Chapter Text

Prologue: Just outside looking at the sky, thinking about you.

Asphodel, home of the unremarkable dead, is peaceful: quiet, gently stirring crowds, white-flowered plants as far as the eye can see, the occasional scraggly silver poplar tree. Not punishment, not paradise. Nothing to do but wander. Peaceful.

At least, it could be, if you didn’t remember anything different. Hazel Levesque, unfortunately, remembers (and remembers, and remembers, in an endless loop); she knows she lived a short, difficult life, with her curse haunting her, and Gaea and her mother taking advantage of it; an absent, supposedly godly father, probably the reason she remembers anything, if the shades around her are any indication; a single friend, Sammy, who she left without getting to say goodbye. She knows that she died (suffocating, crushing pressure, oil in her lungs) to stop Alcyoneus from rising.

…Had she stopped Alcyoneus? Sometimes, as she drifts through Asphodel with her memories intact, she wonders whether her sacrifice had actually mattered, whether she should’ve gone to Elysium even if it meant condemning her mother to Punishment. Usually, she ignores those thoughts, because her mother didn’t deserve Punishment, but the fact that the choice was in her hands will always bother her (that Punishment exists at all will always bother her)

Asphodel is boring.

Hazel heaves a sigh and grabs a tree branch, setting her foot against the trunk and climbing. The seemingly infinite plain lays itself out around her; Asphodel does have edges, she’s pretty sure, but she hasn’t gotten close enough to really see them since she first entered, and she doesn’t remember which direction she came from, either. She could walk for eternity, and hope she picks the right direction, but she’s never worked up the courage to start; not since she came in, walked aimlessly for what seemed mere minutes, and turned around to see nothing but more endless fields behind her.

Something feels different right now, like a weight off her shoulders. She climbs to the highest branch that will support her ghostly weight, scanning what passes for the horizon. There! A glow like sunlight, unlike anything she’s seen since dying, shines a few miles away. Intriguing. Without a second thought, Hazel practically jumps down the tree, falling to one knee in the flowers. She leaps up, not even dusting herself off, and starts running.

It takes her a while, but the light only gets stronger with every stride, and so does she. It’s subtle at first, but by the time she can properly see the glowing doorway it’s undeniable: she feels alive. She lets out a laugh, happy and carefree, as she runs full-tilt through the Doors of Death, straight out of the underworld into a building in west Hollywood. The man at the desk shouts something, the ghosts all look at her in awe, as Hazel, barely slowing, jerks the front door open and runs.

The Lost Heroes.

Hazel wakes up on a school bus, her hand entwined with someone else’s. She lets out a strangled gasp, yanking her hand away and fanning herself. Her actions wake up her seatmate, who looks at her, puzzled. “Hi?” He says, sounding just as confused as she is. Hazel takes a moment to look at him; he’s around her age, she thinks, Black, with dark sepia skin, close-cropped hair, strong features, intense eyes, a scar through his lips; and… weirdly impressive musculature for a young teen, like an athlete. She realizes abruptly that she can’t call up a mental image of herself. He studies her intently as she looks at him, and she fans herself again, wondering how he sees her. He cracks a smile, “I’m Jason,” he sticks out his hand, brow furrowing, “I… don’t remember… anything else.”

Hazel stares at him for a long moment, “What a coincidence!” she says, not quite cheerfully, shaking his hand “I’m Hazel, and I don’t know anything else about anything.”

“No joke?” he checks, releasing her hand.

“No, sir.” Hazel grins fleetingly, then freezes, staring at their forearms, which are apparently tattooed. Jason looks too, hesitantly touching the tattoo on his own arm while Hazel does the same. “Huh,” she says, tracing the symbol that looks almost like a Venus symbol, but with an extra half circle separating the cross and the circle, like O)+. Below that are the letters SPQR and, below that, a single line, perpendicular to the letters; Jason's tattoo is of a simple eagle, SPQR, and eight lines. “Do you remember… nevermind. Of course we don’t even remember being branded.”

“I think we have other things to worry about right now.” Jason says, removing his hand from the tattoo.

Hazel sighs, her fingers lingering on the symbol. “Would it be suspicious to ask someone where we are?”

“Probably.” Jason says glumly, looking around. A white boy sitting across the aisle, dressed in a white jersey with blue accents, leers at them. Jason frowns, sharing a look with Hazel. “…Let’s not ask him.”

Hazel nods, checking her jean pockets for anything useful, finding nothing at all, “Agreed.” As she scans the crowd of kids in the bus, only the boy in the jersey pays them any attention, continuing to stare in a way that makes Hazel’s skin crawl. A few rows up, a red-haired, freckly girl flicks bits of sandwich at a gangly, older-looking boy in a Rasta cap, but whoever’s supposed to be supervising them doesn’t seem to notice.

Hazel looks out the window, briefly distracted by the ghostly reflection of herself she can see; to her relief, the round features, cool undertones in her dark skin, tightly curling cinnamon hair, golden brown eyes, and even the wistful expression feel familiar. For the next few minutes, she watches the buildings go by; they seem to be in a large city, and she sees nothing she recognizes. Soon, they come to a stop near an intimidatingly large beige building; an older, serious, balding Black man in a motorized wheelchair takes the lift out the back of the bus while the other teacher, a perky, middle aged, blonde white woman, corrals the students out the doors. As Hazel and Jason step off the bus, the male teacher gives them a puzzled look, and a dark-haired boy with a brooding look double takes. The boy whispers something to the boy in the Rasta cap, who in turn stares openly at them until the teachers call for everyone to start moving.

Hazel scoots closer to Jason, following the flow of the crowd, far more on edge then a school field trip probably warrants. She soon gathers that they’re at the Metropolitan Museum of Art in New York City, that the white teacher is named Mrs. Kerr, the Black one is Mr. Brunner; and most of the class treats Hazel and Jason like they are supposed to be there, teasing them and seeming disappointed or confused when they don’t play along. The boy in the Rasta cap, Grover, and his friend, Percy, don’t recognize them, stealing looks at them and whispering to each other. Mr. Brunner doesn’t either, but he’s more subtle than the boys; he just hasn’t called on Hazel or Jason or said their names at all, always looking slightly puzzled for a moment if they catch his eye. The boy in the jersey, Dylan makes faces at them if they look at him, but he doesn’t try talking to them.

Mr. Brunner leads them through the galleries, talking about ancient history; Greek, Roman, Egyptian, Norse, American, and so on. The other kids talk loudly, joking and roughhousing; Nancy, the red-haired bully, snickers as Mr. Brunner talks about ancient Greek funeral practices. “Will you shut up?” Percy snaps at her, drawing everyone’s attention. Mr. Brunner singles him out to test his knowledge of Greek gods; as Percy talks about Kronos the Titan devouring his children, Jason mutters along, never quite loud enough to interrupt. Hazel frowns, feeling a sense of déjà vu, not like she’s been here before, but that she knows this story all the same.

The class soon gathers back outside for lunch; Hazel eyes the stormy sky warily as Jason leads her to the edge of the crowd. “Okay,” he starts, “Do you have any idea what’s going on? Because I still don’t.”

Hazel shakes her head, “Something about those gods seems familiar.” She hesitates, “I don’t think we’re supposed to be in New York, you and I.”

To her relief Jason immediately nods, “Right? I just feel the need to go west, to get to safety, or something.”

It's like he read Hazel’s mind, but before she can say that, Mr. Brunner notices they don’t have lunches and heads over, “Forget something?” he says wryly. Hazel and Jason shrink closer together, simultaneously reaching for… Hazel sways, clutching her head. Jason pulls his hand from his pocket, steadying her. “Oh, dear.” Mr. Brunner says, “Come with me, you two, I’ll buy you something from a food truck before you faint from hunger.”

He wheels off without waiting for an answer, leading them away from the main group; Hazel and Jason follow hesitantly after exchanging a glance. A quickly fulfilled order later, Mr. Brunner sits them by the fountain, near Percy and Grover, though not close enough that they can hear when Mr. Brunner says, “Who are you two, anyway? You’re not my students, no matter what the Mist says,” his tone even more serious than before.

Hazel freezes mid bite; Jason swallows forcefully, “Mist?” he coughs.

Mr. Brunner frowns, “Yes, the Mist, the force that hides monsters and gods from mortals, it’s telling me you two are a normal part of class, but it’s not strong enough to fool me.” Hazel and Jason glance at each other, neither ready to trust him-

Three things happen in quick succession: the water of the fountain reaches out and grabs the red-haired bully, pulling her in; the sky above bursts into rain with a howl of wind; and a garnet the size of Hazel’s fist pops out of the ground in between her and Mr. Brunner. Jason whips around to stare as Grover pulls the girl out of the fountain and the rest of the kids scream and run inside, abandoning their lunches to get out of the rain; Mr. Brunner mutters what sounds like a curse in another language and “Jackson,” starting to go help the students; Hazel finds she can’t focus on anything but the jewel that appeared out of nowhere. (I did that) she thinks nonsensically, feeling ill. Mr. Brunner hesitates as neither Hazel nor Jason make to stand, “Come along, you two, we’ll figure this out.” he follows Hazel’s gaze downwards, startling as Hazel lunges forward to grab the garnet before he can see it. (It’s cursed) Hazel almost says, which makes even less sense than it appearing out of nowhere.

Recovering, Mr. Brunner starts to speak again, but the boy in the jersey, Dylan, blows over to them, shoving his chair out of the way with a sharp gust of wind, and smiling widely at them, “Enjoying the rain, little demigods?” Hazel curls her fingers tightly around the chunk of garnet, her instincts screaming at her as she takes in the way funnel clouds are forming around him.  

Jason stands, pulling a gold coin from his pocket and pointing accusingly at Dylan. “You’re a ventus, a storm spirit… you’re causing this storm.”

Dylan huffs, “Only strengthening it; Lord Zeus’s anger is useful for my mistress.” Lightning flashes behind him, and for a moment he looks transparent, like he’s made of smoke. Hazel gasps in shock, reflexively throwing the garnet at him; it sails straight through him and skitters into the road. He glares at her, his body dissolving into swirling black vapor, lightning flickering outwards across him from his eyes. “You two are the omen I’ve been waiting for, the demigods my mistress has been looking for! Come with me, and she will reward you for your cleverness.”

“What are you talking about?” Hazel says, bewildered.

“Don’t try to fool me, girl. He radiates the power of Zeus; if you don’t have it, you certainly know who does.”

“We really don’t know what you mean, ventus.” Jason insists.

The ventus hisses, stormy wings flaring, “We’ll see about that, godling.” Dylan says, pointing a wispy, sparking, finger at him. Hazel screams as lightning crashes into Jason, throwing them both to the ground, away from each other.

Hazel pushes herself up, shoving her hair back and looking at Jason, who’s maybe ten feet away from her, who isn’t moving, his clothes smoking. She glances towards Mr. Brunner, he seems fine, but he isn’t trying to get any closer to them; their eyes meet through the rain, and Mr. Brunner tosses something at her, shouting something she doesn’t make out through the roar of wind. She catches the pen and it turns into a sword as it hits her palm; a Greek xiphos, bronze and leaf shaped, not what she’s used to. Hazel shakes that off, why would she be used to it? She swings it at Dylan, who tuts, “Wouldn’t you rather come with me? My mistress would love to meet you.”

“Go to Tartarus.” She says sharply, tears joining the rain on her cheeks. She swings at him again, wishing the sword was longer; he breezes away from her tauntingly and two more venti touch down next to him.

“Last chance to come with us willingly, demigod.” The ventus says, smiling manically.

“Stop.” Jason croaks; Hazel glances between him and the venti, relieved. She takes advantage of the storm spirits’ surprise to dash over to him, taking his hand to help him up; she flinches from a static shock when they touch.

The venti thunder ominously, “How are you alive? That was enough lightning to…” he trails off.

“Nice try.” Jason quips, flipping his coin into the air and catching the spear, the pilum, that it becomes. Hazel winces, why does she remember the names of weapons so clearly, of all things? “My turn.” Jason says as the venti hiss and swarm.

They end up fighting back-to-back like they’ve done it before; surrounded by venti, Jason with his spear, Hazel with a sword that doesn’t feel right, but scares the venti all the same. The venti dodge and whirl, crackling with lightning, but soon enough Hazel slashes though one of them, and it dissipates into a puff of gold, like sunlight breaking through the clouds. Another ventus roars in outrage, trying to hit Jason with lightning again, but it hits his pilum, harmlessly absorbed. He jabs with the spear, and the second ventus dissolves into golden dust.

The final ventus, Dylan, lets out a howl of wind, blowing Hazel over and away from Jason. Something sharp catches her bicep, the pain only mostly drowned in her adrenaline. She struggles to her feet as a funnel cloud forms around her, whipping her hair into her eyes. She wobbles, trying catch her breath, but the wind resists her lungs, leaving her to gasp like her lungs are filling with oil. Hazel doubles over, coughing, and the ventus grabs her arm, lifting her into the air. Hazel bats at him weakly, her vision darkening, but he keeps a tight grip on her sword arm.

Dylan roars suddenly, and the next thing she knows, she’s falling, a scream ripping out of her sore throat. Arms wrap around her waist, slowing her fall to a stop, and she opens her eyes to find herself face to face with Jason, fifty feet off the ground. Jason can fly. Hazel clings to him, too frightened to be embarrassed, as they soar away from the ventus. He doesn’t actually go all that fast, but where he goes, the ventus can’t seem to follow.

He sets them down in a copse of oak trees, stumbling against a trunk. His eyelids droop, and Hazel find her voice to splutter, “Wha-what just happened?”

Jason shrugs, leaning against the tree, “You think I know?” he’s fidgeting with his coin, which makes Hazel realize she’s holding a pen, now, instead of the sword.

They’re both covered in scrapes from getting thrown to the ground, their clothes torn and, in Jason’s case, charred. Her arm burns from when the ventus threw her, and she looks at the gash in shock. Hazel clasps her hand over it; looking at Jason, she realizes he’s asleep on his feet. She settles in to guard him, hoping Dylan the ventus won’t find them. At least the rain is stopping.

Maybe an hour later, Hazel hears Mr. Brunner talking to himself before she sees him, “Zeus, Hera and Hephaestus!” He curses; thunder rumbles ominously and he mutters, “Yes, I apologize, but what is going on? Anemoi thuellai in my class and I didn’t even notice! Demigods appearing out of nowhere and disappearing just as quick!” Hazel presses herself against the tree, hoping he’ll pass by, but he stops, looking unerringly at their hiding place. “Ah,” He sighs, “There you are.” Hazel nudges Jason awake, uncapping the pen into a sword and standing readily in front of him. The teacher’s eyes widen, and he holds up his hands in surrender, “I’m not here to harm you, children.”

“Are you going to take us to that school?” Hazel asks, wary.

“If that’s what you want.” He looks Hazel over, eyes catching on the gash in her arm, then again on her tattoo, “Here,” moving slowly, he takes a small plastic bag from his saddlebag, setting it on a log ten feet away from Hazel, and backing away, “That’ll heal your wounds,” he says.

Not moving from Jason’s side, Hazel processes that Mr. Brunner isn’t… riding a horse like her eyes had tried to tell her, but that: “You’re a centaur.”

“…Well, yes.” he draws a business card out of his bag, setting it on the log and stepping back again, “I am Chiron, teacher of demigods. Normally, this is something I’d explain to your mortal guardian first, but… I can take you to a safe place, Camp Delphi.”

“Safe from venti?” Hazel asks, not touching the idea of demigods. The venti had called them that, too.

“…Yes, and other monsters. Demigods have an unmistakable, alluring scent, stronger the more powerful their parent is.” He looks at Hazel’s injury again, the blood running sluggishly down her arm, “Please, take some ambrosia, it’ll heal you.” He gestures at the plastic bag.

Hazel exchanges a look with Jason, who shrugs, pressing a hand against the scrapes on his leg. Keeping her gaze locked on the centaur, Hazel steps cautiously away from the tree, taking the bag, and, after a moment’s deliberation, the card, back with her. Mr. Brunner doesn’t move, utterly nonthreatening even in his strangeness. The bag has a few unassuming, bite-sized pieces of… lemon bar? Hazel gives the centaur a skeptical look, opening the bag and recoiling in surprise when it smells more like shrimp gumbo than any dessert. Mr. Brunner smiles encouragingly, “Food of the gods; it tastes different for everyone, but always good.” Hazel tries a piece; it’s a decidedly strange texture and flavor combination, but it somehow works. Jason takes a piece as the cut on Hazel’s arm closes, humming in surprise at the taste.

“What’s Camp Delphi?” Jason asks hoarsely, standing straighter as the ambrosia heals him. Hazel flips the business card, trying to decipher the curly script: Chiron. Activities Director. Hestia Hill, Long Island, New York, (800) 009-0009.

“A safe place for demigods; mostly a summer camp for teenagers, but we welcome both year-rounders and other age groups. The world isn’t made for people like you, but camp can help you, however you need it.” He cocks his head, “How… did you two get on that bus, anyway? I don’t remember seeing you before you stepped off.”

Jason shakes off the question, fiddling with his coin, but not turning it into a pilum, “You think we’re… demigods?” he tests the word.

Chiron nods, “Yes, quite powerful ones, too; by demigods I mean people with one parent who is a human, and one who is a Greek god. As for why I believe that, demigods smell… unique.” Jason sniffs his shirt and Chiron bites back a smile, “To monsters.” He clarifies.

“So… other monsters will find us, if we don’t go with you?” Hazel asks sharply. Convenient.

“Yes. The storm spirits from before might come back, or… any number of creatures, really. Camp is protected by magical borders.”

Hazel looks at Jason; despite basically only meeting that day, she feels like she can really trust him, not just because he was the first person she saw, or because he also doesn’t remember anything, there’s something… deeper there. It feels like she has a whole conversation with him, just by looking at each other. “We’ll go with you.”

Chiron nods like he expected nothing less. “So, which of you lives closer to here?” they look at him for a beat, “…To tell your guardians that you’re going to camp?” Chiron tries.

“…We don’t know. Where we live or who our guardians are.” Hazel admits. Chiron recoils, eyes wide.

“We don’t remember anything from before we woke up on the bus.” Jason clarifies, “Nothing but our first names.”

“…Oh.” Chiron hesitates, his eyes catching on their tattoos again, “Well, I suppose we should just go to camp, then… what are your names?”

“I’m Hazel.” She says.

“Jason.” He contributes.

Chiron nods, “Well met, Hazel and Jason.” 

Hazel and Jason exchange a look, finally stepping closer to the centaur. “Was there another demigod, at that school?” Hazel asks, recapping the sword.

Chiron nods reluctantly, “He has his own keeper, they’ll be fine.” His expression turns rueful, “Better without you two there, at least; you smell so much stronger than him.” he shakes his head, “Anemoi thuellai, really. I should’ve noticed before they attacked you.”

Jason shrugs, “I think we handled it well enough.”

“Yes,” Chiron says thoughtfully, “I suppose you did.”