Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Tim didn't remember much about his first night at the Camp Half-Blood. All memory of that hours was reduced to the constant image of Thalia's death. So the next morning when he woke up in a comfortable bed, with clean clothes and Luke by his side everything was a surprise. 

He looked for a few seconds at his brother's very sleepy face before deciding it was time to explore. Tim carefully got up and laid Luke to rest before leaving the room. There was a long, narrow hallway, with a few more doors, and the occasional picture of people on the walls. He didn't stop to look at them before continuing on his way and walking down the stairs trying to keep the steps quiet. 

Part of Tim told him he was an idiot for not waking Luke and escaping from there together, but Grover had promised them a safe place. 

And look how that turned out. A little voice in his head reproached. Tim shook his head to get rid of those thoughts. 

Thalia was dead, but she was a hero. She sacrificed her life for them, because that's what family does.

The second floor was just as drab as the upstairs. The walls were painted white, some frames on the walls, some decorations and many, many books. The windows showed cabins in the distance, lots and lots of green, something Tim was used to. 

The door that must have been the main one was open, so Tim went there. 

On the porch, a man in a wheelchair was waiting for him. When he felt Tim's footsteps, turned to see him and smiled. 

"How was your evening? I don't think you remember our presentation yesterday. I'm Chiron, the activities director."

Tim frowned, that name rang a bell from somewhere.

“Where's Annabeth, and Grover?” Tim didn't bother to introduce himself, he had a suspicion the man must have known his name from the night before. 

“Grover is performing his duties, and Annabeth must be in her cabin, resting” Chiron's voice was calm, formal and somehow affectionate. It reminded him of someone, though Tim didn't know who. 

"I can tell you Chiron, can't I? How did I get here? I don't remember much after..." Tim was silent, looking at the distant hill. A pine tree towered above the others. “Thalia,” 

Chiron followed Tim's gaze up the hill, his expression darkening for a brief moment before returning to his usual calm.

"She was brave," he said quietly. "Her sacrifice will not be forgotten."

Tim felt a lump in his throat, but he didn't respond. His fist closed next to his side, nails sinking into his palm. He didn't want to hear those words. He didn't want to be told that Thalia had been brave, that her death had meant something. Because all he felt was the absence, the emptiness she had left. No matter how heroic her end had been, she was still dead.

"I want to see her." His voice came out lower than he expected. "I want to go to the hill."

Chiron looked at him with pity, but denied gently. "You're not ready yet, Tim. You'd better get adjusted to camp first, understand what this place is like."

Tim wanted to yell at him, to tell Chiron that he would never be ready, that nothing could make that pain go away. But instead, he nodded stiffly and turned his gaze away.

With a nod Tim followed Chiron back to the house.

Chiron left Tim alone in his office. They had heard Luke's footsteps coming down the stairs, so Chiron decided to go and explain a couple of things to him before continuing the talk. 

The room was dark, except for a light coming from a projector spotlight pointed at one of the walls. The image was black, but suddenly it began to light up to show a man in his twenties standing in front of the porch of the house Tim was in, although it was a red color; it contrasted perfectly with the white dress he was wearing. Tim knew that wasn't a dress, he'd seen it before on the statues in the museums Annabeth made them visit, but he didn't remember its name. It wasn't like he cared to learn it either. The man, who by the way was blond, tall and tanned, cleared his throat and began reciting a poem.

“A poem written by Apollo, recited by...Apollo”

Tim grimaced. He had heard enough of Apollo to know what was coming. 

“Oh, immortal Chiron,

Centaur clever and fair,

trainer of heroes,

just remember who taught you.”

As soon as he finished speaking, a very catchy tune started playing. Some boys and girls appeared behind Apolo and performed, sang and danced, recited more poetry and acted out comedy sketches. At the end they said goodbye by saying the name of their group, “The Lyre Choir”.

Tim forced himself to try to catch the highlights of each number, although it was difficult because he was distracted by their acts (who wears a Hula Hula while wearing Hawaiian clothes, and Tim was referring to the coconut bra and straw skirt). But what little he did understand helped him learn about the layout of the cabins, the training arenas, the big house, the dining pavillion, the forges and the forest. It was a quick but confusing way to learn about the half-blood camp. 

So Tim left Quiron's office more confused than he already was, he would have preferred to see it all with his own eyes than to have to put up with that little number. He promised himself that if he ever met Apollo he would give him a book on how to write poetry. 

If he is as good a doctor as he is a poet, I'm sorry for his patients.

Chiron was again waiting for him on the porch, only this time in the company of Luke.

“Hey little shrimp, how's your dreams?” Tim just shrugged, and the smile Luke seemed to force himself to put on turned into a grimace. 

Chiron cleared his throat softly, getting they attention. 

"Now that you're both awake, you'd better wander to your cabin. The camp may be overwhelming at first, but I'm sure you'll find your place."

Tim didn't respond. He wasn't sure if he wanted a “place” here. His place was with Thalia, and Thalia was gone. But he nodded anyway... 

"You know what mine is? Annabeth's with Athena, Luke's with Hermes, but what about me?" Tim asked, crossing his arms. Not that he cared too much, but a part of him was hoping that Chiron had an answer, that he could tell something that would give him a bit of certainty in the midst of all that chaos.

The man paused before answering. 

“I don't know, Tim.” His voice had a tinge of genuine sorrow in it, as if he truly regretted not being able to give her a clear answer. “But you can stay in Hermes cabin with Luke, that's where all unclaimed demigods stay until their divine lineage is clarified.”

Tim shrugged. "Well, Hermes is the god of travelers, right? Then I guess staying in his cabin makes sense, I guess."

Luke let out a humorless laugh. "Yeah, right. Home to all the lost and forgotten. Dad must be thrilled."

Chiron shot him a warning look, but said nothing.

“Come on, Tim,” the blond said, placing a hand on his shoulder before starting to walk. Tim kept pace with him, feeling the weight of Chiron's words on his shoulders. Divine lineage. As if that mattered. As if that could bring Thalia back.

The path to Hermes cabin was lit by the morning sun. Around them, the camp was beginning to come alive , some demigods were training with swords in the arena, others were running between the cabins, and the sound of laughter and conversation hung in the air. It was hard to imagine that this place was so far from the life he had known before, from the struggle for survival he had lived in with Luke, Annabeth and Thalia.

“You don't seem very excited,” Luke noted when they got far enough away from the Big House.

Tim snorted. “I'm not interested in the cabin or the divine lineage.”

Luke sighed and looked off into the woods. "Yeah...I hear you. But the camp is safe, Tim. It's what Thalia wanted for us."

Tim stopped his pacing, his brow furrowing. "Thalia wanted to live. And now she's dead."

Luke sighed. 

“I dreamed about her last night,” he said, his voice barely a whisper. “With Thalia.”

Tim felt a shiver run down his spine. “What was the dream like?”

Luke hesitated before answering. "It was the three of us again. You, her and me. Just like before. Like at the beginning. Running, running away, but... she was laughing. Telling us everything would be all right." He let out a bitter laugh. “And then I woke up, and realized she was gone.”

Tim felt something catch in his throat. He didn't know what to say. Because he, too, had wanted to wake up and find Thalia there, alive, with that defiant look in her eyes, telling them what to do.

“It's unfair,” he muttered. “She...she deserved to get here.”

Luke clenched his fists. “Yes. She deserved it more than anyone.”

They continued walking in silence until they reached Hermes cabin. The 11th cabin was the largest of the 12 that there were, they were arranged in a U position, this being one of the last. The threshold was well worn and the dull brown paint was chipping, above the door was a staff with two snakes, like those in hospitals. 

Tim eyed the cabin suspiciously. It looked crowded and he didn't like the idea of being surrounded by strangers, but Tim didn't have the strength to complain either.

Luke sighed and patted Tim on the shoulder, "Come on, Shrimp. We'd better get used to it." 

But Tim wasn't sure he wanted to get used to it. Because that would mean accepting that Thalia was gone.

Chapter Text

The first night was a bit rough.

The cabin was packed with campers, there was no room left in any of the bunks, and Tim and Luke were forced to sleep in sleeping bags on the floor with the rest of the kids who didn’t make it to a bed. Thankfully, years of shoplifting had made them experts at getting an extra pillow and blanket.

Could be worse, Tim thought as he curled up next to Luke. It felt like being on the road again—just the two of them.

Still, Tim didn’t sleep much that night. There were too many people, too many whispered conversations, too much heat. Someone was missing. He’d grown used to having Annabeth nearby while sleeping, usually wedged between him and Luke. So he usually ended up sleeping next to Thalia instead.

Thalia…

Would I ever stop thinking about her? Would I ever forget her voice?

The next morning, Tim didn’t have the strength to get up. He’d only just managed to fall asleep near dawn, but activities at camp started early, so he had to use every ounce of willpower not to fall asleep on the way to the dining pavilion.

They’d skipped dinner the night before to settle in and get some time to themselves. Tim hadn’t made good use of it, so now he was a bit hungry. It wasn’t the first time he’d gone without eating, and it wouldn’t be the last.

When they got to the pavilion, following a group of other campers, most of the tables were already taken and full of food. The place was huge, with twelve tables laid out neatly and a blazing brazier near the first few tables—the ones for Hera and Zeus—which, of course, were empty.

There were no spare seats, and eating at a different cabin’s table wasn’t allowed. So Tim had to bite back the urge to sit with Annabeth or Luke and instead found a spot near two older girls, both daughters of Hermes. Like Luke, they were funny and charismatic, and for a few minutes, Tim almost forgot where he was.

After finishing breakfast, he left the pavilion to take a walk. There was a lake nearby he wanted to check out, but he didn’t want to go alone. Luke was talking to the guy who’d introduced himself the day before as cabin head counselor, so Tim decided to find Annabeth. But when he did, she was with her cabinmates. He didn’t dare interrupt, Annabeth deserved this. He didn’t have the right to pull her away from her family.

In the end, Tim walked the lake’s edge alone. He passed the canoes and reached the forest line. The camp was huge, and it never stopped amazing him. Though a small voice in his head kept telling him not to get too comfortable—they’d have to run again eventually.

And that’s how the month went by.

Tim was used to it being just the four of them. Being around so many people felt overwhelming. He could barely start a conversation without going blank, unsure if what he was saying was right or wrong. Before, he didn’t have to think about that—there were only a few things Luke or Thalia might scold him for. Luckily, the people in his cabin were friendly and talked nonstop, so it wasn’t like he was always in silence.

Luke, charming as ever, had a gang of friends within days, and even though he insisted Tim hang out with them—and Tim tried—it just wasn’t the same. They weren’t his age. They didn’t get his jokes. They didn’t share his past. And even though they were nice, they treated him like a kid they had to include out of pity. And he hated that.

So he spent more time watching than joining in. Sometimes he sat in the sand, watching the waves crash against the dock, or wandered into the forest—never too deep, just far enough to feel like he could breathe.

And so the hours passed. And the days. And the weeks.

And somehow, in the two months Tim had been at camp, he’d gone from a decent swordsman to a total nobody.

Well… there was an explanation for that.

And it was called sword fighting class. Or Swordsmanship, as Annabeth prefers. 

Since he’d arrived, Tim had been paired with people of all ages and skill levels to train. Sometimes he got someone at his level. Other times... he got veterans who’d grown up there, wielding swords almost as big as they were, using words like “restraint” while disarming him with one blow.

It didn’t help that Luke was an incredible swordsman. Every time someone asked if “Luke’s little brother fought just as well,” Tim wanted to crawl under the sand.

And don’t even get him started on Annabeth.

She trained like someone with something to prove. She was fast, precise, and every time they met in the ring, Tim had to remind himself they weren’t really fighting.

He never said it, of course. But sometimes he dreamed of Thalia’s face giving him advice between strikes, or daring him not to fall in the first round. In his dreams, Thalia was always smiling.

Tim liked swords.

He wasn’t the best. Not even close. But he understood them. Because unlike most things in his life, a sword was clear. He knew what it was for. No lies, no twisted words, no hidden meanings. A sword was made to hurt. To protect. To keep him alive.

It was a harsh truth—but a reliable one.

Luke had taught him that early: If you don’t fight, you don’t live. And even if Tim sometimes hated him for what that meant, he also owed him his survival.

So he kept getting back up. Every time he was knocked down. Every time he fell. Because a sword could mean the difference between breathing and not.

Until Chiron let Luke lead a training.

No one was surprised. After all, within months of arriving, people were already calling him “the best swordsman in generations.” Some said it with admiration. Others, with fear.

Luke smiled like he didn’t care. But Tim could see the smug sparkle in his eyes.

“We’ll start with something simple,” Luke said, demonstrating a move in slow motion, twirling the sword with graceful precision, almost theatrical. Then he lowered his weapon. “Annabeth, Tim. Show us what you got. Try to incorporate that into your spar.”

Tim swallowed. He turned to Annabeth. She met his eyes, steady as always. He nodded, trying to look just as confident.

You’re fine, he told himself. It’s just an exercise. Half the camp is watching, so don’t embarrass Luke.

He’d trained with swords since Luke first placed one in his hands. He knew the basics. And what he didn’t know, he faked. He could handle this.

Luke gave the signal.

And everything went to hell.

Tim attacked first, doing the move he’d memorized. But when Annabeth blocked it, he lost balance. He didn’t know if it was how she turned, a wrong step, or because—just for a second—his mind flashed back to that alleyway, Thalia yelling at him to duck.

He spun the wrong way. Really wrong.

The angle was all off, and when Annabeth’s sword came down, he couldn’t do anything but take the hit.

He felt the blood before the pain. The blade slicing from his left collarbone to his right side. He didn’t scream at first. He just froze. He stopped breathing.

“TIM!” Annabeth dropped her sword immediately and rushed over.

The world was spinning. Tim was already off balance, so he just let go of his sword and fell to his knees.

“Oh gods, she cut him!” someone yelled.

“Chiron!” Luke shouted.

Tim couldn’t even talk. He just looked down at his chest, watching the orange camp shirt darken with blood. It was... too much. It hurt like hell, sure, but worse than the pain was the cold. Not even the harshest winters he’d spent sleeping on park benches had felt this awful.

A sword can protect you.

But it can also kill you.

“Don’t close your eyes, Tim!” Luke’s voice forced him to blink. “Hey, stay with me, okay?”

“You’re the one who made me pick up that thing…” Tim muttered, smiling through a grimace of pain.

“Idiot!” Luke growled. “Why did you do that dumb spin?”

“Aren’t you the teacher?” Tim replied with a weak chuckle.

That’s when Chiron arrived at full gallop, followed by a couple of kids Tim had seen hanging around the infirmary. They lifted him gently and laid him on a stretcher. Annabeth followed close behind. Luke walked stiffly, jaw clenched, fists tight.

Tim looked at the sky for a few seconds before deciding he could pass out for a few minutes. 

Tim was dripping. The rain was hitting his hair in his face and he had to stop for a few minutes to push it out of the way and start again. 

Thalia laughed every time he did it. 

Her leather jacket was perfect for the rain, heavy but it gave her protection that Tim in his old Jersey envied. Winter was about to start and Luke had promised that they would save money to buy him a Good Will jacket that would fit him perfectly. Still Tim knew there would be no jacket that would make him look as cool as Thalia, with her black makeup around her eyes now running down her cheeks like tears, but Thalia didn't cry. Thalia never cried in front of him.

"Again,” she commanded, raising a long, straight tree branch as if it were a sword. 

Tim looked at the wooden sword in his own hands. It was clumsy, worn, with splinters in the hilt.

"I'm tired,” he said, his voice cracking.

"And you think the monsters are going to give you a nap?" Thalia asked, crossing her arms.

He looked down.

"I don't like this. I don't want to fight."

"Too late,” she replied. "You're already fighting. Since the day you were born."

Tim raised his sword. His fingers were trembling. Thalia sighed and took a step toward him.

"Look, I know it's not fair,” she said, bending down to meet him. "I know you don't like this. But if you don't learn, you're going to die. And I'm not going to let that happen."

"What if I don't want to be like you and Luke?" he whispered, his voice small.

Thalia looked at him for a second.

"You're already better than us,” she said with conviction. 

Behind her, a taller silhouette appeared. Luke. He was wrapped in his old denim jacket, with an ill-fitting backpack slung over one shoulder, and he was smiling as if nothing bad had ever happened in his life.

"Am I interrupting?" he asked, arching an eyebrow.

"You always do,” Thalia replied, but she was smiling too. One of those rare smiles Tim had only seen a handful of times. When it rained and they finally found a dry spot. When they stole enough food to eat dinner two nights in a row. When Luke would say something silly and Tim had repeat it like it was pure wisdom.

"I thought it was time to show him the good stuff,” Luke said, and pulled a sword out of his pack. 

Tim recognized it immediately. It was Luke's sword, the one he barely let Tim look at. 

It was the first sword Luke had saved him with. 

Luke knelt down in front of him.

"Do you know the difference between a sword and a stick?" he asked.

Tim shook his head.

"Intent,” Luke replied. "This isn't just a weapon. It's a promise. When you pick up a sword, you're saying 'I'm going to protect myself. I'm going to protect them.'"

He looked at Thalia, who had already distanced herself.

"She's strong. Stronger than you. For now,” he added with a knowing smile. "But you're not going to be left behind. Because you have something that neither I nor she had at your age."

"What?"

"Heart,” he said, placing the sword in Tim's hands. "You feel before you strike. That's not weakness, Tim. That's strength. Don't let anyone tell you otherwise."

Suddenly the ground disappeared beneath his feet and pulled Tim into another place. It was warmer now, a campfire burning in the center of a makeshift camp, backpacks lined up like mattresses. Thalia slept on one side, her jacket draped over Tim's shoulders, he barely keeping his eyes open. Luke stirred the fire with a stick.

"Do you think we'll ever stop running?" asked Tim, in a sleepy voice.

"Sure,” Luke replied, without looking at him. "We're going to get a house. You're going to go to school. You're going to be able to sleep without looking over your shoulder. You're not going to have to worry about food and you're going to have that dog you're always talking about."

"What about you?"

"Me too,” Luke said, but his voice was shaky. "Someone has to make sure you get it."

Tim looked at him with sleepy eyes. 

"And Thalia?"

Luke didn't answer right away.

"She has to make sure we don't just eat junk food."

Tim wanted to smile, but when he blinked, Thalia was gone. Nor Luke. Nor the fire.

Just darkness.

Tim spent a whole day in the infirmary.

The Apollo kids who cared for him said it was a miracle the cut hadn’t been fatal. If he’d turned a little more to the right, the blade could’ve sliced his jugular. He needed stitches from collarbone to waist. Forty-two. Tim knew because he counted while biting down on a rag, eyes shut tight to stop himself from screaming.

Only then did they give him some ambrosia. The skin healed—but not completely. Never completely.

Tim was left with a scar. Big. Harsh. But also… kind of cool, he had to admit.

“Looks like you got struck by lightning,” said one of the Ares kids who snuck into the infirmary to see the wound. There was even a line of kids trading drachmas for a peek. They promised Tim half the profits.

“Or recklessness,” added Annabeth from a corner.

Tim looked at her. She was sitting with arms crossed, frowning.

“I… I’m sorry,” he said, lowering his eyes, not sure what else to say.

Annabeth shook her head. “Don’t apologize. Just… be more careful.”

Tim clenched his fists but nodded.

Shouldn’t YOU be the one apologizing? he thought, but didn’t say it. He was used to Annabeth never saying sorry. It wouldn’t be the first—or last—time she hurt him and he had to take the blame.

Once his chest was bandaged, the excitement wore off and everyone went back to their business. Chiron made everyone leave so Tim could rest until he was cleared.

Someone left his sword propped up against the wall near the bed.

Tim spent hours staring at it, remembering how hard he’d worked to earn it. The hours he’d spent with a wooden sword until Luke deemed him ready and gave him this one. He’d been so happy. He’d taken such good care of it.

“I don’t want it anymore,” he murmured.

Luke, who had come in after showering, stood next to him, arms crossed.

“What did you say?”

“I said I don’t want it anymore,” Tim said louder. “I’m not touching a sword again. Not ever.”

Luke didn’t respond right away. He just looked at him.

“You did this to yourself, Tim. It was a mistake. Not the weapon’s fault.”

“Maybe not. But what happened was enough for me.”

Silence stretched between them.

“So what are you gonna do when a monster comes after you?”

Tim could still feel his scar through the bandages.

“Use something else. Anything else. But not a sword.”

Luke sighed. “You’re giving up.”

“No,” Tim said, resting his head on the pillow. “I’m protecting myself.”

And with that, he closed his eyes and let sleep take him—still feeling the burn in his chest… and the promise that, for now, he’d left the blade behind.

Chapter Text

Tim spent the next few weeks trying to figure out what his strength was. It only took him a few days to realize that he sucked at everything. 

But there was a logical explanation for everything. Or so Tim tried to say every time someone made fun of him, or every time Annabeth scolded him, or Luke, or Chiron, or some of the campers who taught classes. 

In short, he was the laughing stock of the camp. 

It wasn't his fault that Greek was too difficult for him to understand, even though his dyslexia was supposedly due to his brain being designed to read ancient Greek. Apparently, Tim's brain didn't understand that, because, just like with English, the letters seemed to get even more jumbled.

In running, he was a complete embarrassment. As soon as Tim started, he ended up with his face kissing the ground and his mouth full of dirt, and the nymphs had a good time laughing at him. In javelin class, Tim couldn't even hold the javelin, so imagine how it went when he tried to throw it. The only thing he did reasonably well was archery. He didn't even come close to hitting the target, but he did manage to shoot the arrow without hurting anyone.

Summer came, passed, and ended, and Tim had officially become the worst camper of all. And he would have been fine with that... if it weren't for the fact that he was embarrassing Luke.

And because Annabeth kept reminding him of it.

“You're making me look bad in front of my siblings, ” she blurted out one day, out of the blue, as they were leaving Ancient Greek class. Tim didn't have the energy to argue.

The good thing was that, with the early start of classes, many campers left the camp. They only came during the summer; a few stayed all year because they attracted the attention of too many monsters. Others, like Tim, simply had nowhere to return to.

As a kind of tradition, Tim received a necklace with a beads on it, painted with a Greek trireme in flames (an event that fortunately had nothing to do with him and Tim didn't want to remember). He hid it under his light blue T-shirt. When he arrived, he had been given an orange T-shirt with a “half-blood camp” print and a pegasus, but after several children of Ares laughed and told him he didn't deserve it because he looked so little like a demigod, Tim had decided it was best to put it away and not think about it again.

The camp became quieter. Less noise, less pressure. With fewer campers, the cabin emptied considerably, and luckily for Tim, he was able to move to an empty bunk in the center. He no longer had to spend the night in a sleeping bag in a corner, sharing a pillow and a blanket. Luke, of course, followed him to the bunk next to him.

Speaking of his older brother, Luke had gone from being just another camper to taking over as leader of Cabin 11 after the last leader didn't return from his mission...

Part of the job, Tim thought. 

He didn't like to think about it, but it was the truth. Sometimes demigods went on missions and didn't come back. No one talked much about the last leader of Cabin, they just said he was “tough but fair” and that Luke had “the potential” to take his place. No one questioned his leadership. No one seemed to mind that a boy of only fourteen would occupy such an important position.

Tim, on the other hand, was bothered by it.

Not because he thought Luke didn't deserve it—he deserved it more than anyone—but because now everyone needed Luke. Everyone wanted to talk to him, train with him, learn from him. He was no longer just his brother. Now Luke was also the leader of a small army of rowdy, self-centered campers who didn't understand what personal space meant. 

Tim didn't tell him, of course. But he missed Luke. Even sleeping next to each other, he felt lonelier than before.

“What are you doing standing there like a statue, Tim?” Annabeth asked one afternoon when she found him alone by the lake.

Tim blinked, annoyed by the nickname and tone. Annabeth did that when she wanted to sound tougher than she already was. She had been doing it a lot lately. 

“Nothing,” he replied, shrugging.

“You look like a depressed statue. Are you going to jump or something? You spend a lot of time at the lake.” 

Tim gave her a sour look. Annabeth smiled cheekily.

Well, Tim thought, she's right about that. 

For weeks, whenever he could, he ended up there. In front of the lake. Sometimes at dawn, when the surface of the water was still covered with a silvery mist, or at sunset, when the sky seemed to melt into colors. But most of the time he did it at dusk.

There was something about the water that calmed him. He liked it when it was peaceful—which wasn't as often as he would have liked—but he especially liked it on starless nights, when the clouds covered everything but the moon.

Tim liked the moon. Well... more than the moon, he liked the night. He liked the darkness when it wasn't scary, although to be honest, it never scared him. When it was like a warm blanket enveloping him. He liked the muffled sounds, the crackling of branches, the crickets, the owls. The whisper of the wind. The feeling that everyone was going to sleep except him.

He liked the stars too. Although he didn't know exactly why. Maybe because when he looked at them, he felt that someone up there—whoever it was—was silently saying, “I'm here.” As if they were little greetings from the sky. Some shy, others twinkling brightly.

Sometimes Tim would skip dinner and climb onto the roof of his cabin to look at them. He didn't talk about it with anyone, of course. Not even Luke. Much less Annabeth. Not because he thought they would make fun of him, but because... he wouldn't know how to explain it. Like saying out loud that he felt less alone when he looked up.

Sometimes he wondered if you could see the stars like that from Gotham. 

Gotham. 

That name seemed more and more distant to him. Diffuse. As if it were part of another life.

“I'm just saying that if you're going to be emo, at least find a more aesthetic rock,” Annabeth continued.

“What do you want?” Tim sighed. 

Annabeth sat down next to him on the shore. Her feet dangled over the water, barely touching the surface.

“Luke asked me to help you improve in mythology class. He says you keep confusing Odysseus with Jason.”

“That's not true!” Tim protested.

Annabeth raised an eyebrow.

“Then who was the King of Ithaca?”

Tim stared blankly at her for three seconds.

“...Odysseus.”

“And the leader of the Argonauts?”

“Jason.”

“Good. We're making progress.” She paused. “Anyway, I didn't come here just for that. Luke is looking for you. I'd hurry if I were you, he seems in a rush.” 

Tim just nodded. He didn't want to keep Luke waiting any longer, so he said goodbye to the lake in silence and left. 

It had only been a month since the end of summer, and Tim didn't expect to meet any new campers until Christmas or the beginning of next summer. Although, from what he had been told, it wasn't unusual for new demigods to appear during the year, what was unusual was that they appeared at the beginning of a school semester, and that they were brothers.

Travis and Connor Stoll.

It took Tim less than five minutes to realize that they were going to cause him a lot of trouble.

Unlike other new campers, the Stolls didn't seem confused or overwhelmed by the existence of monsters or Greek gods. No. They arrived as if they were coming home.

Luke forced Tim to give them a tour of the camp and help them settle in, because, luckily for Tim (note the sarcasm), they were both sons of Hermes. Apparently, that was Luke's plan to get Tim to socialize. 

Tim gave them the tour he would have liked to have had, although, of course, not with so much talk and effusiveness. 

Every time Tim looked over his shoulder to see if they were following him, he couldn't help but be surprised by their physical resemblance. Tim would have had no doubt that they were twins if it weren't for their difference in height. They both had brown, wavy hair, and Tim could swear they had the same amount of curls and waves in the same places, bright blue eyes, like most of Hermes' children, and of course, a hint of mischief in them, although theirs was more than a hint. 

“And this is our cabin,” he said when they finally finished the tour. “Find an empty bunk and make yourselves comfortable.”

Tim left them at the door and went to his bed to collapse on it. The day with those two had been exhausting, and Luke owed him a big one for doing his job, although of course, Luke thought he was doing Tim a favor. His brother could be very strange when he wanted to be.

“So... whose son are you?”

Tim turned his head to the left, and his face was immediately covered with a look of total disgust. Travis and Connor were settling into the bunk next to his. 

The cabin was almost empty, and they couldn't find anything better to do than follow him?

Tim clenched his fists, but bit his tongue so as not to say anything to them. He couldn't kick them out or ask them to move. Although he hated to admit it and think about it, Tim was only staying here until he got claimed, and they were the children of the cabin owner. He was the intruder.

“I haven't been claimed yet,” he replied reluctantly.

“But who do you think your parent is?” Connor asked again. Being the shortest, it was easy for Tim to recognize him. 

“I don't know. Chiron thinks it might be a minor god. Luke hopes it's not another Olympian.”

“A minor god?” repeated Travis, already stretched out on the bunk, arms behind his head. “Is that a good thing or a bad thing?”

“Depends on the god, I guess,” Tim muttered.

“I wouldn't mind being the son of the goddess of parties,” added Connor, amused. “Does she exist?”

“That sounds more like Dionysus...” said Travis.

“But Dionysus is the god of wine!” protested Connor. “Is there a god of pranks? Because I would feel very identified with him.”

Tim turned his face toward the ceiling, clenching his teeth.

“Maybe there's a god of idiots,” he muttered.

“Or maybe you're the son of the goddess of bad moods,” Travis replied, resting his head on the pillow with a mocking smile. “Hey, does she exist?”

“Don't bother me,” Tim growled.

“We're just talking, man,” said Connor, raising his hands in a fake gesture of peace. “Although, honestly, I find it hard to imagine someone like you being the son of a fun god. No offense. It would be boring to be your brother.”

Tim turned in bed to look directly at Connor.

“Luke is my brother,” he said as a reminder.

The Stolls looked at each other... and then burst out laughing.

“Luke? Cabin leader Luke? The tall guy who introduced us?” said Travis, his voice filled with laughter.

“Your brother?” added Connor, wiping away a tear of laughter. “Are you sure? Because he seems... you know, cool. Charismatic. Tall.”

“And you,” Travis continued, pointing at Tim mercilessly. “You look like... the guy who trips over his own shadow.”

“Maybe you're the awkward cousin,” Connor said, shrugging. “Or the adopted one. Like cousin Erik, remember Trav?”

“How could I forget my favorite cousin? He's so easy to play pranks on,” Travis replied, laughing. “Maybe you snuck in here behind Luke, like a lost puppy.” 

That was the last straw for Tim. He grabbed the nearest thing (which happened to be one of his shoes) and threw it at Travis's head. His aim was on point for once: he hit the target and Travis fell backwards.

His brother Connor couldn't hold back his laughter and began to guffaw, attracting the attention of the few campers who were in the cabin, most of whom were taking a break and escaping the cold that was beginning to set in.

Tim's cheeks turned red as everyone's attention was focused on him. He shot them a nasty look before leaving the cabin.

“Idiots,” he muttered.

Despite everything, Luke's plan had paid off. After that time at the cabin, the Stolls hadn't left Tim's side. 

Tim couldn't consider them his friends, because they spent half the day teasing him to see how Tim would get back at them. Connor had earned several bruises because of it, and Travis wasn't far behind. When they weren't looking for ways to annoy each other, they would chat a little, although Tim still tried to spend most of his time alone.

Of course, when they realized this, they decided that from now on the three of them should be joined at the hip. Which, of course, was not only uncomfortable but also horrible because Tim was being punished more than ever. They had ruined his clean record with Chiron. 

The smell was unbearable. Tim had tried breathing through his mouth, but that had only made things worse. The air was so thick with the smell of manure that he felt he could chew it.

“This is disgusting,” he muttered, pushing the shovel listlessly.

“This is worth it,” said Travis, smiling as he leaned on the rake as if it were a cane. “Although I admit that Chiron's reaction was faster than usual.”

Connor raised his hand as if asking to speak. “Maybe because you filled Ares' cabin with foam.”

“I didn't fill it,” Travis defended himself. “It was just enough so they couldn't see their feet...or hands.” Then he looked at Tim, who was still shoveling silently. “Didn't you have fun?”

Tim didn't answer right away. He was still frowning over what had happened that morning. Travis had gotten into a fight with one of Ares' sons after sword practice. Tim, of course, hadn't been there, so he didn't know the details, only that it had been bad enough for Travis to show up at lunch with a black eye and promises of revenge. And somehow Tim had gotten involved without even being there. 

Because, of course, when the shouting started and someone yelled, “It was the kid from Hermes' cabin!” it was too late to escape.

Although Tim had to admit it had been fun to see his bullies covered in foam. 

Tim tilted his head and looked at the brothers.

“Maybe a little,” he muttered.

Travis winked at him. “I knew there was some chaos in you.”

That night, Tim couldn't sleep.

He rarely dreamed. Demigods don't dream. When they do, it only means tragedy. So Tim didn't dream, but his mind still played tricks on him and wouldn't let him rest in peace. 

The air in the cabin was thick, which wasn't unusual, except that the atmosphere was quieter than normal. He had learned to recognize the small sounds each of them made. Luke's soft snoring, Connor's gentle humming whenever he fell asleep on his back, Travis's slow breathing, the creaking of the wood under their beds when they moved. But even without those white sounds, something kept Tim awake.

After a while, Tim gave up. He put on his shoes carefully so as not to make any noise and left the cabin.

The sky was clear, and that was enough to make his lungs feel a little freer. Walking around the camp at night was something almost no one did without a very good reason, as the harpies were allowed to punish anyone who broke curfew. But for Tim, the stars were reason enough to take the risk.

He climbed up the back of the cabin to the small sloping roof where he sometimes sat to look at the sky. It still counted as the cabin, and as long as he didn't set foot outside, the harpies didn't usually bother him much. 

The stars shone as always, tiny dots in the sky that seemed too peaceful for a world like his. 

They didn't look like that from Gotham. It had taken him days to remember. Tim could barely remember his hometown, but he remembered the cloudy sky, the feeling that everything was too dark, too distant. 

“What are you doing up here?”

Tim didn't startle. He just turned his head. Travis was perched on the edge of the roof. 

“How did you know I was here?”

“Do you think this is the first time I've seen you climb up here? You don't know how to sneak around,” Travis replied and lay down next to him. “If you're going to be all melancholy, you might as well have company.” 

“I'm not melancholy,” Tim felt his cheeks flush. 

“Uh-huh. Then what is this? Staring at the stars in silence like a tragic poet? All you need is a quill in your ear. I thought the sons of Apollo were the ones who wrote to the moon.”

Tim rolled his eyes. Travis smiled.

A few seconds passed in silence before Travis spoke again, this time in a lower tone.

“My mom used to say that stars were like signs. And we just had to learn how to read them.”

Tim glanced at him sideways.

“Your mom?”

“Yeah.” Travis put his hands behind his head, looking up. “She's a math teacher at a school in Wisconsin, but she loves astrology. She works a lot. She never had a partner after Dad. Well, I mean, it's not like Hermes picks me up from school.”

Tim let out a brief laugh, almost without meaning to.

“She used to take me and Connor out to the countryside sometimes. Just to look at the sky. She said that there we could hear the stories the stars were telling us better.”

“That sounds... nice.”

“It was.” Travis paused. “Before the problems started.”

Tim frowned.

"Problems?"

"Monsters. Attacks. Those things that seem normal now but at the time make you feel like you're going crazy. Mom tried to protect us, but there wasn't much she could do. When we went back to school, a monster attacked us. We managed to escape, and shortly after that a satyr appeared. Then we came to camp... It was weird, but at least here they understand what was going on. That's why I like to talk. And laugh. Mom really liked our jokes. I don't want to lose that too."

Tim was silent, guilt gnawing at his chest. He wasn't always fair to the Stolls. Sometimes he forgot that they weren't just jokers—they were also kids who had had to leave everything behind.

“What about you?” Travis asked, as if he had read his mind. “I have a lot of questions about you. You say you're Luke's brother, and everyone I've asked says the same thing. But you're not my brother, you don't know who your father is. There are a lot of questions.” Travis shrugged. “I'm a curious guy, indulge me.” 

Tim hesitated. Not because he didn't want to tell him. But because, for some reason, it was harder than he thought to talk about his life before the camp.

“It's not that interesting,” he muttered, but he didn't stop. “I was very young and foolish, I don't remember much, only that a cyclops took me from my house and planned to eat me. Luke found me and saved me.” 

Travis chuckled softly. “Of course. It makes sense. He seems like the typical hero.”

“He stayed with me and took care of me for days,” Tim smiled wistfully. "He told me about the gods, the monsters, and the life of a demigod. He stayed with me, helping me look for my parents. Until one day it was time to leave, and I followed him. My parents never looked for me, so for a while Luke was all I had. Then we met Thalia. Then Annabeth. And then everything changed."

“Thalia,” Travis repeated respectfully. “The girl in the tree. I've heard things about her.” 

Tim nodded. “She was the best.”

“Do you miss her?”

“Every day.”

Travis didn't say anything for a moment. They both just stood there looking at the stars. Tim decided he needed to learn more about constellations, not just look at them and not be able to name them. 

“Do you mind if I come with you to look at the stars from time to time?” Travis finally asked.

Tim hesitated... and then shook his head.

“No.”

“What if I bring cookies?”

“Depends on the flavor.”

“Chocolate.”

Tim turned to him, finally relaxed.

“Then yes.”

Travis nudged him gently on the arm, smiling smugly.

“I knew you had good taste.”

Laughter was inevitable. 

A week later, Connor was in his bunk.

Tim didn't even know how it happened. Travis was throwing pieces of gum at the ceiling to see how long it took to fall—an experiment that was now in its third day—and suddenly Connor complained about the cold. He said his bed was too close to the window, that the drafts were unbearable, and that Tim didn't take up much space anyway. By the time Tim opened his mouth to protest—and make it clear that no one had forced him to sleep in the bed next to his—Connor had already slipped under his blankets.

“This isn't a hotel,” Tim muttered, moving to the edge of the mattress.

“We share a cabin, we share warmth. It's the law of Hermes,” Connor muttered, already in the fetal position.

“He's right,” Tim heard from a few beds away. 

“Shut up, Chris!” three voices replied in unison.

Tim snorted. He knew resistance was futile. Connor was already too comfortable, had stolen his pillow, and was practically asleep. 

He turned to say something, but then he heard the front door open. Luke entered the cabin, his hair tousled and his brow furrowed. He had been helping Chiron all day with camp chores, and he looked exhausted and fed up with everything.

He scanned the room until his eyes landed on Tim, and his frown deepened.

“What's Connor doing in your bed?” he asked in a low voice.

“Don't ask me,” Tim replied. “He got in by himself.

Connor said nothing, already halfway to sleep, having swung one leg over Tim and now clinging to him like a parasite doing nothing but stealing his warmth. 

Luke raised an eyebrow, but almost immediately his expression softened slightly.

“Want to come to my bunk?” he offered, nodding toward his bed. “For old times. You'll sleep better that way.”

Tim hesitated for a moment. He blinked, looking at Luke and then at Connor. The other boy was already snoring softly. Tim thought that moving him would be a problem... and, honestly, he didn't want to do it. The truth was, as irritating as he was, Connor had become part of his routine. And although he wouldn't admit it out loud... Tim didn't mind him as much as he said he did.

“I don't want to wake him up,” he finally muttered.

Luke nodded, but said nothing more. He just turned his face away and went to his bed. 

Tim shifted uncomfortably, half his body hanging off the bed, Connor's elbow digging into his ribs, and to top it all off, he kept muttering something about “killer bees” in his sleep.

Travis, from his bunk, raised his voice in a whisper:

“When he talks in his sleep, it's best to keep his head higher, that way he's less likely to snore... or start talking louder... or move around.”

Tim looked at him suspiciously.

“I've been sharing a room with him since he was born, I know all his quirks.” 

Finally, Tim accepted the advice. He grabbed his hoodie, which he had left at the foot of the bed, rolled it into a ball, and carefully placed it under Connor's head. The other boy let out a snort... and the murmurs stopped. 

Tim blinked.

“How...?”

“I told you,” Travis muttered, turning away.

Tim knew he had made a mistake as soon as he stepped outside Athena's cabin, but there was nothing he could do about it now. 

Because Tim had just made the biggest mistake of his life. 

They had just finished playing capture the flag. There weren't many campers, but there were enough to keep up their skills. Since Tim wasn't carrying a weapon, Luke had him stationed in a tree as a lookout, and as soon as Tim saw someone from the opposing team, he had to give the warning. So far, it had worked very well, even though they had lost the last three games. Maybe they should stop allying with Hephaestus's team and switch to Apollo's. 

But that was Luke's problem. 

When the game was over, they were supposed to clean their cabin, and Luke had asked Tim to please make sure Travis removed the gum from the ceiling (and Tim to put his things in a chest). 

So Tim went to look for him, and when he did, Connor was trying to calm Travis down, and it was clear how angry they both were. 

Travis was standing next to the pegazos stable, his jaw clenched, his fists clenched at his sides. His breathing was heavy, and there was something in his gaze—that angry glint that sometimes appeared just before he made a cutting remark—that made Tim stop short and frown.

“What's wrong?” he asked.

Travis didn't answer. He didn't even look at him. He barely reacted to his presence. He just clenched his fists tighter, as if that would contain everything he was feeling.

Tim felt an uncomfortable twinge in his stomach. It wasn't common to see him like this. Travis was sarcastic, annoying, and sometimes a walking headache, but he wasn't the type to stay silent when something made him angry. If he wasn't talking, it was because he was really upset.

Connor, on the other hand, shrugged and answered for him, lowering his voice:

“He had an argument with Annabeth.”

Tim blinked.

"Annie? Why?"

Connor let out a long sigh.

“Because of today's game. We had allied with Athena's cabin, remember?” Tim nodded. “Well, Annabeth had a plan. Something she came up with at the last minute, and we... didn't follow it.”

Tim blinked.

“I didn't know there was a new plan.”

“You didn't know because you were with Luke looking for a tree to hide in,” Connor replied, pointing at him. “You missed the whole part where Annabeth went into war general mode.”

Tim frowned again. He remembered seeing Annabeth talking quickly with a group before the game started, but he had assumed it was one of her many strategies. It was Annabeth. She always had strategies.

“So what happened?”

Connor scratched the back of his neck, glancing sideways at Travis before continuing.

“After the game ended and we lost again, Annabeth came down on us. She said that if we had followed her plan, we would have won. That we had sabotaged everything on purpose.”

“Did you?”

Connor grimaced.

“Maybe we should have listened to her, yeah. But… it was just a game. It doesn’t even matter that much. Luke always says winning matters in the summer. Half of us who played today didn’t even want to participate, so who cares about losing in November?”

Tim nodded. He agreed. Capture the Flag had a different energy in the summer, when the camp was full and the stakes were higher. Now it was more of an excuse to go out and run around and bump into each other.

Tim looked back at Travis.

“So what happened?”

Connor paused, waiting for his brother to respond, but Travis kept his mouth shut.

“We were supposed to clear the way to the enemy flag. They paired us with a boy from Athena, and from the start he had us fed up. He wouldn't let us do anything our way, so Travis...”

“We tied him to a tree,” Travis said at last.

“What?”

“We tied him up. We left him behind and went on our own.”

It could be worse, Tim thought. 

“And of course,” Travis continued, “Annabeth found out. She started yelling at us, calling us useless, saying that if we wanted to sabotage everything we should do it in another cabin, that we're so stupid we can't even follow a simple order.”

“Then she yelled at us separately,” Connor added, “and she told Travis he was a failure.”

Tim pressed his lips together. He wasn't entirely surprised. Annabeth had been more tense lately. So Tim could understand why Travis was so upset. He even felt a twinge of empathy.

“It's not worth it,” Tim said. “It's not that important. Annabeth yells at everyone.”

Travis snorted.

“She's always like that lately. Like we're all a pain in her ass.”

There was silence between them for a few seconds, until Connor, as if he couldn't stand the tension, snapped his fingers.

“Then we have to do something. A prank. Something to get her out of that mood.”

Tim opened his mouth to object.

“Just something simple,” Connor insisted. “To get that stick out of her ass.”

Tim was going to say no. He didn't want Chiron to scold him again. 

But then he saw the gleam in Travis's eyes. 

And Tim had to admit that Annabeth had been mean to him lately, maybe even a little cruel since Tim decided he didn't want to train with them anymore. 

Maybe... maybe she needed a joke to knock her off her high horse a little.

“I'm in,” Tim said, shrugging.

Travis and Connor looked at him as if they hadn't heard correctly.

“Really?” Connor asked.

Travis, on the other hand, smiled.

“I knew there was a spark in you,” he said, throwing an arm around his shoulders. “All is not lost, little brother.”

“Don't call me that,” Tim muttered, not really bothering to pull away.

The three laughed, and the mood changed immediately. Tim made them go back to their cabin and start tidying up—because if they didn't clean up, Luke was definitely going to kill them—and in the meantime, they started brainstorming ideas. Connor wanted to put things in their food. Travis wanted to hide their books.

Tim, while sweeping near his bed, remembered something. He looked up.

“Annabeth hates spiders.”

Connor blinked.

“Really?”

“Scared enough to throw a sleeping bag into the fire,” Tim confirmed.

“What about her brothers?”

“I'm not sure... but if they're just as scared, it could work.”

Travis smiled.

But it wasn't just any smile. It was slow, mischievous, and full of satisfaction. As if he had been given the best gift in the world.

“It's Christmas morning,” he murmured, rubbing his hands together.

Tim didn't know if that made him Santa or a reindeer.

He glanced quickly at Connor.

He's definitely an elf.

The next day, after breakfast, the three slipped off into the woods as if they had been entrusted with a sacred mission by the gods themselves.

Tim, of course, didn't think catching spiders was particularly fun. In fact, he was beginning to regret his participation a little when Connor screamed for the third time upon finding a black widow.

“Get it off me!” he screamed as he shook his hand while running in circles.

“Stop making noise!” Travis growled, crouching next to a fallen log.

Tim, with years of experience living in tents, stopped Connor before he scared the spider even more. He wasn't going to put a poisonous spider in his sister's cabin, so he squashed it before it could bite his friend. 

They had gotten some glass jars from the infirmary (technically, they had stolen it while no one was looking). By noon, it was already quite full of eight-legged creatures. There were spiders of various sizes, with long legs, small and fast, fat bodies, some brown, some black, and one that clearly wasn't from around there.

“What's that?” asked Travis, pointing to one with a wide body and thick, hairy legs.

Tim bent down to get a better look.

“That's a tarantula, a baby maybe.”

Connor whistled, impressed. “You're serious, huh?”

Tim didn't answer. He just closed the jar tightly when he put the last spider inside. If they were already in trouble, they might as well make sure the prank worked.

They knew exactly what time Athena's cabin would be empty. The whole group took Ancient Greek right after lunch, and the class was held quite far from the cabins. So they waited patiently, or as patiently as three demigods with ADHD could. 

When they saw the last of Annabeth's siblings walk away with their book under their arm, they set off.

They moved quickly. They opened a back window so no one would see them. Travis was the first to sneak in, then Tim, and finally Connor.

Athena's cabin was so clean and tidy (the beds made with military precision, the books stacked alphabetically and thematically, and the chest's  perfectly closed. Tim thought that if they breathed too loudly, someone would notice) that Tim immediately felt ashamed, because even though they had spent the previous afternoon cleaning, their cabin was still so messy that he was sure there were rats living under the beds.

“Do it quickly,” he muttered.

Travis needed no further encouragement. He walked to the center of the cabin and began dropping spiders one by one onto the floor, while Connor, holding the jar aloft, examined the beds as if looking for the most suitable one.

“That's Annabeth's,” Tim said, pointing to the bed closest to the end, just under a window. He recognized the architecture book on the nightstand.

Connor didn't hesitate. He opened the jar and, with a smile so big it took up his whole face, let the tarantula slowly descend onto the perfectly stretched sheets.

The creature remained motionless for a second... and then crawled under the pillow. 

“Let's go,” Tim said immediately.

Travis nodded, and they ran to the window. Once outside, they closed it carefully to prevent the spiders from escaping before it was time, and then they sprinted to their cabin. 

They tried to act normal for the rest of the day, although they didn't leave the porch so they could see everything. 

Then the chaos began. 

First one scream, then another and another. And finally, one so loud that it echoed throughout the camp:

“AAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH! LUKE!” The scream echoed throughout the camp. Seconds later, Annabeth came out of her cabin, shaking, with one hand on her chest and her eyes wide. “WHO WAS THAT?”

Tim didn't dare speak. Neither did Travis. But Connor let out a silly laugh, and that was it.

Somehow Annabeth managed to hear him despite the distance, crossed the meters that separated them with enviable speed, and turned Connor's face with a single blow.

Connor stepped back, more out of surprise than pain.

Tim pushed his friend back and stood in front of him to protect him from Annabeth. Tim had seen her angry before, many times because of him, but this was beyond anger or rage. It was something Tim had never seen before and couldn't put a name to. 

He didn't want to either, because he didn't want to see Annabeth like this again. 

“Was it you?” Annabeth accused Tim, directing all her anger at him.

“No! Well...” Tim felt his tongue heavy in his mouth, unwilling to cooperate, and well, he couldn't do it anyway because he didn't know what to say that could save the situation. 

“You know how much I hate them!” 

“It was just a joke,” Tim replied, shrinking back. “Just to tease, I didn't think that...”

“Exactly! You don't think!” Annabeth interrupted him, pushing Tim angrily. “You're always there, following Luke around like a little puppy. Lately, you've been doing nothing but stupid things just to get his attention.”

Tim stood still.

No. That wasn't true. Or was it?

He didn't feel that way. He wasn't doing all this to get Luke's attention. Right? Until now, he had just gone along with Travis and Connor's nonsense. It had been... fun. For the first time since he arrived at camp, he had felt like he belonged, like he fit in.

But then why did Annabeth think that about him?

His face was burning. But not from embarrassment. 

Tim felt truly out of place. As if everything he thought he was building was nothing more than a stupid facade.

Maybe he was doing everything wrong. Or maybe he just had no idea who he was supposed to be in this place.

And then, as if things couldn't get any worse, Chiron appeared.

He galloped up to them with a frown on his face.

“What's going on here?”

Everyone fell silent. Except Annabeth, who explained what was happening. 

“It was just a joke...” Tim muttered.

“With spiders? In Athena's cabin?” Chiron's voice sounded disappointed. “That wasn't a joke, Tim. It was cruelty.”

Tim looked down.

And of course, things got worse because that's when Luke arrived.

At first, he didn't seem to understand. He just saw the group, the commotion, Annabeth's angry face, and then Tim in the middle of itall.

“What happened?”

Annabeth, still shaking, just glared at him with angry eyes.

“Spiders,” she spat. And that was all Luke needed to hear.

Luke turned to Tim as if he'd been punched in the stomach.

“Was it you?”

“Luke...”

“Was it you?!”

Tim clenched his fists.

“It was just a joke.” 

“And that makes it better?!” Luke shouted, with a fury Tim had never seen before. “You know what spiders do to her! You know she's been afraid of them since...”

Luke trailed off. But Tim knew what he was talking about. He had half-heard the story. Annabeth never told him, but he had overheard her talking to Thalia once. 

“She shouldn't have treated Travis and Connor badly in the first place,” Tim said quietly. Quietly enough that only Luke could hear him.

“And that justifies what you did to someone who trusts you?”

“You've never played a stupid prank?”

“Not to my family!” Luke snapped.

Tim didn't answer. Luke's gaze pierced him like a knife, and not with anger. Tim would have accepted anger, but this was worse, it was disappointment.

And that... that hurt.

Tim swallowed, feeling his throat close up. The air around him felt thicker, as if the entire camp had stopped moving to watch him standing there, in front of Luke and Annabeth, reduced to nothing.

Luke wasn't even really talking to him; he was looking past him. All his attention was on Annabeth. 

For a second, Tim wished he could yell something back at him. Tell Luke that he was family too. That he hadn't meant to hurt anyone.

But it all got stuck in his throat.

“It was a joke,” Tim finally repeated. 

“That doesn't matter!”

“Of course it matters!” Tim replied. “Why do you always defend her like she's some damn princess?!” 

“You went too far, Tim!” Luke raised his voice. “And not just because of that! You're not like that! I taught you better than that!”

Tim clenched his teeth.

“So what? Now you care? You found time to remember I exist? Is that what it takes for you to listen to me? That it's about her?”

Luke frowned, confused by the sudden change in tone.

“What are you talking about?”

“You!” Tim blurted out, his voice breaking with anger and something else. “That you've barely spoken to me in weeks! That you have me next to you every night and you don't even look at me. You only talk to her or the older kids! Or worse, when it comes to capture the flag!”

Luke took half a step back, but Tim couldn't stop now.

"This isn't the first time I've gotten into trouble! And you never said anything. But now... now that it's with Annabeth, you care."

Luke tried to say something, but Tim didn't give him a chance.

“I hate you.”

Luke took a step back.

“I hate you, Luke,” he repeated, louder, his voice breaking. “I never want to see you again.”

And without waiting for another word, he turned away and ran.

The sky had already turned a deep blue when Tim left the forest and went to the dock. 

He had skipped dinner. He knew that when Chiron found him (because he would find him), he would be grounded along with the Stolls. Maybe worse. But he didn't care.

He sat down on the edge of the wooden platform, took off his shoes, and dangled his feet in the water. It was freezing, but he didn't move. Tim didn't know how long he sat there, just playing at making waves with his feet, but at some point he stopped feeling them. 

He heard footsteps on the wood, and he didn't need to turn around to know it was one of the Stolls.

“Travis, I swear, if you sit down, I'm going to push you in the water.”

But it wasn't Travis who sat down next to him.

It was Luke.

Tim looked at him. And his heart sank again.

Luke didn't say anything. He just set a plate on the dock between them. A slice of pizza, his favorite. With crispy crust and burnt edges, just the way he liked it.

Tim looked down at the plate, then at the lake.

“Did you come to finish yelling at me?”

Luke shook his head.

“I brought you dinner. Kind of stole it from the dining pavilion. Don't say anything.” 

They both remained silent for a couple of minutes. 

“Why are you being so nice?” Tim asked.

“Maybe because my little brother hates me for not spending time with him.”

Tim looked down.

“I don't hate you.”

Luke took off his shoes and put his feet in the water too, the chill that followed almost making Tim laugh, almost. 

"I'm not going to justify what you did. Because it was cruel, and Annabeth is still shaking. But... I wasn't there for you. And that's wrong too. I know this has been hard. Camp, training, everything. And I know I haven't been around as much as I used to be."

Tim said nothing.

“I just... I don't want you to think I left you behind. I swear I won't. Even if I have to split myself in two. I'm here, Tim. I'll always be here. We're family, and that's all that matters.” 

And then, carefully, he added:

“I'm sorry, Tim.”

Tim didn't answer right away. He wasn't ready for that.

But he didn't leave either.

And after a few minutes, without looking at Luke, he muttered:

“The pizza is cold.”

Luke let out a soft, almost relieved laugh.

“Yeah. But it's still your favorite.”

Chapter Text

Tim had gotten used to being annoyed by someone from the Ares cabin. At this point, it was part of his routine.

They laughed at the way Tim held a knife, at his Greek pronunciation, tripped him every time he went to make an offering to the gods, cornered him and took his shoes before climbing so he’d have to do it barefoot. One day they even threw Tim into the lake without asking if he could swim.

Tim could put up with all of that, even the occasional blows, or when he was locked inside a toilet stall during Capture the Flag and Chiron scolded him for not participating. For Tim, it was something that happened once a day and then he could enjoy the rest of his day in peace… well, the comments didn’t stop, but at least the physical part was over with.

Luke knew what was going on, and had stepped in to stop it a few times, but after the fifth time he’d had to untie Tim from a tree, he decided Tim needed to learn to defend himself, because he wouldn’t always be there for him. Tim learned (the hard way) that this meant more bruises.

But Tim knew things could be worse.

And that was confirmed when Clarisse LaRue, a new camper and daughter of Ares, showed up.

Clarisse arrived one morning, and by the afternoon of the next day, the Ares cabin was under her control.

What had once been a daily annoyance turned into a living nightmare. If her brothers only liked to make Tim uncomfortable, Clarisse seemed to enjoy his suffering.

Clarisse seemed to have a special radar for finding him. It didn’t matter if Tim tried to go unnoticed, if he arrived early to training, or sat at the very back of the dining pavilion. She always found him.

The first day, Clarisse took his helmet right in the middle of combat, threw it into a puddle, and told Tim that if he didn’t have the guts to go get it back, he might as well leave the Camp. The second day, she pushed him to the ground in front of the whole pavilion and stepped on his back to steal an apple from his plate. The third… well, the third she ripped his favorite shirt during training.

“What, you don’t like how we train here?” she mocked while her brothers laughed. “Maybe you should just go back to your little mortal home, kid.”

Tim didn’t answer. He’d learned that the worst thing he could do was give them what they wanted.

That made it all worse.

She flipped his tray over in the Dining Pavilion and made him pick the food up and eat it. Somehow she got ahold of Tim’s things, and he didn’t realize until he went to bed and found his pajamas, pillow, and blankets soaked. One time, she filled his shoes with molasses and feathers, and when he had to walk barefoot through the mud to the showers, Clarisse clapped like she was watching a play.

At some point, Tim learned to live with the bruises.

There wasn’t a day that didn’t end with a new scratch on his arms, scraped knees, or (on the worst days) a quick trip to the infirmary for stitches or some ambrosia for a sprain.

Luke didn’t always see it, but he knew. Sometimes, when Tim showed up to breakfast with a split eyebrow or a dried bloodstain on his neck, he’d quietly tell Tim to be more careful.

And Tim understood. He really did try. But every time he tried to fight back, things just got worse.

Once, Luke found him leaving the infirmary with a busted lip and his arm bandaged.

Tim thought that was the moment when Luke would finally realize that things were going too far. That the Ares kids, rather than having a friendly rivalry with him (like they did with most cabins), actually wanted to break him.

And the worst part was that they were succeeding.

“Little Shrimp, you’re gonna have to start paying more attention during sparring practice,” Luke ruffled his hair and patted Tim on the back, like he was some clumsy puppy learning to walk.

Tim had laughed out of politeness. Only for that reason. Because the truth was, he didn’t find it funny at all.

Which is why he was surprised when, the next day, a satyr came to get him before lunch.

Tim tensed. He was never called to the Big House for anything good.

Clarisse was already there, so yeah, it wasn’t anything good.

“Thank you for coming, Tim,” Chiron said.

Tim just nodded, feeling his stomach twist.

“After talking with some campers and observing certain recent incidents, I’ve made a decision.” He paused to look at Clarisse. “The Ares cabin will have double chores this week, and all of you will be without dessert for the rest of the month.”

Clarisse clenched her teeth but said nothing. Tim knew she was boiling with rage inside.

“This camp encourages competition,” Chiron continued. “But there is a very clear line between rivalry and humiliation. And when that line is crossed with a camper who clearly isn’t ready yet… that’s no longer training. It’s cruelty.”

The words hit like a stone.

Not ready.

Tim felt a sting in his chest. He knew Chiron was trying to defend him. But those words… only confirmed what Tim already suspected others thought of him.

Clarisse didn’t bother to justify anything. She just turned sharply and walked away with heavy steps and clenched fists. She was furious, and Tim knew she was going to make him pay for this.

Tim lowered his gaze to the ground.

“You’re trying,” Chiron said, softer this time, stepping closer and placing a hand on Tim’s shoulder. “Don’t forget that. But if you don’t hurry, you’ll be late for lunch.”

When Tim arrived at the dining pavilion, the others had already left their offerings and were at dessert. Well, everyone except the kids from Ares. They gave Tim a look that promised pain as he passed by their table to find a spot at the Hermes table.

Luke was saving a place for him; as soon as he saw Tim, he gestured for him to squeeze in beside him on the bench. There was a plate with some of Tim’s favorite fruits and a juicy piece of meat that Tim almost cried over when he had to make an offering before he could eat.

As soon as he sat down, Luke put a hand on his shoulder. Tim, used to these displays of affection, only worried about shoveling a huge spoonful of mashed potatoes into his mouth before it cooled.

“Eat slow, little shrimp. You look like a squirrel.” It didn’t help that Tim turned to look at Luke with his cheeks full while struggling to swallow.

Tim mumbled something that sounded like “hungry,” although he knew no one would understand. He’d spent weeks without being able to enjoy a full lunch before Clarisse stole it or threw it away — Luke couldn’t blame him.

“Feeling better?” Luke asked, and Tim shrugged, not sure what he meant.

But then he noticed Luke’s look. Those eyes saying, “I know something you don’t.” Tim knew those eyes perfectly. Especially when those eyes were throwing playful glances toward the Ares table.

It wasn’t other campers that Chiron heard — it was his brother.

So Tim nodded slowly, barely a gesture with his head.

Luke hadn’t ignored him.

One week later, Chiron went up to Olympus for important matters. Tim knew that meant the gods were in one of their usual fights over who was better. He wasn’t going to repeat the words the older campers used, because he still remembered Thalia’s warning to wash his mouth out with soap if she ever heard him say those things.

She was no longer here, but the fear remained. Who could guarantee that her ghost wouldn’t come back to keep her promise?

Though seeing her, even for a second, was worth it.

Still, the first day without Chiron was more or less normal. Well, “normal” on Tim’s scale: one of Clarisse’s brothers pushed him for no reason as he passed near to their cabin. The other campers looked, laughed, and walked away. It wasn’t worth making a fuss, so Tim just wiped himself off and went on with his day.

The second day was… different.

As soon as he left the forge, someone dumped a bucket of freezing cold water on him. Tim, who had gotten used to the Stolls’ pranks and had already developed a sixth sense to anticipate them, didn’t see this one coming.

The water was so cold it took his breath away, and the late November weather didn’t help. Tim stood still, shivering, soaked from head to toe as the laughter faded away. While it was a joke to them, for Tim it was just another Tuesday.

He walked to the cabin with his clothes sticking to his body, dripping with every step, and changed without saying a word. But, of course, word travels fast at camp, because by nightfall Travis and Connor cornered him while Tim was finishing brushing his teeth.

“We didn’t do anything before because you asked us not to,” Travis started the conversation, as usual.

“But enough is enough now,” Connor finished.

And they left.

The next day, nobody needed to say anything directly to Tim, but (again) word spread fast at camp. Apparently, the Stolls had filled the Ares cabin with itching powder. One of Clarisse’s brothers scratched nonstop for three hours, to the point he had to take to the infirmary for all the wounds he’d made on his skin.

Tim made the mistake of laughing openly at that.

As usual, Tim skipped sword practice. But that didn’t stop him from find the Stolls after class to see if they could grab something to eat before lunch.

The three of them had only taken a few steps when someone grabbed Tim by the collar and yanked him backward, throwing him to the ground.

Around him, Tim saw a circle of curious campers forming. Through the crowd, he spotted the Stolls, being held back by two kids from Ares’ cabin. And standing right in front of him was none other than Clarisse.

“You think this is funny? What do he call you? Little shrimp?” she spat the nickname like an insult. “Guess what I do to shrimp.”

Tim didn’t respond because it didn’t matter what he said—he knew Clarisse didn’t care.

The ground was cold beneath his back. The sky, clear and cloudless, seemed ridiculously calm for what was coming.

Tim slowly pushed himself up, taking in everything around him. He knew all the campers nearby and spent time with most of them, but Tim also knew his only hope was Luke—and Luke wasn’t in sight.

He had no choice but to do what Luke had been telling him for so long: defend himself.

Tim got into a fighting stance he’d seen older kids use. Feet a little apart for better balance, fists up to block and strike. Clarisse just looked entertained.

“Let’s see if you can put on a show.”

Tim barely had time to react and dodge the first punch. He ducked just fast enough to throw Clarisse off balance and managed to slip away—but not before she grabbed his hair and slammed him back to the ground.

There was no warning. Just the crack of Clarisse’s boot against his side. The air was squeezed from his lungs like a wrung-out rag.

“Thought you could mess with us and walk away unscathed, coward?” she hissed, her voice like an electric shock in his ears. “You'll have run out of bones to break when you and I are through.”

Another kick—this time to his leg. Tim stifled a scream; he wasn’t about to give her the satisfaction of hearing it—at least not yet. When the second kick came, Tim rolled on the ground to escape.

He got back up, which only made Clarisse laugh. With one hand, she taunted him to come closer.

“Come on, Tim, fight!” Travis’s voice rang out. If anyone was going to egg him on, it was him.

Tim glanced quickly around. Nearly the whole camp had gathered to watch. He even spotted Annabeth’s blonde hair in the crowd.

He dropped back into his fighting stance and attacked.

Of course, Clarisse just dodged every punch. She only wanted to wear him out—and when she succeeded (which wasn’t hard), she grabbed him by the collar again and slammed his face forward into her fist.

Tim tasted blood in his mouth.

There goes my last baby tooth, he thought.

Clarisse punched him in the face once more before throwing him to the ground.

Tim fell face-first, propping himself up on his forearms to push himself up and spit out the blood, dirt, and his tooth.

“Already giving up?” Clarisse snorted.

Tim barely had time to think before she grabbed him with one hand and forced him to stand. Tim wiped the blood off with the back of his hand and shot her a crooked smile, with just enough insolence to make her blood boil.

“I was… just taking a breath. Not all of us have ogre lungs.”

Clarisse frowned, and that was all the encouragement she needed to launch herself at him again. Tim dodged the first punch, the second, and the third, but the fourth one knocked him to the ground and made his head bounce against the dirt.

His vision blurred for a moment. A high-pitched ringing filled his ears as he tried to remember that he was supposed to be looking at the blue sky, not a black void. The world spun slow and heavy, but Tim still managed to make out Clarisse crouching, ready to finish what she had started.

For a moment, Tim thought about giving up and letting her win.

But then a voice to his right made him turn his head and ignore his impending doom.

It was Thalia.

Thalia stood in front of him, arms crossed and one eyebrow raised, wearing that expression that mixed disbelief and amusement in equal parts.

“What’s going on?” Tim whispered as if the rest of the world had stopped.

“Is your plan to stand around? Cause I suggest you fight back.” Tim blinked, trying to process what he had just heard, unsure if the pounding in his temples was from the blow or the surrealness of the situation.

Tim swallowed hard, trying to ignore the fact that Clarisse was surely ready to charge like a bull, but his eyes couldn’t leave Thalia.

“You’re… dead,” he said in a whisper, more to himself than to her.

“Thanks for the reminder, genius,” she replied, rolling her eyes. “But that doesn’t change the fact that you’re about to get your face smashed in. Again.”

Tim shook his head as if that could make her disappear.

“This is a concussion. I’m imagining things.”

“Call it whatever you want.” Thalia shrugged, but her tone hardened. “The point is: get up. You don’t quit. Not for her, not for anyone.”

“I don’t know how to defend myself,” Tim answered.

“First, stand up.”

Tim gritted his teeth. His legs protested every movement, but still he placed his hands on the ground and got up. The dirt scraped his palms and his head throbbed like a runaway drum.

“Better,” said Thalia, tilting her head with a barely noticeable smile. “Now watch her feet, not her hands. She’ll show you when she’s about to move.”

Tim barely glanced at Clarisse, who was already preparing to strike again. Her feet made a small movement backward just before lunging forward.

“Left,” announced Thalia.

Tim reacted purely by instinct, moving just in time. Clarisse’s fist brushed past his hair.

“Good. Now don’t just dodge, hit back.”

Clarisse let out a growl and charged at him again. Tim felt the world shrink down to the sound of her footsteps and the spectral figure of Thalia by his side, watching every move.

“Now!” she ordered.

Tim twisted his torso, dodging the blow, and without thinking, threw a punch straight to Clarisse’s shoulder. It wasn’t strong enough to knock her down, but enough to make her step back, glaring at him with renewed fury.

“See?” said Thalia, smiling with that pride that hurt and motivated in equal parts. “Alright now, let's try this again. Let's teach her a lesson in front of all her kind.”

Tim swallowed hard, feeling sweat run down his forehead and his legs trembling, unsure if it was from fear or adrenaline.

Clarisse smiled wolfishly. Around her, the other children of Ares shouted and cheered, hungry for a show.

“They’re watching her,” Thalia continued, leaning slightly toward him. “Make them watch you.”

Tim clenched his fists, feeling a sharp pain in his knuckles from the previous hit.

“This is going to go badly,” he muttered.

“Then make it spectacular,” she replied, with a smile that seemed like a challenge.

This time, when Clarisse attacked again, Tim waited for her blow, barely dodged it, and returned a quick hook to her jaw. He knew it wouldn’t even leave a bruise, but something was better than nothing.

Tim lifted his gaze, meeting Thalia’s challenging smile beside him again, and the cheers of his friends urging him on from the crowd.

Still, Clarisse lunged at him once more. But this time Tim remembered Thalia’s words: “Watch her feet.” He focused on how Clarisse shifted her weight, on the slight movement of her right foot before throwing the punch. Taking advantage of that small moment, Tim stepped sideways and threw a quick punch to her ribs.

The impact was a sharp hit, and Clarisse groaned, surprised, stepping back with a furrowed brow.

“That’s it,” said Thalia encouragingly. “Stay focused. Don’t let her control the pace.”

Tim felt a renewed fire inside. He wiped the blood from the corner of his mouth with the back of his hand and took a deep breath, ignoring the pain in his ribs and the buzzing in his head.

Tim dodged, blocked, and counterattacked whenever he could, though each hit made his arms tremble.

In the distance, he heard Travis again:

“Come on, Tim, fight like your life depends on it!”

And it does, Tim wanted to shout back.

It was just as the rhythm seemed to rise, and Tim began to believe he might win, that Clarisse took advantage of a slip: with a brutal move, she landed a direct blow to his side, making him fall to his knees.

The air rushed out of his lungs and before he could get up, he felt another hit, this time to his jaw, knocking him down again.

The world spun too fast and his strength faded. He tried to stand, but couldn’t. He stayed there, leaning on the ground, head down and eyes blurred.

Beside him, Thalia’s figure smiled with a hint of guilt.

“Ooh, maybe I pushed you a bit too hard,” she said, and in a blink, disappeared.

Tim wanted to hold onto that presence, but only silence and the cold of the ground against his skin remained.

Before he could react, he felt a brutal weight on his face: a stomp that crushed his nose with a dry, horrible crunch. The pain burned his skull and an electric shock ran through his body. The taste of blood flooded his mouth.

Shouts came from the crowd, but Tim could barely understand. Among the voices, one rose above all, firm and authoritative.

“Back off!” Luke shouted.

Clarisse leaned over Tim.

“Go cry in your corner,” she spat with contempt, “but make sure you remember we don’t like snitches.”

Even with the care of Apollo’s children, Tim’s body took days to heal. His ribs ached with every sudden movement, his right eye was still bruised, and he had a cut on his eyebrow that reopened every time he made a grimace. Most of the bruises were hidden under his shirt, but he felt them every time he breathed. He slept poorly, more from embarrassment than pain, and every time he closed his eyes, he relived the moment he fell to the ground with Clarisse on top of him while everyone watched.

And don’t even get Tim started on his nose. The ambrosia barely did enough to stop the bleeding before someone could set it right. At least it eased most of the pain.

But without a doubt, the worst part was the look Luke gave him in the infirmary.

He wished it had been disappointment, because Tim could have lived with that. It would have been hard, but he would have gotten over it. Luke’s look was pure pride. Because Tim had finally defended himself against someone other than a monster.

Tim had defended himself. Not much, but enough. And that changed everything.

Clarisse had beaten him up and given him a concussion, but she also made him realize he didn’t have to let them mess with him. They were going to do it anyway; at least he could resist.

So as soon as he was discharged from the infirmary, still sore, Tim went back to his cabin, and the next morning got up before dawn. He put on a jacket over his wrinkled shirt and went out for a run. It didn’t last long—barely half a lap around the cabins—but it was a start. If he couldn’t win fights, at least he could learn to run without getting caught.

Besides, one of the few and most cherished memories from his life before the gods was of him spending afternoons watching his favorite movie over and over again.

If Hercules went from zero to hero, why couldn’t Tim? Of course, now he knew the real story of Hercules (or Heracles, as he thought, those stupid Romans who have nothing original), and knew it wasn’t all as nice as Disney made it seem.

But it was still his motivation—to become his childhood hero.

So that very afternoon, he approached a group of older demigods from his own cabin. It wasn’t easy—because Tim was bad at asking for help—but this time he didn’t hesitate.

“I want you to teach me what you know.”

One of them looked at him, frowned, then shrugged and smiled.

“You’ll do our chores for a month.”

Tim nodded without hesitation.

He also talked to some guys from Apollo’s cabin. It turned out one was really good at boxing, and another practiced kickboxing before coming to camp. Tim introduced himself with a chocolate energy bar and the promise to commit to lessons with the same intensity he studied mythology.

Which—being honest—wasn’t much, because Tim  was terrible at mythology. But he couldn’t say he wasn’t trying to get better.

“Alright,” said one of them, looking him up and down, “but don’t cry if I break your lip.”

“I don’t care,” Tim replied. And he meant it.

He also talked to Luke.

Luke didn’t say anything back, but the next morning he was waiting for Tim when he got back from his run. They went to the edge of the woods so no one would interrupt, and Luke decided that if Tim was so stubborn about getting hit, at least he should learn how to take a hit.

“It was my fault for not teaching you this sooner. I was too soft on you,” he said, and Tim wanted to argue because he still had a scar on his elbow from when Luke was teaching him sword fighting all those years ago. “First, we’re going to work on your stance, my little shrimp.”

From then on, Tim changed.

He got up before everyone else. He ran. Did push-ups. Took hits, fell, got up. Learned to dodge, block, and use his weight. Learned to read his opponents body language. Luke taught him to anticipate moves. The Apollo kids taught him how to use his fists. One of the Hephaestus kids gave him tips on grips and how to break free if grabbed from behind.

And when one of Clarisse’s brothers tried to shove him during lunch, Tim dodged and held his ground.

Tim had heard about fate many times. The destiny of a hero was written in the stars, impossible to change. Unfortunately, demigods lived by that.

Tim's fate began to be written the day he agreed to go to New York with the Stolls.

Christmas was approaching fast, and although at camp they only did some decorating, that was all they knew about Christmas. But the Stolls’ mom loved Christmas and refused to accept that this would be the first without her kids, so she made the trip across the country to spend at least one day with them before having to go back home.

When Travis asked if Tim wanted to come along, how could he say no?

They would spend two days and one night in the city—enough time to see some tourist spots without attracting any monsters. So Tim packed just the essentials in his old backpack and said goodbye to Luke and a few other campers before meeting the Stolls at Thalia’s tree.

The pine stood tall and proud on the demigod hill. Tim placed a hand on the bark and stroked it as if Thalia could feel it.

It had been almost a year since her death, and there wasn’t a day Tim didn’t think about her.

Sometimes Tim wanted to pretend it was all a lie—that Thalia would come out of Cabin 1 any day and wait for him in the dining pavilion. Sometimes, when Tim was tired enough, he could almost convince himself he heard her laughing among the camp’s bustle. But he always ended up remembering that the only Thalia he could see now was the one who appeared in his mind scolding him in the middle of a fight.

He sighed, pulling his hand away from the trunk and adjusting his backpack strap. From the hill, he could see Travis and Connor arguing next to his mom’s rental car.

“Come on, Tim!” Travis shouted, waving his hand. “The city isn’t going to wait for us!”

Tim smiled to himself and headed down the hill. The cold December air stung his cheeks, but deep down there was something exciting about feeling it: he had traveled across half the country for years, but never for fun. This was the first time he was going to a city just to see it—not to run from monsters.

The trip was long but not uncomfortable. Mrs. Stoll was not only charming but genuinely interested in listening, something Tim wasn’t quite used to. He surprised himself by talking more than he thought, even sharing childhood stories he only told Luke because Luke already knew it all.

“So… do you like Christmas, Tim?” she asked at one point as the car crossed a bridge into Manhattan.

“I… guess,” he replied, shrugging. “Haven’t really celebrated it in a while.”

She gave him a soft look, as if she wanted to say more, but she just smiled and turned the wheel.

Tim knew he should feel bad about that look. But he hadn’t thought about his last Christmas in so long that by now he barely remembered the faces cheering him on as he opened presents under the tree.

He decided the best thing was to just ignore that and focus on what was coming. Unlike her kids, Mrs. Stoll was very organized and already had an itinerary planned so they wouldn’t miss a thing.

The plan was simple: a day of sightseeing, an early Christmas dinner in the hotel room she rented, and the most important part of the night (and what she seemed most excited about)—a nighttime event she wouldn’t reveal until the moment arrived.

The city was dressed for the occasion. Golden lights hung from every lamppost, storefronts were filled with garlands and perfectly decorated fir trees, and a chilly but vibrant air slipped through every street. Tim, who tried not to show it, found himself staring upward every few seconds, following the endless rows of lit-up buildings.

They spent the afternoon visiting some tourist spots: a quick stop at Central Park, photos with the giant tree at Rockefeller Center, and a piece of cheesecake that Mrs. Stoll swore was the best in the city.

When night fell, Mrs. Stoll took them to her real surprise: tickets to Mamma Mia! on Broadway.

Tim wasn’t sure what to expect. Musicals weren’t exactly his thing, and seeing Travis and Connor start nodding off as soon as the lights went down, he thought he’d probably get bored too. But he was wrong.

The music began—joyful and contagious—and the story unfolded on stage with colors, dances, and songs that, to his surprise, brought smiles to his face. The characters seemed real, their emotions intense, and the energy in the theater was so warm that the cold outside felt like a distant memory.

By the middle of the show, Tim already knew the rhythm of several songs and had to force himself not to hum along. By the time the entire female cast was singing Dancing Queen, and the audience almost joined in, Tim found himself tapping his foot to the beat under his seat.

At the end, the theater erupted in applause and he joined in without thinking, feeling a strange but pleasant joy. He promised himself he wouldn’t start humming when he left... even though the melody insisted on staying in his head.

In the lobby, while the Stolls walked half-asleep, Mrs. Stoll approached Tim with a knowing smile and discreetly slipped something into his hand. It was an ABBA CD.

“I keep it with me everywhere,” she whispered, in a conspiratorial tone. “Makes it easier to sing along in the car.”

Tim blinked, feeling an unexpected warmth rise to his cheeks. He closed his fingers around the disc, trying to hide his smile.

“Thanks…” he murmured, a little embarrassed but genuinely grateful.

Mrs. Stoll just winked before leading the three of them toward the exit, while in his head, the musical’s songs kept playing as if they had been recorded there forever.

Even though they had visited Rockefeller Center the day before, Connor insisted he wanted to ice skating, so they got up early to arrive before the other tourists. Fifth Avenue wasn’t far from their hotel, so they preferred to walk to avoid the morning traffic, but as soon as Tim set foot on the sidewalk, he had a bad feeling. Something was bothering him, though he wasn’t sure what.

Mrs. Stoll held Connor’s hand to keep him from running off, so Tim walked alongside Travis ahead of them. He was so focused on their conversation about which pizza was better that he didn’t take the time to look around and make sure it was only his imagination.

That was his first mistake.

If Luke had taught him anything, it was that whenever you’re in crowded places, you should pay attention to your surroundings—the luck of being a demigod.

They reached Rockefeller Center, and although Tim didn’t want to skate, he did want to spend time with Connor. If he stumbled over his own shadow while running, skating wouldn’t be a better sight. Tim ended up clutching the railings around the rink more times than he was willing to admit. After a few minutes (and many falls on his part), Mrs. Stoll decided Tim’s poor body had had enough and left him with Travis at an outdoor café while she convinced Connor to leave the rink.

“You’re terrible at skating,” Travis commented, smiling as he settled into the chair across from him.

“Thanks for the moral support,” Tim replied, rolling his eyes and blowing on the hot chocolate they had just served him.

The noise from the rink and the murmur of people walking created a pleasant atmosphere. There were tourists taking pictures of the huge tree, couples walking hand in hand, children laughing while running with hats and scarves too big for them. For a moment, Tim relaxed, almost forgetting the bad feeling he had when leaving the hotel.

But Travis seemed incapable of enjoying the moment in peace. His gaze darted from side to side, watching people with the same interest a cat gives a mouse. Tim thought he was looking for someone to prank again.

Until Travis’s expression changed.

His eyes fixed on a tall man who had just left the café. He wore an expensive-looking jacket, a spotless scarf, and rather blatantly, had just put his wallet in the back pocket of his pants.

Travis let out a low chuckle and leaned toward Tim.

“That… is easy money.”

Before Tim could say anything, Travis got up and disappeared into the crowd. Tim didn’t think twice before leaving his hot chocolate and following him.

Finding a brown-haired kid in a sea of people was like looking for a needle in a haystack. Thank the gods Travis had put on a red jacket that morning. With Tim luck, it seemed every kid in New York had decided to wear the same color.

He weaved through the crowd until he left the Rockefeller skating rink behind; if he kept going a few more blocks, he’d reach Madison Bridge. Travis couldn’t have gone that far.

Tim backtracked a block and then took a detour through an alley running between several buildings. In simple terms, the dumpster area—the not-so-pretty side of Fifth Avenue.

Tim knew that by this point Mrs. Stoll was probably looking for them, and when Tim found Travis, he’d make him pay. Tim brought his hands to his mouth to warm them—he should’ve brought gloves. He turned left, and a scream made him stop dead in his tracks.

It was Travis, but he wasn’t alone. A huge creature had him pinned against the brick wall of some building. The creature was tall, gray-skinned with thin limbs, long messy black hair falling to the middle of his back, from which sprouted two large black bat-like wings. But worst of all was his face—the man was so beautiful it took your breath away, but not in a good way; just by looking at him, you knew it was the last beautiful thing you’d see in your life before dying. And to top it off, two curved horns protruded from his forehead.

His name came immediately to Tim’s mind—maybe he was bad at mythology, but that was a name he’d heard more than once in Cabin 11, when the older campers wanted to scare the younger ones with Greek horror stories.

The Mormo, the first vampire, the one almost no one remembered.

“Travis!”

The Mormo stopped paying attention to Travis and turned to look at Tim, a macabre smile spreading across his face. Tim’s legs trembled and he wanted to run.

“Looks like I’m having a feast this morning,” he said, still smiling.

“Leave my friend alone!” Tim shouted, trying not to stammer.

“No need to get jealous, I can devour you both. Though a child of her is better than a mere son of Hermes.”

He started advancing, and with every step he took, Tim stepped back two. Tim kept this up until he hit the wall at the other end—the ground had run out and the creature was getting closer. It was undoubtedly the end for Tim, but at least Travis would be safe. That thought calmed Tim a little, thinking Travis could escape while the Mormo fed on his blood.

He closed his eyes, expecting the bitter end, but it didn’t come.

Before that happened, a whisper reached Tim's ears. At first it was low, a sweet voice; then louder, a harsher, more authoritative voice; and finally rough, a quieter voice. Three voices spoke at once, guiding him what to do.

Tim felt as if he’d gone into autopilot. He raised one hand before the Mormo could bite him.

“Incantare: Scintillae Aeternis Ignis!”

Small sparks flew from his hand and struck the Mormo’s chest. He fell backward and started screaming, because although small, the sparks did not go out. They grew until they completely covered him.

The Mormo burned to ashes.

Tim stood there, not knowing what to do or where to look except at the ashes on the ground. He felt Travis grab his arm and pull him out of the alley. They walked back until they reached the café again and promised not to talk about it again until they returned to camp.

They continued their day as if nothing had happened, and a few hours later Mrs. Stoll decided it was time to return to camp because she had her flight home in a few hours.

Upon arriving at the entrance, Mrs. Stoll hugged her sons tightly, as if wanting to engrave every second with them in her memory. Then she turned to Tim and wrapped her arms around him the same way.

“I’ll try to come back in the summer,” she whispered warmly. “And then we’ll go see the stars.”

Tim felt his chest fill with something warm and pleasant, but at the same time, a pang of envy stabbed his heart. The Stolls had their mother present… and he did not.

He shook the thought away as quickly as it came, ashamed to have felt that way even for a second.

The cabin was empty except for Luke. The Stolls dropped their things and ran off, because they had smuggled some stuff and it was time to deliver it.

Luke just shook his head as he watched them leave.

“Those two are going to be my death.”

“You said the same about me.”

“You wanted to carry your sword everywhere, I thought you’d end up stabbing yourself by accident.”

Tim let out a dry laugh and sat on his bed, stroking the scar on his torso over his clothes.

“And look how it ended. The Moirai can be funny.”

Luke looked at him for a moment, his expression losing its usual lightness.

“They’re not funny, Tim,” his voice sounded more serious. “Just cruel.”

Tim didn’t respond. He knew if he did, that conversation could become awkward, like so many times when the gods surfaced.

“Well, how was spending a day without me?” he asked to change the subject.

“Like a vacation. The first calm day I’ve had in years,” Luke replied, trying not to laugh. “And how was your city tour?”

“The usual,” Tim said, trying not to smile. “Going to Broadway, skating, fighting the Mormo and burning him alive, the typical,” he shrugged.

Luke raised his eyebrows, half amused, half incredulous.

“Sure... the usual,” he repeated. “Wait, did you say Mormo?”

“Uh-huh.” Tim couldn’t hold back the smile on his face anymore. Because even though it had been a horrible experience, it helped him figure out something. “And I found out who my parent is.”

Just as Tim finished saying that, a purple light lit up around him, giving the cabin a gloomy and mysterious look. Luke was staring over Tim’s head, and he knew exactly why.

Tim had just been claimed.

“I’m the son of Hecate.”

Chapter Text

The news that Tim was Hecate's son spread quickly throughout Hermes' cabin and the camp. Before the day was over, Tim received a visit from one of his new sisters. 

Tim recognized her immediately, even though they had never been formally introduced. It was Morgan. She had black hair that fell like a cloak over her shoulders, so straight that it seemed to shine in the dim light of the cabin. Her skin was so pale that it contrasted sharply with her hair, and her eyes... Tim had to hold his breath. They were such an intense purple that they seemed unnatural, like something out of a horror story or legend that someone had once told him. 

He couldn't stop looking at her. Not because she was particularly beautiful—although she was in an unsettling way—but because there was something about her that was painfully familiar. The line of her jaw, the shape of her eyebrows, even the way she held her back straight with a certain stubbornness. Tim felt a chill as he realized: she looked too much like him.

“Hi,” she said, her voice calm. She wasn't smiling, but she didn't sound cold either. “I'm Morgan.”

“Tim,” he replied, even though he knew she already knew.

“I know,” she replied, tilting her head slightly. “Everyone knows by now. I've seen you before, just never this close.”

Tim swallowed, not knowing what to expect. Morgan didn't look at him like the other campers, not with curiosity, distrust, mockery, or pity, but with something else... like the way Luke used to look at him. 

“I'm your sister,” she continued. “And I know this is a lot to process. But you're not alone.”

Tim couldn't help but feel a sense of relief.

“Are you... Hecate's only daughter here?”

“I'm the only one who stays at the camp all year round, but there are many of us. You'll get to know them better next summer.” Morgan moved a little closer, with an almost maternal gesture, even though she was only a few years older than him. “I never had a family outside, so... this is where I belong.”

Tim looked down. There was something about that confession that seemed too honest and personal for someone he had just met.

“And what's it like?” he finally asked. “Being Hecate's child.”  

Morgan was silent for a few seconds, searching for the words.

“It's... demanding,” she said at last. “Mom is strict. She will always demand the best from you, even when you think you can't give it. And she will never, ever let you forget that her blood runs through your veins.”

Tim felt a chill.

“Have you seen her?”

“Once, in a dream. That was enough.” She sighed. “But that's not how she usually appears. Hecate sends signs. Shadows, changes in the air, a fire that lights up for no reason. Little things that seem like coincidence, but aren't. You'll learn to see it in time.”

Tim remained silent, processing every word. The idea of having to decipher hidden messages from a goddess did not reassure him at all.

“That sounds... complicated,” he muttered.

“It is,” Morgan admitted. For a moment, her lips curved slightly in what might have been a very faint smile. “But don't worry. I'll be here. Always.”

She paused, looking at him seriously, and her voice dropped a tone.

"And Tim... one more thing. Magic isn't a game. Don't use it to impress others or to solve easy problems.“ Her purple eyes seemed to sparkle for a moment. "Magic always demands a price. You may not notice it at first, but it will take its toll. Remember that.“

A heavy silence fell between them. Tim nodded slowly, sensing that this warning was more important than Morgan let on.

It was strange to go from having only Luke, Annabeth, and Thalia to having many more siblings spread across the country. That should have made him feel less alone, but it didn't at all. 

His new siblings were only “siblings” in name, united by a goddess they hardly knew. With Luke, Annabeth, and Thalia, it was different: they had been there with him, in the flesh. They had run, fought, and bled together. That was a family.  

Still, Tim didn't know whether to feel relieved or more lost.  

Especially since Morgan seemed to accept him unconditionally, as if she didn't need proof to call him brother. That confused him. Tim didn't trust so quickly; he had never done so with anyone except Luke.  

When it was time for dinner and the line of demigods moved toward the central fire, Morgan walked beside him with a calmness that Tim envied. He stared at his plate, unsure, until she spoke softly, without taking her eyes off the flames.

“Give it to our mother,” she said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

Tim blinked.

“To Hecate?”

“Who else?” Morgan dropped some of her food into the fire, which crackled with a greenish glow. 

At every dinner, it was the duty of each camper to give part of their food—always the best part—to their parents or, in the case of the unrecognized, to Hermes as their host god. There were also those who made offerings to other gods to give thanks or ask for favors. (Favors that were rarely granted, Tim thought skeptically.)

For almost a year, he had given part of his food to Hermes, thanking him for welcoming him to the cabin. But he always dropped a smaller, almost insignificant portion into the fire: a silent plea to his parent. To claim him. To remember him.

Now, standing next to Morgan, Tim realized how futile that wait had been. So much food wasted on a goddess who seemed to expect so much more from him. 

Even so, Tim dropped half his food. 

Tim wasn't going to thank his parent for remembering him. Tim was grateful, but to his mother for showing up at the right moment and saving him from a horrible death at the hands of a monster.

Luke said that all gods were cut from the same cloth, and Tim had no doubt that he was right. But unlike his mortal parents (now Tim knew that the vague memory of a human woman teaching him to play the piano and telling him stories must have been a figment of his imagination), Hecate had helped him with a monster. 

That night, Tim went to bed with one less weight on his mind. Knowing his divine lineage, he could better focus his abilities. 

If he had already cast a spell without knowing it, learning magic would be a piece of cake.

The next morning, when Tim woke up, he felt a weight on his feet. He immediately assumed it must be one of the Stolls or some kind of prank. Once, they had stood at the end of his bed waiting for him to wake up so they could throw toothpaste in his face. Tim would have hit them if the toothpaste had been mint, but since it was for children (i.e., sweet), he preferred to delay his revenge.

Of course, he didn't forget, and a few days later he got his revenge. 

Getting back to the point, Tim sat up and, before opening his eyes, touched his face, just in case. 

But nothing happened. Tim didn't feel anything strange on his hands, nor did he hear any stifled laughter. He took his hands away from his face and slowly opened his eyes. Everyone around him was still fast asleep, including Luke, which was more than strange, because he was always the first to wake up. 

At the end of his bed was a small bundle, the cause of his awakening. 

Tim grabbed it somewhat suspiciously, part of him still believing it was a joke by the Stolls, even though they were both still sleeping in the bunk next to his.

He unwrapped the package very carefully, revealing a black hardcover book. The letters on the cover were silver and shiny, “Activarum Liber Institutionum,” or “Book of Laws.”

It took Tim more than a minute to realize that he had been able to understand something without his dyslexia kicking in. He reread the title and indeed understood it perfectly, even though it was written in Latin. He opened the first page and there was a loose sheet, written in the same language: It will be useful to you in the future, H.

Tim heard someone's bed creak, so he quickly hid the book under his blankets and pretended to be asleep. 

Why? Well, the answer is very simple.

He was living in a Greek camp for the children of Greek gods, and it was not normal for someone to be able to read Latin naturally, a language used in the Roman Empire, which indeed, they were supposed to hate.

The Romans took over their gods and insulted them, so it was unusual for anyone at the camp to talk about that period of time, unless you were the child of Athena and were studying the Roman Empire.

That's why no one, no one, could know about his book.

That week, Tim did a few things.    

First, he tried to sneak away from Morgan, who was really into him learning basic spells. She seemed to know his every move, because she always found him when he wanted some alone time. The only place she didn't follow him was the forest, so Tim spent his afternoons there so he could read the book without anyone bothering him.    

The book was fascinating, and Tim had managed to learn a lot in just a few days. It was divided into two parts: the major book and the minor book. Both parts dealt with different things. For example, the major book was about spells and potions that Tim was sure would be useful to him someday, and it also had many blank pages waiting for him to add information.

The book itself did nothing but make him like it more and more, but Tim didn't dare to try any of its spells. Even so, every day he wrote a new spell on his arm to repeat it in his head during the day and memorize it. 

That, and his daily training, kept him busy for most of the week, but he still had free time that he didn't know how to spend. Or so it was until Luke intercepted him one afternoon as he was returning from the forest.  

Tim barely had time to tuck his book under the hoodie that Travis had gotten for him from the camp store.

“Luke... what are you doing here?” Tim asked, trying to hide his nervousness.

“I was looking for you. Chris saw you come in here. Since when do you spend so much time in the woods? You know how dangerous it is.”

“I was just taking a walk. Besides, I never go very far in.”

Luke looked at him suspiciously for a few seconds, but finally his face returned to normal. His usual smile was brighter than usual.

“What are you up to?” Tim asked, because he knew that smile very well. It was the same one Connor and Travis had every time one of their pranks was about to begin.

It was the only thing the three of them had in common. More than once, Tim forgot that they were supposed to be brothers, or rather, that half of his cabin was directly related.

Luke was a world apart, fitting so well into the stereotype of a son of Hermes, but at the same time standing out too much. He was one of a kind.

“Nothing bad,” Luke replied, “although it does have to do with you.” Tim looked at him somewhat bewildered for several seconds. “Just follow me.”    

They returned to their cabin, which was surprisingly empty. Luke went to his bed and opened the trunk at the end of it. Tim took advantage of the moment to put his book between the blankets on his bed before returning to the door and waiting there for Luke. 

It didn’t take Luke long, because a few moments later he returned to Tim's side with a strange bulge in his hands. It was long and covered with a dark, opaque cloth.

“What is that?” Tim asked.

“It's your present.”

Tim frowned.

“It's not my birthday for another month.”

Of course, Tim didn't remember his birthday, so Luke and he had a tradition of celebrating the anniversary of when they left Gotham, when they decided to become brothers.

“I have every right to give my little brother gifts whenever I want.” 

Tim crossed his arms, still suspicious. “And what is it? It doesn't look like a gift... it looks like a animal wrapped corpse. And Travis already played that joke on me once, I'm not falling for it again.”

“Very funny.” Luke rolled his eyes and carefully placed the bundle on the bed and removed the cloth. 

Tim was surprised when a polished wooden bow appeared, with iron-reinforced ends and a quiver matching the dark color of the wood. He stepped forward almost without realizing it, until he could touch the upper blade with a delicacy uncharacteristic of him.

The wood was warm under his fingers, as if it were breathing. Among the grain, he discovered an inscription in ancient Greek, so fine that it was almost imperceptible. Tim narrowed his eyes and leaned in to read it better.

“Αδελφός...” he muttered awkwardly, trying to remember one of the last lessons Annabeth had forced him to take before their fight. 

Luke smiled as he watched him struggle. “Adelfós. Brother... Every good weapon needs a good name.”

“Is it...” His fingers stopped caressing the wood. “Is it really for me?”

Luke nodded. “I wasn't there to protect you the last time you needed it. And even though it bothers me a little that you gave up on the sword so quickly, you need a weapon that thinks like you, that moves with you. And that's this bow.”

Tim looked down at the gift, unsure. A lump formed in his throat.

“Luke, I... I don't know how to use a bow.” 

In almost every archery class, Tim got scared and ended up shooting the arrow at someone's feet.

“That's why I'm giving it to you now.” Luke placed a firm hand on his shoulder, forcing him to look at him. “You'll learn. And when you do, no one will be able to touch you. I promise.”

The weight of those words hit Tim harder than one of Clarisse's fists. Because Luke never made promises lightly.

Everybody in the camp was required to take archery lessons, but only Apollo's children were considered true archers. They had it in their blood: perfect posture, a steady hand, almost natural aim. For everyone else, archery was a discipline that required patience, strength, and years of practice.

It could take a novice weeks to learn simply to draw the bowstring without hurting their arm, and months—if not years—to master acceptable accuracy. Bows were no joke: they required tremendous strength in the shoulders and shooting arm, especially if the arrows were designed to pierce hardened leather or even metal shields.

Tim knew this. And that's precisely why he didn't waste a second.

After his hand-to-hand combat training at dawn, and after attending the regular camp classes, he divided his time with surgical precision: studying with Morgan, getting lost in the woods with his hidden book, spending time with Luke or his friends, and, above all, training with his bow. He spent hours drawing, aiming, shooting, collecting arrows, and starting over.

To say he barely slept would be an understatement. Tim pushed himself beyond what his body could handle, skipping canoeing, ancient Greek, and rock climbing classes without a second thought, just to have more time with his bow in his hands. Before he knew it, his fingers and palms were more calloused than skin, the strings of his bow had left fine scars on his fingertips, and his muscles, though still thin, were beginning to tense under his skin.

And Tim liked it. He liked the feeling of giving in to exhaustion and practically collapsing into his bed, his body shaking and his arms still sore. He liked it because, for the first time, he felt like he was building something with his own effort.

He was finally doing something productive. He was finally becoming the demigod that everyone said he could never be.

And, although he wouldn't admit it out loud, it was also because he wanted to prove to Luke—and to himself—that he wasn't a burden. That he could stand beside Luke as an equal.

Summer had arrived, and with it Tim's anniversary at camp. A whole year. The landscape was different from how he remembered it the first time he set foot on those grounds: the fields were greener, the campers' shouts and laughter seemed familiar, even the smell of resin and smoke from the nightly campfire no longer seemed strange to him. But what had changed most was him.

Now he was perched in a tree at the edge of the forest, his bow slung over his shoulder and a small bottle of cloudy liquid in his hand. He swung his legs from the branch as if he were in his natural place, watching what was happening below.

“What are you doing up there now?” asked a familiar voice, full of amusement.

Tim turned his head slightly. Luke was standing at the foot of the tree, arms crossed and wearing that smile Tim knew all too well.

“Have you spent so much time away from the ground that you're no longer my little shrimp?” he continued, raising an eyebrow. “I guess now you're my baby bird.”

Tim blushed to his ears and looked away, pretending to stare at a point on the horizon.

“I'm not your...” he began to protest, but stopped with a snort.

Luke laughed softly, enjoying the other's discomfort.

“Well, then tell me, baby bird, what are you doing there with that conspiratorial look on your face?”

Tim clutched the jar in his hand and held it up solemnly.

“Sherman,” he said, frowning. “A son of Ares. He was making fun of Connor after he fell while climbing. So I'm going to teach him a little lesson.”

Luke's eyes sparkled mischievously.

“And what do you have there?”

Tim straightened up on the branch, proud, as if showing off a trophy.

“Morgan taught me how to make this a few days ago. It's a potion... it can make someone bald for weeks.” He said it so casually that Luke laughed.

“And you decided that poor Sherman is going to be your test subject?”

“Exactly,” Tim replied, tucking a stray strand of hair behind his ear.

Luke tilted his head, looking at him mischievously.

“I think there's someone else who needs to get rid of some hair.”

The blush returned to his face. Tim put his hand to his hair and let out an uncomfortable laugh.

"Okay... I admit it. Maybe I need a haircut. In the last fight, I had my hair pulled and was almost knocked to the ground."

Luke laughed more openly and shook his head.

“A baby bird with feathers that are too long. What a tragedy.”

Tim gave him a murderous look, but he couldn't hold it for long. They both ended up laughing, although he was still trying to hide his embarrassment with a grimace.

In the end, as Tim knew would happen, Sherman appeared on the path dragging his sword along the ground, ready to try to find some monster in the forest. Luke quickly hid behind the log while Tim drew his bow with a confident movement. The small bottle glinted as he held it with the tip of the arrow, and a second later, it flew toward the son of Ares.

The bottle crashed into his shoulder, exploding into a greenish liquid that dripped down his body. Sherman barely had time to let out a cry of rage before his hands rose to his head... and he was bald in a matter of seconds.

His potion worked, and for Tim, that was enough. Revenge was just a bonus he was grateful for. 

On his way back to the cabins, Tim couldn't help but run his hand through his hair thoughtfully. Luke was right, he needed a haircut, and fast. 

Luke, busy as always, was not an option, so his steps took him to the back of his cabin. There he found Morgan.

Before dinner was one of the few moments in the summer when the cabin was empty, perfect for someone to study in peace. She was standing surrounded by lit candles floating in the air. With a wave of her hand, she made tarot cards levitate around her, glowing with a silvery sheen. It was like watching her dance with magic itself.

Tim hesitated to interrupt her, but finally cleared his throat.

“Um... do you have a moment?”

The cards fell gently into her palm and the candles descended, extinguishing one by one. Morgan smiled, that smile that always seemed to hide a secret, and approached him.

“What's up, little brother?”

Tim blushed immediately, looking away.

“I need a haircut. Could you help me?”

Morgan laughed softly and, without warning, squeezed his cheek gently. Tim blushed even more; he didn't understand why she did that so often, but it left him speechless.

“Although I'd love to,” she said with a wink, “never, and I mean never, leave your hair in the hands of someone with magic. Believe me, you'd end up with something much worse than a bad haircut.”

Tim sighed, defeated.

“Then I'll have to find a professional...”

That led him to wander, indecisive, to the outskirts of Aphrodite's cabin. He had no idea how to ask for help there, so he hung around like a nervous thief. Just then, the door opened.

A girl came out slowly, smoothing a strand of midnight-black hair. She was a little taller than Tim, slim, with fair skin and dark blue eyes that sparkled naturally. There was something different about her: not only was she pretty, but her smile was warm and friendly. So different from what Tim had expected from that cabin.

The girl looked at him, and when she realized Tim was watching her, she laughed softly.

“Hi. I'm Silena.”

Tim cleared his throat, aware that he had been staring at her for too long without saying anything.

“I... uh... hi.” He was already sweating. Bad start.

Silena smiled patiently, as if she were used to weird campers stumbling over their words.

“Do you need anything?”

Tim thought about making up some excuse, but his mind was blank. In the end, the only thing that came out was the truth.

“I need... help with my hair.”

She blinked, surprised, and then let out a light laugh.

“With your hair?”

Tim scratched the back of his neck, uncomfortable.

“Yeah, well... I don't trust the Stolls with scissors, Luke is busy, and Morgan said I should never let anyone with magic cut my hair, so...” He sighed. “I ended up here.”

Silena's smile softened, and her eyes sparkled with genuine tenderness.

“I think that's a good decision. But,” she added, leaning toward him mischievously, “I'll do it on one condition.”

Tim tensed.

“What condition?”

"That you let me practice a little makeup on you. I need to practice, and I don't always find volunteers." Silena said it as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

Tim opened his mouth to protest, but closed it immediately. In reality, he had nothing to lose. And her sincerity disarmed him.

“Okay. But nothing permanent.”

Silena smiled from ear to ear.

“Deal.”

The cut turned out much better than he expected. Silena worked with precision as she told him that she had only been at the camp for a few weeks and was trying to adapt. Tim listened silently, surprised at how easy it was to go along with her.

Then came the makeup. Silena leaned over with her brushes and shadows, focused like an artist before a canvas. When she was done, she stepped back to admire her work.

“Done. A black smokey eye.” She smiled proudly.

Tim looked up at the mirror she had handed him, and his heart immediately sank. The dark effect around his eyes reminded him of Thalia: the strength in her gaze, the rebelliousness she always radiated. He swallowed, trying not to show how much it affected him.

Silena, oblivious to Tim's inner turmoil, tilted her head and looked at him thoughtfully.

“You know what would make it perfect? An earring.”

The air seemed to stop for a second. Thalia. Another twinge. Tim looked away, not knowing how to respond, and Silena noticed, but she didn't press him. She just gave him a warm smile.

“Don't worry, it was just an idea. You look great anyway.”

Tim forced a clumsy smile.

After that, they went to dinner, and Tim forced himself to forget about it until it was time to go to bed. As he washed his face and tried to remove the shadow from his eyes, the smudged makeup only reminded him of his sister. His reflection in the mirror ceased to be his own for a few moments, changing to the sharp, serious, and hard gaze that Tim admired and missed. For a moment, his eyes went from being like ice to electric blue. 

It was a bad idea, a terrible one, and it showed how bad he felt. But Tim had no photos, nothing to remind her. 

So the next day Tim went back to look for Silena. And he did so the next day and the next, until she ended up giving him a palette of eyeshadows and brushes so he could learn to apply his own makeup. 

But something was missing. 

He couldn't stop thinking about Silena's words, and little by little the idea became an obsession. One afternoon he sought out Travis and explained what he wanted. Hermes' son smiled as if Tim had explained the most brilliant plan in the world.

“Perfect. Let's do it together. I want one too.”

Connor and Chris were quick to show up and offer their support. The four set up a makeshift operating room in the Hermes cabin, with ice, half-disinfected needles, and two silver earrings that cost Travis all the drachmas he had managed to collect from his contraband. 

“This looks more like a scene from a camp movie than a serious plan,” Tim muttered, sitting on the floor with his ear frozen, hoping that would help a little as an anesthetic. 

“Think of it as The Parent Trap, but with less glamour.” Connor shrugged. 

“And more blood,” Chris added with a smile that was too wide.

The first attempt was a disaster. Chris didn't use enough force and Travis's helix was only half pierced, while Tim laughed at this and caused Connor's already poor aim to miss and bury the needle a little further to the right of where the piercing was supposed to go. 

The second attempt went perfectly, because Chris took turns doing both piercings while Connor held them down so they wouldn't move. 

It was at that glorious moment that Luke opened the door.

“...What the hell are you doing?” he asked with such dangerous calm that the four froze.

Tim, with the needle still firmly embedded in his ear, raised a bloody hand.

“Oops...?”

Luke looked at Tim as if he had just lost his last shred of sanity.

“Stand up. All of you. Now.”

Travis tried to smile naturally, proudly showing off his pierced ear with the needle still in it. 

“Look, we match.”

Luke ran a hand over his face in frustration, while Connor and Chris stifled their laughter behind them.

“If you survive the infection,” Luke finally said, looking at Tim seriously, “we'll talk about why there are better ways to do this.” 

Tim, his heart still racing, couldn't help but smile a little. It hurt, but when he saw his reflection hours later with the piercing in his ear and his eyes still shadowed with black, he felt that Thalia was a little closer.

Of course, the next day Luke pulled Tim aside to scold him for doing something like that without telling him. Although Tim found it a little hypocritical coming from Luke, since he was the one who encouraged Tim to train until he collapsed.

“I've told you a thousand times to think before you act, Tim.” Luke paused, before lowering his tone a little. “It's my duty to take care of you, but I can't do that if you're doing stupid things.”

Tim looked away but nodded. He knew Luke was exaggerating, but he wasn't going to go against his older brother. 

“By the way,” Luke continued, “I'm going on a mission tomorrow.”

Tim's eyes widened. Ever since they arrived at camp, Luke had been asking to go on a mission. Tim knew Luke wanted to prove himself, although he never understood why: everyone knew Luke was one of the strongest demigods and did more for the camp than almost anyone else.

“Really?” Tim tried to sound calm, although his excitement was showing. "Congrats! What mission is it? Who's going with you?"

Luke grimaced, and Tim immediately couldn't help but do the same.

“I'm going to get an apple from the Garden of the Hesperides,” Luke said, shrugging.

“Oh... That... that's cool,” Tim replied, avoiding saying the words he really wanted to say. 

Basic. It was a basic mission, something the gods gave when they couldn't think of anything else. Tim had heard that it had been the first mission of the last counselor of his cabin. 

So Hermes couldn't be more creative, right?

“And... who's going with you?”

“Morgan and Tate,” Luke replied.

Tim's heart relaxed a little. Morgan seemed to live in her own world, but from the months he had known her, he could recognize how strong she was, as well as disciplined and knowledgeable about magic. On the other hand, Tate, son of Apollo, knew hand-to-hand combat and medicine. It would be a balanced team, someone he could trust to take care of Luke if something went wrong.

Tim smiled slightly and nodded.

“Then... okay. Sounds like a good team.”

Luke looked at him for a few seconds, assessing his younger brother's reaction, and finally let out a sigh, relaxing his posture.

“Just remember this, Tim: take care of yourself and Annabeth while I'm gone. But above all, think before you act.”

Tim could only nod again, knowing there was nothing more to say. 

The next morning, Tim was half asleep when he heard Luke's voice. As soon as he opened his eyes, Luke was standing by the cabin door, backpack slung over his shoulder, expression serious but calm.

“Don't forget to make me a shroud to burn when I come back,” Luke said with a little wink.

Tim nodded automatically, still between sleep and wakefulness, as he watched his older brother leave the cabin. His mind began to spin with thoughts as he stretched his arms and yawned. Whenever a demigod left on a mission, their cabin was responsible for preparing a shroud: a cloth that was burned at the end of the mission as a celebration... or that could be used in case of a funeral. 

He knew Luke's mission would take time, so Tim decided he would do everything he could to make the shroud special. He gathered almost all of Hermes' children from the camp and organized them into a collective effort: they chose fabrics, colors, embroidery, and symbols that reminded them of Luke, that reflected him and all he meant to their cabin.

Tim didn't forget to help with Morgan's shroud as well. He was her brother, and it was his duty to do so. Each stitch he made brought him a little closer to them, and he was grateful for the calluses on his fingers: without them, the needles would have hurt him more than once.

Night fell, and after dinner, everyone gathered around the campfire to sing. They were halfway through a song about a satyr and a nymph, the flames lighting up their faces and creating dancing shadows on the campground floor. The laughter and voices of the demigods mingled with the crackling of the wood.

Suddenly, something changed. The shadows around them began to grow darker, denser, and the air turned cold all at once, as if it could be touched. A chill ran through Tim as he looked around, anxious.

And then, on the ground in front of the bonfire, two bodies appeared. Luke and Morgan.

Tim froze, unable to move. Everything around him seemed to have ceased to exist: the bonfire, the music, even the voices of the others faded from his mind.

“Luke!” he shouted, running toward him.

Morgan was there too, and Tim noticed a slight movement in her, as if she were still breathing. Part of him screamed to go with her and see if she still had a pulse. But the part that cared about Luke would always come first. Nothing else mattered when it came to him.

Blood covered his face and soaked his clothes. A huge wound ran across part of his face, and every breath seemed like an effort. Tim sat next to him, paralyzed, not knowing what to do. How could he stop the bleeding? How could he keep Luke from dying in his arms?

Everything else disappeared. 

Hours later, he was in the infirmary, between Morgan and Luke's beds, holding his older brother's hand, watching as the ambrosia took effect and stopped the bleeding. Luke's face was still swollen and marked by the stitches used to reconnect the skin, and Tim couldn't help but think about how much pain his brother had gone through.

On the other side of the bed, Annabeth held Luke's other hand. Seeing her there gave Tim a small sense of relief: Luke would be well cared for. Then he turned his gaze to Morgan.

Morgan's skin was pale to begin with, but now it wasn't just pale. It was transparent, as if her body were beginning to fade away. Her right arm bore a huge wound, marked by claws that seemed to have tried to tear it apart completely. They had barely managed to save her arm, and Tim knew that recovery would be long, that she might never use it normally again.

Chiron had said that she shouldn't have been able to survive what she did, that there was no way she could have appeared to them like that. Tim didn't understand how it had happened, but at that moment he didn't care. He was grateful, infinitely grateful, that Morgan had brought them back.

He leaned toward her slightly, taking her hand carefully, afraid of hurting her further. 

Neither she nor Luke should be there. 

They should never have gone on that mission so unprepared. 

Why did the gods put demigods in danger over and over again? Why had Hermes, with all his cunning and arrogance, allowed Luke to be sent on a mission for something as absurd as an apple?

Tim clenched his teeth. Every mission, every challenge, every enemy they faced seemed to be a game for the gods. To them, the lives of their children were pawns on a board, entertainment or an experiment. And he was tired of being a pawn.

He wasn't going to keep accepting the gods' rules without questioning them. He wasn't going to let them decide when someone lived or died just because it was part of their games.

Chapter Text

And somehow, before Tim realized it, the years went by quickly. Maybe it was the archery practice, or the fighting, or the magic, or the times he got grounded along with the Stolls. Maybe none of that.

Before he knew it, Tim was already twelve years old. Who knows, maybe that wasn’t even his real age. He wasn’t sure, and his mother had never shown up to confirm it.

But well, the seasons passed quickly when you were busy. Between helping Luke run the cabin, training his new siblings in the art of magic, or teaching Apollo’s new archers after his kids called Tim an honorary member, Tim hardly noticed the passing of time until summer came and the cabin was bursting with campers.

But this year wasn’t like that, because for some reason Chiron decided to disappear at the start of the school year and only return at the end of it. Things really got out of hand during his absence—without someone to impose order, cabin fights broke out every day, every hour. Mr. D seemed amused, so whenever a food fight started at dinner, he just turned a blind eye.

Thanks to those months, Tim had more bruises and new scars than he’d gotten in all his years at camp. Without the risk of getting grounded, most people had taken revenge for the pranks he pulled with the Stolls, the ones he helped Chris with, or the ones he pulled on his own.

Yeah, Tim deserved every one of those bruises, but that didn’t mean he wouldn’t pay them back at the next capture the flag.

The no-man’s-land time at camp ended when the mortal school year wrapped up and Chiron came back. The chaos slowly faded, and the grudges between cabins returned to being nothing more than mild rivalries—the kind that fueled capture the flag.

And with summer coming, that could only mean one thing: the campers were back.

Over the years, Travis had figured out one thing: no matter how many supplies summer campers brought from home, within a couple of weeks they’d run out and need someone to provide for them.

That someone was them.

Travis, Connor, and Tim had built a smuggling empire at camp, making enough drachmas and mortal money that sometimes they didn’t even know what to do with it.

Without Chiron around, it had been easy to sneak out at dawn and come back at nightfall with three backpacks full of candy, sodas, makeup, perfume, deodorant, comics, and even some handheld video games that, according to the rules, were strictly forbidden. But who cared about rules when half the camp depended on you to get what they wanted?

They learned fast: the secret wasn’t the product, it was the strategy. Travis knew when to drop the most valuable stuff, who to give discounts to, and who to charge double.

But unfortunately, Chiron had a sixth sense for spotting mischief, and Tim and the Stolls had already gotten grounded way too many times over the years.

So they laid low for a few days, waited for Chiron to catch up with camp business, and only after breakfast did Tim sneak out toward the camp’s border.

Normally, he never went alone, but this time they needed a distraction—and who better for that than Travis and Connor?

Tim adjusted his empty backpack on his shoulder, secured his bow on his back, his quiver on his hip, and crouched among the bushes at the edge of the forest, right where the magical border vibrated in the air like an invisible curtain. He looked back, catching sight of Travis and Connor crouched in the strawberry fields, giving him a thumbs-up that meant the coast was clear.

“This is a terrible idea,” he muttered to himself, though the adrenaline was already pushing him to take the next step.

Just as he was about to cross, a voice called from behind him:

“And where do you think you’re going?”

Tim spun on his heels, trying to hide his surprise. It was Katie Gardner, arms crossed, her stern look sharp enough to wilt a flower.

“Oh, hey, Katie. I was just… you know… checking the border. Camp security.” He smiled with a calmness he didn’t feel.

Katie raised an eyebrow.

“With an empty backpack?”

Tim thought fast.

“You never know when you might need to carry something.”

Before Katie could reply, Travis came jogging up, panting like he’d just run a marathon.

“Tim!” he exclaimed dramatically. “Chiron’s asking for you, quick, you have to go.”

Katie frowned deeper.

“Really? And why would Chiron be asking for him right now?”

Connor showed up a second later, nearly tripping over his own feet.

“Because…” he improvised, shooting a desperate look at Travis, “because Tim’s the… the weapons inventory manager. Yeah, exactly. The armory needs checking.”

Katie snorted.

“You three are terrible liars.”

Travis looked offended.

“Hey! I’m a great liar.”

“What Travis meant,” Tim cut in, stepping forward, “is that you really don’t have to worry, Katie. I promise I’m not doing anything bad.”

Katie studied him like she was trying to read his mind. Finally, she sighed.

“Fine, but if you get caught… I’m not covering for you. And bring me some of that chocolate from the Fifth, the one with peanuts.”

“Wouldn’t dream of not doing it,” Tim replied with a grin.

Katie walked off, muttering something about troublemakers, and the moment she was out of sight, Travis let out a stifled laugh.

“Inventory manager? Seriously, Connor?”

Connor shrugged.

“It was the first thing I could think of.”

Tim shook his head, though he couldn’t help but smile too.

“All right, distraction complete. Now let’s get down to business.”

And with that, he crossed the camp’s border.

Tim adjusted the cap on his head, lowering it just enough so the shadow covered his face. That was the first rule of sneaking out: don’t draw attention. New York was huge, but you could never be too sure some monster wasn’t sniffing around.

His trip from camp to downtown Manhattan only took a little over two hours. If he’d called the Gray Sisters, he wouldn’t have wasted so much time, but Tim had made the mistake of doing that a few months back, and it was an experience he had no intention of repeating. So he walked a couple of miles until a group of college students pulled over and gave him a ride the rest of the way.

Normally, Tim wouldn’t have been so naïve as to hop into a random car and risk becoming monster chow, but if they had been monsters, they would’ve already eaten him. Monsters didn’t wait around when they found a demigod near camp—too many chances for escape.

Tim blended in among tourists with oversized backpacks and exhausted office workers, going unnoticed like just another face in the crowd. Sometimes he thought it was way too easy for him to slip invisible into the masses. Maybe it had always been that way.

The first stop was a little candy shop off Fifth Avenue.

No, he definitely wasn’t doing Katie any favors. Of course not.

The owner greeted him with a knowing smile. Tim had been a regular customer over the past year and knew exactly what he wanted: giant bags of gummies, imported chocolate bars, sodas you’d never find at camp. And that stupid, overpriced peanut chocolate you could only get here.

“Party supplies?” the man asked with amusement, eyeing the pile on the counter.

“Something like that,” Tim answered with a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

Next came a pharmacy: deodorants, scented soaps, cheap makeup. Tim packed everything into his backpack like puzzle pieces, every inch calculated so nothing stuck out.

Morgan knew how to stash objects in a deck of cards. Tim had tried it once and lost his favorite shoes.

Yeah… magic came naturally to him, but never as much as it did to his sister.

By noon, he stopped at a small café. He ordered an iced coffee and a sandwich. On the TV above the counter, the news was covering Gotham.

“That bat again…” the newcaster was saying, while blurry footage showed a hooded man leaping from a rooftop.

Tim lowered his gaze to his cup. He’d heard rumors since he was a kid: a masked vigilante, a guy who patrolled that city like a shadow. Gotham was rotten to the core—everyone knew it—and maybe that was why the idea of a masked hero had never seemed so far-fetched to him. Sometimes Tim wondered if, had he not ended up at camp, he would have ever seen this “Batman” up close.

He shook his head. That didn’t matter now.

Tim spent the afternoon in a thrift shop, bargaining for comics and magazines, and at a Chinatown stand where he bought oddly flavored candies Connor loved.

When the sun began to set, he decided it would be best to take a cab back, which still left him some distance from the camp, but that was fine; Tim was used to walking.

He barely took a few steps before raindrops splattered against his face. Tim stopped and looked up. Even though it was already dark, he could see the storm clouds spreading across the stars.

The weather’s been so weird lately, he thought, pulling up his hoodie.

The night was darker than usual, and finding his way through the woods was going to be a real challenge. On an occasion like this, Tim would’ve summoned some flames—his specialty—but the rain wouldn’t leave them alone. Even if it was magic fire, it still wasn’t immune to water.

Tim didn't know exactly how long he had been walking in the dark, he only knew that he had bumped into many trees, and unfortunately none of them were his sister's tree, which would have helped him find his way.

By the time Tim reached the top of the hill, his clothes were completely soaked. Camp finally came into view, faint lights calling him home. Just the thought of his comfortable bed was enough to make him feel drunk with sleep.

Suddenly, an animal’s roar—but a thousand times louder—snapped him to attention. Tim unstrung his bow and, without thinking, nocked an arrow, ready to fire at the slightest movement, but the night stayed just as dark. This time, a loud explosion lit up the whole place and made him realize what he was facing.

Tim ran down the hill, slinging his bow back over his shoulder—it wouldn’t be much help now. He pulled out the small knife Luke made him carry and waited at the foot of the hill for that grotesque beast to notice him.

Tim had studied about it before, but reading about a monster and standing face-to-face with one were two very different things. It was a thousand times worse than the books had described.

A massive, muscular body, bare legs covered only by underwear, a head the size of an end table (maybe bigger), and of course, two enormous bull horns. The Minotaur.

The Minotaur let out another roar and started stomping uphill.

It still hadn’t noticed Tim’s presence, and in a way, he was grateful for that. Because even though Tim considered himself a decent fighter, that monster was at least ten feet tall. Not even with half his cabin helping could he have taken it down.

Tim saw the direction the monster was charging and cursed himself for not noticing sooner. Three figures were struggling up the hill, and if he didn’t do something right then, they’d be lining up at Hades’ door.

So, of course, Tim did one of the stupidest things in his entire life.

“Hey, cow-face!”

That was all it took for the Minotaur to awkwardly turn toward him (those massive horns probably made turning difficult) and charge. Tim bolted in the opposite direction as fast as his legs would carry him, but the road wasn’t an option—it was too slick and offered no cover. His only choice was to veer toward the hill.

With all this cardio, I’m skipping training tomorrow, he thought as he dodged a tree. If I survive.

Tim changed direction every few yards to make it harder, but the beast was fast. In just seconds it was practically breathing down his neck. Before its horns could skewer him, Tim leapt to the side, slammed into a tree, and rolled a few feet, but it saved his life.

He got up with some difficulty, his right leg screaming in pain, but it wasn’t like Tim hadn’t hurt it before.

He looked ahead to where the Minotaur should have kept charging, and at first, all was good—it was still running straight. Straight toward a boy.

The kid seemed frozen to the spot, not moving a single muscle. Tim knew that even if he ran with everything he had, he’d never make it in time. So he grabbed his bow and an arrow. It wouldn’t do more than scratch the Minotaur, but if he could slow it down even a little, the boy might have a chance.

Tim let the arrow fly—it streaked straight and buried itself in the Minotaur’s back. Of course, it didn’t stop; the beast didn’t even seem to notice.

It was official: the boy was going to die.

But at the last second, the boy dove to the side. Tim wanted to shout, “Well done!” but figured he’d save it if they both lived through this.

The Minotaur barreled on like a freight train, and when it realized it hadn’t crushed the boy, it roared in frustration and turned. Tim thought it would charge the kid again, but instead it ignored him, heading straight toward a shadowy figure in the darkness. A woman, kneeling in the grass, setting someone down.

Realizing this, Tim ran with all his might this time, despite the persistent pain in his leg.

He thought he’d make it, knife ready to plunge into the monster’s back.

But the hero can’t always save the damsel in distress.

The woman stumbled back, trying to dodge the Minotaur, but it raised its hand and clamped it around her neck, lifting her off the ground no matter how hard she struggled.

“Mom!”

The boy’s scream nearly shattered Tim’s soul. It was so raw, so full of pain and despair, that guilt hit Tim like a punch to the gut. For not being faster. For not being stronger. For not training harder. For being the one who had dodged the Minotaur.

The monster let out a furious bellow and squeezed its fist around the woman’s neck. Tim braced himself for the sight of her body hitting the ground—but it never happened. She dissolved, vanishing into a burst of golden light. The flash was blinding. And then… she was gone.

“No!”

Tim didn’t want to look at the boy. He didn’t need to imagine his face to know what it looked like.

The Minotaur charged toward the body lying in the grass, and Tim did the same. He wasn’t about to let the monster hurt anyone else.

But he didn’t need to intervene. The boy shrugged off his jacket—bright red like fresh blood—and waved it while shouting, sprinting past the beast to draw his attention. The monster turned, fists swinging wildly, and the boy pressed himself against the trunk of a massive pine, still flaring that jacket like a bullfighter.

For a moment, Tim thought it was actually a good plan. Almost clever. But plans rarely survive the first few seconds, and the Minotaur lunged too fast, hands outstretched to crush the boy.

“Move!” Tim yelled.

Tim sprinted forward, ice beginning to gather in his palm.

After years of training in magic, Tim had managed to dabble in the elements. Fire was his specialty, though it had left him with more than a few scars. Ice, on the other hand, was like sticking his brain in a freezer—worse than the worst ice cream headache imaginable.

Still, he forced it out of himself like turning a rusty faucet.

Stupid to expect anything dramatic. His luck was never that good.

He’d honestly thought something spectacular might happen—like a storm of frost exploding from his hands. Instead, a pathetic dusting of frost clung to his fingers. He growled in frustration. Another person was going to die on this cursed hill because he wasn’t strong enough.

But he kept running anyway. He had to try.

He caught the boy’s eyes and mouthed a silent "I’m sorry". Even if Tim gave it everything, there was no way he’d make it in time.

“Go get Grover!” the boy shouted, and Tim stopped dead in his tracks.

“This has to be a joke,” he muttered to himself. “Why does that satyr have to be involved in everything bad that happens on this hill?” 

Swallowing his frustration, Tim veered off, sprinting toward Grover’s unconscious body.

He’d spent years avoiding the satyr after Thalia’s death. Part of him had always blamed Grover. If he hadn’t shown up to drag her toward camp, maybe she would still be alive, and they would still be together.

But even so, Tim hefted Grover’s limp body over his shoulders and hauled him toward the safety of Thalia’s tree. At least there they’d be safe.

Tim refused to turn around, refused to watch the Minotaur crush the boy. He knew if he did, that image would follow him for the rest of his life.

But—there’s always a but—a sharp noise forced him to glance back.

And he couldn’t believe what he saw.

The boy was perched on the Minotaur’s shoulders, yanking its horns like steering a bull at a rodeo.

“Food…” Grover groaned in Tim’s arms.

Tim nearly jumped out of his skin. And, of course, the monster turned toward them again—this time carrying a rider.

Tim threw the satyr's body to the ground, as far away from him as possible. He crossed his arms over his chest and prayed that what he had learned a few weeks ago would work. If he was lucky, the impact against the minotaur would throw him far away, but at least it wouldn't kill him instantly.

This better work, Morgan, he thought.

Ever seen those movies where, just when all hope seems lost, something insanely cool happens and everyone gets their second wind? That’s exactly what went down.

The boy ripped one of the Minotaur’s horns clean off. The beast roared in agony, flinging him through the air.

Tim stood frozen in disbelief as the boy rolled, dropped to one knee, and, as the monster thundered past, drove that horn straight into his gut. The Minotaur shrieked, staggering before dissolving into golden dust.

The rain stopped as if by magic. Tim thanked the gods for small favors, then sprinted to the boy’s side and fall next to him.

“You okay?”

What a stupid question, Tim. For God's sake, he fought a minotaur and you ask him that. 

Tim muttered a spell so that a small ball of fire appeared floating above his hand, so he could see the boy's face. 

He was just a child, like himself. 

A small trickle of blood ran down his forehead, which only worried Tim. He helped the boy up and forced him to walk to the top of the hill. The boy seemed to be in a trance. Tim left him standing there and went to find Grover.

Not even all the blows Grover took managed to wake him up. Tim's strength had waned too much, so he could only drag him along. He motioned for the boy to follow him down the hill. The adrenaline had left his body, so the pain in his leg had returned, worse than before.

They reached the big house with great difficulty. Tim left Grover on the porch and knocked on the door a couple of times before falling to his knees. It felt like his leg bones were being hit with a sledgehammer, and Tim was sure that was how it must feel. 

Tim leaned against the wall and closed his eyes for a few seconds. He hadn't even had a real fight with the minotaur, and yet he had to fight hard not to faint.

The door opened after a few seconds and Annabeth came out of the house, followed by Chiron. Tim let out a groan as he tried to sit up. Someone had to explain what had happened, because the boy seemed to have fainted as soon as they set foot on the porch. 

Annabeth knelt beside the boy and gave Chiron a somewhat curious look.

“It's him. It must be him.” Tim frowned at Annabeth's words, but he just listened. His throat felt too dry to utter a word; he really needed some nectar.

“Silence, Annabeth,” said Chiron. “He's still conscious. Bring him inside.”

Tim tried to get up to help, but only managed to groan in pain and look like a fish out of water. Chiron finally noticed him and held out a hand. With his help, Tim managed to get up and limp into the house, where he collapsed onto a sofa. He closed his eyes out of habit, and that was all it took for him to fall asleep.

Chapter Text

The first thing Tim saw when he woke up was Connor's face. He was asleep in a chair next to the bed, his mouth hanging open with a line of drool running down his chin.

Pathetic.

Tim felt brand new; all the exhaustion had vanished, along with the bruises and injuries from the battle with the Minotaur.

The Minotaur…

He bolted upright so fast he almost fell out of bed.

"Connor! Connor, wake up!" he exclaimed.

But the other boy didn't even stir. Tim figured his neck would be sore when he woke up… if anything could even make him sore, because Connor was the heaviest sleeper Tim had ever seen. Not even an earthquake would wake him up.

Tim tried to get up to shake him, but his leg wouldn't let him. Ambrosia was miraculous, but it had its limits.

Stupid Minotaur. When you show your face again, I'll personally rip your other horn off. He thought, gritting his teeth.

Tim called for Connor again, but nothing. Frustrated, he raised his hand toward the chair and swiped it to the side. The chair shot across the room, slamming into the wall, and Connor crashed to the floor with a clatter that was probably heard all the way in the dining pavilion.

The boy groaned and pushed himself up off the floor. Tim wished Connor hit his head—maybe it would have knocked some sense into him.

"What is wrong with you?!" Connor roared.

You, Tim wanted to reply, but he just ignored him.

"What happened to the boy who was with me?" he asked, getting straight to the point.

"What boy?" Connor looked at him, confused.

Tim repressed the urge to roll his eyes.

"The one who came with me to the Big House."

"You were with a boy?"

A flower vase suddenly fell on Connor's head. Luckily, he had a hard skull.

"And the satyr?"

"What satyr?"

Tim took a deep breath and counted to ten, remembering what Morgan had taught him.

"Why are you here, Connor?"

"Luke told me you were here. You've been asleep for almost a full day."

Tim shot up, putting his weight on his bad leg wrong. A grunt escaped him, but he still walked to the door. He didn't understand why Chiron hadn't just left him in the infirmary, but he'd figure that out later. The room was on the second floor, a guest room. Getting to the stairs was an effort, and seeing the descent, he couldn't help but frown.

Luckily for him, Connor appeared at his side and helped him down without overloading his leg. Tim needed it to heal fast if he wanted to get back to training.

They entered Chiron's office without knocking; it wasn't their first time, after all. After that prank on Annabeth, they'd both spent over an hour listening to lectures in that very room.

Connor grabbed the only chair, as usual. 

The room was filled with photographs of important demigods. A part of Tim yearned to see his own there someday, to be worthy enough for Chiron to consider him deserving of a spot on the wall.

Just as he expected, Chiron was by the window overlooking the volleyball court.

"Chiron, how's the boy?" Tim asked, feeling the pull in his leg again.

"I see you're awake, Tim. How is your leg?"

"It hurts a bit… some ambrosia wouldn't hurt." Connor must have noticed his discomfort because he finally gave up the chair. Tim sat down but insisted, "And the boy?"

"He's fine. Still asleep. And Grover is fine, too."

Tim nodded.

"Connor, return to your cabin. I need to speak with Tim alone."

The son of Hermes nodded and left. Chiron waited a few seconds, as if making sure he wasn't eavesdropping behind the door. When the silence convinced him, he turned back to Tim.

Chiron asked him to tell what had happened. Tim took a breath, running through where to start. He had to admit he'd snuck out of camp to buy some comics, something Chiron already knew from checking his backpack and interrogating Travis and Connor. Tim knew a grounded was surely waiting for them, but he wasn't going to ask about that yet. He finished by telling Chiron about his trip to Manhattan, the delay, and then everything about the Minotaur in graphic detail. When Tim got to the part where he couldn't help the woman, his voice cracked. He had never seen anyone die in front of him before. He'd been to funerals, even helped make shrouds, but witnessing death up close was different.

Tears streamed down his cheek. Tim wiped them away immediately. He shouldn't show weakness. Luke would be disappointed.

"That explains a great deal," Chiron sighed. "Now we can only wait for Percy to wake up."

Percy. Now Tim knew the name of the boy he owed an apology to.

"You may go," Chiron added. "Rest for the remainder of the day, until your leg is recovered. It was a nasty fracture."

Tim got up with difficulty. Without Connor, getting back to his cabin would be a pain. Maybe he'd run into a daughter of Demeter who could lend a hand.

Before leaving, he turned back to Chiron.

"Chiron…"

"Yes?"

"Why didn't you leave me in the infirmary?"

"You talk in your sleep. You might have woken Percy."

Tim left, his face completely red.

At first, Tim thought about following Chiron's order and returning to his cabin to rest. But if he did that, he wouldn't be himself.

Tim walked to the infirmary, which was luckily on the first floor, because going back up those stairs in his condition would have been a complete ordeal. He opened the door carefully, trying to keep the old wood from creaking, and entered without closing it completely. The boy, Percy, was sleeping on a cot near the window. Tim levitated a chair to his side and dropped into it; a pillow for his backside would have been perfect.

Tim couldn't help but watch him for a long time, minutes, maybe hours. Percy's mouth was slightly open and, just like Connor, he was drooling. His breathing was calm, but his brow was furrowed, as if he was having a nightmare.

Tim silently prayed to all the gods that it wasn't about his mother.

At some point, he must have fallen asleep too, because when he opened his eyes it was already night.

Tim was sure he had missed dinner, but he didn't care; he wasn't hungry at the moment.

There was a glass of nectar on the bedside table; it must have been for Percy, and if someone left it there, they probably wanted Tim to help him drink it.

Tim stood up without as much difficulty as before; his leg must have been better by now. Ambrosia always tended to work better on him at night.

Percy mumbled something unintelligible, which made Tim laugh. Using his magic, he adjusted the pillow—moving Percy was difficult because, despite seeming thin, the boy weighed as much as a pegasus.

Since his mouth was already open, Tim just tilted the glass and let the nectar slide down Percy's throat, careful not to let him choke. When he finished drinking, his eyes fluttered open.

His eyes were green.

"Go back to sleep," Tim whispered. Percy immediately closed his eyes and fell back asleep.

Tim settled onto the nearest cot and closed his eyes.

That night, Tim dreamed of a completely dark place. In front of him was Luke, holding out his hand, waiting for Tim to take it. He tried to, but he couldn't move his body, no matter how hard he struggled.

At first, Tim thought it was sleep paralysis, but the feeling of small tugs on his arms and legs made him realize it wasn't.

Many hands were pulling him backward.

Tim could barely move his head, so he turned it to look over his shoulder. All his friends and acquaintances from camp—even Percy, whom he'd just met—were holding him prisoner.

Tim looked back at Luke, pleading for help, but his brother just turned around and disappeared.

He woke up with a dry throat, as if he'd been screaming all night. Being a demigod had many complications, and dreams were one of the worst. Tim could rarely remember them, and since he'd been claimed as a son of Hecate, almost never. But when he did, it was never for a good reason.

Years ago, he'd had a horrible dream about a son of Apollo who was teaching him archery. Days later, that boy fell from a pegasus and died.

Tim closed his eyes for a moment, hoping no one would get hurt this time. Least of all Percy. They hadn't even had a real conversation yet, but Tim wanted to protect him. Guilt was eating him up little by little.

Then he looked over at Percy's bed. It was empty.

Tim frowned, unable to believe Percy gotten up on his own.

He jumped out of his bed, grateful his leg was much better. By all the gods, being injured with ADHD was like a personalized torture session straight from Tartarus.

Tim left the infirmary and exited the Big House. Without Chiron, Tim was tempted to explore the other rooms, something he'd always been curious about. But doing it alone seemed boring. It would be better to save that plan for another time and bring the Stolls along; they'd surely find something valuable hidden among all that weird decoration.

The day was sunny and hot, which was terrible news for Tim. After so many years at camp, he still hated that perfect weather. It always seemed like Apollo had parked his sun chariot right over the hill.

The porch was practically empty. Practically. Percy was resting in an ugly beach chair.

Tim sat on the floor, leaning his back against the porch railing. Tim was tempted to transform one of his sneakers into a folding chair, but transformations still weren't his strong suit. He'd probably end up with a rock tied to his foot.

Morgan still had a lot to teach him, but his sister had been really busy lately. She'd disappear for hours and only return just before dinner. She disappeared almost as much as Luke did.

"How's your leg?"

Tim flinched and let out a choked yelp.

"By the gods, you almost scared me to death!" Tim put a hand to his chest and turned toward the voice. It was familiar, adolescent, and somewhat tired. Of course, Grover.

The satyr looked like he hadn't slept in weeks. The bags under his eyes made you want to drag him to the Aphrodite cabin and force him to use concealer.

"Sorry," Grover murmured.

Tim huffed. Every time Tim talked to Grover, he seemed to be apologizing.

"It's fine. Has Percy been out here long?"

"A little over an hour. Chiron thinks it's a good idea for him to get some fresh air."

Tim nodded.

"He's right. He'll probably wake up in a few hours. I should get back to my cabin… I desperately need a shower. I reek like a cow."

Tim stood up and brushed off his clothes, though there wasn't much to be done about it. No one had bothered to change his t-shirt, and the mud stains were there to stay, even if Hera herself tried to wash it. Before leaving, he leaned over Percy, adjusted his pillow, and tucked the blanket.

He left the porch and started up the hill, wondering if he'd missed lunch or if there was still time. His stomach was growling, but Tim knew he could hold out until dinner.

"Tim!" Grover's voice made him turn. The satyr was running up the hill with surprising speed thanks to his hooves. In a matter of seconds, Grover was by his side. "Thanks for the other night… I don't remember much, but I do remember you. I know you saved me. Thank you."

Tim felt a knot in his chest. The answer he wanted to give was a bitter: "Tell that to Percy's mom." But instead, he simply smiled.

The cabin was almost empty when Tim walked in. No surprise: at that hour, most campers were at lunch or hanging out. And if it was the Stolls, they were probably plotting to steal something from the camp store.

As usual, his cabin was messy, and as usual, it didn't bother him. Between the noise, the smells, and the number of demigods sharing a single space, the cabin was anything but peaceful. But for Tim, it had become home.

Tim pulled a change of clothes from his trunk and immediately couldn't help but notice something strange.

His bed was made.

He never made his bed, and when he tried with magic, the result was more of an aesthetic crime than anything else. Tim frowned. Either someone had decided to help him… or this was part of one of those pranks that ended with something nasty hidden under the covers. And given his cabin, that was a pretty safe bet.

Tim wanted to think it was his sister. She had a habit of fixing small things without anyone asking, even if she later denied it.

He stood for a moment looking at the sheets stretched with precision and couldn't help but smile ironically.

"Must have been her," he murmured to himself. "Or maybe Luke. Or maybe both."

The image in his mind of the two of them taking turns to straighten the sheets and fluff the pillows made him laugh.

The bathrooms were empty, which was weird, but it suited him perfectly. Tim took a quick shower—more to clear his head than for hygiene—and when he returned to the porch, he hesitated about going to the dining pavilion. He could have snacked on something more, but Percy was still recovering in the infirmary, and though he wouldn't admit it, Tim felt a certain responsibility toward the new boy. Even if that meant spending the rest of the day playing cards with Chiron and Mr. D waiting for Percy to wake up.

Just thinking about it gave him a headache. The last time Tim played with them, he spent days remembering the scoldings and threats from Mr. D. A good part of his repertoire of ancient Greek insults came from him.

Tim expected to find a sleeping Percy, but to his surprise, Percy was already awake and having a conversation with Grover.

Tim approached quietly, wondering if Percy even remembered him; in the darkness of that night, it was almost impossible to distinguish a face.

"And how do you feel?" asked Grover.

Tim leaned against one of the porch posts opposite them, so they couldn't see him.

Morgan had told him more than once that it was wrong to eavesdrop on conversations, but come on, Tim had lived a big part of his life in the Hermes cabin with the Stolls as his best friends; it was impossible for some of their habits not to have rubbed off on him (besides stealing and mischief). So Tim had learned that listening before speaking usually gave him an advantage.

"Like I could throw Nancy Bobofit a hundred yards."

"That's good," said Grover. "That's good. I don't think you should risk drinking any more of that stuff."

"What do you mean?"

It was then that Tim decided to make himself known. He walked slowly, without hurry, until Percy saw him. The boy looked at Tim as if trying to place him in a fuzzy memory. Tim didn't say anything at first, just held his gaze calmly with a slight, lopsided smile.

"Grover," he finally interjected. "I think it's best if Percy goes to see Chiron and Mr. D."

"Y-yes. Let's go. Chiron and Mr. D are waiting."

Tim smiled at Percy and held out his hand. Morgan had taught him basic manners… the hard way.

"I'm Tim. Nice to meet you."

"You... you were in…" Percy stammered. His voice was kind of deep, but strong, much more understandable than his mumbling. Tim made a gesture with his hand for him to be quiet.

"We'll have time to talk later."

Tim helped Percy to his feet. He noticed the clumsiness in his movements, as if Percy still didn't have full control of his own body. Percy was clutching a shoebox to his chest so tightly that Tim decided not to ask.

They walked around the porch, going the opposite way Tim had come. The Long Island Sound was shining brighter than usual; Tim didn't want to keep looking at it because the light reflecting off the water just made his eyes tear up. Tim fixed his gaze on the archery range; it was the Apollo cabin's turn to practice. He made a face when he saw Michael miss.

Sometimes Tim couldn't help but wonder what his life would have been like if his divine father had been someone else. If he had been Apollo's son, would he be a better archer than he already was?

He kept wondering until they reached the end of the porch, where Mr. D and Chiron were playing cards, and to Tim's surprise, Annabeth was with them.

Tim let out a quiet huff. The tension between Annabeth and almost anyone from the Hermes cabin was something normal, but between her and Tim, it was even more obvious.

"That's Mr. D," Grover murmured, more for Percy than for Tim. "He's the camp director. Be polite. The girl, that's Annabeth Chase. She's just a camper, but she's been here longer than almost anyone. And you already know Chiron…"

Tim looked at Percy, confused. He already knew Chiron? That was a story he wanted to hear.

"Mr. Brunner!" Percy shouted.

"By the gods, don't shout out of nowhere, you'll give me a heart attack."

Chiron, who had his back to them in his wheelchair, turned around and smiled at Percy.

"Ah, good, Percy," he said. "Now we have four for pinochle."

Tim silently prayed to all the gods on Olympus (except Mr. D) that they wouldn't force him to join.

There was no doubt that luck usually wasn't on his side, but when it came to playing cards? Tim seemed to have some god's blessing. They didn't even let him play in his own cabin anymore, so every time he played against Mr. D, he ended up paying dearly for being better than a god at something.

Chiron looked in Tim's direction and shook his head, making him sigh in relief.

Percy took a seat in the empty chair next to Chiron.

"Oh, I suppose I should say it. Welcome to Camp Half-Blood," said Mr. D. "There. Now, don't expect me to be glad to see you."

When is he ever glad? Tim wanted to ask, but that would have earned him a week scrubbing dinner dishes alongside the harpies.

"Uh, thanks."

"Annabeth?"

Chiron called her, and she walked over to stand beside Tim. Discreetly, he took a step away.

Tim wasn't scared of her, not at all, but he was sure she knew horrible methods of torture. There must be a book in her cabin exclusively for that, with a title like "How to Torture a Would-Be Magician Before Lunch."

"Those two cared for you while you were healing, Percy. Tim even spent the night by your side." Without being able to help it, Tim's face blushed. He immediately turned his head to avoid Percy seeing his face. "My dears, why don't you go check on Percy's bunk? We'll be putting him in cabin eleven for now."

"Sure, Chiron," Annabeth said.

Tim just nodded.

"Did you know you talk in your sleep?" Tim said before leaving.

"And you drool," Annabeth added.

Tim covered his mouth to keep from laughing; he didn't know if Mr. D was in a good enough mood to tolerate a demigod's laughter.

They set off for the cabin area. The silence was so deep Tim was sure he could hear an ant murmuring.

Blessed be whoever thought of seating the cabins separately during lunch. Tim was grateful he wasn't forced to spend time with her like before.

They continued in silence until they reached cabin eleven, as dilapidated as ever. Tim dreaded the day he'd wake up in the middle of rubble.

Luke was at the entrance, leaning near one of the windows, talking to Morgan. He crouched down to whisper something in her ear that made her laugh before she went inside the cabin.

Annabeth, upon seeing him, ran into his arms, and Tim couldn't help but make a face. It was weird to think that the girl he had once considered his sister, the one he'd spent time with before camp, had a crush on his older brother.

So Tim just ignored them and walked into his cabin.