Hey, everyone. So it's been a while since I've written anything for this site. My last attempt was an Inheritance Cycle fic that I decided to discontinue because a) I misplaced my notes where I'd written my plans for the story and b) I lost interest. Feel free to check it out if you want; it's not that good, but eh. It is up for adoption, though, so if anyone wants to try their hand at continuing it, shoot me a PM.

I wanted to get back into fanfiction and I've been really hung up on PJO and HoO lately, so I decided I'd give it a shot. I'm not sure what my update schedule will be like, but right now I'm trying to get a chapter up once every three days or so.

Anyways, that's about it for my author's note. Follow, favorite, review, etc. and let me know what you think. I'm always looking for constructive criticism :) Enjoy!

Disclaimer: I don't own PJO.

Chapter 1: Encounters

In hindsight, I suppose I maybe should have listened to all those warnings about venturing into the woods – alone – in the dead of night. But hey, I'm not much of a fan of clichés, and besides, I didn't really have a choice.

Away from the polluting influence of city lights, the stars above me were easily visible against the pitch black backdrop of the cloud-free sky. The moon wasn't quite full, but close, and it bathed the trees around me with a soothing silver glow. There was a slight breeze from the west, and the mountain air carried with it brought a pleasant, crisp feeling to the forest. I breathed in deeply. I felt some kind of mental barrier break, and for the first time, I heard the song of the wild flood into me like a sixth sense.

It was a bit overwhelming, honestly. Imagine you've lived your whole life with a wool cloth over your eyes, dampening your senses, and then all of a sudden the cloth is lifted and you can see the world for the first time. You've never known what it was like to have sight, so your brain doesn't know what to do with all the information it's now receiving from your eyes. I couldn't properly process everything I was hearing and feeling, but I did know one thing: this was where I was meant to be.

A nearby howl jolted me from my reverie, reminding me why I was here. If I had the opportunity, I would have spent the next few days simply sitting there in the forest, letting the call of the hunt flow over me and strengthen me, relishing the feeling of finally being able to experience my natural element. But alas, I didn't have a few days. In fact, I likely didn't even have a few minutes. The hellhounds were close on my trail, if that howl was anything to go by, and if they caught me… well, let's just say, I had no intention of going back there.

I exhaled the breath I'd been holding and starting sprinting through the trees. As I ran, the cool light of the moon washed over me, and I felt my limbs fill with extra strength. I grinned to myself. The hellhounds may have been hot on my trail, but my pursuers had made a costly mistake in not catching me before I reached the forest. The ball was in my court now, so to speak, and I'd be damned if I was going to let them overtake me now.

The woods seemed to go on forever, but that was fine with me. The more I ran, the better I felt, as my body acclimatized to the power it had been born to use. I admit, I didn't exactly know why I was reacting this way. I had never gleaned anything useful from Krios except that one of my parents was an Olympian god. I still didn't know which god, let alone which parent. Whatever the reason, being in the forest had always just felt right.

A sound interrupted my musings. No, not a sound… the lack of sound. The baying of the hellhounds had ceased, as had the whisper of mountain air from earlier. I felt a tingling at the base of my neck. The song of the wild in my mind quieted, as if in fear of discovery. Then every instinct screamed, TURN!

I made to spin around, raising my arms into a defensive position. Too late. I had only half completed my spin when the impact of something hard and flat sent me flying backwards. I twirled through the air, the momentum of my spin carrying me sideways as I crashed into the trunk of an oak tree, hard. The tree groaned and shuddered, a few acorns dislodging to fall neatly on my face.

The impact nearly made me black out. The scars on my back stung, and I knew for sure some of the old wounds had reopened. I could feel the thin lines of blood slicing their tracks down my back, and I tried to force myself to open my eyes. It worked, barely, but what I saw almost made me wish it hadn't.

Krios, the Titan of the South, was standing in the clearing where I'd been moments ago. Clearly, it had been his hand that had sent me flying across the glade with the same effort you might use to swat a troublesome bee. He had shrunk himself to a slightly less intimidating size than usual, standing only around ten feet tall, and was only wearing part of his armor – his breastplate, which was dark-blue and decorated with patterns of stars. His ram's-horn helm was absent, but I could see his pitch-black sheath hanging at his waist, the sword not yet drawn. Apparently he didn't expect me to put up much of a fight. Hmph.

He was gazing at me with what I could only describe as frustrated amusement. The hellhounds trotted into the clearing, growling and snarling at me, drool dripping from their jaws. Without the refreshing mountain breeze from earlier to disperse it, the stink from the hellhounds was suffocating. Nevertheless, Krios watched as I struggled slowly to my feet and gave him a wry grin. He narrowed his eyes. "Orion Allen," he said. The grin melted off my face and I clenched my fist. Orion was my birth name, but when I was young, I couldn't pronounce it right; it came out more like "Arrin." For some reason, I had never really liked the name Orion, so as I grew up, I just started going by Arrin. I never knew why, but it seemed to give Krios a perverse pleasure to call me by my real name, as if it were an insult. That in itself was reason enough for me to dislike his use of it.

"My name," I spat at him, "is Arrin. Not Orion."

My reaction elicited a chuckle from Krios. "You are as predictable as you are easy to irritate. Tell me, did you really think you would be able to hide in the forest? I know you have always felt at home in the wild. I suppose you felt drawn here, yes? You thought the forest would help protect you." I stared at him, and he smiled. "It really is a shame you haven't learned to use your powers. We could have done much together. At the very least, I would have had an entertaining fight on my hands before I kill you."

I was about to retort when I remembered my cardinal rule: Don't let him see your true emotions. With a concerted effort of will, I controlled my anger and tried to calm myself down, slipping my practiced mask carefully back over my expressions. My smirk returned in full force, along with my typical endearing cynicism. "Hmm…" I said, looking thoughtful. "You're looking a little shorter than usual, Goat Boy. Did you lose some weight? And where's Fluffy today? You know he doesn't like to be left out of the fun." Goat Boy was my nickname for him, and Fluffy was what I called Krios' ram's horn helm. Not exactly very mature, I know, but as I figured out early on in my experience with him, the most surefire way to get under his skin was to make fun of his helmet or "forget" that the horns were from a ram and not a goat. He absolutely hated not being taken seriously.

The Titan ground his teeth. "For the last time, boy… you are not allowed to insult my helm. That was forged for me by my father, Ouranos himself, along with the rest of my armor. Besides, they're rams' horns, not goats'!" He reached down to his scabbard and pulled his sword from the sheath. The blade was pure black, and it seemed to suck in all the moonlight around it. I grimaced. I had never seen that sword before, but I could recognize Stygian iron when I saw it. Not good. "I've been patient with you, Orion" – I bit back a growl at the name – "but even my patience has limits. You are a powerful demigod, and my brother Kronos hoped you would be sensible and use your skills to aid him and his allies. It seems he was mistaken."

To mask the fear that was settling into my stomach, I did what came always came easy to me: I laughed at him. "Me? Sensible?" I snorted. "You should know by now those two words don't fit in the same sentence, Goat Boy."

Krios' nostrils flared. "I told him as much. If I'd had my way, I would have just killed you and been done with it. But of course, no one listens to me, least of all Kronos. He was insistent. He ordered me to continue." He flourished his blade a bit and then leveled it at me. "But tonight was the last straw. I know you're capable of escape now. I admit, I underestimated you… that won't happen again. Tonight, you die."

I resisted the urge to roll my eyes. "Honestly, Goat Boy." I was impressed with how calm and in-control I managed to sound. "You've had years to kill me, and you've only just now decided to do it? What was it that changed your mind? Were you sick of my rugged good looks? Or maybe it was the constant battles of wits you always lost?" I knew I was playing a dangerous game, provoking the Titan, but he was right about one thing: one way or another, this would end tonight. I wasn't about to get captured again, so if I really couldn't escape… well, I just had to goad him into killing me. Which seemed to be pretty easy, seeing as Krios looked about ready to explode already, and besides, I could feel Krios' rejuvenation spell weakening. I knew that if I didn't get another dose, my wounds would reopen and I would die. All I had to do was keep engaging him in my usual sparkling conversation and this would be a walk in the park – or woods, as it were.

Krios was gripping his sword hilt so hard his knuckles were ghastly white, a stark contrast with the darkness of his blade. "Demigod," he snarled, and now I knew he was angry because he wasn't even bothering to call me Orion, "I will enjoy your death. It will be pleasing that you perish here, where you are most in tune with the power in your blood. A symbolic gesture; a fitting insult to your mother."

I faltered. "My… my mother? My godly parent?"

He grinned now, like a wolf that knew its prey was cornered and was toying with it, just waiting to pounce. "Perhaps. Perhaps not." He seemed to consider something for a moment. "Though I suppose if I'm going to kill you, I might as well tell you the truth before you die."

"That's very polite of you."

"Isn't it?"

"I was being facet- "

"In any case, the answer – well, now that I think about it…" He paused. "You know, I think it would be more fun for you to die in ignorance. Trust me, less painful that way, too, for everyone." He started advancing towards me, that predatory grin still on his face.

For once, I didn't have a sarcastic retort (Shocking, I know). I tried to summon my bow, but I couldn't concentrate. My head was spinning from the Titan's words. A symbolic gesture; a fitting insult to your mother. Better for you to die in ignorance… less painful for everyone. How could my parentage possibly be that important? Why would it cause someone pain? And who would be suffering? I didn't have answers to those questions, and possibly the only one who did was standing right in front of me with a Stygian iron sword. Maybe my suicide could wait until I got answers.

I gritted my teeth and tried to banish the uncomfortable thoughts Krios' words had brought on. If he wasn't going to tell me what I wanted to know willingly, I'd just have to beat it out him. I'd been praying for the chance of revenge against him for Zeus only knows how long, so this would be – what was the expression? – ah, killing two birds with one stone, so to speak. Truth be told, I'd never been entirely fond of that saying… something about killing birds with stones just never sat well with me. But regardless, in order to fight Krios, I needed my bow.

At this point you might be thinking, Arrin, where could you possibly get a bow? There's no way you could have stolen one from Krios' mountain palace as you escaped, right? If only it were that simple. What I had was much better. When I was learning from the hermit Fred (I know, it's ironic how strange a normal name sounds in a world of Greek myths, but there you have it), back in the days before I'd gotten captured by Krios, I had eventually figured out that I could use my energy to create a silver bow and matching arrows. It took a lot of focus and energy to form and maintain the bow, but after several months of practicing, I'd gotten the hang of it pretty well.

After a concerted effort, I was able to dismiss my wayward thoughts and hone them, focusing on summoning my bow. Soon, I felt the familiar tug in my gut. The air around my right hand began to shimmer with silver light. The sparkling light condensed into a long, cylindrical shape, but instead of bending and forming into my beloved bow, as it usually did, its form solidified into a thin silver katana.

Well, now that was interesting.

You would have thought that after living for fifteen years in a world of gods and monsters, some of which spent under the tutelage of a reclusive hermit and the rest in the captivity of a Titan, there wouldn't be much left that could surprise me. As it turned out, accidentally summoning a sword you've never used or even seen before instead of your signature bow – when said weapon is formed out of pure energy by your own thoughts and willpower – well, that definitely threw me for a loop.

Krios seemed just as incredulous as I was. He had seen my bow before (I had been using it when he'd captured me), but clearly this was new even for him. He was staring at it with a mixture of his earlier frustrated amusement, anger, and… was that fear? For just a moment, a flicker of uncertainty passed across his face, but it was so fleeting I almost thought I'd imagined it.

Then his head tilted back and he let out a great booming laugh. "It seems, little Orion," he said, eyes sparkling with malice, "That even after all this time, you still have the capacity to surprise me." He chuckled again. "I hope you make this challenging for me. I haven't had decent entertainment since I returned from Tartarus." He stalked towards me, crossing the clearing in a few monstrous steps.

I swallowed a gulp. Fighting a Titan from range with a bow was one thing, but fighting a Titan up close and personal, with a weapon you've never used before, when you can already barely stand from fatigue and the pain of old wounds reopening… need I go on? Suffice it to say, my chances at winning this had just gone from astronomical to downright impossible.

Or at least, that's what I thought. My body had other plans, apparently.

As Krios charged towards me, my fingers rearranged themselves comfortably into position on the hilt of my katana, as if they'd done it a thousand times. New energy flooded into my body, numbing the pain of my wounds. Krios swung his Stygian iron blade at me, and I leapt to the side. The oak tree I'd crashed into earlier (which I'd been standing in front of during our conversation) became noticeably shorter, as the upper half of it toppled to the ground. He came at me again, this time with a two-handed overhead strike. My body went into autopilot. Something told me that my katana was a weapon meant for speed and swiftness, not brute strength, so meeting Krios' attacks head-on was less than advisable. Keeping that in mind, I waited for him to bring his sword down and then raised mine in answer, angling the blade at the last second. Krios' sword raked down my blade and was deflected away from my body, the point sticking into the ground next to me.

My teeth rattled. There was such strength behind Krios' sword that even that glancing blow was enough to make my arms shake. If I could barely even deflect the Titan's strikes, how was I supposed to land my own? The katana in my hand twitched, and I felt some kind of energy radiating from it. I thought about what had just happened, when my body seemed to move on its own, and realization dawned on me. If the sword was formed directly thanks to my godly powers, maybe it actually had some kind of awareness. It wasn't uncommon in the Greek stories for heroes to have weapons that were gifts from the gods, and they were often enchanted to help the wielder somehow in combat. I guess it was worth a shot. Fine, I thought, trying to feed my energy into the sword, showing it that I was relinquishing control. Speed and swiftness, eh? Go for it, pal.

The katana pulsed once, a short burst of silver light, as if to say, I thought you'd never ask. I gasped. All of a sudden, as Krios leveled his sword at me again, I was able to detect the telltale signs of body movement that would reveal his intentions the instant before he moved. My reflexes felt sharper. Overall, it felt like I'd been injected with a mega-shot of adrenaline.

I grinned. Oh, yeah. This was going to be good.

Krios seemed to sense the power coming from the katana, and between that and my wild grin, he looked a bit uneasy. He shook it off quickly, though, his fury overcoming his uncertainty, and he bounded towards me again.

Once again, I waited. As he swung to cut me in two, I leaned back, bending almost in half, and I felt a whoosh of air as the blade passed over my face by inches. While Krios was still off-balance from his swing, I rolled to the side and then sprang to my feet, cutting a foot-long gash in his right calf muscle with my katana as I did.

He bellowed in pain, golden ichor flowing steadily from the gaping wound. Krios glared at me with renewed hatred, and I smirked to myself. "What's the problem, Goat Boy?" I taunted. "Little Orion getting the best of you?" I know, not very smart of me, but hey, I really can't help myself. It's just my nature to be a sarcastic, arrogant jerk – at least to people I don't like, anyway.

The expression on Krios' face was thunderous. He glowered at me, and I thought maybe I had pushed him too far. Even with my newfound strength and agility, he was still a Titan, and I was just a lowly demigod. I didn't intend to give him time to remember that, though, so this time, I charged him.

Probably not the smartest thing I've ever done, I'll admit. But I was getting worried now. I could feel the energy from the katana starting to slowly ebb away, and I wanted to make sure I made use of it while I still could.

The Titan seemed surprised, almost as if he couldn't believe that even I would be stupid enough to willingly run straight at him. News flash, buddy. I invented stupid.

He swung his sword at my head. I ducked, and tried to do the same move earlier by rolling to the side, the opposite side this time. Unfortunately, Krios wasn't as stupid as I was (that goes without saying though, really). He expected that, and his hand reached out and grabbed me as I somersaulted. He threw me to the edge of clearing, where I collided with – you guessed it – the stump of the same oak tree he had punched me into earlier and then cut in half.

For the second time in five minutes, it felt like the scars on my back were ripping me apart. It didn't help that the impact with the tree had completely knocked the wind out of me, and I struggled to even draw in a breath. Black spots danced around my vision. A muddled thought flitted through my head; something horribly cliché like, Not again.

Krios laughed, but it sounded miles away. The stars spun over my head, and the song of the wild felt fractured, as if it had split and scattered into different areas. The effect was disorienting, and for a second, I was afraid I might have permanent brain damage. Then I frowned. I realized that I could actually still hear the call perfectly well. The reason it had sounded fractured was because now, there were places where there was an echo, as if my song was calling to others; and it was getting a response.

Krios seemed to sense something too. He had been slowly and deliberately lumbering across the clearing to where I lay incapacitated, limping on his injured leg, but now he paused. He sniffed the air and looked around into the trees. Suddenly, his eyes widened. "No!" he yelled. "The boy is mine!" He increased his pace, hobbling as quickly as he could straight towards me.

Helplessly, I watched as Krios approached, and I figured this time I would never have the chance to escape from his palace. He would watch me more carefully than ever. Just as I had resigned myself to my fate, a silver arrow struck Krios in his right bicep. The arrow looked somewhat familiar, but I couldn't figure out why.

After the first arrow came a dozen more, all sprouting from Krios' body in non-fatal (but certainly painful – at least I hoped) locations. The combined force of the arrows arrested his momentum and knocked him backwards. With a satisfyingly undignified grunt, the Titan of the South fell onto his rump. I wish I could have enjoyed the moment more; maybe adding in a gloat or two for good measure. Sadly, I was teetering on the edge of consciousness. I was too weak from my battle with Krios and my unfortunate reunion with my old friend Professor Oak, and if whoever was coming now was hostile, there was no way I could fight them. It was taking all my willpower just to remain awake to see what was happening.

A hunting horn echoed throughout the forest, a single, pure note. Along with it, I felt the dispersed songs of the hunt suddenly flood into my mind in full force, nearly overwhelming my barely conscious mind.

Krios took one last hateful look at me. "We will meet again, boy," he snarled. He vanished in a flash of golden light. I wanted to yell at him for being cliché again, but I was rapidly losing energy. I saw a bunch of teenage girls, maybe twenty or so, emerge from the woods, and then I blacked out.

Artemis gazed down at the broken form of the unconscious boy below her. He was slumped against the stump of an oak tree, the other half of which was lying on the ground a few feet away. Artemis figured the tree must have been destroyed by the Titan Krios during his fight with the boy, before her Hunters had arrived.

Her nose wrinkled in distaste as she thought of Krios. He was supposed to still be imprisoned in Tartarus, and it disturbed Artemis to know that he had escaped without the gods' knowledge. She longed to interrogate him, but the coward had fled before Artemis could capture him. Zeus would be expecting her to report this to the Council. A Titan loose in the world again after millennia… Artemis shook her head and turned her attention back to the unconscious demigod.

He looked old for a half-blood living on his own, fifteen she guessed, with short, smooth black hair and an admittedly handsome face. He was about five-foot-eleven, maybe six-foot, she figured, though it was hard to tell given the crumpled position he was in. Looking closer at his face, Artemis was hit with an inexplicable sense of familiarity, but she dismissed it. Few males were worth her attention, and she would have known instantly if this was one of them.

Grudgingly, though, she recognized that this demigod looked badly injured, so she knelt down and checked over his body, trying to gauge his wounds. Strangely, she didn't find much. He had a nasty knot on the back of his head, which was likely why he was currently unconscious, but aside from that, he was mostly uninjured. He didn't have any wounds from Krios' sword, so she figured rest was the best remedy for him.

Artemis stood, still in her twelve-year-old form with her auburn hair tied back in a ponytail. She looked around the glade where her Hunters were currently setting up camp, searching for two in particular. "Phoebe, Zoë," she called. The two Hunters in question looked up from unpacking their tent. Artemis motioned to the boy at her feet. "Set up a tent for him. He needs rest to recover from his wounds."

They didn't look happy about it, but Phoebe and Zoë made their way over to the goddess and glanced distastefully down at the sleeping boy. "Milady, are you sure?" Phoebe sniffed.

Artemis smiled inwardly. Those two hated men more than most of her Hunters, and she was proud of the conviction with which they upheld those opinions, but so far, this boy had done nothing to offend her, and he needed her help. So she said, "The boy is injured. I understand your reluctance to aid a male, but are we not also obligated to help those in need?" The two girls nodded, looking like they'd swallowed something unpleasant. Nevertheless, they bent down and lifted the boy between them, carrying him off to a tent that had just been set up in an open area of the glade.

Artemis lifted her gaze to the moon and closed her eyes. She couldn't shake the feeling that something was wrong about this whole situation, and it wasn't just the appearance of Krios that had her worried. Apollo had mentioned something about dark days in the near future, and she couldn't help but think he may have been right.

A shriek sounded to her right. Her gaze snapped back down to earth in time to see Phoebe emerging from the tent where they'd carried the unconscious boy. Artemis felt a cold rock of fear settle into her stomach, something that didn't happen often. Phoebe's face was pale, and she was shaking. She met her mistress' eyes, and Artemis saw many emotions written there, none of them pleasant. "Milady," she croaked, her voice hoarse. "You'd best come here."

Artemis did her best to ignore the hard knot of apprehension in her gut as she strode over to the tent. Phoebe still stood outside, looking for all the world like she was trying not throw up. "We were about to set him in the bed when we noticed the back of his shirt looked bloody, milady," Phoebe choked out. "We thought he might have a wound we missed at first, so…" She couldn't finish. Her apprehension growing, the moon goddess pushed aside the tent flap and walked inside. What she saw made the blood drain from her face.

The air was the first thing Artemis noticed, and she nearly staggered when she entered. The tent smelled worse than a rotting fish that had been left out for weeks in the midday sunlight. It was the odor of death and decay. She waved her hand, and the scent of fresh pine washed over her. It didn't completely mask the stink, but it made it bearable. Once her eyes stopped watering, Artemis turned her attention to the center of the tent.

The boy had been placed on a cot, as Artemis had instructed Phoebe and Zoë to do, but he lay face-down. One of the girls had cut off his shirt and discarded it on the floor, revealing the crisscrossing lattice of scars that mapped the boy's back. Some of them were pale white and almost invisible, while others were a raw red, oozing blood. It looked like his back had been used as a scratching post for the world's largest tabby cat. More like a whipping post, Artemis realized, and shuddered despite herself.

Zoë knelt on the floor next to his bed with a wet rag, trying to clean out the wounds, but there were so many. The rag had quickly become too stained to use. Worse, as they watched, some of the older-looking wounds began to reopen. Zoë looked up at her mistress as she entered, and Artemis was surprised to see her lieutenant's eyes glistening. "Milady," she began, "Please do not think any less of me, but as much as I dislike males, this…" she trailed off. "This is inhuman." Her voice cracked at the last word.

Artemis walked over and put a comforting hand on her Hunter's shoulder. "I could never think poorly of you, Zoë," she assured her. "And it may surprise you, but I agree. If I learn who did this, they will pay. No one deserves to suffer like this." Gently, she nudged Zoë aside. "Let me do what I can for him." Zoë nodded and went to stand by the tent entrance, but she remained inside.

As Artemis approached the injured demigod and was treated to a closer look at his mangled back, she began to realize the full extent of the damage to him. "Who did this?" she murmured, putting her hand on the boy's shoulder. He shivered in his sleep, muttering something unintelligible, and Artemis noticed he was sweating profusely. Through the hand on his shoulder, she used her magic to do a more thorough search of his body for wounds than she had visually.

Of course, his back was lit up like a Christmas tree. That in itself was no surprise, but what was surprising was the residue of some kind of healing magic Artemis detected. It seemed to be keeping the worst of his wounds at bay, but she felt it fading, which was likely why some of the scars on his back were reverting to open wounds. The strangest thing was the feel of the healing spell. She had expected it to be soothing, but in actuality, it felt cold and dark, almost malignant, and she couldn't figure out why. She was about to pull back when she noticed something else: a response to her spell from the boy's chest.

She frowned. She couldn't turn him over to look at his abdomen until the wounds on his back were taken care of, so she supposed she'd deal with those first. "Zoë. Fetch me a few squares of ambrosia and some nectar. And get me as many cloths and rags as you can."

"Yes, milady." Zoë bowed and exited the tent.

Artemis gazed back down at the demigod's back and sighed. This is going to take a while.

Zoë soon returned with a bundle of cloths, a bottle of nectar, and a Ziploc bag of ambrosia in her arms as Artemis had requested, and the goddess set to work on the unconscious boy's wounds. "Not to be rude, Lady Artemis, but why did you require all of this?" she asked, gesturing to the piles of healing materials she'd brought. "Do not all gods and goddesses have basic healing magic?"

Artemis smiled sadly. "Yes, we do," she said. "But there is already some kind of healing spell in the boy's system that I haven't been able to identify. I don't want to risk it interfering with my magic in some way. Zeus knows the boy has enough to worry about as it is."

Zoë nodded. "Do you need me to help, milady?" she offered.

The moon goddess considered for a moment, then nodded. She pointed at the Ziploc bag of ambrosia Zoë had brought. "See if you can get him to swallow a few squares. It might help a little bit." Zoë nodded again. She bent down and opened the bag, reaching in to grab a square of ambrosia. As she attempted to deal with the problem of getting the unconscious boy to open his mouth, Artemis turned to the pile of rags. She picked up one of them and washed it in a bucket of cold water, then draped it over the boy's forehead. She grabbed another piece of cloth and this time, she took the bottle of nectar and poured some onto the cloth. She rubbed the second cloth over the boys back, trying to clean out the messy wounds as best she could.

As she'd predicted, it took a long time. After Zoë had managed to force some ambrosia down the demigod's throat, he had stopped shivering and sweating as much, and she retreated back to the entrance of the tent. Once Artemis had finally finished washing the boy's wounds, his back looked markedly better, and most of them had sealed back up into thin scars. She could still feel that strange bit of magic that she'd sensed earlier, and it still made her uneasy, but it didn't interfere in her healing of him so she told herself not to worry too much about it. She took the remainder of the rags Zoë had brought her and used them to bind his back. She covered nearly the entire surface of his back in cloth, then used some of her godly power like an adhesive to ensure that they stuck to his back for now. She would have just wrapped them all the way around his torso, but earlier, she'd sensed some kind of wound on his chest, so she needed that to be unwrapped in order to inspect it.

Now that his back was taken care of, Artemis slowly picked the boy up and turned him over so that he lay on his back, with Zoë's help. He winced a little bit in his sleep as his back hit the mattress, but he didn't wake. Once again, as the skin of his abdomen was revealed, Artemis and Zoë couldn't help but stare.

His abs and chest muscles were admittedly well-developed, but having sworn off males, that wasn't what drew the Hunters' attention. The boy's chest was pockmarked with thin little scars, each maybe a millimeter wide and a few centimeters in length. It looked like someone had taken a knife and stabbed into him over and over again. Then again, Artemis thought, if his back is anything to go by, it wouldn't surprise me at all if that were actually what happened.

But that wasn't the worst of it: each of the little scars was tinted a sickly pale green. It wasn't obvious, but it was certainly noticeable upon closer examination. Poison, Artemis grimaced, but she wanted to be sure. She laid her hand on the center of the demigod's sternum and once again willed her essence to search for imperfections in his system.

Sure enough, she felt her magic send her a response. But what she found was worse, much worse than she imagined. Her blood ran cold. She hadn't seen this kind of poison in millennia; not since… No, she willed herself not to continue down that line of thought. But that it was here, present in this boy's system, should not have been possible. The fact that it was… this was bad, very bad. In all honesty, she thought, the boy should have been dead long ago. It seemed the questionable healing spell she'd found earlier had kept the toxin at bay, but it had likely been festering in his bloodstream for years, slowly eating away at the spell. It was only a matter of time, maybe a few days, she guessed, before it failed completely. And when it did, she wasn't entirely sure there was anything she could do to help him.

Artemis removed her hand from his chest and stood shakily. Zoë looked at her, concerned. "This… there is something here that is beyond my ability to heal," Artemis said. She closed her eyes for a moment and then opened them again, gazing at Zoë resignedly. "Tell the Hunters I apologize in advance. I must call for my brother."

One of the things I've always hated about being a demigod is dreams. For someone who loves sleeping as much as I do, it gets really frustrating when you can't do it without having a nightmare.

I dreamed I was standing in a forest. A creek flowed calmly alongside me. A pile of boulders loomed to my right.

A steady growl drew my attention. In front of the boulders stood a boy maybe a few years younger than me, around twelve or so. From behind, all I could tell was that he had messy black hair and wore an orange t-shirt and a pair of jeans. He held a bronze sword in his hand, and was facing a hellhound that was perched on one of the boulders; obviously, that was the source of the growling. Unfortunately, I was far too familiar with aggressive hellhound noises. By hellhound standards, it was relatively small, but certainly no less threatening.

As I watched, the hounds leg muscles tensed, and it leapt straight at the boy. He cried out and raised his sword. The point stabbed the hellhound in the stomach at the same time as its claws raked across the boy's chest, mauling him, and even in my dream-state, I grimaced. They both fell backwards into the creek, the hound disintegrating into golden dust, the boy fatally wounded. There was a commotion around me, and dozens of people rushed onto the scene around me, most of them wearing armor over the same orange shirt the injured boy was wearing. There was a man on horseback who – I did a double-take. He wasn't on horseback, he was a centaur; the lower half of a horse, and the upper half of a man. I'd heard of them, of course, but never seen one with my own eyes. I stared openly. After all, I was in a dream – who was going to call me out?

A movement from the group of kids distracted me from the centaur. One of them stepped forward. He was tall, with sandy blonde hair and blue eyes. A scar ran down his cheek from the corner of his right eye to his chin. He rushed to the boy's side, but there was nothing he could do, and from the look in his eyes, I knew he knew it. He said something to the boy that I couldn't hear.

All of a sudden, the creek bubbled. The water flowed over the boy's chest, and as we all watched, the wounds began to close. For the second time in as many minutes, I couldn't stop my intent stare.

Apparently, neither could the other kids, but they were staring at something else. The boy was now sitting up, and everyone was gawking at a symbol that I noticed had just appeared over his head. It was a glowing sea-green trident.

The dream dissolved and shifted. Now, I was standing in some kind of cave, surrounded by darkness. I never usually minded darkness before, but something about this felt different. It felt oppressive, suffocating… absolute. I seemed to be floating above some kind of pit. I sensed a presence stirring in the shadows below me, and then a voice spoke. The voice was like broken glass dipped in a bucket of ice water, cold and sharp, and it sent shivers down my spine. It was ancient, and resonated with power.

We finally meet, child. An evil laugh echoed around me. I wanted to respond, but I couldn't get the words out past the lump in my throat. I wanted to turn and run, to end the dream, but my limbs felt like lead.

Krios has failed, I see. Not only did he allow you to escape, he foolishly drew the attention of the one being that could protect you. I had no idea what the voice was talking about, but if it knew Krios, it definitely wasn't a presence I wanted to be acquainted with. I tried desperately to tune it out, to wake myself up, but I couldn't. I was trapped.

I had hoped you would join me before your fate came to pass, but I see now that was never possible. Your mother's influence, even if only at a subconscious level, is too great. Beware the shadows, little demigod. It's a shame your power will go to waste… but if you will not join, you will die. Farewell, Orion Allen.

The name triggered memories of my time with Krios. The scars on my back stung, as if remembering the cruel touch of the whip. Knives of pain stabbed into my chest like icicles, and my insides felt like they'd been frozen, then microwaved. I gritted my teeth and tried to force the memories down, but it didn't seem to work. I heard the voice laughing at me again, felt the pain intensify, and then I was gone. Before the dream faded, I had the beautifully ironic thought that only I would find a way to black out during a blackout.