Percy stood in a bed of cattails and scanned the sea with a practiced eye. The currents whispered to him that there was a grotto just a dozen meters out and a few feet below the water. Soon, the water would recede with the tide. His target, a water horse with an injured fin, was still with her herd but would take a moment to eat some of the herbs in the cavern. He was amazed that she had made it so far without being eaten by a bigger fish.
The sky was clear and dark, a slight breeze carried the salty scent of the sea. A silvery cloud drifted across the sky that had been clear up till now, its edges glowing with the light cast down from the moon. An ominous mist crept along the surface of the sea, almost thick enough to completely blind him.
Percy was twelve, just shy of reaching thirteen when he could be called a man. Pitch black eyebrows rested above his intense green eyes. His clothes, already cast off in preparation for the dive, were a pure white tunic and chiton. A hunting knife with a bone handle was sheathed in his belt, and a leather sheath protected his sword from the mist.
The hippocampi had led him far away from the inhabited side of Naxos, a large island considered to be center of wealth in the Cretan islands. In mythology, it was considered to be the childhood home of Zeus, along with many other gods and goddesses. Priests claimed that the good fortunes of the island were due to the gods of days long gone blessing the island; the merchants and lords of the island proclaimed it was their economic prowess that sustained Naxos; the native inhabitants were the few that knew the truth and called the island gilded.
It was the seventh night of the hunt, and his desire to ride a hippocampi was at its maxim. If he was not able to secure one, he would be forced to return home empty-handed. He needed to prove that these mythical creatures did indeed exist or he would once again be called the local lunatic.
Percy stood knee-deep in the water with quiet assurance, then swam into the waters towards the grotto where he was sure the injured hippocampi would rest. The cloud now had blocked the moon from the sky and cast a feathery shadow on the preceding waves. He looked at the currents occasionally; he knew the way.
At the grotto, he slid out his knife and held it with a sure touch, and then climbed out of the sea on to the cavern floor. The filtered moonlight revealed 10 or so motionless lumps. The hippocampi he wanted was at the very edge of her herd, her fins streaked with ichor, the immortal golden blood.
Percy crept closer, keeping the knife steady. All his work for the past seven days lead to this moment. All the ridicule he had faced while seeking out these magnificent beasts of the sea lead to this moment. He took a moment to catch his breath-an explosion shattered the peace. The stone keeping the water out of the cavern exploded.
The herd bolted. Percy lunged forward but was swept up by a fiery current rushing around him. He let himself be carried down the cavern along with the hippocampi to where he presumed another exit lay hidden. He was violently expunged from the cavern, now too far from the hippocampi into the darkness of the sea. He cursed and spun, instinctively reaching for the surface.
Behind him, where the solid entrance of the grotto had been, smoldered a large ruin of jagged edges. Much of the water now rushed inside, sealing the cavern forever. However little, the tides of the Mediterranean have been changed forever, Percy mused.
Percy swam back to the shore and watched the seas for several long minutes, but the only thing that moved was the mist. Cautiously, he calmed his body after the adrenalin rush and moved forward. Moonlight cast him in a pale shadow as he stopped before the shore. His eyes spied a shiny stone laying a few yards away from him. Nothing seemed out of place, so he warily picked it up.
Nature had never polished a stone so smooth as this one. Its flawless surface was midnight blue, except for thin veins of electric blue that were webbed across it. The stone was cool and frictionless under his fingers, like hardened wool. Rectangular and just over an inch long, it weighed several pounds, feeling heavier than it should have.
Percy found the stone both beautiful and frightening. Where did it come from? What was its purpose? Then a more disturbing thought came to him: Nature never gives birth to right angles and no human could create such a marvel. If he had learned anything from the old stories, it was to treat the supernatural with great caution.
But what should I do with the the stone? It would be troublesome to carry with him, and there was a chance it could bring harm. It might be better to leave it behind. An unconscious shudder of indecision ran through him, and he almost dropped it. It might pay for some coins, he decided with a shrug.
The night had now become too cold to stay outside, and the seas more turbulent. He strode further inland and spread his bedroll beneath the upturned roots of a dead tree. After a sparse dinner of bread and cheese, he wrapped himself in blankets and fell asleep, pondering how he would explain his adventure to those back at home.