I will say this right now: this fic, both in summary and chapter content, is subject to constant changes and revisions. This will not affect the story timeline, but it will change around wording. Making things clearer or adding more sentence variation and all that jazz. And as time goes on my views on characters will chance, so you might spot changes in the nuances in behavior.

Okay. I'm done now- I'll leave you to your reading. Good night.

Nobody know what to think of Frisk, except that they were extremely friendly. They never threatened anybody out of anger except threatening to be their friend-in fact, pretty much nobody ever had the choice of not being their friend. They were far too determined for their own good, but sometimes it was a good thing.

Frisk was also unclaimed, and not one demigod knew where to sort them. If there's three words to describe the kid, it's "merciful," "determined," and "scattered."

A lot of people thought they belonged in the Hermes cabin.

Frisk was extremely quick on their feet. It was rare to see anybody land a hit on them- dodging was just natural, and not even surprise attacks worked. They were always, always, one step ahead-literally. Not to mention they had a surprising tendency to pick things from the ground, and a skill for snooping and sneaking.

Some others thought they belonged with Demeter.

For some reason, they took great care in managing the gardens of the cabin, trimming and watering grasses and growing the flowers. They even have a small, four-by-four plot of golden flowers for themselves, which is flourishing greatly. (There's a sharpie-d on face on the white center of one of the flowers.)

There were the thoughts of Eirene, the goddess of peace, for obvious reasons. Frisk had never, ever, raised the small and worn Celestial bronze knife against another camper to harm, only ever to train in the emergency case they needed to fight. The one time they had slain a hellhound to protect a kid from Aphrodite, they'd thrown down the knife in disgust and walked away, holding their stomach.

A couple kids thought Hades. The idea was reasonable, but unpopular.

Nico and Frisk got along well, and on occasion played Mythomagic into the night. Not only that, but Nico and Frisk actually took trips into the Underworld to hang out with a few select skeleton sentries via shadow travel, which eventually became a regular thing.

Everyone agreed that they were a strange child.

"Fresh meat."

Frisk turned around. There stood a tall and imposing girl and a band of other kids with a rough demeanor and rugged looks that gave off vibes of bad time. She'd be harder to befriend than anyone else, but they were determined.

"Hey, newbie, what's wrong with your eyes? You blind or something?"

Frisk's tour guide spoke up, a cute redhead from the Demeter cabin. "No, but you might be." It was a weak comeback and they all knew it. The buff girl scowled.

"You think you're so smart, punk? Why don't you face me in Capture the Flag tonight?" Silence. She laughs. "Hah. I knew it. Anyway, you." She turned to Frisk. "Anyway, you." Her mouth upturned in a snarl. Or a smile. It was hard to tell. "We've got a ritual for the newbie kids."

Frisk got the itching feeling they were gonna have to bolt right about now. They stepped back from her reaching hand and hit that [* FLEE ] button as hard as they could.

The first time, Nico warned them that as a living non-Hades demigod in the Underworld, stray ghosts or demons could afflict them.

"It's dangerous for a kid like you," he said. "There are angry spirits that could invade your head and possess you to commit murder, or something."

Frisk laughed. "Someone will stop me. You guys are all better at fighting than I am. Come on, I wanna hang out with some skeletons."

"They're spartoi, vicious weapons of war. They know no mercy, only war and several unconventional ways to kill a man."

"Whatever."

Dodging training was very advanced for Frisk. They had the reflexes and the moves to stay alive for a good amount of time in most fights, but attacks were weaker than average.

There was one time which was an especially bad day for them. In the training arena, a small competition was held: whoever could land a hit on Frisk first won. They were too nice to decline being the punching bag.

Round after round and Frisk wove and ducked and rolled and sidestepped each attack, volleys of arrows and flurries of swords, axes, war scythes and even bullets. It was getting harder to dodge. They were getting really tired. But the campers (most, anyway) cheered on.

Then, Clarisse was up. After bolting from their first meeting they'd learned her name. She came on fast and furious, and it was difficult task to avoid them all when you were tired and your opponent was so absolutely bent on recompense. Dodge. Weave. Duck. Roll. Sidestep. Step back. Slide behind her.

Unsurprisingly, it was the cabin leader of Ares who'd gotten the hit in: a slice from the arm that jumped to the chest.

Frisk was crying, clutching their chest, injured arm limp. They weren't built for fighting, much less pain tolerance, and something like this was too much as a first major wound. They curled in on themself, lying in a fetal position on their side, bleeding on the dusty ground. Campers were running out of the arena to get help, while the few Apollo kids there were running forward to provide medical aid.

The glory of winning had left Clarisse. She won, she got revenge. Why did she feel so bad?

"… I guess I'm just tryin' to say… sorry. If you don't forgive me, fine. I deserve it."

"I forgive you." The response was almost immediate.

Her head snapped up. "What?"

"I forgive you. It's fine."

[ MERCY ]