(A/N: Thank you so much for reading, guys! It means a lot :D! This following chapter does not reflect my personal beliefs. I am a Christian- I am just posting this to explain a few questions I believe the Riordans have left unanswered. So here you go, fandom!)

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-Ѷ-

Somehow, Alabster made it to lunch without burning down the entire school, or making Nathdaniel go to drastic measures and call security. Or both.

Not that he set himself on fire. It was just that during science, we were working with beakers and fire…. And Alabaster was messing around with the soft, white, flammable cotton balls…

Somehow, he put it out, but he had a thorough tongue-lashing from Nathdaniel. Like I said, he knew everything about everything around the school- Nath sits three rows in front of Alabaster and I.

Well, the tounge-lashing would have been a well-deserved punishment, but Alabaster decided to engage Nathdaniel in verbal sparring. And they were still at it.

I sat down near Cookie, who was cheerfully watching the two boys, and Rachel, currently engrossed in her latest drawing. I peered over her shoulder, as quietly as I could. Rachel was overprotective of her drawings lately, so I had to sneak up on her. Map of Camp Half-Blood it read. Ah, so this was the mysterious camp she had been talking about. Or rather, not talking about.

The map was pretty far-out, though. It had places like Lava Rock-Climbing wall and Armory. Heck, it had a place labeled Pegasus Stables. What was this, a camp for little, gullible kids?

"Making a fantasy camp?' I asked. Rachel yelped something that sounded like "Apollo's holy hot rod!" and slammed the cover of her drawing book close.

"Gods Verena, can't stop snooping for a sec?!" I put my hnds up in surrender, hoping she wouldn't take her chocolate milk to my black shirt. Sure, it was black, but chocolate was still noticeable.

"Calm down- it's just a picture." I tipped my head to the side, kind of like the dog from Bolt did when he was begging for food. But I was begging for information.

"God's Apollo's hot rod? Rachel, what the heck are you saying?"

"Uh, what?! Nononononono! I said-"

"Sebastian's butter knives?" I cut her off dryly. "You always say that when you said something you didn't want anybody to hear, Rachel. I know you haven't seen a single page or clip of Black Butler." Rachel sighed, rubbing her eyes and putting away her drawing book.

"Bad habits. The camp I go to… they're big on Greek terms."

"There you go again!" I exclaimed, exasperated.

"What?"

"They super secret camp of yours!" I calmed myself enough to say grace and take a bite out of my hot dog. Rachel sighed again, staring down at her hands.

"Verena, I told you-"

"Yeah, yeah. You have a special role and can't see me. It's an in-the-moment job." I banged my head against the table. "I only wish you'd tell me more!"

The self-damage of my brain would've gone on longer, but I was stopped by the increasing volume of Alabaster and Nathdaniel's argument. Cookie nudged me, grinning.

"How 'bout I throw some gasoline on the fire?" and without waiting for a reply, she ducked under the table ad flicked a piece of food at Alabaster. It wouldhave looked like Nathdaniel had shot the food with his hand from underneath the table while distracting Alabaster with their heated debate.

The murderous look on Alabaster's face said one thing:

This. Means. War.

-Ѧ-

I spent the rest of the day quite tranquilly, actually. Otherwise known as making Nathdaniel's life miserable.

I caused him to freeze up, fall asleep, speak gibberish and physically hurt himself. Hurt, as in paper cuts and clumsiness. I'm not cruel… much. It delighted me about how much control I could have over one boy with a few simple magic spells I never thought I'd need.

I believe Verena knew that "something was up", so after one period I stopped. I also replaced everyone's memory so that a rather irritating boy in the front row took the blame. I could tell his had a marred record- one more period wouldn't do much.

As we jostled each other out, I caught Verena looking at me with narrowed eyes. I had the strangest feeling that I wasn't fooling her.

But that was impossible.

…unless…

Were those really Lord Kronos's eyes?

-Ѷ-

As school let out, I caught Rachel sitting on a bench.

"Rachel! You wanted to see me?" I plopped myself down beside her.

"Lost the shadow?" she asked, seeing me alone. I nodded, letting out huge sigh of relief. The seemingly innocent, slightly dorky shadow turned out to be a non-genius Artemis Fowl. He had a serious attitude and more serious need to check it. If that wasn't evident by now.

"Here. I figured you should at least get this- take it as a I'm-back-for-the-first-day-sorry-about-lunch peace offering." She took something orange from her backpack. A T-shirt?

In a really cool fond, the letters said, "Camp Half-Blood". Underneath, a silhouette of a Pegasus flared its wings open proudly.

"Whoa." I said, taking the shirt in my hands. "What kind of camp to do you go to?"

There wasn't anything obviously remarkable, but the shirts felt important. Not just the fact Rachel trusted me with the name- it felt like it was tugging me east, that it was like a little kid excited to show me something really important.

Just then, Cookie came out. She saw us and walked over, her neon hair swinging in time to the beat on her headphones, hands tapping her beat-up old skateboard. That's another thing about Cookie- huge music fan, particularly dupstep. Rachel is sort-of pop, I'm electronica. But I surround myself with Christian music as well, and acoustic versions of my favorite songs are tried out often.

"Whoa! Class shirt, Rena." She told me, taking off her headphones and turning the music on her iPod off. "Art Studio Camp, huh? Dat from you, Chel?"

I blinked.

"It's from Rachel, but it says Camp Half-Blood."

Now it was her turn to blink. She rubbed her eyes and looked at the shirt again.

"Naw, you're yanking my chain. It's Art Studio Camp. It's got a paint brush and the wood paint holder thingy-merbob." I had been shaking my head before she finished. Cookie's a lot of things, but blind and a liar aren't either of them.

"Well Chel? Which is it?" Cookie asked Rachel. I turned to face Rachel, then frowned at her expression.

"Rachel? What's wrong?" Her face had drained of all color, and her green eyes were more piercing and fearful than I had never seen them.

"Oh gods, oh gods. Your eyes… the prophecy… you're the girl with the golden eyes."

-Ѧ-

I reached home about thirty minutes after I left school. Dr. Claymore was waiting, engrossed in his work once again. Being the precarious man he was, Claymore had most of his work on his laptop. Unfortunately for him, Lamia had burned it up during our battle. But Dr. Claymore, the shrewd man he was, managed to weasel his way into his former residence and obtain a flash drive. It had only about the first twenty chapters of his old book, but Claymore had thrown that out the window and was researching as much as he could about the Underworld. Claymor planned to publish this new book as a "ghost writer" of the "real Claymore" with a "new theory".

Now everyone's a comedian.

The first thing I did was demand to know the location of our leftover tea bags. The doctor has a habit of mindlessly rearranging the kitchen, so I've given up on looking and now just ask.

After gaining the location and putting a kettle on the stove, I moved on to more serious matters.

"May I ask if you've gone mad in your Mistform state?" I asked while blowing on my tea. Claymore paused and looked up.

"You have already asked. The answer is no." he resumed his work, muttering to himself and pinning and taking down various notes from the wall.

"Care to explain why I have been enrolled in a Christian school?"

"…no."

I reached over and plucked out the USB, holding it over my teacup.

"Strange little device," I said. "Does it really mean that much to you?"

Now I had his attention. He put down his work and stared at me, his expression a mixture of fear, anger and a steely resolve I had seen in him before- like he couldn't believe someone so low as the son of a Titan dare threaten him with his metal stick.

"Return it to me." He said coldly. It wasn't a request. It was a demand.

"…no.

"Not until you tell me what you were thinking when you sent me to that infernal place. Or if you're completely mental."

Claymore sighed wearily and took a seat, leaned back so that he rested his back against the chair.

"Whether you like it or not, Alabaster, you are a child."

"And, whether you like it or not, I have your life's work and don't mind destroying it." I said coldly. I glared into his Mistform eyes with my own intense green ones, daring him to make a move. After one whole minute of silent pressure, Claymore sighed again, only this time he was exasperated.

"Very well. But please place the USB down; it's going to be a long conversation. You will challenge my theory." I complied, but dangerously so. I placed the flash drive on my lap, close enough to drop it in the tea to carry out my threat if need be. I was cautious as to what he was going to say- theory? Was I a guinea pig?

"I think it began with your mother. When the two of us spoke alone –after I had died- I asked her a question. I had witnessed her praying, which confused me greatly. And I'm not one to get confused. If she was a goddess –no, a Titaness- then who was she praying to? You and I both know there is no love lost between her and Gaea. Besides, what could Gaea do that your mother could not herself? There must have been a higher force. You told me, when mortals die they see the Underworld in their own way? Then that means all monotheistic religions throw the Underworld into chaos Unless-" Claymore tapped the desk for emphasis, "-they are sent to a different place." After a moment of shocked silence, I narrowed my eyes at Claymore. Yet my eyes flicked to the book lying by his hand. It was a Bible.

"You do realize they only believe in One True God?" I asked skeptically.

"But they call him 'the great King above all gods.' I think that calls for more careful consideration." Claymore countered. I gave an exasperated sigh and an eye roll.
"You expect me to suddenly believe that there's an all-powerful God that doesn't do anything while the world is being ripped apart?"

"Yes. Think of him less like Zeus and the other deities, and more as the Father the Christians see. A father lets his children make bad decisions, as much as he advises against it, so they understand the enormity of the repercussions."

"… the Bible isn't the only book you've been reading, is it?"

Claymore let out another sigh, taking off his glasses and rubbing his eyes.

"I promised your mother I'd look after you. And this role of 'father'… frankly, I'm puzzled. SO, I did what I do best- research."

And –much to my horror- he held up another book.

How to Raise Boys

"…you haven't forgotten I'm technically not a boy right? I'm a demititan. This-" I ripped the book out of his hands, "-does not apply to me in any way, shape or form." To be honest, I was mortified Claymore even considered reading such a thing.

"Why do you automatically assume it's for you?" Claymore asked. "I already told you, it was for research. To understand why the role of a father is appealing to Christians and their God." He spread his hands as if to say, so there you have it. Enough said.

"If I have to so 'no' one more time, I will." I growled, tired of this conversation. It was preposterous.

"About what? You're going to this school."

"Why this one?! Everyone there is absolutely insufferable!"

"… because your mother wished you to."