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The flickering hearth fire of the Ares cabin threw long, dancing shadows against the walls, illuminating a room that was usually filled with the sounds of sharpening iron, wrestling matches, and tactical arguments. Tonight, however, the heavy oak table in the center of the room had been cleared of its usual clutter—disassembled armor pieces, spear-polishing rags, and whetstones were replaced by a pristine, folding cardboard board, a deck of glossy cards, a tiny plastic hourglass, and four mismatched mugs of hot cider.
It was a rare night of truce at Camp Half-Blood. The summer heat had broke into a crisp, cool evening, and for a few hours, the looming threats of prophecies, Titan armies, and training regimes were pushed to the periphery.
"If you don't flip that timer in the next two seconds, Rodriguez, I am going to spear your hand to the table," Clarisse La Rue warned, her voice a low, gravelly rumble. She was leaning so far over the table that her short, raggedly cut brown hair nearly brushed the game board. Her dark eyes were narrowed into slits, tracking every microscopic movement of Chris’s fingers.
Chris Rodriguez merely grinned, his dark eyes flashing with amusement as he casually twirled the blue plastic hourglass between his thumb and forefinger. He was a big guy, his shoulders nearly broad enough to rival an Ares kid's, but he carried himself with the loose, easy grace typical of the Hermes cabin. "Patience, Clarisse. A good thief never rushes the clock. Besides, the rules clearly state that the guessing team has to formally announce their readiness before the time begins."
"I am formally announcing that I will throw you through that window if you don't start," Clarisse snapped, cracking her knuckles.
Across from them, Charles Beckendorf sat back in a heavy wooden chair that he had personally reinforced with steel brackets after Clarisse had smashed a previous one during a particularly intense game of checkers the winter before. His massive, calloused hands—hands that spent all day lifting anvils and shaping celestial bronze—were wrapped comfortably around a steaming mug. Next to him, Silena Beauregard was adjusting a knitted pink blanket around her shoulders, her officially striking blue eyes bright with laughter, her dark hair tied back in a loose, effortless bun that somehow looked perfect despite the camp humidity.
"Clarisse, honey, breathe," Silena said, her voice like a soothing balm over the tension in the room. She reached out and patted Clarisse’s tensed forearm. "It’s just a game. We’re here to relax. Charlie and I brought the cider specifically so we wouldn't have another incident like the Capture the Flag debriefing."
"This isn't just a game, Silena. This is Mythomagic: The Strategy Edition," Clarisse said, pronouncing the title as if she were declaring war. "And I don't plan on losing to a guy who spent half of last year getting lost in a maze."
Chris flinched slightly, but the grin returned to his face a second later, though it carried a sharper, more competitive edge now. "Oh, is that how we're playing it? Low blows? Fine. Just remember who unlocked your trunk and stole your favorite dagger last week without you noticing until Tuesday."
"That was you?" Clarisse roared, slamming her palms onto the table.
"Alright, alright, break it up," Beckendorf rumbled, his deep, resonant voice effortlessly cutting through the rising volume. When Beckendorf spoke, people listened. It wasn't just his size—though his pro-ballplayer physique was imposing—it was the calm, steady gravity he carried. "Chris, flip the timer. Clarisse, sit down before you break my chair. Silena, you're up first for your team, right?"
Silena clapped her hands together, her expression shifting to one of bright, bubbly excitement. "Yes! Okay, Clarisse, you’re guessing. No violence, just words."
Chris flipped the hourglass, the white sand beginning to cascade downward through the narrow glass neck. He drew a card from the top of the deck, glanced at it, and handed it to Beckendorf so they could both verify the taboo words.
"Your time starts... now," Chris declared.
Silena took a deep breath, looked at the card in her hand, and immediately smiled. "Okay! He’s really tall, he has a permanent scowl, he’s incredibly sweet, he smells like charcoal and forge smoke, and he makes the most beautiful jewelry in the world."
Clarisse blinked, staring at her partner in utter bewilderment. "What? Is that a monster? A giant? A Laestrygonian?"
Chris snorted, burying his face in his hands to hide his laughter. Beckendorf’s cheeks took on a distinctly dark reddish hue beneath his dark skin, and he looked down into his cider mug, a soft, rare smile pulling at the corners of his mouth.
"No, Clarisse!" Silena giggled, waving her hands. "Think closer to home! He has hands like catcher's mitts, and he’s sitting right next to Chris!"
"Beckendorf!" Clarisse yelled. "The answer is Beckendorf!"
"Yes!" Silena beamed.
"That's not a legal clue!" Chris protested, leaning across the table to point at the card. "The card says Hephaestus! She just described his son!"
"Hephaestus is his father, so it’s a valid association!" Silena argued, her tone completely devoid of malice but entirely stubborn. "And besides, Charlie is the best representative of that cabin anyway."
"I'm not complaining," Beckendorf muttered, pulling a small wooden token forward on the board to mark their point.
Clarisse groaned, rubbing her temples. "Silena, I love you, but you have to use tactical descriptions. Think attributes! Weapons! Domains of power! Don't just describe your boyfriend’s cologne!"
"It’s not cologne, it’s natural pheromones from the forge," Silena corrected gently, completely unfazed by Clarisse's exasperation. "Okay, next card." She drew another, her eyes widening slightly. "Oh, this one is scary. He lives underground, he’s very misunderstood, he has a helmet that makes him invisible, and everyone is always terrified of him but he really just needs a good interior decorator because the Underworld is way too gloomy."
"Hades!" Clarisse barked.
"Correct!"
"Ha! Take that, Rodriguez!" Clarisse pointed a dramatic finger at Chris. "Two points! We are dominating!"
"The sand is still running," Chris countered, pointing at the tiny mountain of white grains accumulating at the bottom of the plastic tube. "Go, Silena. Keep going."
Silena drew a third card, squinting at the fine print. "Um... it’s a big, scary lizard thing. It has way too many heads, and if you chop one off, two more grow back, which is just terribly inefficient design—"
"Hydra!" Clarisse shouted, standing up again. "We killed one on the CSS Birmingham! Boom! Three points!"
The last grains of sand slipped through the hourglass just as Clarisse slammed her fist on the table. Chris sighed, shaking his head, though a respectful smirk played on his lips.
"Three points to start. Not bad, Aphrodite," Chris conceded, taking the deck of cards and shuffling them with the practiced, lightning-fast dexterity of a Hermes kid. His hands moved in a blur, the cards cutting and cascading in perfect rhythm. "But now it’s our turn. Charlie, you ready to show them how real strategists work?"
Beckendorf set his mug down, his broad shoulders squaring. "I'll try my best, Chris. Just keep the clues simple. I don't do well with metaphors."
"Simple is my specialty," Chris said. He handed the timer to Silena, who turned it over with a graceful flourish.
Chris drew the first card, read it instantly, and didn't hesitate for a fraction of a second. "The thing you use to hold two pieces of metal together when you’re welding them, but the mythological version that the Cyclopes use."
"Anvil," Beckendorf said instantly.
"Boom. Next." Chris snapped another card off the top. "The goddess who thinks she’s better than everyone else because she came out of a skull, wears a lot of grey, and her kids won't stop talking about architecture."
"Athena," Beckendorf replied, his voice even and calm.
"Two. Next." Chris drew a third. "The annoying little blonde girl who flies around on a pegasus, thinks she rules the stables, and threw a spear at me during Capture the Flag two summers ago."
"Silena," Beckendorf said.
"Hey!" Silena gasped, though she was laughing. "I did not throw a spear at you, Chris! I threw it in your general direction to deter you from the flank!"
"It embedded itself two inches from my left foot, Beauregard! That’s attempted murder!" Chris laughed, drawing a fourth card. "Alright, Charlie, last one before the sand runs out. The specific type of magical fire we used to blow up the chariot during the race last year, the stuff that burns underwater."
"Greek fire," Beckendorf said.
The sand ran out. Chris threw his hands up in victory. "Four points! Clean sweep! That’s how you do it without relying on emotional sentimentality."
Clarisse glare crossed the table, targeting Chris with enough intensity to melt celestial bronze. "You targeted Silena to distract our team. That’s psychological warfare. I respect the tactic, but I hate you for it."
"All’s fair in Mythomagic and war, La Rue," Chris said, leaning back and crossing his arms, looking thoroughly pleased with himself.
"Oh, it is on," Clarisse muttered. She snatched the deck from his hands, her fingers rough and impatient compared to his smooth shuffling. She practically ripped the top card off the deck after Silena flipped the timer. Clarisse looked at the card, and a dark, predatory smile spread across her face.
"Okay, Silena. Listen to me very carefully," Clarisse said, her voice dropping an octave into her tactical commanding register. "We are in a phalanx formation. The enemy is advancing from the east. They have heavy infantry and a vanguard of wild boars. What is the primary tactical objective of the vanguard?"
Silena blinked, her blue eyes wide and completely blank. She looked at Beckendorf for help, but Beckendorf just raised his eyebrows, amused. "Um... to look fierce? To wear matching armor?"
"No!" Clarisse groaned, her head dropping to the table with a dull thud. She lifted her face, her cheeks flushed with frustration. "Think about my dad! What does he do? What is his entire purpose?"
"To start arguments at dinner?" Silena offered helpfully.
Chris burst out laughing, a loud, barking sound that echoed in the rafters of the Ares cabin. "Oh, that’s a point for Silena! That is objectively accurate!"
"Shut up, Chris!" Clarisse snapped, her face turning red. "Silena, think about the emotion! The raw, unadulterated drive to crush your enemies, see them driven before you, and hear the lamentation of their—"
"Oh! Violence!" Silena cried happily. "War! The card is War!"
"Yes! Finally! Thank the gods!" Clarisse gasped, tossing the card aside and pulling the next one. She glanced at it and winced. "Uh... okay. It’s the thing that the Apollo cabin uses. The long-range weapon. The one that Michael Yew keeps bragging about because he’s too cowardly to fight face-to-face like a real warrior."
"A bow!" Silena said. "And arrows!"
"Just bow! Good! Next!" Clarisse drew another. "The giant, metal, over-engineered piece of junk that you and Annabeth found in the woods during Capture the Flag. The one that almost killed Beckendorf because he doesn't know how to maintain his own equipment."
"Hey," Beckendorf protested mildly. "Festus was a masterpiece. He just had a faulty wiring harness in his left regular regulator."
"The Bronze Dragon!" Silena cheered. "We named him Festus!"
"We just needed 'Bronze Dragon,' but I'll take it!" Clarisse yelled as the sand ran out. She moved their token up three spaces. They were now tied with the boys. The atmosphere in the room was growing thick with competitive energy—at least on one side of the table.
While Clarisse and Chris practically vibrated with the desire to win, Beckendorf and Silena seemed to be operating on an entirely different wavelength. Every time it was the boys' turn, Chris would give rapid-fire, highly specific clues, and Beckendorf would answer them with a slow, methodical precision, completely unbothered by Clarisse’s attempts to heckle them from across the board.
When it was Silena's turn to give clues to Clarisse, she would inevitably drift into descriptions of people's outfits, their relationship drama, or how "sweet" a particular mythological figure was, forcing Clarisse to perform massive mental gymnastics to translate the clues into military terminology.
"Okay, Charlie, your turn to give clues," Chris said, handing the deck to the Son of Hephaestus. "Let’s widen the lead. Give me maximum efficiency."
Beckendorf took the deck into his massive hands. He looked at the first card. He stared at it for a long time. The sand was running.
"It’s... a tool," Beckendorf said slowly.
"What kind of tool, Charlie? Give me more!" Chris urged, leaning forward.
"A metal one," Beckendorf said after a pause. "For fixing things."
"A wrench? A hammer? A screwdriver? Pliers?" Chris rattled off, his eyes darting to the timer.
"The one with the teeth," Beckendorf added.
"Pipe wrench!" Chris shouted.
"Correct," Beckendorf said, completely level-headed. He turned the next card. "This is... a place. It’s very hot. There is a lot of metal. I spend most of my time there."
"The forge!" Chris yelled.
"Yes." Beckendorf turned the third card. He stared at it, then looked up at Silena. His rugged, scowling face softened completely, the permanent frown melting away into something incredibly gentle. "This is... the most beautiful thing in the world. It’s the feeling you get when the forge fire is perfectly balanced, and the metal shapes exactly the way you envisioned it, but better. It’s the reason people fight for each other."
Chris froze, looking between Beckendorf and Silena.
Silena rested her chin on her hands, her eyes shining with absolute affection. "Oh, Charlie. That is the sweetest thing you've ever said."
"Is the answer 'Love' or 'Aphrodite'?" Chris asked, his voice dropping its frantic competitive edge for a fraction of a second as he looked at his partner.
"Both are acceptable on the card," Beckendorf said, his voice quiet.
"We get the point!" Chris said, shaking his head with a soft chuckle. "The sand ran out anyway. Man, you guys are ruining my competitive drive with all this romance."
"There is nothing wrong with romance, Christopher," Silena said primly, taking the deck from Beckendorf and giving his hand a subtle squeeze under the table. "In fact, I think a little more love in this room would do wonders for Clarisse's blood pressure."
"My blood pressure is perfect for a daughter of the war god, thank you very much," Clarisse growled, though the corner of her mouth twitched upward. She grabbed her cider and took a long swig. "Alright, we're approaching the endgame. The tokens are neck and neck. Next round determines who takes the lead going into the final stretch."
As the night wore on, the board game became less of a simple activity and more of an arena. Clarisse had shed her leather jacket, rolling up the sleeves of her camp shirt to reveal her muscular arms, heavily scarred from years of training and monster fighting. Chris had shifted his chair entirely so he was facing Clarisse directly, the two of them locked in a silent war of expressions, trying to read each other's tells.
"Next card," Chris muttered, his voice sharp. He was giving clues to Beckendorf again. "The guy who flew too close to the sun because he didn't check the structural integrity of his wings."
"Icarus," Beckendorf said.
"Correct. Next. The monster that guards the Golden Fleece. The one we had to trick with the sheep."
"Polyphemus," Beckendorf answered, his voice dropping slightly at the memory of that island, but his focus remained locked on the game.
"Good. Next. The river in the Underworld that makes you forget everything. The one you definitely don't want to drink out of."
"Lethe," Beckendorf said.
"Four points!" Chris cheered, slapping the table. "We’re up by two! Clarisse, you’re on the ropes!"
Clarisse stood up entirely, knocking her chair back a few inches. "Silena. This is it. No more describing people's hair. No more talking about interior design. We need a perfect five-point run to overtake them. Do you understand the stakes?"
Silena looked up at Clarisse, her expression changing from her usual serene sweetness to something entirely different. For a split second, the air in the Ares cabin grew heavy, saturated with a strange, undeniable power. The flickering candlelight seemed to catch the edges of Silena’s features, making her look less like a teenage camp counselor and more like something ancient, powerful, and deeply commanding. It was the subtle, terrifying undertone of the Aphrodite cabin—the reminder that love wasn't just flowers and poetry; it was a force that had leveled cities and started the Trojan War.
"Clarisse," Silena said, her voice dropping its airy quality, replaced by a calm, absolute authority. "Flip the timer. I’ve got this."
Clarisse blinked, momentarily stunned by her friend’s sudden shift in aura. She quickly flipped the plastic hourglass.
Silena drew the first card. "The weapon your father uses to breach a castle wall when he doesn't want to wait for a siege."
"Battering ram!" Clarisse yelled.
"Next." Silena snapped the card down. "The historical battle where three hundred Spartans held the pass against a million Persians."
"Thermopylae!"
"Next." Silena’s fingers flew. "The specific type of Roman gladius used by the heavy infantry for stabbing rather than slashing."
"Spanish gladius!" Clarisse’s eyes were wide, a fierce, euphoric grin breaking across her face.
"Next." Silena didn't even pause. "The psychological condition that causes soldiers to see illusions in the desert when they’re dehydrated."
"Mirage!" Clarisse roared.
"Last one." Silena slammed the card onto the table, her blue eyes locked onto Clarisse’s dark ones. "The name of the ship you commanded in the Sea of Monsters, the one crewed by the spirits of the dead."
"CSS Birmingham!" Clarisse screamed, her voice shaking the rafters.
The last grain of sand fell.
The room was dead silent for a three-second count. Then, Clarisse let out a wild, victorious warrior cry, lunging across the table to throw her arms around Silena in a massive, lifting bear hug.
"Five points! A perfect run!" Clarisse bellowed, spinning Silena around while the daughter of Aphrodite laughed, her pink blanket fluttering to the floor. "You magnificent, terrifying genius! You used military history!"
"I listen when you talk about your favorite battles, Clarisse," Silena said, gasping for air as Clarisse finally set her down. "I might not like the violence, but I remember the details."
Chris sat back in his chair, a look of profound, respectful awe on his face. He looked at Beckendorf, who was slowly shaking his head with a broad, proud smile.
"Well," Chris said, leaning over to move the girls' token five spaces forward, putting them securely in the lead. "I stand corrected. Never underestimate the Aphrodite cabin."
"Told you," Beckendorf said softly, reaching over to pull Silena back into the seat next to him, wrapping an arm around her shoulders. "They’re dangerous when they want to be."
Clarisse sat back down, her face flushed with adrenaline, a massive smirk directed entirely at Chris. "What’s the matter, Rodriguez? Locker intuition failed you? Couldn't predict that flank attack?"
"The game isn't over yet, La Rue," Chris said, though his tone was light, the fierce competitive edge mellowing into a warm, comfortable banter. "We still have the final showdown phase."
According to the overly complicated rules of Mythomagic: The Strategy Edition, the final phase required one member from each team to engage in a direct, head-to-head bidding war over a secret category card.
"Alright," Beckendorf said, drawing the final black card from the bottom of the box. He didn't look at it, instead placing it face down in the center of the board. "Chris, Clarisse. You two are the designated champions for this round. Silena and I are sitting this out to preserve the peace."
"Probably wise," Silena agreed, leaning her head against Beckendorf’s shoulder and taking a slow sip of her cider. "I don't think my nerves could handle any more military terminology."
Clarisse and Chris both leaned in, their forearms resting on the table, their faces mere inches apart over the face-down card. The fire behind them crackled, a stray spark popping in the hearth.
"Here's how it works," Beckendorf explained, his deep voice holding the authority of a referee. "I am going to flip this card. It has a category on it with a finite number of answers. You two will bid on how many answers you can name within sixty seconds. High bidder gets the chance to prove it. If you succeed, your team wins the game. If you fail, the other team wins. Clear?"
"Clear," Clarisse growled.
"Let’s do it," Chris whispered.
Beckendorf flipped the card. The bold, golden text read: Monsters Defeated by Demigods in the Last Three Years.
Chris’s eyes flashed. Clarisse’s jaw tightened.
"Bidding starts with the trailing team," Beckendorf declared. "Chris."
Chris stared at the card, his mind racing through the various skirmishes, the Battle of the Labyrinth, the encounters in the Sea of Monsters, and the rumors from the Hermes cabin lines. "Five."
"Six," Clarisse countered without missing a beat.
"Eight," Chris shot back.
"Ten," Clarisse said, her voice dropping into a dangerous challenge.
Chris narrowed his eyes. He knew Clarisse. She was proud, and she would let her hubris carry her into an impossible position if he pushed her correctly. But he also knew she had a phenomenal memory for things she had personally killed. "Twelve."
Clarisse hesitated for a fraction of a second. Twelve was a high number for a one-minute time limit. You had to recall the specific names of monsters, not just general categories. "Fourteen."
Chris let a slow, deceptive smile crawl onto his face. He leaned back, interlacing his fingers behind his head. "Fourteen? In sixty seconds? Go ahead, La Rue. Prove it."
Clarisse realized instantly that she had been baited. She glared at him, but there was no backing down now. The daughter of Ares did not retreat.
"Silena, flip the timer," Clarisse commanded, her posture rigid.
Silena flipped the glass. The sand began its final descent.
"Minotaur," Clarisse barked. "The Lydian Drakon. The Hydra. Medusa."
"Four," Beckendorf counted, his finger tracking on the table.
"The Sea Monster... Scylla! Charybdis! The Sphinx in the Labyrinth!" Clarisse shouted, her words coming faster now.
"Seven," Beckendorf said.
"The Nemean Lion! The Erymanthian Boar! Kronos's telekhines!" Clarisse’s brow was furrowed, sweat starting to bead near her temples as she racked her brain.
"Ten," Beckendorf called out. The sand was halfway through. Twenty-five seconds remaining.
"Come on, Clarisse," Silena cheered softly. "You know this!"
"Uh... the Hellhound that broke into the camp woods two summers ago! The Empousai that attacked the high school!" Clarisse’s voice was frantic now. She was scanning the room as if the answers were written on the log walls.
"Twelve," Beckendorf announced. "Ten seconds. Need two more, Clarisse."
Chris was leaning forward, a triumphant smirk growing on his lips. "Clock’s ticking, La Rue. Running out of monsters."
Clarisse’s mind went blank. The pressure was mounting, the red haze of her cabin's signature temper threatening to cloud her thoughts. She looked at Chris, looking at his smug, handsome Hispanic features, his sharp Hermes-like grin—
And then it clicked.
"The skeletal warriors summoned by the Ghost King in the Labyrinth!" Clarisse yelled. "And... and Chris Rodriguez when he was acting like a monster in the maze before I brought him home!"
The room went completely still.
The sand ran out a millisecond later.
Beckendorf looked at the timer, then looked up, his expression unreadable. "The skeletal warriors count as thirteen. The last one..." He looked at Chris.
Chris was staring at Clarisse. The smug smirk had completely vanished from his face, replaced by a soft, stunned expression. His dark eyes softened, the competitive fire draining out of him instantly, replaced by a profound, quiet warmth.
Clarisse’s cheeks flushed a deep, genuine crimson—not from anger, but from the realization of what she had just said out loud in front of everyone. She cleared her throat, suddenly looking very interested in her fingernails. "I mean... you were a pain in the ass to deal with in that maze. You felt like a monster."
Chris reached across the table. His hand was steady, his long fingers covering her rough, calloused knuckles. He didn't pull away when she stiffened slightly. "Fourteen," Chris said softly, his voice directed entirely at her. "I'll allow it. It's a valid answer."
Beckendorf smiled, a massive, genuine grin that illuminated his dark face. He closed the game box with a satisfying click. "That makes fourteen. The girls win."
"Yay!" Silena threw her hands up, leaning over to hug a thoroughly flustered Clarisse again. "We won! We’re the champions of game night!"
"Yeah, yeah," Clarisse muttered, though she didn't pull her hand away from Chris’s grip. She finally looked up, meeting his eyes, and a small, genuine smile broke through her tough exterior. "Good game, Rodriguez."
"Good game, La Rue," Chris replied, his thumb lightly tracing the back of her hand. "Next time, I’m not letting you get away with using me as a tactical loophole, though."
"Try and stop me," she challenged, the familiar spark returning to her eyes.
Beckendorf stood up, stretching his massive frame until his joints popped, before reaching down to help Silena up from her chair. "Well, the fire is dying down, and I’ve got an early shift at the forge tomorrow. Tyson and I are working on a new shield design."
"And I have to make sure the pegasi are fed and brushed before the morning inspection," Silena said, leaning into Beckendorf’s side as he wrapped his large arm around her waist. She looked back at the couple still sitting at the table. "Thank you for hosting, Clarisse. This was wonderful."
"Don't expect it to happen every week," Clarisse said roughly, though the lack of bite in her voice betrayed her. "And leave the rest of that cider."
"Already planned on it," Beckendorf rumbled. He gave Chris a nod. "See you at training tomorrow, Chris?"
"Count on it, Charlie. I’m going to need to work off the frustration of this loss," Chris laughed.
With a final round of goodnights, the heavy oak door of the Ares cabin opened and shut, leaving Clarisse and Chris alone in the quiet, firelit room. The embers were glowing a deep, steady orange, casting a warm, peaceful light over the discarded game board.
Clarisse looked down at their joined hands, then up at Chris. "You threw that last round on purpose."
Chris laughed, a soft, melodic sound. "I did not. You genuinely caught me off guard with that last one." He leaned in a little closer, his expression growing serious, filled with the quiet devotion that had kept him grounded ever since his mind had been restored. "But even if I did... seeing you win that loud is worth losing a board game."
Clarisse rolled her eyes, but she didn't push him away when he leaned over to press a quick, gentle kiss to her cheek.
"You're a sap, Rodriguez," she muttered, pulling her mug of cider close.
"I hang out with Beckendorf too much," Chris countered easily, pouring a bit more into his own mug. "It rubs off."
Outside, the stars of the Long Island sky shone brightly over the valley of Camp Half-Blood, peaceful and undisturbed. For one night, the demigods were just teenagers, their victories measured in plastic tokens and cardboard cards, the warmth of the hearth fire enough to keep the rest of the world at bay.