Elijah shoots up in the bed in the makeshift medbay. He looks around as the other campers and occasional spirit, all staring at him, their mouths agape.

"What's with the dumb looks?" Elijah manages to say, glancing around, a slight pain in the back of his head, but, otherwise, nothing, which he found strange.

"You were d-dying…" says a voice right near him. He turns and looks to its owner, a blonde Apollo kid whose name escapes him. "But… your arm was glowing… and then you were claimed… I've never seen a mark like it… And then your wounds just started to knit themselves together on their own, and colour poured into your face outta nowhere."

"Yeah, knew all that," Elijah states nonchalantly, as if this happened every Tuesday. "His name is Momus, by the way. My father."

He grunted and sat up, digging his hand into his pocket, retrieving a black and silver fountain pen, the one that his father had given him. It hummed with a power that was begging to be activated. It didn't look that special. Well, at least not magically. It looked like it'd fetch a fortune on any mortal market. Before he could play with his new toy, he was jolted back to the war.

"Brooklyn?" he asks simply.

"Safe and defended," called a voice by the door. Percy Jackson's. "Annabeth flew you here while I cleaned up the army, with the help of the Hermes cabin. There were minor casualties, but more like just injuries. James is holding the fort, and Travis is getting patched up. Took a nasty arrow, but he'll be fine."

"Take me back," Elijah says, sitting up, swinging his legs over the edge of the bed.

"What? No!" the Apollo kid says.

"Why not?" Percy and Elijah ask at the same time.

"Well, um…" the Apollo kid nervously says.

"He's perfectly fine, now, and we need everyone we can get. And an open bed in here is an added bonus," Percy says.

"Well, yeah, but-" he starts again, but is cut off by Elijah.

"What's the point of keeping me here, wasting resources on me, when I could be out there, kicking monster tail, with no problem?"

The Apollo nurse hangs his head in defeat and makes a dismissing motion with his hand, before being rushed off to care for some more wounded campers.

Elijah stood up, and looked around. "Where's my sword?" Elijah asked Percy.

"It fell from your hand when the ice got you. I'm sure James found it; he had appointed a team to scavenge the area for weapons, armor, and supplies. Your armor's trashed, though. We can suit you up with a new set with a quick stop at Olympus. There's a forge that pumps out specially fit armor for any based on their battlefield presence; height, build, strength, preferred weapon, and so on."

"No time. At least, not for you to babysit me. You need to be out there. If you could get me a pegasus, though, it'd be appreciated. I'd be able to get armor and to Brooklyn faster," Elijah says.

Percy nods. "Of course," he says, walking to the balcony and letting out a loud, piercing taxi whistle. Within seconds, two pegasi could be seen on the horizon, which was turning a red as the sun rose. How long was I out? Elijah wondered.

A caramel colored pegasus landed on the balcony, while the black one hovered below. Percy turned to Elijah, gave a two fingered salute, and dove onto the back of the black pegasus, the both of them darting away at insane speeds.

"Alright, buddy," Elijah says softly to his pegasus. "We're gonna go to Olympus, okay?"

The horse gave out a huff and nodded his head, as if saying 'Yeah, yeah, now hurry up!' and Elijah climbed on the back, and off they sped to Olympus.

After asking for directions, and a couple wrong turns, Elijah found himself at this magical forge between Hephaestus's and Ares's palaces. He was supposed to stand in an archway that would scan him, everything from his height to his godly parenthood, and pump out armor and a weapon in whatever substance is most compatible. There are a lot more metals than the Celestial Bronze that every demigod can use, but not every demigod can utilize them as efficiently as another might. For example, a child of Hades would be able to use Stygian Iron stuff better than an Apollo kid, but they'd wield Imperial Gold better, themselves. At least, that's what he has been able to understand, thus far. He was curious what kind of metal he'd get.

He stepped under the arch and waited as a red light scanned him. The arch beeped, and the forge roared to life, soon pumping out arms and armor resembling that of Ancient Sparta's. First, was a helmet, minus the plume, and it was solid black, with silver trim. The next to come out was the breastplate with the same silver on black color scheme. Then the greaves, followed by braces. Lastly was a sword, a xiphos, with a silver blade. The phrase 'to spathí tou melaniou' was inscribed on one side of it, while its English translation, 'The Sword of Ink', was on the other. To top off, the sword had a black pommel and guard, and the hilt was wrapped in a dark leather.

He strapped on the armour, it fitting absolutely perfectly, seemingly weightless and completely non restrictive when it came to movement. He gave a little smirk, sliding his new sword into its place, and climbed back onto the horse.

"Would you mind taking me down to Brooklyn Bridge? I'll make sure Percy gets you whatever snack you want, when we're out of this mess," he said to his horse, and they took off into the orange sky of early morning.