A/N: Thank you to those of you (both on and off the site) who have expressed your support. This story is dedicated to you.

As I stumbled up the hill, I noticed the tree I had laid eyes on earlier. It's trunk was much thicker around the bottom then I had originally figured. I realized with a start that the lump cuddling the base of the oak contentedly was alive.

"Good God!"

"Dz," Roger corrected me.

"What are you talking about?"

"Gods," Roger said simply. "Once, a child of Hermes made the mistake of uttering the same phrase you exclaimed just now."

"And?" I asked, not sure I wanted to know.

Roger shrugged, "Demeter assumed he was referring to his father. She was offended. The guy does make a nice patch of barley.

I gulped. "Dz," I muttered under my breath.

Roger laughed, and I noticed how his eyes lit up when he was closer to camp. It was as if he had undergone a complete transformation. Tired, food-crazed satyr was converted into proud and resolute protector. I was impressed. "That's Peleus," he explained, catching my attention, "the dragon that guards the Golden Fleece."

"The what?" I asked. "Wasn't that sought by Jason from the King of Colchis, like, three thousand years ago?"

"Yeah," he responded, "now it guards our camp's borders, protecting them from monsters and mortals. It was brought by Percy, Annabeth, Tyson, and Grover a few years ago."

"Who-?"

He cut me off, "You'll see."

Turning around, I saw him grin. "Hurry up, before something even scarier decides to eat you."

/

As we approached the boarders, Roger paused. Looking at me in a way that made me uncomfortable, he seemed to be contemplating something.

"What?" I asked gently, not wanting to startle him.

"I think I should tell you now," he said. "The demigods present are sorted into 'cabins' according to their godly parentage."

"Where will I go?"

"Oh, I think I have a pretty good idea," he said dryly.

I stared.

Laughing, Roger explained, "Your powers." Hastily, he added, "many demigods wait years to be claimed. Don't feel disappointed if your parent is unresponsive. The gods can be forgetful."

"How is that possible? Omniscient, omnipotent beings can be forgetful!"

"They're neither of those two things, Eric," Roger chuckled. "Hades, sometimes they can't even communicate with each other effectively, let alone control Fate. Many of them don't care about their children, despite the promise they made to Percy."

I thought I sensed bitterness in his voice, and I wisely decided against speaking.

/

I could feel the power of the place; it exuded warmth and serenity. As we descended into the valley, I noticed greenish ladies darting out from the forests to get a look. Suddenly, I froze. "My mom!" I realized with a shock I hadn't given her a second thought since we'd left.

Roger looked over at me nervously, "You're what?"

"My mother...you know, the woman who's raised me the past twelve years?"

Paling, Roger put his hand on my shoulder, "Eric, you must be overwhelmed. You have no mother – from what we've observed over the past few months, you live in a small house, on Elemental Street, with a nice garden in front, a sign at the gates –"

I cut him off with my indignant expression, "You watched my house?"

Looking embarrassed, he stammered, "N-no...not me. Some nature spirits living in your garden, they kept an eye on you."

I shook my head. "Not well, apparently. They never saw my mother!"

Roger just looked at me sadly, "We knew your mother," he whispered, pulling out a picture, "she was a mortal celebrity. Her looks were enough to make men fall flat at her feet, stunned into unconsciousness. No wonder she captured the attention of Hypnos."

There was that name again. It gave me pause, and I hesitated before replying, "Hypnos?"

"God of Sleep. From what I've observed, he's definitely your dad."

I choked. I'd never felt resentment towards my father before; my mother (or who I had thought was my mother) never spoke of him, but now there was an angry feeling boiling in my stomach: hatred. Why hadn't my father ever said 'Hello,' ever once checked on me to see if I could handle the traits I'd unwillingly inherited.

Startling me, Roger said, "I know that look, Eric. Don't blame Hypnos – the gods are busy, I've told you."

I shook him off, "Let's just focus on my mother," I managed to get out before turning away, tears flowing down my cheeks.

He blinked, "Eric..."

"Well, someone raised me," I said, outwardly expressing the belief that I accepted his explanation, but inside, I never wavered...the woman who had raised me was my mother. I was sure.

"We were informed of a strange presence near your home. The nymphs alerted us, informing us they believed they had sensed a being the likes of which had disappeared long ago."

"And? Did you see my mother?" I asked eagerly. My mother was an extraordinary woman; she had taught me to make wise choices, to think before acting, something she said most people neglected. Never mind the "long-ago-disappearance" nonsense.

Roger shifted from foot to foot (hoof to hoof?), "We responded, but when I approached your home, I was repelled. I assumed it was a barrier the nymphs put up to protect you, but now I'm not so sure. Chiron will now."

My eyes widened, "The Chiron? The one who trained Achilles, the noble –"

"The Centaur himself," Roger grinned. "Come on, it's time you met him."

/

I marveled at the landscape; a lush forest seemed to grow into existence as we passed deeper into the valley, penetrating the magical boundaries. Near a large, light blue house at the center of a field that seemed to stretch for miles, was a volleyball court. An armory nestled in the woods to my side, and I could just make out what looked like an archery range behind the three-story climbing wall, covered in lava.

"Is that..."

"Yep, come on, we're nearly there."

Roger stepped up to the porch, nearly tripping over what looked suspiciously like a grape vine growing out of the ground. Before he could stumble, I steadied him, looking up into the face of middle-aged man, looking bored, with cards dealt on the table in front of him. He was facing a handsome man in a wheelchair, whose eyes sparkled with concern when he saw me.

Roger yelped, "Mr. D! Eric, this is our camp director and leader of the satyrs," the last bit was tinged with displeasure.

"Yes...," the man said, sipping a diet coke that had just appeared out of thin air.

I don't know how I knew, but something in my mind awoke. Camp Half-Blood was imbuing me with a sense of confidence, something I'd never had much of before. Bowing, I said politely, though I already disliked the man, "Lord Dionysus."

The grape-guy looked surprised. His eyes narrowed, "Ah, yes. You bear the mark of Pandora; I assume you have encountered one of her 'friends,'" the last word was spat.

"Sir?" I asked.

"Elpis, Hope, most likely, but..." he looked me over, "perhaps not. There is something different about you."

Before I could respond, I noticed the man facing the pseudo-god had disappeared. In his place was a white stallion. As my eyes moved up, I saw where his body fused with his midsection. I jumped backward.