Chapter Text
Look, I didn’t want to be a half-blood.
If you’re reading this because you think you are one, my advice is: whatever you do, at the crossroads, don’t turn left. Don’t be fooled. It’s listening. You can’t outsmart it. It’s listening to me. It’s watching me. It isn’t from this world.
If you’re a normal kid, reading this because you think it’s fiction, great. Read on. I envy you for being able to believe that none of this ever happened.
But if you recognize yourself in these pages—if you feel something stirring inside—stop reading immediately. You might be one of us. And once you know that, it’s only a matter of time before He senses it too, and He’ll come for you.
Don’t say I didn’t warn you.
“…What a weird book.”
Avery sets the leather journal down on the table and stretches his arms. The document opened on his laptop sits pleasantly blank as he stares at it with tired eyes. The library is mostly empty as usual, but the few people who linger are either enamoured with a book or pretending to be enamoured.
His retreat to the library has been unhelpful, to say the least. He thought that bringing up books as his source would make his paper seem more… professional. Who knew the literature here would be so old and dry.
The only thing worth finding here was some dude’s diary that he left on the Classical Literature shelves, nestled between the horror section. He stared at the book he was supposed to be reading—sticky notes sticking out for show, and a book mark halfway through—and decided he’d rather pry into this guy’s personal life than work. So he opened the book again.
At the crossraods don’t durn left. At the crossroads DONT turn left. At the crossroads don’t turn left ATt the crossroadsa don’t durn left
This guy’s a nutjob. The mantra was sprawled on the pages, seemingly written in haste. Words connected together, curled to make new letters, and streaked across the page. Avery couldn’t tell if some parts were the result of bad handwriting or his dyslexia. Squinting at it for far too long made his head ache, so he decided to reward himself early and leave the work for another day. Some ice cream sounded good about now. He could probably check out the new store that just opened.
He was in such a hurry to leave, he almost left his book.
“Checking out?” The librarian asked as he fumbled through his bag for his library card. “Yeah, just… give me one second.”
“Robert W. Chambers, huh? How are you enjoying it?”
“What?” He looked up. “Oh— it’s for a paper. It’s not really my thing. I’m more of a sci-fi person, I guess. Here.” He handed her his library card as she began to scan the barcode. “If you want recommendations, you should try Fahrenheit 451,” she says, and hands him his book. “It’s a pretty good book about censorship. Personally, as a librarian, I believe everyone should be informed.”
Avery’s mind wandered back to that diary. Don’t say I didn’t warn you. “Yeah… thanks.” He quickly walked out the entrance and put the book in his bag, right next to a leather cover.
…What? Clearly it’s not from the library. They’re not gonna miss it.
***
Avery is no stranger to strange strangers. Especially in New York. It’s a hotspot for tourists alike, especially in the city. And where there are tourists, there are people trying to sell them dupes, tickets, scams, you get the idea. And of course, you have the locals walking from street to street.
But there was a point where weird became bizarre. Across the street from him was a man in golden armor. Pure gold. Helmet and all. His metal boots clanked with every step he took—red cape blazing behind him like the flame of a hearth. Perhaps most comically of all was the grocery bag in his hand as he walked through the streets so casual. Even odder, nobody seemed to pay any mind to his curious appearance. Nobody except him. New York housed some strange people indeed.
He’s never been too fond of the city himself. Avery was born in the countryside and lived on a farm. The only reason he came here is because of his mother. She was an educated woman working in the middle of nowhere. Something Avery couldn’t wrap his head around. Instead of fables, she would read him poetry. Instead of prayer, she taught him science. For a while, Avery prided himself in picking up these subjects pretty quickly, but college was a different beast.
“New York,” she said for him to go. Of all the places, why did it have to be so far?
Speaking of distances, the ice cream store was only a few streets away. Just across from the library, a few blocks, then a left. It was recommended to him by a friend. Apparently, the shop also sold gelato, and he was more than eager to try it out.
“The Yellow Sign,” he read the name, as he grabbed the handle. The interior was exactly as the name would suggest. Marble floors and shiny seats, with yellow flowers added as decor. A pretty nice shop for a place that sold ice cream. “What can I get you…?” An oddly raspy voice came from behind the counter. “Whatever you’d recommend. I’m kinda new here so, uh— I thought I’d try something out. I was recommended by a friend that your gelato here is pretty good so…”
The employee was… strange. But then again, he’s seen a lot of strange things today. Speaking of which, he has a show to watch while he eats.
“...of course…” honestly it’s almost dry and raspy. He felt kind of bad and would offer a cough drop if he had any on him. “May I have your name?” Avery looked around, puzzled. People don’t usually ask for names in this city, right? Unless scooping ice cream takes the same amount of time as serving a coffee, then maybe.
“Avery.”
The worker’s mouth… curled. Upwards, past where his smile should’ve ended to show dirt black gums and teeth and a dark forked tongue.
Maybe if he were more observant, he’d see claws instead of hands, grabbing a cone. Maybe if here more observant, he’d see feathers poking out of his uniform. Maybe if he were more observant, Avery would know that ice cream workers don’t have claws, don’t have feathers, and don’t smile so viciously, you can’t help but grimace in fear.
But Avery is just a man. And there was nothing he could do to stop that hand reaching forward to wrap around his throat. There was nothing he could do as the employee leapt over the counter.
There was nothing he could do, as his name was called from some distant future.
“AVERY!”
The next string of events happened so quickly, so strangely, that Avery can only describe the feeling through a poem his mother used to read. Her favorite poem, written by Robert Frost. Ahem.
Two roads diverged in a yellow wood
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveler—
Avery was slammed into the cold tiles as nails dug into his neck. Hacking and pathetic gurgles were all he could make out as he desperately tried to push this… what worker? What the hell are you? Would be the words that first slipped his mouth, if he weren’t being choked to death. His legs flailed from under him as he kicked the torso of this beast and rolled to the side, gasping for air. (I shall be telling this with a sigh)
He crawled away, scampering for cover under the tables as the monster screeched and raised his claws to strike again. The monster’s face abandoned all traces of human features as its nose and mouth extended into a bony snout, antennas sprouting from its head. Thin, pale skin roughly clung to its figure as great big wings emerged from the uniform, ripping the uniform to spread its limbs. (Somewhere ages and ages hence:)
“Shit,” was all he could say as it advanced towards him. Avery kicked off his shoes and threw it at its head, trying to buy himself enough time to find something in his bag. Anything. A knife, a bottle, something sharp. Something usable. “Shit,” was all he could say at his failure.
Hands pinned him down as beady, little bug eyes stared him down. The breath smelled of decay and maggots as it opened its jaws to reveal its rows of teeth once more, saliva pooling down onto his shirt and he turned his face away, struggling to get out of its grasp.
Ring! The sound of the door being opened. The creature narrowed its eyes and turned to react, but it was too late.
(Two roads diverged in a wood, and I—)
The swift slice of a blade arching through the air and pressed, shink, cleanly into the flesh of a beast before pulling out just as quickly to strike again.
Gold armor, red cloak, and a strange stranger wielding a spear.
(I took the one less traveled by,)
The creature stumbled back, wings knocking over the furniture as it clutched its newly made wound. Animal instinct kicked over as it began to snap at the figure, claws, teeth, wings and all, lunging the full force of its body in a blind rage.
Undeterred, Avery’s knight in shining armor swept around it in fluid steps, whirling the spear in hand before pivoting sharply and driving the weapon into the back of the creature’s neck. A gurgling sound was made before it dissipated into a dazzling golden light.
Avery would’ve found it almost beautiful, if he hadn’t bolted the second the cost was clear.
He ran. Far, far away from the shop, away from spears and monsters and gelato. You know what? He wasn’t a big fan of ice cream to begin with. From now on, it was just him and his bag against the world.
“HELP!” He cried out as he ran through central park. “THIS— huff— THE ICE CREAM’S TRYNA KILL ME!” He kept running, sprinting as far as his legs could take him. Or whenever his adrenaline ran out. “HELP— MMFfph!” A hand pressed over his mouth as he was wrestled into an alley. Someone is trying to KIDNAP me!
“Don’t do it. Don’t bite my hand,” a voice rang out from… inside a helmet? Oh, you’ve gotta be kidding me. “Quit moving! I’m trying to help you! Don’t fucking bite my—” Avery bit the man’s hand. “KIDNAPPER!” That’s the first thing Avery called out as he pointed accusingly at his golden chestplate. “How… huff how the hell did you get here?!”
“I took a taxi.”
“Taxi my ass! Are you following me? How do you move so quickly with all that armor?”
“Taxi.”
“Alright,” Avery raised his hands. “Alright… What was that thing? Who are you? Do you just walk around with a spear?!” The stranger sighed and rubbed the bridge of his noise. “One question at a time. Stop being so loud.”
A loud screech echoed somewhere nearby as the sounds of wings flapping drew closer. “Come with me. There’s not much time,” he grabbed Avery as their pace picked back up again. “Wait— wait! What is that thing?! What’s coming towards us?
“Where are we going?”
The stranger didn’t pause for a beat, taking him through alleys and detours. But he turned to him, faced him. Shadows made up his features, but he could make out two golden eyes, gazing through his soul. “Camp Half-Blood.”
“Your father needs you, Avery.”
(And that has made all the difference.)