Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

Sometimes, Cody Anderson wondered wether he’d been recruited into Camp Wawanakwa by mistake.

It was, of course, highly improbable that this would actually be the case. Still, Cody didn’t exactly fit the mold for what most people imagined the average Wawanakwa camper would be like, once they found out just exactly what kind of place Camp Wawanakwa was.

You see, Wawanakwa is a little different from your usual subpar canadian summer camp.

It’s not that they don’t serve barely edible food (they do), or that the accommodations were particularly luxurious (they weren’t), or even that they had very qualified staff (they absolutely did not). Rather, the difference lied in the fact that Wawanakwa is one of many institutions scattered across the globe created for the sole purpose of providing accommodations, support and/or training to demigods, until they reached adulthood.

…No, Cody isn’t actually joking.

Finding out that the greek pantheon is real can be a shock, he knows. Learning that all those tales you’ve heard growing up were actually true and that these beings still walk amongst us is more than most mortals can stomach; it’s probably why a majority of them don't. Instead, they get to live happily oblivious of such things, protected by the safety blanket of the mist ー a magical barrier that kept them from meddling into the affairs of mythical beings ー, which maintained the two worlds separated.

And wouldn’t it be great if that was the end of it?

Life, unfortunately, is never that simple. Things get muddled and lines get blurred, which never spelled anything good for those involved. For an easy example, look no further than the very unfortunate existence of demigods; the children conceived between gods and mortals.

Often, these kids came from broken homes; very rarely did a fully-sane, stable mortal get involved with a god to begin with. Then, came the struggles related to their particular heritage; all half-bloods, by virtue of the divine blood running through their veins, possess an inherent magical-reactivity that ensured that they could never truly belong among the mortals: cognitive issues, abnormal social tendencies, misdiagnosed mental-illness, unexplained supernatural abilities, disabilities in general, poor academic performance and strange behavioral patterns were amongst the most common ones, but just about anything that would make a child "inconvenient" could be expected, putting godlings in rather precarious positions within mortal society and making them outcasts amongst their fellow non-immortal peers. 

And if that wasn’t bad enough, being both very magical and very easy to kill meant they were always under the threat of attracting the unwanted attention of a mythological creature looking for a quick nutritional power-up snack. 

...It made for a rather depressing high early-mortality rate, as you might imagine. 

Theoretically, a demigod’s magical-reactivity (‘your scent’, as Owen once put it when he first explained this concept to Cody) is something that fades as one ages, peaking in their late teens like most hormones do. Afterwards, it should become easier for half-bloods to avoid monsters on their day-to-day life and integrate back into society, though that wasn’t always the case, especially for very powerful demigods. Still, the ancient law dictated they were only Wawanakwa’s problem until they reached their big nineteen; from that point on, they’d be on their own.

That meant most kids at Wawanakwa weren’t there because they necessarily wanted to be, but rather because they had to be: they usually had no choice but to gather there to access the resources that will keep them from being preyed upon (literally and figuratively) during their vulnerable teenage years, least they joined the statistics.

And that… Wasn’t really Cody’s case. And thus, his dilemma:

He’d been a rather normal guy before being recruited. In fact, if his school had never caught fire near the end of his freshman year due to an empousa attempting to have his best friend for dinner, he might have never been recruited at all.

Being adopted is a common family background amongst demigods (unfortunately not as common as, lets say, being raised in a single parent household and/or experiencing partial or total parental abandonment/negligence, but still common enough), but while Cody has always known he was adopted ー his parents never hid that from him, and always made sure that he knew that it didn’t mean they loved him any less for it ーthat was kind of it. Not every adopted kid is a demigod and Cody didn’t really fit the rest of the bill: 

He’d never been athletic or enjoyed sports. At school, he did neither abysmally bad nor exceptionally good; just above average. Growing up, he’d shown mild signs of ADD, but it’d rarely ever had any impact on his life. He had no inherent special talent or felt inexplicably drawn to any activity other than playing video games. Socially, he’d been somewhat introverted, but still made friends and got along with other kids his age just fine. Barring the odd episode where he’d see strange things others didn’t, he’d been a pretty average kid; no mythological creature he’d ever seen interacted with him, so he hadn’t interacted with them either. Shit, the closest he's ever got to experiencing a supernatural event as a child had been when he’d been pressured into attempting to summon ‘bloody mary’ in elementary school.

And above all, his magical-reactivity levels were… Ridiculously low for a half-blood.

When Owen had come to their rescue on that fateful day, he’d told Cody that he admittedly had only been expecting Noah. Cody's scent had been too faint; it was somewhat noticeable, once you knew you were looking for, but so weak that Cody could’ve easily passed for a mortal to the unsuspecting eye (or nose, in Owen’s case, and Owen had one hell of a nose). It was probably why they only had to deal with a singular empousa rather than a full pack of empousai. A real stroke of luck on their part: two fourteen-year-old demigods at the same school should have been pretty unmissable to all nearby monsters, which would have tanked their survival odds.

The satyr had insisted on bringing them both to Camp Wawanakwa after they escaped the fire, promising to explain the situation on the way; something to do with the camp’s obligations upon discovery of potential godlings. Apparently, the Camp Director couldn’t claim plausible deniability to their divine parent (whomever they were) in case anything happened to them before they made it to camp at least once and it cost him a lot on legal fees or something.

And now here comes the part, Noah had argued, when Cody brought up his theory of wether he’d been recruited into Camp Wawanakwa by mistake to him the other day, that proves that you’re being really stupid.

Camp Wawanakwa, despite it’s… Less than stellar facilities, wasn’t the kind of place just anybody could waltz in and out of anytime.

Aside from all the defensive advantages of building a semi-military grade facility in a place surrounded by water on all sides, the water itself is imbued with magical particles, which helped shield the camp from monsters ー a natural feature of Lake Wawanakwa that was actually responsible for the establishment of the camp in that particular location a few centuries prior, as the orientation film Owen had them watch immediately upon arrival pointed out.

Besides that, the particles enhanced the effects of the mist around the lake, keeping the entire island undetectable to most mortals and even to external monitoring tech, as the highly-charged magic-field disrupted most mortal electronic devices. It came in handy for avoiding trouble with nosy mortals, but it also made for quite the pain for the campers: it greatly limited their access to the outside world. Still, a fair tradeoff, considering that even on the off chance that a mortal somehow managed to accidentally sail towards it, it’d be unlikely for them to ever reach Wawanakwa’s bay on their own.

When Noah’d asked what would be the hypothetical outcome of a mortal being guided to the island’s pier by either a camper or a mythological guide, such as Owen himself, the satyr had nervously chuckled before telling them that it largely depended on the mortal. Or rather, on their magical tolerance:

Mortals didn’t have to be told to 'steer clear of Lake Wawanakwa'; they did it instinctively. If someone were to bring a mortal towards the island, chances were they'd feel progressively more ill until they’d start having seizures and their body gave out. There had been cases of stubborn mortals who actually made it to the pier, and even one who managed to physically withstand an entire week on the island, but those cases always led to the rapid development multiple autoimmune diseases that killed them in a matter of days.

Either way, a mortal who can survive a trip to Camp Wawanakwa completely unscathed is unheard of, and Cody is unlikely to be the first. Which, Noah had insisted, settled the matter; Cody’s still alive and well, because he’s not a mortal, regardless of having high or low magical-reactivity, so he hadn’t been brought in by mistake. End of discussion.

And so, to appease him, at the time Cody had agreed. Still, it was something that crossed his mind every so often, specially now, two years after his first visit to Wawanakwa.

After all, just because he wasn’t a mortal didn’t mean he belonged here.

If his awkward stance, the ill-fitted chest plate, or too-big leather armbands didn’t give it away, then the stupid sword in his hands might.

It’s an appropriate weapon for a soldier of smaller stature, at least according to his friend, Harold. It's shorter than most of the pieces in the armoury and made of celestial bronze with a special, leather-lined, handle. The straight, one-edged blade, is lightweight and easy to grip; good for begginers, making it a rather popular option amongst pre-teens. 

And yet, how the hell can a sword for meant for twelve-year-olds feel so ridiculously heavy? 

After switching arms a bunch of times to be able to hold it in the correct position, Cody had given up; the thing didn’t have a sheath, so he ended up ditching it altogether, after one too many attempts of attaching it to his belt resulted in him almost pantysing himself.

'Abandoning one’s weapon while on patrol' is technically a breach of the protocol and punishable by at least five laps around the island, but honestly, between risking that or 'being caught with his pants down on reality tv for all of Olympus to watch' Cody will take his chances.

Wether the cameras were on or not was always a bit of a toss up. The Camp Director had them installed all around the island (allegedly for security reasons) but Cody suspected that the camp didn’t have the budget to keep them all of them on all of the time. And even if the cameras were on right now… Who would be watching him, out of all people? The pay-per-view audience lived for the drama, and nothing was less dramatic than some random kid doing pier patrol. 

As for the chances of being caught breaking protocol by the island’s actual inhabitants… Well, the pier is a pretty isolated place; it should be hard to run into anyone all the way out here, unless they were deliberately trying to sneak away from their obligations, in which case, the state of Cody’s pants would be the least of their concerns.

There’s no such thing as a free-ride to Camp Wawanakwa; while they do have a staff of magical creatures responsible for handling the brunt of the work, all campers were still required to contribute in someway, usually by performing logistical tasks, hosting educational camp activities or filling in for the staff every so often. 

The labour is traditionally divided amongst the cabins and assigned to individual campers by their cabin’s head councilor according to the camp’s annual budget, as issued by the camp's director, which sounds reasonable enough until you realize that while Wawanakwa is not that big of an island, it’s ridiculously understaffed for no apparent reason other than some suspicious-looking budget cuts. Somehow, ever since Total Drama: Demigods started airing, the amount of work the campers were originally supposed to have been in charge of almost doubled…

It’s almost like Chris McLean is trying to keep over a hundred unhappy, moody, dysregulated, teenage godlings at each other’s throats on purpose to make them compete for resources and exploit their personal conflicts for his own profit! Wow, wouldn’t that be really crazy…?

(…Man, that bastard is lucky he’s literally a god, otherwise he would have been deposed and publicly executed on the camp’s square already.)

Anyway, the Hermes Cabin, by virtue of having the most amount of hands to spare by far, obviously gets saddled with the most of that work. 

Children of Hermes are famously always tasked with relaying information around camp (anything from making daily informs to being in charge of emergency alarms), for obvious reasons, as well as handling transportation of people and items in and out of the island. However the biggest chunk of the cabin’s obligations are actually linked to border patrol, rather than anything to do with the cabin’s actual patron god.

After all, border patrol is what they usually assign to people who ‘lacked an obvious skillset that would make another job more suitable for them’.

…And that, of course, is code for the unclaimed; demigods who didn’t know the identity of their divine parent.

It wasn’t a particularly rare thing: the unclaimed actually made up the majority of the Hermes Cabin’s ranks, being housed there as a result of Hermes being (amongst many other things) the god of hospitality.  Most demigods even didn’t know they had a divine parent prior to arriving at Camp Wawanakwa, and if their biological mortal parent either couldn’t be reached or didn’t know the identity of their child’s divine parent, then they’d have to wait for the god or goddess to claim them as their child; hence the name. It could take quite a while to happen too: anywhere between a few days to multiple years; some kids were never claimed at all. 

So just about everyone in Wawanakwa has been put on border patrol duty at some point during their stay; it’s a fairly easy but still very important job.

Lake Wawanakwa’s natural defenses, for all its merits, don’t stop monsters from showing up every so often, staking out for unsuspecting demigods trying to reach or leave the camp. They lurk around the forest surrounding the lake, terrorizing the local fauna (mythological or otherwise) and ambushing campers, leading to the daily patrol of the camp’s magical borders, aka the lake’s shore.

Pier patrol, however… Wasn’t really anything like that. 

The lake’s naiads had strict orders to sink any unauthorized boat coming in or out of the island, so there’s not much of a point to patrolling the pier other than overseeing some supply shipments and playing ‘welcome committee’ to any newbie they dumped onto your hands on occasion.

Granted, pier patrol is not the worst task to be assigned. Really, it’s not that Cody wants to become monster food or even that he’d rather be stuck taking care of the pegasus’ waste at the stables or anything of the sort. It’s just that… If he is going to commit to being here for the entire summer again, he’d like to do something that matters this time around.

Two years ago, when him and Noah had been recruited, a few weeks before the summer began, being at Camp Wawanakwa had been fun. Exhausting, confusing and scary, yes, but really freaking fun. He’d made a lot friends, gotten more active, started learning more about his heritage andー

And then he almost got mauled to death by a hellhound during border patrol and spent two weeks in the infirmary before finally being semi-shamefully discharged.

Cody hadn’t returned to Wawanakwa the following year, unable to convince his parents to let him go, despite the fact that he made a full-recovery not long after returning home. In fact, had Noah not cajoled them into letting him come this year, he might have never to returned to camp ever again.

Because, well… Cody didn’t actually have to be here, did he?

Not like the others did, anyway. His life in the mortal world was fine; he would’ve been just fine. He had wonderful, supportive parents, led a normal, boring life and encountered almost no monsters in two years, of which none seemed particularly interested in eating him.

But he… Wanted to be here. 

Again, it’s not that Cody wants to be hunted down for his scent or that he wants to be unable to live in society! But for all the trouble a demigod’s strong scent can bring them in the mortal world, it’s also quite the advantage in the mythological world. Going on quests, killing monsters, saving people, getting girls, having badass superpowers, becoming famous in Olympus… Wouldn’t that be, like, really awesome? 

Unfortunately, his low magical-reactivity is a pretty strong sign that he’s either a legacy (as in the child of a demigod; sometimes, even as in their grandchild, though that was rarer) or the son of some really obscure minor god. Either way, not really the kind of guy people usually wrote epic ballads about, which meant camp life could be… A bit challenging.

If asked to describe what summers in Wawanakwa were like, friends, campfire songs, glimpses of glory and educational activities aside, Cody would say that it was sort of what he imagines going to juvie must be like; only the juvie you’re assigned to is located in ancient Sparta and your warden is the sadistic deity of reality television. 

Owen claims that there was originally a lot more friendship, campfire singing, opportunities to achieve glory and educational content involved in the curriculum before Chris McLean got commissioned as Camp Director as part of his ascension to godhood. It’s kinda hard to imagine it, but Cody has heard rumors of the american camp whispered amongst the bunkbeds of the Hermes Cabin late at night: a retreat of strawberry fields protected by a magical anti-monster forcefield under the mentorship of the legendary centaur, Chironー

Beep. Beep. Beep. Beeeeー

The sudden alarm on his wrist-watch interrupts Cody’s thoughts; his shift is finally over. 

Thank gods. He’s been wanting to go the bathroom for a while now. Also, he’s been dying for a chance to finally sit down; his legs are killing him.  

Technically, Cody still has to wait for the next pier patrol guard to show up to give them his report, but it takes, like, three seconds max to tell someone that he’d been bored to death standing around and there was nothing of note to report for the last four hours.

…Well, almost nothing, anyway. The mist around the island is looking kinda wonky today, though it’s been wonky for the last few days Cody’s been on pier duty too. Perhaps he misremembered it in his memories, or maybe it’s some of that global warming stuff Gwen’s always going on and on about finally catching up to them; the weather’s been real weird lately.

Cody reaches for the sword with a sigh, immediately uncomfortable with how ridiculously off-balance he is all of a sudden. Harold had offered to help him make his own custom sword when Cody stoped by the armory attempting to find a suitable weapon for himself a few days prior, but he’d turned down the offer, mostly out of embarrassment: the problem didn’t lie with the camp's sword selection. Cody hadn’t trained at all for the last two years; if he lacked demigod magic and the basic arm strength, then no sword in the world could help him. 

Five more minutes go by and Cody’s bladder protests that he’s waited long enough to answer nature’s call. Gods, just who’s been assigned pier duty after him today…?

Is it one of the new kids? Did they get lost on the trail here? Or is it one of the twins again? No, that was wednesday… Oh. Tyler, right? Tyler has the friday afternoon shift today. Where the hell is heー

Wait… Tyler has it…? 

Cody frowns.

Tyler does have it, now that he’s thinking about it. 

He remembers looking over the patrol timetable pinned to the Hermes Cabin’s information board last night: he’d checked just in case, after someone had complained about missing yet another archery class over a last-minute swap. Cody hadn’t payed much attention to any changes in particular after noticing they didn’t pertain to himself, but he does recall reading Tyler Parsons’ name right bellow his, jutted down in a familiar jagged handwriting. It was impossible to miss because it was squeezed into the tiny space between Cody’s name and original owner of the afternoon shift’s, the latter now crossed out in black marker and no longer legible.

It’s strange; pier duty, once again, is not a bad task to be assigned, but aside from being really boring, there are certain… Implications around it.

Pier patrol is essentially a task reserved for the younger kids, around ages ten to twelve, mostly to keep them out of the way and give them something to do that they couldn’t possibly mess up even if they tried. Putting an older camper on pier patrol… Duels have been fought over milder offences at Wawanakwa, you know?

Not that Cody could do anything about that, really, with his spaghetti noodle arms and his piss poor hand to eye coordination.

Look, if giving Cody the kid gloves had been solely DJ’s decision, it would be one thing. DJ’s a considerate guy; he probably felt bad about the hellhound thing and might have been trying to cut Cody some slack since summer has just started. But DJ isn’t the only person with a hand in task assignment at the Hermes Cabin and gods know that Duncan lives and dies for the humiliation of others, in any scale he can achieve it in.

Having been housed in the god’s cabin throughout the entirety of his stay at Camp Wawanakwa (infirmary time aside), Cody thinks he’s gotten pretty good at profiling Hermes’ children in the wild, regardless of outwardly appearances: they’re all unnaturally stealthy people with an uncanny sense of direction and a distinctly mischievous streak to their personality. 

Sometimes, this streak manifested as something pretty harmless: an obsession with pranks for example, as had been the case for the Hermes Cabin’s former Head Councilor. Or it could be an addiction to gossip. Or an abnormal interest in riddles. Or even a penchant for stand-up comedy. Other times, however, it was something more malicious, such as being a bit of a bully.

Duncan fell into this latter category, though Cody doubts ‘being a jerk’ is an actual genetic condition. 

But why would Duncan target Tyler of all people…?

Tyler’s not friends with Duncan, but he’s also not not friends with Duncan to Cody’s knowledge. 

Tyler’s only a summer camper, but he's amongst the Hermes Cabin’s oldest veterans. He’d already spent five summers at camp when Cody first met him; more than Duncan, who'd been there for three whole years at that point. And while Tyler wasn’t known for being a strong fighter, barely passing as not too bad of a swordsman on a good day, he’s still fairly respected at camp regardless; his talents simply lied somewhere outside the combat arena. 

Like many other residents of the Hermes Cabin, Tyler wasn’t an actual son of Hermes or even an unclaimed demigod, but rather the child of a minor god, also housed at the cabin due to their 'open door' policy. His mother, Nike, is the goddess of victory, and while that might not get him his own cabin at Camp Wawanakwa, it meant that despite being extremely clumsy himself, Tyler has an affinity for sports and the strangest tendency to fail upwards at them. He’s a solid addition to the Hermes Cabin’ ranks overall, specially in the eyes of someone as competitive as Duncan, who cared a lot about cabin placements and tournaments.

While 'sharing a cabin' has never stopped Duncan from antagonizing someone before, it was very unlike him to go for someone like Tyler, who by all meansー

“Yo, pipsqueak,” A gravel voice right behind him startles Cody. Before he can turn around, the cold tip of a sword pierces through his shirt, pressing on his lower back mockingly for a second, then withdrawing just as suddenly. “You’re free to go. Chop chop; daylight’s wastin’.”

Speak of the devil…

“Duncan…?” he identifies, taking a step back to look at him.

“Yeah?”

Duncan is, Cody hates to admit, a rather intimidating guy.

It’s not necessarily a physical thing; it kinda went beyond that. Duncan’s not short, but he does look shorter than he actually is (not that Cody has the credentials to run his mouth about that), and he’s not very brawny either, making him look rather unimposing at first, compared to other… Beefier campers.

Unfortunately, what Duncan didn’t have in built, he more than made up for in sheer ferociousness. 

When they first met, the older boy had been barely fifteen, with only a mohawk, an unibrow, a pocket knife and one hell of a mean glare to show for it, yet he’d already been pretty scary in Cody’s eyes. Now, two years older, with a dozen piercings, an almost fully-shaven head dyed neon green, a big ass sword and an extra 10 centimeters in height, Duncan had managed to become significantly scarier.

“...You’re on pier patrol?” The words leave Cody’s mouth before he can help it.

Duncan’s glare hasn’t changed a thing; it remains deadly sharp, and part of Cody wonders how he wasn’t gutted on the spot.

“Sure am,” Duncan answers, his head slightly tilting to the side in an exacerbation of his irritated frown. He’s now crossing his arms, though Cody didn’t miss the way his hand twitched for a second towards his sword’s sheath. “You got a problem with that or somethin’…?”

“No, I don’t. I justー” Cody gestures somewhat casually with his free hand. “I thought Tyler had it today, that’s all.”

“Change of plans,” is all Duncan says on the matter, fingers drumming up and down impatiently on his bicep, over the long-sleeved camp shirt he was wearing.

“...Is he okay?” Cody tries a different approach, cursing himself for extending this conversation any longer than he already has, considering he really wants to go to the bathroom right now, but feeling compelled to get to the bottom of it anyway. “Did something happen to him?”

He changes his grip on his sword, praying that it comes across as chill rather than his arm cramping like crazy because this stupid sword really is too heavy for him.

“Oh, he’s dandy, alright,” Duncan replies with an insincere chuckle. There’s a small pause before he continues. “He sprained his ankle at morning practice yesterday; nothing serious, but since I finished up early today, I thought I’d let him rest a bit before dinner. First game of the summer and everything: we need to go all out.”

“But if he hurt his ankle yesterday morning at sword practice, then why’d you put him in pier patrol last night to begin witー?”

Cody realizes the fuck-up almost immediately, backing away to get out of range and trying to lift his sword to parry, but it’s still too late.

It all happens so fast Cody can barely register Duncan’s movements; Cody’s sword is forced out of his hands in an acrobatic maneuver that sends it rolling away across the pier. By the time his brain catches up with the situation, Duncan has moved behind him once more, his own sword only half a centimeter away from Cody’s throat; if he so much as flinches, it will draw blood.

Duncan doesn’t bother actually immobilizing Cody or holding him still. The skill inbalance speaks for itself; one of them is, as of last spring’s dueling tournament, officially the best fighter in Camp Wawankawa, and the other some unclaimed kid who’s barely been back here for a week.

Cody’s eyes are drawn downwards, towards the menacing metallic glint.

Harold had mentioned it before, but Duncan’s new sword, won in the aforementioned tournament, is truly a marvel, even to the untrained eye. Double-edged and unusually long for a sword, it had an unusual, probably custom, hilt that protected it’s wielder’s hand. The blade is reinforced at the base, the darker shade of celestial bronze hinting at a stronger metallic alloy than the standard one used at Wawanakwa’s forges, while the length is fully engraved with intricate patterns of skulls, spikes and other punk motifs favored by it's owner.

A shiver travel down his spine, stopping exactly where Duncan’s blade touched it earlier.

“You’re real curious today,” Duncan states, eerily calm, as if daring Cody to move. Eventually, he lowers the sword and pats him condescendingly on the shoulder. Somewhere in the background, thunder roars. “Piece of advice, man? Mind your own fucking bussiness.”

After a quick trip to the communal bathrooms, Cody makes a pit stop at the dinning hall for some (barely edible) late lunch, avoiding the main table in favor of a bench out-of-sight, where he could eat undisturbed whist making up his mind about his afternoon plans.

The good thing about having been assigned the morning shift of pier patrol every other day since arriving in Wawanakwa is that, if nothing else, Cody’s been spoiled for choice on camp activities. 

The activities themselves are set up in a way where you can more or less take your pick out of which ones interest you, which is pretty neat, given there’s a wide variety of them, specially during summer, when standard mortal classes aren’t held at camp due to the school break. However, patrol posts rarely ever have fixed times; the schedule changes every other week and it can still be subjected to last-minute swaps and reassignments at the Hermes Cabin’s Head Councilor's discretion, meaning the unclaimed often get the short end of the stick when it comes to picking activities. If you missed whichever ones you actually wanted to attend due to patrol, you still had to pick other stuff to do in order to hit the weekly attendance quota, regardless of your interest in whatever else happened to be available.

It’s been kinda nice, to not worry about somehow randomly ending up on a class on ancient cretan hieroglyphs or a workshop on epic greek chants, like the ones him and Noah sometimes had to endure back when they’d been bunkmates and their patrol schedules often lined up to lock them out of both pegasus flying and battle strategy. Still, Cody hopes he’s actually given something to do next week, even if he ends up dealing with some inconvenient activities. Surely they can’t keep him on pier patrol for the entire summer right? He's not an invalid, for God's sake!

It’s not like you even had to be good at combat to be placed in border patrol, anyway. It was useful to be at least competent with a weapon, sure, so you could be of help in case you ran into an emergency rescue or defend yourself, but mostly, you just had to be able to run. As soon as someone set off a distress flare, all other campers on border patrol will rush to that general location, and they usually had at least two or three skilled fighters on duty amongst them at all times.

The ‘don’t get mauled on the process of setting off the flare’ part is kind of implied, because accidents like that are actually pretty rare. 

The frequency of monster appearances at the camp’s border greatly varied; according to the year-rounders, they only became common during summer, probably due to the influx of returning campers and new arrivals during that period, but unless a really strong monster had been purposefully tracking a demigod trying to get to Wawanakwa, you wouldn’t run into more than one at a time and never anything stronger than a harpy.

As for when a particularly strong monster was indeed tracking someone… Well, usually their assigned satyr, or whomever told them about Camp Wawanakwa, would let the camp know of their possible arrival ahead of time.

In any case, Cody has been devoting his afternoons to trying to improve his combat abilities.

Last time he hadn’t been very keen on any of the arena’s electives beyond the mandatory ‘self-defense 101’ training sessions all newbies had to attend. Partly because most combat-related classes were mentored by (with a few notable exceptions) members of the Ares Cabin, who weren’t exactly the most patient of instructors, but also partly because Cody lacked the inherent physical fitness most demigods are born with and it had frustrated him to no end.

(Gods, even Noah, the biggest hater of any and all physical activities, is at least semi-decent with a crossbow!)

Yet, since he’s been entrusted with pier patrol, of all things, he figures he might as well try to acquire some muscle without the help of divine genetics, you know, the old fashioned way, if only to save face and give DJ some peace of mind.

Today, however, all afternoon camp activities have been suspended, including the ones held at the arena, by virtue of preparations for the opening event of the summer war games ー Camp Wawanakwa’s most important annual tournament ー, which meant Cody suddenly had some free time on his hands.

He briefly considers checking in on Owen, but he hasn’t seen the satyr since the welcoming ceremony a few days prior and Cody doesn’t really feel like tracking him down in the woods; meanwhile, Harold’s likely struck at armory, given many people procrastinate getting game-gear until the last second. Noah might be available to hang out, but if Cody had to guess, he’s probably holed up somewhere with his nose buried in a book.

Unsure where else to go, Cody makes his way back to the Hermes Cabin. Perhaps Trent would be free…?

The walk from the main lodge ー where the dining hall is located ー to the camp’s square is a short one, but he still feels the need to rush out of habit. Despite the clouds surrounding the island and the overall bad weather these last few days, it never actually rains in Wawanakwa; he’s not risking getting drenched by any means, but his gut still tightens with anticipation.

According to the orientation film, the cabin’s position around the somewhat rectangular-shaped plaza is supposed to mirror the U-shaped placement of the god’s thrones in the olympian throne room, numbered 1 to 12: the imponent Zeus Cabin, Cabin 1, sits alongside Hera’s in the farthest, most elevated point of the square, while cabins for the other ten olympians line the edges. It’s very convenient for Cody; the Hermes Cabin, Cabin 11, is located at the left edge of the square, being the closest to the main lodge.

Which is why he spots the commotion around it right away.

 “Man, I ain’t seen a cat fight this bad at Hermes’ since Heather moved out,” one of the older campers cackles, his height allowing him to see into the cabin through the side window effortlessly. 

“You think they’re gonna fight for real?” another goes on her tip toes, shoving another friend to the side.

“Ay, watch it,” she snaps, “but absolutely. Look at her face!”

“I’m trying to! Anyway, 20 bucks on Leshawna!”

...Well, that explains it, somewhat. Maybe Cody should take his chances looking for Owen in the forestー

“Dude, I’m putting 30 on Leshawna myself,” a young son of Hermes approaches the group at the mention of organized bets. “But is no one willing to bet on the newbie? She sure has balls picking a fight with Leshawna.” 

“I don’t really know much about her,” The tall camper ponders, “but I saw her at the arena yesterday; she’s got a mean right hook. Fine, I’ll put down 5.”

“Nah, you’re tripping. Have you met Leshawna?” the third camper chuckles. “Newbie better hope she doesn’t get a hex to the face or she’ll be walking backwards for the next two weeks!”

“And over Cody of all people? That’s the part I find hard to believe!” The short girl laughs for a moment, and as her eyes meet Cody’s, she mockingly calls out:  “Yo, Anderson, your girlfriend is throwing a fit again; you might wanna do something about that!”

The absolute dread that takes over Cody’s body should be studied; it cannot be normal to be able to physically feel the blood leave your face like this. Still, he goes around and approaches the door, slipping past jeering campers, who make way once they recognize him, which is never a good sign.

“Oh, you did not!” Leshawna all but growls in Sierra’s face. “Get off of my bed before I make you, skyscraper!"

Due to housing not only the god’s actual children, but also all minor god’s offspring and the unclaimed, the Hermes Cabin is always somewhat chaotic. Here, space is a very luxurious commodity: the bunk beds are shoved into each other with only the necessary space for circulation between them; anything bigger than a backpack had to be stored underneath the bunks or by the foot of the beds. The middle portion of the room, usually left bare in the other cabins or occupied by lounge furniture, is filled with two extra rows of bunkbeds.

The natural result of forcing that many kids into such close quarters is, of course, that conflicts break out all the time between them.

While technically against the cabin's rules, they do turn physical often enough, but usually the Head Councilor will either interfere before it gets out of hand and/or the fight will be taken to the arena instead. People don't usually bother grappling inside the packed cabin, due to the limited space and high probably of damaging other people’s stuff.

Not that this seems to be the priority right now, seeing how Sierra tears into Leshawna’s sheets, clinging on to them for dear life while the older girl pulls her by the leg.

“No, you don’t understand! I need this bunk!” Sierra pleads, actively trying to kick the Leshawna in the face.

“Oh, I understand plenty!” Leshawna dodges, managing to pin down Sierra’s braid and using it as further leverage to tug her off the matress. “Get the hell off my bed already!”

“Hm, girls, I don’t thinkー” Trent tries to intercede from the safety of his bunk, directly across from Leshawna’s, before the dull thud of Sierra’s body hitting the ground, dangerously close to where his guitar would normally be stored, made him flinch. “Can’t you guys justー”

“No!” 

“Alright, then I guess, I’ll justー” Trent looks around and immediately cringes when he spots Cody. “Hey, man, you might wannaー”

“Cody!” Sierra calls out. “Cody, tell her!”

He gulps when Leshawna turns around to face him.

Admittedly, Cody knows very little about Leshawna Broussard considering she’s his bunkmate for the summer.

He’d hoped to be given his old bed in the bunk he’d once shared with Noah once he returned to Wawanakwa, but that had been wishful thinking;  it had already long since been taken by the time he arrived at camp. Cody had been lucky enough that one of the few available spots left was near Trent, so he hadn’t even considered complaining about sharing a bunk bed with a girl; all cabins were co-ed anyway and Leshawna had seemed nice enough when Trent formally introduced them. 

Despite him and Leshawna being around the same height, the livid expression on her face makes Cody feel like he’s suddenly an ant.

“Sugar, over here,” Leshawna gestures, still holding on the end tail of Sierra’s braid, one of her knees pressing down on the other girl’s shoulder to keep her down, “is saying that you told her to move into my bunk. Is that true or what?”

“That’s not what I said!” Cody immediately steps back, holding his hands out in surrender. “I said to check if anyone wanted to trade, Sierra!”

“But I wanna share a bunk with you, Codykins!” Sierra whines. “You said we could share!”

While Cody doesn’t know much about Leshawna, he knows far more than he ever wanted to about Sierra, and he’s only known her for roughly four days now.

Look, Cody’s not in the habit of being mean to new recruits; he knows first hand just how stressful it can be to have to adapt to an entirely new reality and environment whilst also finding out you are the child of some ancient-history figure. Even if Wawanakwa offered psychological support (it does not), not everyone copes with it in the best way and they’re all just kids; some grace should be extended when their world is turned upside down out of nowhere. 

Besides, Cody has no stones to throw when it comes to getting overly attached to the first competent person you meet whom seems to genuinely want to help you after having probably the worst day of your life. He still remembers becoming lovestruck when Gwen (who’d happened to be one of the people on border patrol the day he and Noah arrived) shot the empousa who’d been chasing them into a cloud of golden dust, just as the monster was about to kill them; when Owen introduced her, Cody thought his heart would leap out of his mouth. He’d been ecstatic to be placed in the same cabin as her, even if she’d moved out only a few weeks later.

So it’s not that odd that Sierra would be a bit clingy; Cody hadn’t really done anything as impressive as shooting an empousa through in the head, in the middle of a forest, from over 50 meters away, with a celestial bronze tipped-arrow (gods, Gwen is so cool), but he’d been the one on pier patrol duty when she’d arrived, and therefore, the one tasked with playing tour guide for her. 

He understood the feeling; he really did. 

Now, if only Sierra wasn’t so… Intense about it.

At first, the attention had been flattering; no girl had ever been that interested in him before. Except… Sierra wasn’t so much interested as she was somewhat obsessed. She’s made these last few days feel exceptionally long, as she has continuously disturbed his sleep, has stolen multiple belongings of his and has overall refused to leave him alone, be it during meal times, the bathroom, the campfire, the arena, and even on pier duty at times, when her schedule allowed.

He’d politely refused her affections multiple times, and yet it hadn’t seemed to register; instead, despite his protests, half of Wawanakwa believed that they were dating.

Truthfully, he’d mentioned the possibility of her trading bunks knowing that no one would agree to it; people at Hermes’ were quite possessive of what little space they had ーeven someone as easy-going as Trent would be difficult to convince, nevermind Leshawna who is a year-round camper and whom, he's been told, has been sleeping in that bunk ever since she first came to camp. Cody had just wanted to keep her out of his hair for a few hours so he could get through pier patrol, maybe even lunch, unbothered. 

He didn’t think Sierra would go so far as to get in a physical altercation over it.

“Boy, come back down to earth and explain yourself!” Leshawna glares at him. “A ‘trade’? Are you stupid?”

“Hey” Sierra protests, shoving Leshawna off of her with surprising strength, managing to knock the other girl’s shoulder into the bunk’s stairs and free her braid from her hold. “Don’t talk to Cody like that that!”

Her freedom is short-lived, however, as Leshawna is quick to push her down again. By the door (and outside the window too, he imagines) the betting pool grows bigger and bigger. Leshawna is three years older and has been at camp for longer, but Sierra is way taller, more athletic and clearly very persistent. Frankly, Cody himself is not sure who will come out on top.

“Now you’ve done it, fruitcake!”

“Cody, help!”

“Seriously, where is DJ when you need him?” Trent murmurs sufferingly.

Actually, where is DJ?

Surely news of the fight ought to have reached him already; nothing travels as fast as gossip in Wawanakwa. The Hermes Cabin isn’t very closely involved in the preparations for today’s particular game, so he should have been around here somewhere.

It’s possible that he might have thought Duncan would be here to handle the fight, though, since the arena is closed today. It was, after all, his strong suit; Duncan might have let the scruffle go on for a while to make a quick buck before breaking it up, but he’d have an official match to solve the issue arranged in no time before the girls could do any real damage.

Cody still can’t figure out why the hell he’d be at the pier instead. And the whole thing with Tyler had been so freaking weirdー

“Hey, Trent, have you seen Tyler Parsons today?” Cody asks, trying to remember which bunk is Tyler’s in an effort to spot him, with no luck.

“Tyler?” Trent repeats with a small frown. “I mean, yeah, I saw him at lunch earlier. Did you eat? I didn’t see you at main lodge.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Cody dismisses his worries with a wave, crawling into Trent’s bunk next to him to avoid being elbowned in the face by Sierra, as she and Leshawna were now full on wrestling. To the horror of many betting folk outside, Leshawna didn’t seem to be winning. “Did he look okay to you?”

“He seemed fine, I guess…?” Trent raises a thick brow. “Why do you ask? Did something happen?”

For a second, Cody considers sharing his suspicions.

“...It’s nothing; I just wanted to ask him about something.” He says carefully. “Did he say anything weird at lunch? Or, like, did he do something weird maybe?”

“No…?” Trent shrugs, setting his guitar aside to be able to face Cody more directly. “At least I don’t think so. You’re acting real strange though. What’s up with that?”

Cody likes Trent; in fact, he’s probably the of the few friends he has at Wawanakwa. But Cody knows that he can be a bit… Paranoid, at times, specially if Cody were to mention that this is related to Duncan.

Frankly, Cody had been pretty devastated when Trent and Gwen started going out.Though he had eventually accepted that they liked each other and even helped set them up back then, he’d still been quite heartbroken. Yet, he did find some comfort in knowing that at least Trent was a good guy. He could understand what Gwen saw in him; Trent might have a laid-back personality, but he is very thoughtful and caring. With his hazel-green eyes, slightly-crooked handsome smile and broad shoulders, he is a bit of hit amongst the ladies at camp, and the fact that he’s a skilled musician definitely helps sell some of that guy-next-door charm.

Their shared interest in the creative field brought Trent a lot closer to Gwen than Cody could ever hope to be. With him being the son of one of the muses (though Cody can never remember which one for the life of him), it was very much impossible for Cody to replicate Trent’s talent, but he had still tried anyway, and while he had little success in that endeavour, they at least became good friends in the process.

Though Cody cannot, in good faith, say that he was sad to hear that Gwen dumped Trent a few months ago, because that would be a lie, he did feel bad for Trent as his friend. But perhaps what irked Cody about it the most was the fact that Gwen had done it over her "close friendship" with Duncan, of all reasons. Apparently the entire thing had been a miscommunication shitshow; Trent hadn’t wanted to talk about it, but Cody’s heard the rumours. Hard not to; their break-up has been the second most discussed topic amongst campers at every campfire Cody’s been to so far this summer.

Anyway, it didn’t seem right to drag Trent into this. For one it really wasn’t any of Cody’s business to begin with, and it might also cause some tension with Gwen if she were to find out Cody’s been feeding Trent some delusional conspiracy about Duncan’s affairs if it turned out to be nothing.

He’s about to make up some excuse when the crowd starts cheering louder; Leshawna has once again managed to pin down Sierra.

“You just don’t get it!” Sierra wails, squirming. “Look, just because your secret admirer isn’t who you wished he was doesn’t mean you get to ruin love for the rest of us andー”

“I wasn’t wishin’ on anyone, sweetheart!” Leshawna had already been a bit red-faced due to the strain the fight had put on her body, but now her face is so red it looks like it might explode. “Shut your mouth about stuff you have no idea about!”

“Weren’t you? I saw you brewing a love potionー”

“It was not a love potion and that’s so not how that worksー”

“Love hex, love potion, whatever; you wouldn’t teach me, which is fine, butー”

Leshawna tightens her hold on Sierra and Cody watches as her left hand starts to emit a faint orange glow. It’s subtle, but there’s something uncanny about it that makes Cody shudder: the air around her fingers looks ominous. Warped. Unsettling.

She’s bending magical particles, he realizes belatedly, as his brain fills in the gaps with information he hadn't paid much mind to before. Right. Leshawna is a daughter of Hecate, the goddess of magic.

“I saw you yesterdayー” Sierra continues, pushing against her arm. “You wrote Alejー”

“Shut up!” Leshawna yells and her usually brown eyes reflect that strange orange shade for a single second once her hand locks over Sierra’s mouth before letting go with a pained yelp: “Ow! Girl, did you just bite me!?”

“Mfffff!”

“What’s going on here?!” DJ, at last, makes way through the crowd at the door, dismissing all bystanders. Just like that, the betting pool dissolves, though Cody will likely be hearing of this incident all over the campfire tomorrow. “Ay, Leshawna, what the fuck?"

“She started it!”

“Mffff!” Sierra protestests, unable to make a sound despite the fact that Leshawna is no longer physically keeping her from speaking. “Mfffffff!”

“Get up. Both of you.” DJ runs a hand down his face with a sigh as they do as he asked. Sierra adjusts her tube top, which had been slightly dislodged in the scruffle and Leshawna tightens her askew ponytail into a more respectable position. “Do I even wanna know…?”

“Mfffff!”

“Don’t bother, fruitcake,” Leshawna rolls her eyes. “Newbie had a hard time understanding that ‘no’ means ‘no’; I showed her what’s what. End of story.”

“You showed her inside the cabin?” DJ’s eyebrow shoot up in exasperation. “Did you guys break anything?”

“...No.”

“Not for the lack of trying,” Trent chimes in, gesturing towards his guitar. “Thanks, by the way.”

“Sorry, sweetcheeks,” Leshawna at least looks a bit cowed at the sight of the guitar. “At least we didn’t actually hit it.”

“Luckily for you, I don’t actually have the time to deal with this right now,” DJ examines the cabin, looking for any sign that the girls were lying. Thankfully, the only victims seem to be Leshawna’s sheets. “Was the dispute settled or do I need to drag Duncan here to play referee for you guys?”

“It’s settled.”

“Mfffff?” Sierra protests. “Mfffff!”

“Leshawna…?”

“Don’t worry, baby, it’s settled.” She nods, elbowing Sierra in the ribs. “Ain’t no one trading beds; it is what it is.”

DJ glances at his wrist watch before his gaze settles on Sierra.

“Look… What’s your name again?” He then seems to remember her current condition, his frown deepening as he addresses Leshawna again. “How long does this one last?”

“I actually didn’t specify, since someone bit me before I could set the hex,” Leshawna glares at the unclaimed girl, “but, like, a couple of days? Four or five max, I promise.”

“Her name’s Sierra,” Cody provides, trying not to call to much attention to himself, though DJ gave him quite the harsh look, probably suspecting Cody was the one who put Sierra up to this, as he’d been her glorified babysitter and rumored boyfriend for the last four days.

He’s not sure wether that means more or less time on pier patrol for him.

“Look, Sierra,” DJ starts again, looking, by all means, as though he aged an extra five years during this conversation. “I know you’re new, which is why I’m not gonna give you any heat for this, but we don’t really do bunk trades at Hermes. You can hang out with Cody some other time, okay? Nod if you understand.” 

And Sierra does nod.

It’s a bit of a humorous picture; DJ, who’s almost nineteen, looking at fourteen-year-old Sierra in the eye, both of them so extremely tall that they dwarf Leshawna in comparison, who’s still standing next to them, somewhat irritated, but much less hostile now, despite her destroyed bed in the background. 

...Cody should still probably make some amends with her later.

“Now, for gods’ sake, go freshen' up. Stop by the infirmary and then let me know if you guys are still cleared for tonight’s game, preferably before dinner.”

Once the girls leave, DJ slouches against the banister of a bunk, clearly exhausted.

“Not easy being unofficial Head Councilor, hm?" Trent jokes, breaking the oppressive silence that suddenly seemed to take over the room.

“Oh, no, I just loooove it so much, can’t you tell?” DJ’s strained smile doesn't match his tone, though he seems to be in something of a good mood today. “Man, Duncan owes me big time for this, seriously.”

Camp Wawanakwa’s official regulations say that all cabins must have a head councilor. A head councilor; singular. Which means, as you might have inferred, the Hermes Cabin has been facing a rather unusual situation ever since their last councilor disappeared during a quest back in April.

The methods for determining a cabin’s head councilor, an HC, for short, varied from cabin to cabin. Some were intuitive, like the HCs for Zeus’ and Poseidon’s cabins: both gods were currently bound by a divine law not to have any mortal children since WW2, so the title naturally fell to their strongest legacy demigod at camp at any time. Some were appointed by the actual patron god of the cabin: the title of HC of Artemis’ Cabin is always reserved for her current lieutenant whenever her Hunters visit Camp Wawanakwa, while the Hera Cabin’s HC title can be given to any demigod favored by the goddess… Which means there’s never been one ever. 

Other cabins, though, followed more specific sets of rules.

The Hermes Cabin, much like Dionysus’ and Apollo’s, were amongst the simplest: the title could go to any eligible camper (meaning over sixteen years old) who’s been living there for at least six weeks, though traditionally it was given to whomever has been living there the longest, which didn’t necessarily always equate to their oldest year-round camper, but often did. The problem with the Hermes Cabin specifically was that it wasn’t exactly a good look to have another deity’s child in charge of an olympian’s cabin, which disqualified over ⅔ of the cabin’s population and, worse of all, left them with Duncan, who is currently their only option out of all his half-sibilings, as he’s the only one of them who’s eligible at the moment. 

No one wanted Duncan as a leader, least of all Duncan himself, who abhorred all forms of order and authority, which meant he only ever signed the papers when they made him and dumped most of the actual work on DJ, making him the unofficial Hermes HC for most things.

DJ claimed he didn’t particularly mind, though it was clear he didn’t enjoy being in charge of such a large group of people. He only ever mentioned wishing he had more free time to spend around the animals and the forest of Wawanakwa Island during his last year at camp, which sounded about right for a legacy of Pan, the god of wildlife, but that aside, he never complained.

Somehow, despite his numerous migraines and his deep eye-bags, he and Duncan remain on good terms and are very close. They made a strange friendship pair; an overly aggressive punk and a pacifist gentle giant, and yet Cody can’t remember ever seeing them actually fight over anything.

“By the way, Cody, Noah asked me tell you he’d be at the library if I saw you,” DJ informs him.

“Thanks, man,” Cody says, using the stairs as leverage to pull himself out of Trent’s bunk before addressing his friend: “You wanna come with?”

“Nah,” Trent smiles. “I was working on a new piece before this mess started; might as well finish it while I’m still inspired. See you at dinner.”

“I heard there’s been a fight at Cabin 11,” It’s what Noah says when Cody approaches him. Not ‘hi’, not ‘hello’, not ‘how are you’; just that slight, self-satified, tilt of lips that Noah is physically unable to suppress when he is proven right about something.

“...That could have been anyone,” Cody answers quietly. Despite the fact that Noah has yet to raise his eyes from the book, he feels the need to avert his gaze.

Camp Wawanakwa’s library feels rather deserted today. 

It’s not a particularly big library; about the same size as the one at Cody’s school, though the building feels a bit more spacious due to the high ceiling. There’s not much to see; two classrooms opposite one another connected by a foyer that leads to a small study hall, with all the bookshelves placed towards the back of the room and a more reserved, mostly archival, section tucked to the side, behind the librarian’s desk. Given the orientation film mentioned that the place doubles as an Athena Temple, Cody had originally expected something more grandiose, but it was one of the only buildings at Wawanakwa that didn’t have shitty infrastructure, which had to count for something. 

It wasn’t nearly as popular a hang-out spot as the arena or the amphitheater, but it had its share of devoted visitors. Normally, the nymph that doubled as the camp’s librarian would be running around shushing chatting campers, but she seems to be absent today, likely taking a break due to a lack of things to do, as there are pretty much no campers (rowdy or otherwise) around.

It’s probably why he managed to find Noah so quickly to begin with; it usually took Cody a while. His best friend, being the misanthropic bastard that he is, refuses to use the study hall tables, preferring to hide in the nooks between the bookshelves instead. However, today he’s chosen to settle for sitting on the floor between the first and second booksheves, at the very front section, making Cody’s job of spotting him a lot easier.

Crouching down to move aside a pile of books, he takes a seat opposite of Noah, doing his best to ignore him.

“Then it wasn’t Sierra?” Noah smirks once enough time passed. He doesn’t wait for Cody’s reply, already correctly assuming there would be none and giving him a sly side-eye. “See, I told you that was a bad idea.”

It’s unfortunate that Noah insists on being right so often; everytime he makes this smug expression it made Cody want to wipe it off his face by any means necessary.

Having been friends with him for quite a long time, Cody’s quite familiar with his ‘I told you so’ routine. He hasn’t gotten any more modest about them since they’ve first met, back in fourth grade, but surely finding out he’s Athena's son didn’t help. Then again, hard to say whether Noah being a smartass is a nature or a nurture issue, given his entire mortal family also consists of nothing but scholars.

Whatever the case, he had advised Cody against entertaining Sierra when Cody presented the dilemma to him. But he’d also failed to present any other alternatives that Cody liked, which had been very on brand for him, but also extremely unhelpful.

“You think I deserve this,” Cody accuses without any real heat behind the words.

Noah adjusts the book on his lap in order to jut down something on his notebook before answering, letting the sentence linger for a few moments. It’s a physics textbook; now that Cody’s taken a good look, most of the books around them in this particular section seem to be. 

A strand of overgrown dark brown fringe gets in Noah’s face, making him frown.

“I’m not saying that it’s your fault,” He murmurs, gliding his pencil on the paper while his free hand fixes his hair back in place. “Or that what she’s doing is right. It’s not, by the way; it’s creepy and it’s gross.”

“She’s young. It’s a phase; it will pass,” Cody shrugs, trying not to sound too unsure. 

Noah seems to be copying some sort of diagram: the thing is wonky as hell compared to the one in the book, but there is somewhat of a resemblance. It’s really amusing to watch; genius stereotype or not, Noah’s always had the shitiest drawing skills out of everyone Cody knows.

“You don’t actually know that,” Noah gives him a pointed glance before looking back down. “What will you do if doesn’t?”

“It will. It passed for me.”

There is judgment in Noah’s silence. 

“It did!” Cody insists.

“...I didn’t say anything.”

“Ugh,” he sighs, leafing through one of the opened textbooks on the floor just to have something to do with his hands. Vectors, acceleration, graphs. “I can’t tell if you’re trying to make me feel better or worse.”

“Neither,” then, frowning at his notes as if they personally offended him, Noah adds: “We’re had this conversation before; my point still stands. You should know that by now.”

“You think I deserve this,” Cody repeats, leaning back against the bookshelf.

When the pause between his words and whatever dry response Noah would usually give him extends for longer than expected, Cody deems to look at him again.

This time, Noah’s chocolate brown eyes are already on him. 

“It’s not really a matter of deserving,” he points out at last, crossing his arms. 

Noah’s in a sweater vest and a polo, though he still keeps the long sleeved version of the camp’s shirt visible underneath, the fabric tight on his arms. Cody wouldn’t say Noah bulked up or anything, but he did look kinda different right now compared to the scragly thing he'd been in Cody's memories. A growth spurt perhaps?

Maybe it’s the intimate atmosphere: without all the outside interference, it really feels like it’s just the two of them in the entire library.

“But you don’t feel bad for me at all,” he states, unwilling to look away first.

“I don’t.”

“...Because you hate me and you think I suck?”

“Because I belive in poetic justice,” Noah tuts, tilting his head back to mimic looking down at Cody; when sitting down, they are at eye level with one another. “Though you do kinda suck; be better or something if you want me to pity you.”

“Very helpful,” Cody huffs, breaking eye contact. “And how would you suggest I start? If you say ‘by cutting off Sierra’, I’ll leave.”

It’s not that Cody doesn't understand where Noah is coming from; he just doesn’t want to be unnecessarily cruel to someone who clearly liked him at lot. Maybe it will pass; if he loses a few toothbrushes before then… Well, he’ll just keep hiding them. It will be fine; Noah is often right, but that didn’t mean he was always right or that his way was the only right way to do things.

“Alright,” Noah rolls his eyes. “Then, for one, you should probably give Gwen her bra back.”

Cody flushes.

“Iー I can’t,” He stammers, feeling all the blood rush into his face and up his ears. “I’ve kinda… It got… The smell… Hm… I really don’t think she wants it back.”

On his defense, the entire thing had started off as a joke.

Owen and Cody had been fooling around and it escalated into the satyr betting that Cody wouldn’t be able to get ahold of such an item. In the end, it all worked out, as she had been willing to lend one of her old ones to him in order to help him win that bet, as thanks for helping set her up with Trent.

She had seemed kind of uncomfortable at the time, but Gwen had never brought it up ever again, which Cody took as a hint to bury the incident. He had frankly been happy to, as long as he got to keep the bra for… Well, rather unsavory activities he will not get into right now.

At least he had the sense to not bring it back to camp with him; hopefully his mom won’t think to go through his sock drawer in his absence, but he’d rather she find it than try his luck at the Hermes Cabin.

“And I’m supposed to feel bad for you?” Noah gives him an unimpressed look.

“...I should probably apologize to her for that one,” Cody concludes, suppressing a flinch. “But, like, what would I even say?”

“I don’t know, ‘sorry for being a creep, won’t ever happen again’?” Noah grabs a separate notebook, comparing its contents to his notes. Whatever he finds there makes him frown deepen. “Who do think I am, Jiminy Cricket? Figure something out yourself, if you’re really sorry.” 

Is Cody really sorry about it?

Honestly, not really, at least up to about four days ago. He’d never considered himself to be creepy or anything of the sort; he just… Assumed that it was just how people behaved when they had a crush on someone. He hadn’t considered how it would feel to be in the other person’s shoes, as the object of someone’s unrequited affections because… Well, because he presumed it would feel really good to be wanted that badly.

If Sierra hadn’t come crashing into his life with the subtlety of a bull in china shop, he’d likely never know just how fucking shitty it feels to have to constantly turn someone down, specially when you don’t want to be mean to them.

He’d never intended for Gwen to feel uneasy when making his advances; he just wanted for her to be happy, whether that meant she’d be with Trent or him, though of course, he would prefer if she chose him. But is that even a good excuse when he only felt sorry about it because something worse happened to him?

Cody regrets making her uncomfortable; that much he knows. But does he regret the actions themselves? That part he’s actually unsure of. Was anything he ever did in his pursuit of Gwen really comparable to Sierra stealing his toothbrushes, attempting to spy on him in the showers, collecting strands of his hair to make into a ring and getting into a physical brawl just to be closer to him while he slept?

“Look, I’m not saying you have to do it right now,” Noah shrugged, fishing Cody out of his thoughts, “but she would probably appreciate it.”

“Yeah, I guess,” Cody would appreciate an apology from Sierra; as long as it was sincere and she really toned things down. Gwen probably feels similarly, and Cody has no intentions of making her uncomfortable in the future, so it should be enough, right? Wait, actuallyー “Say, how much do you think she would appreciate it?”

Noah looks up to give him an exasperated glance.

“Don’t do this to me,” he murmurs, extending a leg to kick Cody in the shin. “What happened to feeling bad about being a pervert just now?”

“I’m not gonna be a pervert!” Cody draws up his knees, scooting closer to the shelve to escape the blow. “Just saying, like, now that she’s on rebound, you think I might have a shot again?”

“Cody, the closest you ever got to having any shot at all with Gwen was that one time Ezequiel spooked her during archery practice and she accidentally shot you in the ass,” Noah deadpans. “It’d be easier for you to shoot an apple on top of my head from 200 meters away, while we’re on the moon. With a slingshot. Blindfolded.”

“...Harsh.”

“Don’t ask me stupid questions if you don’t wanna know the answers.”

Cody sighs.

“Do you think Gwen already has a partner for the chariot race next week?” he decides to ask. “I heard they’re allowing mixed-cabin pairings this year; Geoff told me he and Bridgette will be riding together.”

“Don’t even get me started on this stupid ass race,” his friend grimaces, clicking his tongue in irritation. “But she does, actually.”

“And you know who it is.” Cody narrows his eyes, once again not bothering to frame the sentence as question.

“...I do,” Noah acknowledges casually, enjoying the way Cody squirmed during his long pause, taking far longer to annotate his equations than strictly necessary.

“Noah.”

“...What?”

“Noah,” he presses, “is it Trent?”

“No,” Noah seems to take pity on him for a second, because he refrains from prologuing Cody’s suffering, though he could also just be sparing himself from having to listen to Cody whining. “It’s Duncan.”

“No, it’s not!” Cody exclaims, his tone far too loud for a library, even if a mostly empty one. He then continues, lower, albeit no less distressed: “No way. How you even know that?”

“Because Courtney threw a fit when she found out and has been making it everyone’s problem ever since. Do you think I’m making these notes on chariot aerodynamics because I want to?” Noah complains, gesturing towards the piles of textbooks and notes around them. “She has half of the cabin working on this thing; as if none of us have anything better to do. You’d think that if she cares this much about sticking it to Duncan, she’d at least deign to design the thing herself.”

Cody lifts a brow at the mention of the Head Councilor of the Athena Cabin.

While Cody wasn’t exactly glad about his unclaimed status, he figures staying at Hermes’ has its upsides: the cabin has a wide range of personalities, and while the diversity can be a lot at times, it also balances things out in a way. The Athena Cabin on the other hand, contained (in Noah’s own words) ‘the highest quantity of ego-driven pseudo-intellectual little shits per square meter in the continent’, making daily coexistence a never ending struggle, as every single one of them is irrevocably convinced that they’re the smartest person in the room at all times. 

Still, Noah claims that not all his half-siblings were pretentious assholes; just a lot of them, himself included. He went as far as to tell Cody he liked some of his fellow Cabin 6 campers; that they were cool, interesting people and that he would like to get to know them better given the chance.

Now, those were certainly not the words he used when he first described Courtney Satella to Cody.

He’s lost count of how many hours of his life have been dedicated to listening to Noah bad-mouth her overbearing nature, micromanaging tendencies and extremely type-A personality. Cody himself has barely ever interacted with her, save for a few run-ins here and there, but considering Courtney is Duncan’s long-time on-and-off girlfriend, he figures that Noah might be on to something when he says she’s ought have some sort of brain damage.

“I still can’t believe you guys voted her in again,” Cody points out, straightening out some papers he accidentally crumpled when he was trying to avoid being kicked earlier. “How do you accidentally vote a tyrant into office twice? Aren’t you guys supposed to be smart?”

Noah’s semblance turns dark, and instead of answering Cody with some sarcastic witty retort, he simply mumbles:

“Funny you would mention that… I’m actually not sure if we did.”

“Wait, you think she cheated!?” Cody asked, trying to make sense of Noah’s expression. “Don’t you guys have a mega fancy urn to prevent that or something?”

Out of all the cabins, Athena’s has got to have the most confusing rules for appointing an HC in Cody’s opinion. While both Athena’s and Aphrodite’s cabins held semestral elections for the position (usually some time around the equinoxes), one is clearly taken far more seriously than the other:

If the Aphrodite Cabin’s election is closer to a popularity pageant than a legitimate electoral process, than the Athena Cabin’s is as close to an actual dive into politics as one can get at Camp Wawanakwa.

For one, you needed to account for pre-election trials, though Noah never went into detail as to what they consisted of, only that participation is mandatory and the voting process is highly dependant on your performance on them. Not everyone’s vote was the same; higher-scoring campers held more weight, and it even gave them the power to veto other candidates sometimes. Even the voting part was complicated: rather than just casting a vote for one person, everyone was expected to secretly rank their cabin-mates, imputing the information onto an encrypted envelope and then into a magically sealed urn made by Herphaestus himself.

When Courtney Satella had first won, back in September, Cody remembers Noah had been annoyed but ultimately resigned; Courtney had been aiming for the position for years now, and it was only a matter of time before she pestered her way into it. But considering her rather abysmal popularity levels due to her authoritarian six-month long administration, her reelection back in March had seemed… Rather strange.

“I never said I thought Courtney cheated the election. I’m actually pretty sure she thinks she won that fair and square,” Noah explained. “She wouldn’t have the guts to be this fucking tyrannical if she wasn’t 100% convinced she has every right to be.” 

“But you justー”

“I said that I don’t think we voted her in,” he continued. “The urn is always accurate and it’s impossible to open it once it starts actually processing the votes. But that thing is ancient; there’s a reason why voting happens in the morning while the results are only announced at the campfire. It’s because it takes fucking forever: the urn needs to decrypt everything and then translate all the data into ancient greek before computing the votes. Usually everyone would be confined in the cabin to keep watch over it, but because the last election coincided with the final rounds of the spring dueling tournament, the urn was actually moved to the main lodge right after the voting session ended.”

“You think someone rigged the votes before the urn started to process them,” Cody summarizes. 

“...It’s what I would do, if I wanted to commit electoral fraud,” his friend shrugs. “It was taken by two dryads and then locked into Chef Hatchet’s office for the entire afternoon. I can’t think of many people who’d have the skills to pull off a heist like that, but it is technically possible. And the tournament provides the perfect distraction for it, too.”

“But who the hell would go through all that trouble?” Cody wasn’t sure where Noah’s going with this, but he finds that it’s best to indulge him whenever he got in this kind of mood. After all, Noah often humored Cody’s own conspiracies. “I can’t think of anyone who would want for Courtney to win that badly; not even Duncan.”

Which, once again, went to show just how strange their relationship was, considering Duncan is (was?) her boyfriend; not that Cody cared much for understanding the nuances of their dynamic.

“I’m not really worried about who did it and why so much as I am concerned about who benefits from this and how.”

“...Aren’t those things the same?”

Cody helps gather Noah’s research materials once he notices that his friend has started to pack them up. He takes his time chewing on the answer, waiting until they both got up before delivering it while placing the textbooks back on the shelves.

“Sometimes, but not always.”

“You already have a suspect in mind, don’t you?”

 “I don’t have any actual, concrete, hard evidence, if that's what you mean; it’s just this feeling I have. Something about it feels… Oily. Like an eel,” He says, muttering the last part, almost as if to himself. “One dipped in grease, swimming in motor oil.”

“What…? You get a kick out of being really vague or something?” Cody frowned. “Are you trying to audition for the oracle position? I heard it pays well.”

“Please, as if McLean would ever consider actually hiring one.” Noah rolled his eyes once again before taking up a more serious tone, the lines of his face suddenly becoming rather severe. “I just don’t wanna throw around accusations carelessly; saying the wrong thing to the wrong person at the wrong time is how people ended up in the gallows, you know. I might as well lay down in a casket and bury myself already.”

Cody doesn’t get offended easily; it’s why he can be friends with someone as sharp-tongued as Noah in the first place. But it’s a bit hard not to be offended when he says things like this. Cody likes to think that he’s a trustworthy person; he can keep a secret.

Specially if Noah is the one asking. 

Sure, there are cameras in the library, but their conversation hardly feels important considering today is the opening night of the summer war games. Neither of them has ever even been summoned to do a confessional for a Total Drama episode; the gods couldn’t give less of a damn about who Noah and Cody were gossiping about.

“What, you think I’m gonna tell on you?” Cody tries not to let the hurt bleed into his voice. “When have I everー”

“Not you.” Noah’s expression softened slightly, though his shoulders remained tense, his gaze shifting back and forth between Cody and the bookshelf behind him. “It’s getting kinda dark outside, right? We should probably get going soon.”

Get going where? There is nothing to doー

Oh.

A gap between books reveals that a good twenty or so meters away from them, a handsome guy is learning his thick forearms on the librarian’s desk, right by the window. He politely nods as the nymph chats him up, with a small pile of archival books on the counter beside him, waiting to be checked out. Despite never having met him before, Cody immediatly identifies the stranger: the most discussed topic amongst campers at every campfire Cody’s been to so far this summer.

When Alejandro Burromuerto catches Cody staring, he lifts one hand from the counter to discreetly wave at him with his wrist, offering up a reserved but friendly smile, a playful twinkle in his eyes, as if the two of them were sharing a secret inside joke.

Cody gives him a sheepish grin before looking away first with hot ears and red cheeks, hastily shoving a handful of textbooks into the gap, unsure as to why the interaction made him so flustered, trying to calm his racing heart.

Beside him, Noah huffs in irritation, though Cody doesn’t really know why; Alejandro couldn’t have possibly heard what they were talking about from all the way over there, even if the library was mostly empty. Still, he allows Noah to drag him out without a word, the two of them taking the long way around towards the door to avoid passing by the librarian’s desk.

He doesn’t turn around to check, but he feels Alejandro’s jade-colored gaze on their backs up until the door closes behind them.

Cody doesn’t know Alejandro Burromuerto personally, but he knows of him. Obviously. 

Rumours about him have been swirling around ever since he showed up at Wawanakwa with a gigantic hydra hot on his heels earlier this year and they’ve yet to quiet down since. It’s rare for Wawanakwa to receive newbies older than fourteen; usually, if you didn’t make it to camp early on, you likely never would, specially if you happened to have a strong scent.

An eighteen-year-old newbie with such high magical reactivity is the kind of thing that happened once a century.

It’s no wonder he took to combat like a fish to water, easily climbing the ranks and becoming one of Camp Wawanakwa’s most capable and versatile fighters; he had plenty of divine magic in him to make up for any physical shortcomings (not that there were many to begin with). However, for such a prominent figure, Alejandro’s rather private; aside from the fact that he used to live overseas and that his family moved around a lot when he was growing up, no one really knows all that much about his life before coming to camp.

Being strong, mysterious and handsome, the guy had unsurprisingly become some sort of living legend at Wawanakwa; his name is on the mouth of every camper, specially the younger ones. What is kind of surprising, however, is that Noah mentioned that whatever time he has that he doesn’t spend at the arena, he seems to spend at the library, of all places.

Cody really tries not to box people into stereotypes; it’s far too easy to do so, when you’re in a place that divides people by who their parents are. But it’s hard not to be shocked that someone with a reputation like that would be a son of Aphrodite.

...Though, looking back, he supposes Alejandro's parentage is rather obvious when you actually see him in person.

Many demigods are attractive; it’s not an exclusive characteristic of the Aphrodite Cabin. Girls like Gwen or Heather Kasuga are textbook examples of this. Even Noah, for all his frowns and smug looks, wouldn’t look out of place in a museum if someone ever decided to carve his profile into marble.

However, Aphrodite’s kids are simply built different: there’s a certain quality to all of them that makes your brain feel a bit fuzzy when they get a little too close; it takes some getting used to. Cody’s felt the effects whenever Lindsay Reid greeted him at the pegasus stables or whenever Justin Tahani sat beside him at the campfire: a tickle of artificial stomach butterflies when they speak to you, an unexplainable desire to just keep looking at them, a superficial attraction that never quite settles even if they wouldn't normally be your type.

Still Cody’s never met anyone who had this level of mind-sezing allure; so encompasing that it could be felt across an entire room like that. 

“I didn’t know you could check out archival books,” Cody mentions once the library is well behind them, disappearing amongst the trees.

“That’s because you can’t,” Noah hisses, annoyed. “At least we can’t.”

“You really don’t like that guy,” he points out, noting how the vein on the side of Noah’s forehead pulsed, exposed because of the uncharacteristically strong winds. “Why?”

“You don’t think the timing of his arrival is strange?”

“Not really…?” Cody tries to remember wether anyone had mentioned the exact date to him. “Wasn’t it some random day back in February?”

“Exactly six weeks before the HC spring elections. Not one day more or one day less,” Noah steers them away from the path that led to the amphitheater, redirecting them towards the main lodge, probably heading for the Athena Cabin to drop off his stuff. “Just enough to qualify for the position once the election came around. Which he won, by the way. You don’t think that’s odd…?"

“I mean, it’s impressive, I guess,” he answers tentatively. “But how would he even rig that? The Aphrodite Cabin doesn’t bother voting secretly."

“I doubt he rigged it ” Noah sneers, “he wouldn’t have had to: half of Cabin 10 shares a singular braincell and he's their most powerful camper in who knows how long; no one else stood a chance. I just think it’s very auspicious timing.”

“Well, I think you’re tripping; he seems pretty alright,” Cody’s eyes are drawn to the infirmary, not too far away from the main lodge. The Apollo kids were likely to hold Leshawna and Sierra there for a while, but still, he’d rather not cross paths with them at the moment. “You’re acting like he’s Heather levels of diabolical or something.”

Now that at last gets a chuckle out of Noah.

“Don’t let her catch you saying that,” he says, suppressing a smirk. “I thought she was gonna have a public crashout in the middle of the arena when he eliminated her on the quarter finals. Even tried to kick him in the balls when he went to help her up. They had to censor the fuck out of her confessional for that episode; I’m clearly not the only one who can’t stand him.”

“That doesn’t count though: name one person Heather actually likes,” Cody responds, adjusting the books in his arms. “Besides, don’t you think it’s concerning you’re indirectly agreeing with Heather on something?”

“Well, you know what they say about broken clocks; I guess we’ll see who’s right eventually.”

“C’mon, you really think Alejandro had something to do with this Courtney thing? I heard he had back-to-back fights all afternoon that day. What could he have possibly done about it all the way from the arena?”

“Nothing I can prove,” Noah admits. “At least for now.”

“Well, speaking of nothing I can prove, you wouldn’t happen to have seen Tyler Parsons today, would you?”

“Why the fuck would I have seen Tyler Parsons?”

It’s really unfortunate that the opening of the summer war games is always scheduled right after dinner.

Cody knows just how hard it is for the younger campers to shove this stuff down their throats when the anticipation and nerves are doing all sorts of knots in their stomach. In fact, he can spot quite a few of them pushing their plates aside.

Rookie mistake; they will unfortunately be needing all the fuel they can get. He even throws his own bet for how many of them will pass out from exhaustion by the end of the night; he goes for a safe four, but the betting pool has seen numbers up to the double digits.

Soon enough, the alarm signalling the end of dinner time goes off and everyone gathers their gear and heads towards the edge of the forest. The way there is an uneventful, aside from the fact that Sierra has shoved herself into his side; the temptation of not advising her to eat at dinner had been strong, but he ultimately decided against it.

The summer war games consists of a series of events scheduled across the next three months, mandatory for all campers fourteen and over, and they really are no joke. While mostly non lethal, the war games are known as the most brutal tournament held at Wawanakwa for a reason. Besides, it offered the best prizes and the most amount of bragging rights, which made it essential that one does not mess up during them for the sake of a good social life at one’s cabin for the foreseeable future.

Both beloved and feared amongst campers, the events varied from edition to edition, though some were fixed and always held. Cody himself is quite an enthusiast of some of them; chariot racing is always very fun, half-blood chess is a nice break for non-combatents, and while he is not very good at just about any other physical activity, Cody is actually very skilled at pegasus flying.

“Alrighty campers!” Chris McLean materializes at the very edge of the forest, standing alongside the Head Councillors once everyone has taken their place in the formation. It doesn’t take particularly long; a big chunk of Wawanakwa’s population consists of kids under fourteen, which means only a rough estimate of around fifty to sixty godlings participating in the competition. All around them, the magical cameras flash tentatively once, then twice, before he proceeds, a projection of the footage appearing over his head. “We’re starting off with a fan favorite: capturar la bandera!”

“CapturA,” Alejandro supplies, and though he’s still smiling, Cody swears his eye twitches. “El juego se llama ‘captura la bandera’.”

The Camp Director either doesn’t hear him or pretends not to.

“Give it up for ‘capture the flag’!” Once the deafening ovation dies down, McLean continues: “As always, for our first match of the summer: El classico! Ares Cabin vs. Athena Cabin! Come on up and shake hands, ladies!”

Courtney Satella, dressed in full-on traditional battle regalia and a royal blue armband, steps out of the HC’s formation, maintaining a strict, formal stance as she approaches the spotlight, a slight bounce in her step betraying her nervousness.

In contrast, Heather Kasuga steps up to it with the confidence of someone who has already won. Her armour, while more functional than Courtney’s, is clearly also an aesthetic choice rather than a practical one, though Cody can’t really speak on the merits of ‘looking hot’ as an intimidation strategy in battle; on her arm, the ruby red armband resembles a stylish bracelet rather than a war symbol.

Neither of them looks very happy about shaking hands, but they still do so anyway.

“Today the Ares Cabin will have the support of Hermes and Herphesthus’ Cabins,” McLean announces, reading off a card handled to him by a nearby satyr. “While the Athena Cabin will be joined by the Aphrodite, Poseidon, Demeter, Apollo and Dionysius’ Cabins…?”

The host pauses, and through the projection Cody can clearly see him mouthing off the words ‘what the actual fuck?’ to the satyr, who gestures helplessly back to him the universal sign of ‘I don’t know’.

“That is one odd alliance line-up you kids came up with, gotta say,” he jokes, still looking slightly confused. “Take your places, everyone!”

While Duncan begrudgingly joins Heather alongside the Herphesthus HC, a tall girl Cody doesn’t recognize, DJ leads the Hermes Cabin to the left side of the clearing. A few meters away, standing amongst his siblings, in a red armband similar to Cody’s own, Harold offers Cody a thumbs up.

Alejandro gives a supportive pat to Courtney’s arm once he passes by her to join Bridgette, Geoff and the Demeter and Dionysius HCs on her side. Due to the uneven number of campers per cabin, the total per side somewhat balances out, give of take a couple of demigods.

“May the best strategist win,” Courtney offers coldly, while her troops settle on the right side of the clearing.

“Oh, don’t worry,” Heather scowls at her, though her eyes stray somewhere over her opponent’s shoulder. “I will.”

As he watches all the current HC’s go though the traditional war rites of capture the flag, it occurs to Cody that this is his first time seeing all nine head councilors in one place; he hasn’t really seen them all together at any campfire ever since coming back to Wawanakwa, not even at the welcoming ceremony, which is weird, because they did that all the time two summers ago.

He hasn’t really seen that much of any of the HCs, DJ and Duncan aside, really. Off the top his head he could think of a handful examples:

Bridgette hadn’t been at the stables during any of the times Cody went to check on the pegasus. He’d only seen Heather at the arena twice, despite the fact that she should have been supervising a handful of combat classes. Geoff had only led half of the campfires so far, with Trent filling in for him in his absence. Harold’s sister should have been at the armory that day he stopped by.

Even Noah telling Cody that Courtney, a well-known control-freak, had been so busy lately that she'd delegated the design of her own war chariot to her half-siblings was weird in retrospect.

Gods, it seems like its odd thing on top of odd thing this summer. The strange, sinking feeling that has been pestering Cody all day seems to thicken, and his nose itches with the signature scent of an incoming summer storm that couldn’t possibly happen at Wawankawa.

“Wicked! Veterans and loyal audience; you guys already know the drill. For the fresh meat and new viewers, a quick refresher and some housekeeping!”

“The entire forest is fair game; your territory limit is, of course, the path to the cliff. Both flags must be prominently displayed and can have no more than five guards. Prisoners may be taken, but you can’t gag them and you’re not allowed to tie their feet or legs. All magical items are allowed, though I beg you to remember this is a very flammable forest and the local dryads are allowed to gut you for any permanent damage you do to their homes.”

“Lastly, let me remind you of our three big no-nos: No.1 No killing! We can’t afford any more major lawsuits! No.2: No maiming! Unless, of course, you make it, like, mega entertaining, in which case, I’ll allow it! No.3 No funny business! This is a TV Herphestus PG/14+ show, so keep it classy!”

“And without further ado, may this year’s summer war games begin!”