Chapter Seven: The Encounter


Aion's POV

Let the battle begin.

Aion grounded his teeth. He wasn't scared; he was mad. He knew who the voice's owner was, no doubt. He had fought her once before in an earlier mission, and succeeded. Now would be no different.

It was Gaea, the Earth goddess.

"Show yourself, goddess," he said.

Gaea's echoing voice chortled. If only I could..., she sighed. Alas, if only someone as strong as you joined us, would I fully awake.

Aion wished he could punch Gaea in the face for that comment of hers. Instead, he said tightly: "Keep wishing."

I will, she promised, her voice coming from everywhere, but nowhere. Don't want Grandfather Chaos's first Commander worrying, now do we?

Aion found himself instinctively pulling out his knives, only to slice empty air. Gaea's piercing laugh seemed to get louder each second.

That was it; Aion's tolerance had peaked. He bared his teeth a little, jabbing one of his knives into the grass beneath his feet with all his force. A deadly black mist dribbled beneath the surface.

Immediately, Aion felt the magic force recede from Camp Half-Blood. The ground no longer looked as forced and rough. Around him, the atmosphere changed back to its regular sunny, warm weather. The wind from earlier had dissipated. Camp Half-Blood was temporarily back to its same old condition. Aion was almost relieved for that. Almost.

He withdrew his blade from the ground, returning it to its sheath. Then he ran; ran faster than the wind. He dodged trees easily, leaping over rocks and the sort. According to his natural instincts, the Olympians's cabins should be... Here. What? His instincts had never failed him before. Aion scanned his surroundings.

Before him, the green grass faded into a golden sand, baking in the sun. In the distance, waves pounded against the shore. A salty sea breeze blew Aion's ebony hair back, the sun hot against his face. He almost relaxed with the pleasant change of scenery, if not for the light silhouette standing by the water.

Aion approached it, careful of making any noise as he took each step, light and silent. If one concentrated hard enough, they would hear him then. For now, he stayed unnoticed.

Aion casually drew closer. The silhouette's features were distinguished from behind: short midnight hair, a Hawaiian print t-shirt, and beach shorts. This silhouette was Poseidon.

Aion briefly considered backing down, but he was no coward. He would speak with the god of the Sea; having an actual conversation. Maybe his dad had changed his mind after so long. Maybe, maybe not. The time was now.

He was currently standing at Poseidon's left, staring at the same view Poseidon was: the endless ocean glittering in the overhead sun. How this could be interesting, Aion thought, only the god of the Sea would know.

"Nice weather, sir?" Aion asked, casually, of course. He didn't mean to add in the 'sir'. Alas, old habits died hard.

Poseidon jumped slightly; surprised at the soldier's appearance. His weary sea green eyes settled upon Aion. "Ah," he cleared his throat. "Yes, the weather certainly is nice this time of year."

Aion absently nodded. The dour, miserable emotions flooded back into his self, but he forced them down with a single breath, where they rightfully belonged. Aion was given a second chance at life, and he had gratefully accepted. There was no more sadness in him; that died a long time ago.

Aion was about to excuse himself back to the cabins, when Poseidon's question struck him off guard: "If you don't mind my asking, what's the weather like where you live?"

Of course I mind your asking... Aion shifted from one foot to the other. He actually had to pause and think about this. He wanted to say: Why do you care, you son of a bitch? You never cared before; why start now?

Instead, he answered: "Well, sir, I don't know. I'm sent on missions by my Lord Chaos, paid in exchange with ranks. I'm always on the move."

There was a hopeful glint in Poseidon's eyes. "You wouldn't have seen a male, with black hair..." His voice faded, an expression of concentration of his face, then replaced with sadness. For a split second, Aion thought his identity was discovered. "I don't know... His name was Percy Jackson."

It really struck Aion hard to hear his past life's name. Those four syllables broke the steel wall inside himself. He kept an impassive face, just in case anyone was watching. Yet, why would anyone be watching?

"No, sir," he replied, spitting the words; his dark emotions were getting in his way. Sometimes, he wished he could be an impassive assassin. This, adequately, was one of those times.

"One more thing?"

"Yes, sir?"

"Call me Poseidon."

"Yes, sir," he growled, balling his fists slightly. Indeed, old habits did die rather hard.

A rough scene formed into Aion's mind: Poseidon was laying on top of his throne, now a pile of debris. His form was bleeding golden ichor from many places, staining the ground around him a gold. In front of Poseidon stood Aion. A disgruntling smile was plastered on his face, like he was dissatisfied Poseidon wasn't dead yet.

Aion stepped forward, raising his knives. "Don't worry, sir," he promised, the smile getting wider, his eyes desperate for murder. "This will only hurt a lot."

Aion plunged his knives through Poseidon's bleeding form.

Aion internally smiled at this. How he would have gladly let the Olympians die like this. But for now, he would have to dream. Maybe one day Lord Chaos would allow... Maybe one day.


Aion made his way to the group of soldiers back at the mess hall. The assortment of campers surrounding the bronze brazier for the gods dwindled. He was just in time.

Aion absently grabbed a cheeseburger from a tray carried by a particularly tiny nymph, and an empty glass from another table. He then plumped himself down beside Luke and Zoë at the white-trimmed tables.

"Legion was sent by Gaea," he said, taking a bite out of his burger.

"She told me, 'Let the battle begin,'" Luke said. Zoë nodded as well.

"She wants to-" Aion's words immediately melted apart. The abnormally silent mess hall was never quiet, even when he was here. Tell you later, he mouthed.

Artemis, meanwhile, didn't notice this. She was staring at the Apollo cabin, huddled at the archery targets. Some of the younger kids got shots of the outer rings, while the more experienced, older campers impaled eights and nines.

"That's it," Artemis decided, in reply grabbing the utmost attention of the three figures in front of her.

She stood up, abandoning her plate. She summoned her silver bow in her hands, and a quiver appeared on her back. She notched an Eon Silver arrow, making her way toward the targets.

"Artemis, I don't think that's..." Luke's voice faded. She wasn't listening.

Aion smirked, lowering his voice. "Lord Chaos hates the Greeks. My daughter was allowed to come and see how horrid their ways really were."

Artemis now stood about thirty feet away from the center target. She pulled the silver arrow back, and let it take flight.

The noise of wood cracking echoed in the air. Artemis's arrow had pierced the absolute center of the target.

Aion quickly stood up. Something was wrong; something was seriously wrong. He was one hundred percent sure of it.

His daughter now stood in place, not even the slightest movement of her chest to show she was breathing. A strong force roamed the air. A valuable pawn, it spoke. A valuable pawn indeed.