and she was this super hot Hollywood actress- he and Piper used to date, did'ya know? They broke up a while ago, but for a bit they were The It couple. Not as much as Percy and Annabeth, but no one will never beat those two. Third place I'd say Annabeth."
"The daughter of Athena."
"That one. We used to fight a lot as kids, but now things got better- and I always had a thing for smart people."

"And you're dating Stoll?"

Hermes shot his sister a betrayed glare.

"Connor's smarter than he lets on, but he hates being serious. Usually he has to be serious when things are really bad. But- don't tell anyone, and I mean anyone- no one ever managed to beat Annabeth when it comes to strategy, but Connor and his brother Travis stole a win once that they'll never forget. And that they swore to keep secret."

"A miracle."

Pollux gave Artemis a knowing look, and went on. "Fourth place, Mitchell, no doubt. You know, we once-"

"We don't want to know-"

"Uh, no, I want to know."

"Pollux, if you finish that sentence I will spill your guts on this land."

Pollux sat unworried by the threat, raised his hands and grinned.
"Alright, alright. Fifth place, without hesitation… No, I'm hesitating."

"The son of Athena?"

"Malcolm's a wonder to look at, but there's this girl, Edith, have you met her? She's from Cabin Four, literally a living, breathing angel. Her hair are so red, you won't believe it until you see it. I bet her mom's like some sort of viking warrior. Alright, Edith at fifth place."
Dionysus smiled. His aunt had a type, didn't she. A viking warrior.

Then Dionysus himself told how he'd seen Connor fall from his bed while trying to roll over and shield himself from rising the sun that got him through the windows, twice, and although it wasn't that impressive Pollux smirked with the excitement of a kid and thanked him.

It went on like that for another ten minutes, in which Dionysus discovered that Pollux had been afraid of Chiron when he first met him and had once had a nightmare where the centaur had eaten him alive (funny), and that for a month he had dated Lou Ellen Blackstone, Hecate's head counselor, and that Will Solace had a photo of him where he was dressed in a leopard-print cocktail dress that Lou Ellen had given him.
(It was, apparently, a cloth that could be turned into whatever piece of clothing he wanted, and he'd lost a bet.)

And then Hermes asked, brows furrowed, without sharing first a juicy gossip "Alicia said that those strange little scars that cover Connor's neck and hands are your fault. What did she mean?".

The smile on his lips froze.
His frown was both amused and disappointed. "I thought we were playing."

Hermes nodded, quick and serious, thinking very hard about something to say in exchange for the answer he wanted, but Pollux shot forward.
"I was kidding, don't worry." And after a brief pause "It's kind of my fault, but not because I wanted to, y'know?"
Did he mean that… he'd lost control? Dionysus felt his hands tighten into white-knuckled fists, as fear overtook his mind, not like Dionysus, not his son, not the boy he seemed to care for so much-
"My dad made him work for it, when he tried dating me for the first time."

Dionysus blinked, too shocked to do anything else.
A beat and he realized what his son had said, and he almost let himself fall down on his back from sheer relief.
He noticed out of the blue that the sun was high and its rays warm and kind, that the birds were singing, that the air was fresh and neither dry nor moist.

Apollo leaned forward. “Alright, I need to know this one. Spit it out honey."

Hermes turned to Dionysus as if to scold him, but perhaps he read in his face the wave of feelings that was just now receding, because he chose to move his knee so that it rested on top of Dionysus's.
They were both both wearing knee-length cargos, and their skin touched. Dionysus could feel Hermes' human warmth, and breathed.

Pollux lounged and smiled, a laugh on his lips.
"Well, Connor has been playing card games with my dad for- centuries, by now. But it took him years to finally beat him, at poker to be precise, and beat him for real, not like Julia did, and when he did it, two years ago, he asked him in exchange a chance and his blessing to ask me out. My father reacted… well, not very well. He wasn't all that happy. So he made a flock of angry birds of prey attack him every time he tried to get near me- scratch his face and try blinding him." He smiled like it was the funniest thing ever, and Dionysus mirrored him.
He was the god of fun, he was good at judging when something was funny. And he patted his future self on the back for the good thinking. Hermes was fully on glaring at him. Ah.

"Until they started attacking him even when he just walked out of his cabin," he continued, "But our cabins are next to each others, so, once, he tried to hide and asked me if he could come in, and dad cursed him again, and for a month he couldn't walk on any type of terrain without having vines and other pretty vicious plants wrap around his body and try to bury him.

"Then" Hermes blank stare of astonishment bore into him, "For two weeks-"

"Again?"

"-The woods spirits joined forces and slowly stole everything- and I mean everything he had, until he only had the clothes he was wearing. Bar his shoes and a sock, for some reason. And then Connor chose it was personal, so he. Well, he made everyone think he'd brown up his cabin."

"He counted on my dad just being a little overprotective, since my cabin's next to his, so once he left the Big House he came in and took Seymour away."

Dionysus opened and closed his mouth, before asking "Seymour?".

"It's the head of a stuffed leopard that my dad gave a conscience to. He's particularly fond of it, as leopards are one of his sacred animals and no animal deserves to be stuffed."

Then Dionysus read in Hermes' eyes the same question that was going around his head - "How the hell is he still alive?", even if Dionysus wondered that with cold fury, Hermes with a wavering, uncertain but genuine pride.

"My father found his hiding spot after a week, and he was about to fry him, but then Connor whipped out this convoluted mess of a long ass speech about his "thief honour" and the unfairness of not even letting him propose me or giving me a chance to say no to "his stupid face". So then I told him that I wanted to go out with him- I was impressed, alright?" he got defensive at the way Artemis shook her head somberly. "And dad gave him a chance. After seeing that Seymour had been safe with Connor and that he'd treated him with the respect worthy of a prince- Seymour even asked for shared custody afterwards. And then it had all been an act since the very first day, y'know? He just wanted to see how far he'd go. Stealing from a god's enough, and then everything went smoothly."

Apollo gaped at him.
"I doubt it."

"He's still alive, isn't he?"

"I wonder why," Dionysus let out without wanting to, his confusion sincere.
He'd killed mortals for less. And yes, maybe he couldn't kill the boy since he was Director- but, come on. He would've found a way to get rid of him, had he wanted to do it.

Maybe that was the last straw- the last confirmation, now he had to accept that he'd gotten close to that mortal, even if Dionysus wasn't tied to him in any way.

Hermes laughed, genuinely amused- so similar to the god who'd introduced himself to Dionysus after he'd gained back consciousness after they'd defeated the giants.
(With a smirk that screamed wickedness and soft, poorly hidden worry.)
He wasn't upset for the first time in days.
He didn't declare victory, because a god's emotions were tricky and fleeting most of the times, and because the distraction offered by Pollux would never be enough. But it was something. More than something.

Apollo whispered something that made Artemis giggle, and even she looked more relaxed. Pollux's "CH twins be polite and share with the class" sounded more like a whine, and Hermes smiled openly, and Dionysus felt the love in his heart grow, and grow, seep into every crevice of his chest as it became warmer than the sun. The fondness swelling inside of him bloomed like flowers do when the climate was as good as theirs.
He smiled too.

They spent another hour there, maybe, amidst tens of strawberry bushes, lounging under the sun like lazy reptiles, until a loud group of teenagers got to them.

Pollux frowned at their sight, getting up from where he'd laid down completely.
"I thought the new shifts would start tomorrow." He sighed. "Alright guys, we have to fly or they're gonna water us too- that looks like Lou, and the last time she found me here she threw fertilizer on me."

He guided them and when Hermes lost his balance suddenly he managed to stop him from tumbling down.
"Woah, Emiliano, are you ok?"
(Hermes' name wasn't Emiliano, but it wasn't Emilio either, so he didn't bat an eye.)
Hermes nodded, a confused frown on his face as he exchanged a look with Apollo. who shrugged. His face tensed up with worry once Hermes turned around, Dionysus saw it happen.

Pollux's goodbye was casual and sudden and he disappeared in a moment.

At lunch their uncle and aunt grilled them for information, but they both seemed relieved to see Hermes somewhat relieved of the state he'd fallen into the day before.
More because they wouldn't have known how to behave, than out of pure concern and love for their brother's young son, but Dionysus would have accepted anything.
Dionysus recounted with prideful happiness their escape and Demeter smiled bemusedly when he finished his tale, glancing at him in a way that said just how (fully) aware she'd been of Dionysus' true intentions.

Connor Stoll, the demigod who had dared to steal from Dionysus and was still breathing, didn't show up.
His brother, Mark, had lunch with them. He sat down, smiled tiredly at Julia and left a kiss on Alice's forehead, winked at Kyle, and devoured the food on his plate to disappear again.

At three o'clock they went to the arena, and Jason Grace was there with Ellis.
They were talking, the Roman's were arms crossed but his face was relaxed, and the delicate smile on his face made him look softer.
They weren't alone.
Other than Ellis, the son of Ares who apparently trained the Camp recruits as much as needed to help them survive outside of Camp and then washed his hands of them, who resembled Dio's brother in an uncanny way.
(Confusing, rough, Ares. He could bring out the worst in Dionysus, and Dionysus could do the same with him, so they avoided each other most of the time. But, despite the anger and the fights and the storming out, the calm moments they had spent together were more than dear to him.)

But, surprisingly, the children of Leto, their uncle Hades, Ares (speaking of the devil) and a frowning Hephaestus were there. The latter was staring at the pile of swords as if waiting for them to disappear under the intensity of his gaze, or to blow up into a cloud of smoke. To get replaced by his beloved hammer.
Hammer he'd used to forge the armor of Metis, the same armor Athena had been born in, but also to crack open his enemies' skulls.
His arms were now so thin that he probably wouldn't have been able to lift it from the ground.

(Which was fair.
Once, after a boring council meeting, all the councilors who weren't children of Kronos, even Athena, had gotten together in Dionysus' palace, and he'd convinced them to bet on who would be able to lift Hephaestus' hammer and swing it at least once- and yes, even Athena had agreed to it.
Dionysus had failed, and Hermes had refused to even try, calling his ego too weak to handle the defeat; Apollo had lost with pride and a gleaming smirk, and Aphrodite had spent half an hour muttering about injustice and unfairness; Ares had lifted it but his arms had crumbled under the immense weight of… not even the Fates knew what it was made of, probably, and Artemis had even morphed into her adult self to try, and just like Ares she hadn't been able to do anything more than lifting it a few inches from the ground; Athena had used her brains to make the hammer lift itself, somehow, which had made Dionysus forbid her from ever stepping foot into his palace for the next sixty years, as he laughed so hard tears started streaming down his face.)

Ellis introduced them to Jason Grace as if they didn't know who he was, and said that they were still working on the training shifts and that nothing was set yet.

Grace had a sort of calming quality to him, but Dionysus wouldn't have called him relaxed in a hundred years.

He went to pick up one of the training blades, but Ellis snorted and told him not to worry. So Jason Grace put his hand on the hilt of the sword secured to his hip, ignored until then, and left it there, turning to look at them.
"Those of you who have selected any type of blade come with me, for bows and firearms go with Ellis, Kayla will be here soon."

Ellis shook his head, amused. "No shotguns this time."

"Thank the gods," the son of Jupiter muttered, like firearms had personally offended him, and walked to one side of the arena.
Hermes, Apollo and Artemis went with Ellis.
Grace studied them, fingers drumming over his belt, the hilt still hidden under his palm.
"Ellis told me you're pretty good when it comes to instincts. Otherwise-" he looked at Hades, who didn't react at the accusation, since it was probably true- "It doesn't really matter. You can have all the demigod instincts of this world, but you won't last long with nothing else. And if you last, it won't be pretty," he added, pushing the cart in front of them once the three archery students took their things. Dionysus wondered who'd taken them there. A children of Athena?

"I want to see how you're faring first of all."

Ares came forward first, and no one was surprised.
The spear he had chosen, again, surprised no one. As unstable as Ares was, he had a type.

Grace then tilted his head.
"Would you rather I fight with a sword or spear first?"

"I don't care," Ares simply replied, polite and kind as always, and Dionysus saw Demeter roll her eyes, her two-handed sword enormous and heavy. Grace shrugged, easily accepting the rudeness.

The sword he drew from the scabbard in a fluid motion was a gladius, made of imperial gold, and it made Ares freeze for a brief moment. Grace noticed it, and his grip on the sword remained unchanged. He couldn't entirely cover the symbols engraved on it, but he certainly wasn't hiding the Latin "Mater et Populona" engraved on the blade itself.

Wearing Juno's gladius- that was a rather strong statement. A gladius that Vulcan had forged for her, probably, that she'd entrusted to the hands of a mortal.
And to think that Juno, like Hera, had spent centuries trying to take out her husband's lovers and illegitimate children- only to arm one of them with such a valuable weapon.
And- a mortal?
Dionysus' stepmother was so envious that everyone else could couple with mortals and have mortal children to use when a problem needed solving that, over time, her interest in demigods had waned, a little more with every bastard and hero she had to face, and now she barely paid attention to the few who could impress her.

The situation was paradoxical at this point.

Of course, Ares struck first, at first with little strength and then with growing intensity, and it was evident that he was testing the demigod - who squinted from behind his thick glasses and did exactly the same thing.
Just as it was clear what Ares was doing, it was clear that the demigod was copying him, albeit for certainly different reasons.
Little by little Ares' blows gained vigor and powerful, and perhaps Grace got tired, because with the blink of an eye he sent the other's spear to the ground.

He gave Ares a strange look, but there was no hostility, only curiosity.
He gave him back his spear, which Ares grabbed, his gaze hard and sharp as a blade but devoid of anger. He was just as curious, and the challenge was exciting him.

And then Dionysus almost let himself fall on the ground with a groan when he realized why his brother was being so active.

That boy had won his mother's favor, of course he wanted to test him.

Too bad that, in that setting, Grace was the one testing them.
"It'd be an insult to tell you that you're just 'not bad'. Try to take it seriously and you'll move on to the more advanced classes in days."
Grace struck first this time.

Dionysus had always found the spear a terrible weapon - it was annoying to use, and- and nothing, that deep hatred was as old as Dionysus, and he'd never change his mind, it had been part of him since he was little more than a boy and his mothers, the nymphs who were raising him, decided to secretly teach him how to defend himself, damn his disguise.

But it had to be said: a gladius was the worst weapon one could find himself with when facing a spear, given that the strong point of the latter was its length and the greater amount of force that could be put behind each thrust. It was easier to block with a spear, and Grace in theory should have gotten tired early, forced to move much more than the other, but he didn't let out a single drop of sweat.
He attacked, an incredible force behind every par and slash, and Ares was forced to retreat, until the length of his weapon became an enemy to Ares himself, no longer the advantage it had been up to that point.

Grace moved with the grace (ah) and easiness of someone who'd spent his infancy learning foot work, and his technique was controlled and tense. Dionysus would have described it as by the book, the style of a true Roman, but there was something… wild, in the way his eyes never left his opponent, or how his stance never wavered despite how much he was moving around, with the agility of someone twice as short and thin, or how he didn't even hide the slight smile on his lips when Ares' spear almost slashed his forearm open.
And his eyes.

Ares lasted a little longer, but his spear ended up on the ground again.

Grace turned his weapon over in his hands, and smiled at Ares.
"You can definitely move on to the next class, you really don't need any introduction lessons." He frowned. "But you move like a man who weighs twice as much as I do. You'll have time to bulk up, but in the meantime you need to adjust to your current weight."

"I know," Ares complained, picking up his spear, and his eyebrows were furrowed. Dionysus understood this. Finding yourself in a small, weak body after an eternity spent in the body of Ares Adámastos had to be strange.
The curious spark in his eyes, when he gripped the spear firmly, again, and moved his hand slowly as he walked away from Grace and Demeter took his place, was brighter than ever.
He didn't have his usual fiery eyes, that were impossible to look at for too long, but he'd gotten as close to it as he could as a mortal.

Grace eyed Demeter's two-handed sword, a monster almost as tall as her, which Demeter held high and in place, and blinked in surprise.
"I suppose you've never trained before either?"
At Demeter's shrug he sighed, getting into position, and Dionysus suspected that he was already aware of how it would all end.

Just like with Ares, he also promoted his aunt, who looked happier than a child at Christmas with her huge sword. Dionysus gave her a disgusted glare, and she winked at him. He scoffed and she stuck hand between his curls to mess them up even more.
(Dionysus couldn't remember for the life of his how to deal with his hair.)

Hades' turn was way more interesting, as his uncle seemed to grimace every time something around him made the slightest noise. Particularly keen senses, or perhaps just greater susceptibility to sensory receptions?
Jason Grace didn't send him off to the next class, obviously, but reassured him that they were normal problems for a demigod, and that they'd find a way to deal with them swiftly.

Poseidon looked at his brother, his forehead creased, as if trying to understand what had happened to him, his gaze in his eyes increasingly gloomy.

Dionysus looked away when he heard Apollo let out a high shriek, ready to laugh at his useless big brother, but he was then distracted by Grace, who let out a stunned "Rachel?". Taking his eyes away from Hades, he was staring at the girl who was walking into the arena.

A girl, young and beautiful, a waterfall of soft, red curls on her shoulders and back, walked towards them. She was rigid, walking in a strange manner, like she'd never walked before in her life and was just copying what she'd seen others do, and she was pale. She almost tripped, but didn't stop.
She wasn't wearing any shoes, and she left bloodied prints on the sand of the arena.

Her white dress, a cotton thing covered by embroidered flowers, covered her whole body and moved with the wind, that seemed to follow her steps.

Jason Grace called her, again, panic in his voice.
"Rachel?"

Rachel put her hands on his face, on his cheeks, and moved them back until she could tug at the blonde strands of hair behind his ears, and he was forced to look into her eyes.
Eyes that shone with a bright, sickening green light, the same green of Piton's scales.

She opened her mouth to speak, and her voice was inhuman.

"Five, to hold a crown under the weeping sky,
for the sun to stop their innocent ruin.
Three, to hear death and see their tears dry,
for the pearl of the ocean to save their doing.
And shall the world know no peace as the waves stop receding,
as embers, unguarded and abandoned, burn it to the ground
and thunders shake, powerless, one last time."

Jason Grace caught her just in time.
The Oracle of Delphi crumbled, like a puppet whose strings had been cut, and silence fell on the arena.

——