Chapter Text
I sat on the Big House roof, scanning the camp. Something felt wrong, though it was eerily quiet. Camp Half-Blood was never quiet. Even before breakfast, there was always noise—sword clashing, canoe paddles, kids arguing, or medical equipment clinking.
But now… nothing.
At first, I told myself it was fine. Maybe everyone was still asleep. But I knew better. My stomach twisted as I realized there was no Argus. No Chiron. No campers anywhere.
I teleported off the roof to the campfire. Empty. The cabins? Empty. Even Jason’s room was silent, the Hypnos children weren’t in bed, and Hestia’s hearth was cold. Every step I took into the dining pavilion confirmed it—half-eaten plates, abandoned chairs, silence. Panic clawed at my chest.
I ran into the woods, scanning every shadow, firing blasts without thinking. The air smelled of ozone and ash.
An hour later, I sat on the Big House steps, shaking. My campers, my family—they were gone. Artemis’s Hunters too. I felt empty, powerless, and furious all at once. Tears fell before I even realized it. Not for myself, but for them. For the chaos I loved that was gone, for the warmth of my wife I missed, for everything I had lost.
A sudden pop made me flinch. Hermes stood before me, hands in his pockets, golden brown curls peeking from under his cap.
“Hey, it’s alright, Dio,” he said.
I shook my head. “No, it’s not. Everyone’s gone. My campers. Arty’s Hunters. Everything.”
Hermes took a step closer. “Come here. Let me—”
I collapsed into his hug, crying against his shoulder, just like I used to years ago. We stayed that way for ten minutes, the world silent around us. When I finally pulled back, he held out his hand.
“Come on.”
“Where?” I asked, my voice trembling.
“Just come. You have to trust me.”
My stomach tightened. Leaving the camp was forbidden. Zeus had made that very clear. The last time I tried, lightning had nearly killed me. Argus and Chiron had patched me up and lied to everyone about it.
“Wait… Mes,” I started, pulling back.
Hermes tugged gently. “Come on, Dio.”
“No, Hermes—I—”
“Dio, come on,” he pressed, concern creeping into his voice.
I froze. For the first time, his playful smile faltered. His eyes shifted to stormy gray, gold flickering like lightning—my father’s eyes—before settling back on blue. It felt like he could see straight into my soul.
“I… can’t leave,” I muttered.
“…Wait. What do you mean?”
I panicked. It slipped. No one was supposed to know I couldn’t leave. Not Hermes. Not anyone. “I just… I don’t want to,” I lied quickly, hoping he’d accept it.
Hermes raised an eyebrow, head wings flickering in irritation. “You’re the god of parties, Dionysus. What do you mean you don’t want to?”
I stayed silent. His other hand tapped impatiently. I could feel him piecing things together.
“You can’t leave, can you?” he said finally.
“I… I can. I just—don’t want to,” I repeated, the lie tasting bitter.
“Why are you lying to me? Someone blackmailing you?”
“No!” I snapped, frustrated at the impossibility of explaining.
Hermes’s wings unfurled in anger and hurt, tearing his jacket. Golden-brown curls fell over his eyes, hiding his expression. I knew, though—I could feel the raw emotions radiating off him.
“That’s not fair,” he said softly, voice quivering. “You think I didn’t want to help? I’m basically banned from this camp. The only reason Artemis can come is for her hunters, and I… for messages. I’ve tried, Dio. I’ve tried to help.”
“I—” I began, then stopped, guilt twisting in my chest.
“You told me to go. So I’ll leave you to your self-pity and sorrow,” he said, turning toward the boundaries.
Lightning struck outside the barrier, shaking the air. Both of us flinched. My stomach tightened, my youthful form shimmering, grapevines twisted through my hair. I had to leave, had to act.
“Run!” I screamed, anger and exhaustion lacing my voice.
Hermes froze, then turned, golden curls bouncing, eyes meeting mine. “Run like you always do,” I spat. “From problems, punishments, people, confrontation… your emotions. Running is all you’re good at!”
The air thickened, ozone hanging heavy. I watched him carefully, reading him. Wings spread, feathers riled. I realized in that moment he wasn’t just a messenger—he cared. He always had.
I couldn’t let him go. Not now.