I'm still writing the swarm, I swear, but I can't get this story out of my head. Rated T for mostly my own paranoia than anything else.
It's hard being different. I know better than anyone. To me, camp half-blood isn't some save haven, and definitely not my home. No, my home will forever be the wild itself. The creatures under my father's domain love me, the trees talk to me, impairing their wisdom, and the flowers spring up under my feet.
My name is Aspen Peverell. I guess you could say I'm an explosion waiting to happen. My mother was a pure blooded witch with a herbology major. She loved nature and all its glory. With a beautiful smile that warmed over everyone's heart, and eyes that didn't have stars, no they had entire galaxies in there depths.
My mother was a powerful witch. It's no surprise she managed to find pan, it's even less surprising he fell in love with her. How could he not? And so I was born.
Life was great just me and my mom. My dad could only remain conscious so long so he didn't visit often, but even then the trees passed on messages to me. But alas, the life of a demigod is never happy.
I was only seven years old when the drakon burned our picture perfect cottage snuggled into the Appalachian Mountains to the ground. Only seven when I watched the drakon tear into my mother. Only seven when I ran to camp half-blood, chased by that very same drakon nonstop. I was only seven when in a final stand, a measly fifty yards from camp half-blood borders I took a stand that would forever ostracize me from the camp further. The wild life flourished around me and tore into the monster.
A symbol of pan was hanging over my head. A pan flute entwined with a tree. It caused the satyr community to rejoice, for I was proof pan lived. However that kindness didn't translate over into the other campers. All they saw was a seven year old girl who refused to wear shoes, can take down a drakon, and had powers that surpass some minor gods and goddesses.
Life went on, but how can someone like me, with no human friends, no home, and no family ever be the same.
I was eight when I participated in my first battle. The battle of the labyrinth. I'm not one to fight with a sword so instead I was off to the side, manipulating the very wild life to slay monsters and using my pan flute to access my gift. it wasn't until after the battle that the trees relayed my father's message to me. He was leaving but granted me his powers.
That year was basically me off in the forest training my new powers. My scream of panic, my mastery of the pan flute, animal communication. Empathy, wandless magic, seeing auras, and power over plants.
When I was nine, I had to use my powers in not just a battle, but a war. Fighting the titans led to countless deaths, yet I was the youngest and didn't get a scratch on me.
I had thought it would be all over, but yet again life took a turn for the worse. The romans and Gaea decide to pick a fight with us. Having my father's powers spread to me, I luckily was granted the ability to kill giants alone. Without it, I would have been stuck in camp. Instead I was allowed to be an ambassador between the Greeks and romans. I had managed to buy Reyna a little more time to deliver the statue, but I got by on the skin of my teeth.
The battle was bloody and many more people died. But I held on. We have no more enemies to fight, no more evil powers coming to wreak havoc. But I'm not anywhere near the definition of ok. I have seen so much bloodshed and carnage these past four years that I may never heal.
I suppose you could blame my less than nurturing adolescence with my peculiar behavior of refusing to wear shoes and talking in riddles. Never letting people in and closing off. Disregarding rules and being in nature all I can.
Maybe I can be normal now. Or at least as normal as I can ever be. Maybe now other campers will talk to me or the nymphs and satyrs will allow me to permanently move into the woods with them.
All that wishful thinking went out the window when an owl flew by and dropped off a letter to Ms. A. Peverell for Hogwarts School of witch craft and wizardry.
Oh well. Who needs normality?