June 6th 2005.
Half-Blood Hill,
Long Island,
New York.
A young man found himself standing in a most tenebrous space, devoid of any specificity or colour; the youth shuffled nervously in the darkness, hesitant whether to yell out and to hope that someone would hear him or to move surreptitiously, for fear that his cry for help might attract someone or something that might take offence to his yammering. As his eyes scanned for anything of substance, he beheld the figure of a man with his back turned. The man was wearing an upper-armour known as a linothorax, alongside other contemporaneous aspects of ancient Greek armour but the one aspect that stood out was the eagle's feather that stuck out from the helmet.
The young man was about to speak before the figure of this mysterious man shimmered, at one moment having the visage of an early medieval king wielding a sceptre and a globus cruciger, at another, an elderly man in military uniform doffing his three-cornered hat. These figures all seemed familiar to the young man but the transient nature of this person's appearance, as well as the whole situation dimmed the lad's capacity to think as to who precisely these people were.
Nervously, the young man approached the figure, saying, "W-who are you?"
One might say rather rudely, the man did not turn to face the inquiring boy, instead, responding laconically, "In time, your ambition will reveal that which you seek."
With that ponderous statement, the figure of the many-faced man disappeared from the opaque landscape, prompting the dark surface beneath the young man's feet to give way. The sensation of falling yet seeing no change in his surroundings would have feel rather Sisyphean had the young man had the time to appreciate the situation, but he was too busy screaming his head off.
"AHHHHH!" the young man yelled, bolting out of his bed whilst surprising those who were in the process of getting changed and violently roused those who were then enjoying a few more precious moments of sleep. The outburst justified the throwing of various items in the frightened youth's direction, including (but not limited to) pillows, socks, dirty underpants, T-shirts, and in one instance a dagger was thrown but the young lad had enough bearing to barrel-roll out of the way. A flush began to form along the lad's face as he became the proverbial butt of the joke, not least because there, draped droopingly over his shoulder was a pair of someone's underpants, though they were quickly rattled off. As the crowd began to dissipate, snickering as they left the cabin, the lad was quick to return those items hurled in his direction to their rightful owners, stuffing those underpants, whom he recognised belonged to Connor Stoll, into the latter's pillow before pushing himself back against the wall, crumpling his marine-blue sleeping bag in the process.
"You must have done something really funny to get that crowd so giggly this early in the morning," a voice commented from the doorway, bathed in early morning sunlight. Emerging from the sunlight, quite celestially the young man thought, was the counsellor in charge of Cabin 11, Luke Castellan. Attired in the typical orange Camp Half-Blood T-shirt, a pair of faded denim jeans alongside black converse shoes, he made his over to the less-than-happy camper.
"I don't think I've seen you this annoyed since your mother sent you that Greek-edition of On War by Carl von Clausewitz," Luke wryly commented, situating himself against a wall directly perpendicular to the young man's sleeping bag.
"Well, when you're hardwired for ancient Greek as opposed to modern Greek, such things would do that to a guy," he responded, gawking around in search of his clothing, difficult as it can be to find such items in a cramped space such as this.
"I garnered enough from the Connor and Travis as they marched off to the dining pavilion about what happened."
"I can imagine what they must have said."
"Not as bad as you may think, just that you bolted out of your bed like the Undertaker getting up from the canvass after a near match-ending move."
That observation caused the two young men to burst out in laughter, especially the one currently in the doldrums, before politely asking Luke to turn away so that he could change into his clothes. Having done so, they exited the run-down cabin and continued the conversation on their way to the pavilion for breakfast.
"So what has you flummoxed Emile?" Luke questioned with a degree of tentativeness that even caught the former unawares.
"Well…" Emile began, his eyes scanning the various other demigods forming out of their cabins – Apollo, Athena, Ares – quite alliteratively he thought, "I had a dream last night."
"Oh, what sort of dream?" Luke asked.
"It was of a man, dressed in what looked to be Ancient Greek attire but the thing is…" he recalled, tussling his messy, light-brown hair into a more natural form, as opposed to the bifurcated bangs he felt them to be, "…he kept changing appearance, turning into a medieval king, the next a commander in the Napoleonic Wars and so on. It…it was quite strange."
Luke pursed his lips, looking as though he had experienced the dream himself and was trying to postulate an answer as to what this meant.
"It could be that your father, whoever he is, may be trying to contact you."
The words hung in Emile's ears. The subject of his divine heritage as he would have then learned from Oscar, the satyr who brought him to the camp last summer and confirmed through the person of Chiron, the camp's activities director, was always a point that the young man tried not to ponder on, for fear that his annoyance might devolve into anger.
Upon arriving at the camp, Emile was lodged in the Hermes cabin, which was the traditional place of residence for those demigods who were 'unclaimed' i.e., their divine mother/father had not sent a sign claiming this child as their own, but even then such events were rare, as he met and befriended persons the same age as himself who were anxiously waiting for that event. His childhood abounded with little hints as to what his father was like, his mother remarking that he possessed, '…the most wonderful pair of eyes…', '…a steely and determined gaze…' and a noted irritation at my mother's insistence that any meaningful analysis of modern warfare should begin with the levée en masse in the aftermath of the French Revolution, whilst he believed that warfare, no matter how antiquitous or close to the modern day it may be, is worthy of study.
Quite the academic argument to tell an eight-year old child, given that his mother was a professor of Military Studies at Missouri State University, but Emile enjoyed the insight as to what his father was like nonetheless.
"That could be the case…" Emile said despondently, himself and Luke making their way up the steps to the open-air dining pavilion, "But even then, did you have a premonition like this before Hermes claimed you?"
"I can't say such a thing happened to me," he replied, ascending the steps to the pavilion, where the crowd of god-spawned campers began to amalgamate at the tables of their divine parent, which were draped in white linen trimmed with purple "…but I would try not to think upon it too much; pondering on the 'what' and 'why' of our parents is only bound to make you angry."
The counsellor for the Hermes cabin took his customary place at the top of the table, not reserved by any degree of cabin regulation but moreso from informal respect. Given that there was a great degree of tussling for an adequate amount of seating, Emile plopped himself onto the well-maintained white marble flooring, whisking the one remaining goblet and plate from the table and upon voicing his usual breakfast of toast with marmalade, some Cookie Crisps, a cup of coffee and a hard-boiled egg, the desired comestibles duly formed from the ether; the young man went about rapaciously devouring the meal as though he would sooner expire than let another person have a bite of it. Though lost in his thoughts, there was a great deal of buzz around the pavilion, with gossip disseminating about an incident that took place last night near the pine tree. Word of a youth who collapsed at the edge of the camp's borders, alongside a satyr was causing quite the furore amongst the other campers.
Emile tried to rinse his mind of any vestiges of the vision from last night but it was vain; he was conflicted, but the more wrathful element subsumed in any degree of happiness he might have felt from the off chance it might have been his father. Thoroughly fed up with contemplating the entire situation, Emile sat up abruptly with a bit more vehemence than even he intended, prompting a few heads to turn in his direction, particularly Luke, who had a concerned look on his face as his temperamental cabin-mate hurried off to his activities.
Emile was quite thankful for the enchantment that prevented gloomy weather from enveloping the camp because if he were feeling more tempestuous, he might have been able to influence the weather himself. The activities in the aftermath of breakfast seemed to drag for what seemed an eternity to the moody young man, especially when he was getting trounced by the soldier par excellence Clarisse; on any other day, the amount of sledging that daughter of Ares might have given out would have offended Emile, but the latter wasn't too eager to retort. Even soaring through the skies upon Pegasi didn't seem to elevate the camper's mood, nor the extensive picnic that preceded the winged-cavalry exercise. The next activity however, allowed for Emile's pensive nature to be properly used for investigative matters. It was probably the one activity that the young man looked forward to in the course of a typical day.
This was the monster assault techniques, grandiosely called a seminar, hosted by the Hermes cabin. Over the course of a typical week, five different persons will host, giving an informative lesson about monster from the nearby North Woods, though if the mandated camper is particularly reticent about participating in the instruction (usually it has to do with the monster on display that day!), a volunteer will take their place. Likewise, attendance seems to wax and wane depending on the person on duty for the hour, with Luke, unsurprisingly, garnering the biggest audience given his reputation as one of the greatest swordsman the camp has seen in the past three hundred years.
Arriving in the area most commonly used as rallying point where teams are divided for Capture the Flag, Emile was more cognisant and his situational awareness couldn't have been better. His concentration was somewhat shattered by the athletic frame of Luke barrelling towards, a cheeky smile on his face, most probably from the fact that he was a tad bit late from his own activities over the preceding hours.
"How are you feeling now?" the young adult panted, his eyes darting between the studious figure of Emile and the timorous form of his half-sibling.
"I'll be honest," Emile began, staring at the bronze sword, gleaming in the afternoon sun, "It's quite difficult to try and get it out of your head."
Luke nodded his head as though Emile's confession conformed to his own experience, before standing in an upright, interlacing his fingers around the back of his neck to breathe a little better.
Emile stifled a chuckle.
"Remember what I said about trying to wrap your mind about the machinations of the gods?" Luke said a bit solemnly, urging his younger cabin-mate to recall, "When they have a use for you, they'll make their presence known, regardless of how beneficial or detrimental it may be to you personally."
Luke's explanation was tinged with a degree of personal backing to its credulence, and though it seemed to be enervated of respect, Emile was one to agree with the statement. Not as though I think they feel particularly deserving of respect, the young man thought to himself, thinking of his fellow cabin-mates who were so eagerly waiting for the 'claiming' moment to come.
"You're right I suppose," Emile said, taking Luke's advice to heart, "Let's see what we'll be learning to fight today."
"That's the spirit."
After the brief conversation ended, their collective attention was turned once again to their cabin-mate, who upon the utterance of the 'permission phrase', rustlings in the foliage of nearby trees produced a mighty 'ROAARRRRRRR!' from the beast that darted outwards, though from a sideward glance, Emile noticed that Luke didn't seem fazed at all.
That reputation is well-earned, thought Emile as his eyes turned to the beast cautiously eyeing the crowd of half-bloods before it. A Mastiff, comparable sizeably to that of a grizzly bear, matted with umbral fur, glowing red eyes and with claws sharper than daggers, eyed the cohort of demigods before it. The instructor, Damian, unsheathed his bronze sword and advanced towards the creature with a degree of cautiousness one would nearly describe as being sedentary. But the beast advanced first, moving at breakneck speed before launching itself into the air towards the young man.
Surprisingly, to Emile at least, Damian held his nerve and as the creatures jaws seemed certain to clasp around the child of Hermes' weapons along with the lower portions of his arms, the young man sidestepped, turning the sword ninety-degrees towards the left half of his body, placed his left hand along the flat of the sword near the tip of the blade before positioning the whole length of the sword along the nape of the dog's neck, coupling the hellhound's velocious misdirection with his own body weight pressing downwards to leave the creature in a subdued position.
The whole group erupted with applause at this manoeuvre, with the likewise effect being a blush formed on the young man's face. He then went on to give a verbal explanation of what had occurred, going step-by-step in a quite meticulous fashion, with particular notice being given to hold your weapon (ideally a sword) horizontally, inducing a creature like the hellhound, enfeebled as it was, to attack as it could easily clamp down on not only the blade, but also on the defender's hands and wrists. Afterwards, Damian loosened his grip upon the beast, the anger emanating from the beast nearly palpable before he began to demonstrate other manoeuvres.
"You helped him with that, didn't you?" Emile asked.
"Hm?" Luke responded, his nervous shuffling ceasing when Damian pulled off the counter.
"That move, you helped him with it."
"No I didn't, that's purely Damian's own effort."
"Damian uses a dagger usually."
That little comment gave the scarred, blonde-haired youth a bit of pause.
"…No he doesn't," argued Luke.
"Yes he does," Emile counter-argued.
Luke shook his denying Emile's statement.
Emile nodded his head in affirmation of that statement.
This continued for a sizeable amount of time that people began to giggle at the head-bobbing going on.
With the weight of the truth eventually forcing a sigh out of the counsellor's mouth, Emile snickered.
"He approached a few days ago, all nervous about his mandated turn today and asked me to help him tie down a few basic movements."
"Still, I didn't think he would be this proficient, he's nearly playing around with that thing in there," Emile observed, watching as his cabin-mate dodged out of the way of one last chomp on the hellhound's part before finally slaying the creature with a downward slash through its neck, the beast erupting into dust.
Time flies when your having fun, Emile thought to himself some time later. Monster assault techniques tends to be quite the short activity if the person-in-charge, Damian for example, prefers to only go about demonstrating techniques on the one creature and given that he had asked Luke for a bit of teaching, all but confirmed a short session. So given that we had a bit of time before the next activity was to begin, the group decided to engage in a bit of light-sparring to prepare for the Capture the Flag event on Friday. Luke went off to spar with Damian, though it was of an even less forceful character than the rest of the light skirmishing happening around it, seeing as both of them were laughing vehemently with the scarred youth very congratulatory towards his half-siblings.
As that too did pass, everybody bounded off to their next activity, though Emile noticed that Luke was staring out at the forest for a time before running off to join his fellow campers. The rest of the day passed quickly as Emile put thoughts about his father behind him, lest he feel incentivised to vituperate the character of the man even further. Being able to get a seat at the table for dinner improved the young man's disposition even further, though being cramped between the two Stoll brother who enjoyed re-enacting their cabin mate's outburst. Never one to spare people's blushes, Emile inwardly remarked of the Stolls as the eponymous flaring up soon appeared across his face. As the dining pavilion soon began to form up by cabin to offer tribute, Emile reluctantly took his place near the end of the Hermes, deposited the remaining morsels of foods left over from dinner quite irreverently and hurried back to the cabin for clean-up.
As night slowly crept upon the camp and as the nearly criminally-negligent, cramped cabin began to be thronged with half-bloods once again, Emile noticed a person he hadn't seen before laying on a sleeping bag just across the room. From his stature, the youth looked around the same age if not younger than himself, physically average (compared to some of the brutes at camp), having dishevelled, jet-black hair swept to the right of his forehead with a set of sea-green, though tired eyes. Just across from his pillow laid a black-and-white horn but looking though as though it were violently detached from whatever creature possessed it naturally.
Both campers caught each other's line of sight, Emile smiling softly and raising his hand as though to say to 'hi', whilst this new reciprocated the gesture but with a more pronounced fatigue about the action. That might be the guy everyone's talking about, Emile thought to himself before cocooning himself within his sleeping bag as the tumult that usually enveloped the decrepit, old cabin was effaced by the sound of snores.
A few days had passed since the incident, and more information was dolt about the mysterious camper who showed at the borders of the camp. His name was Percy Jackson, and in the process of getting there, fought and slew the Minotaur of all creatures, hence the reason for the horn that Emile had seen opposite his pillow the few nights before; the latter was amazed that somebody within the cabin hadn't gone out of their to fence it, given that their father was the patron god of thieves and whatnot. Percy was also shown to have promise as regards to swordsmanship, apparently being able to disarm Luke with a manoeuvre that he only learnt moments before, or so Emile had gleaned from other campers had been there at the time. Still, Jackson had a certain way of making his presence known, in both positive and negative sense, seen in his foiling Clarisse's attempt to humiliate him by subjecting the youth to a dousing of toilet water, only for the daughter of Ares herself, alongside a few of her half-siblings, to be on the receiving of a more torrential type of dousing.
That's where the rumours started – that this boy might be 'Big Three' material, that he was a scion of either Zeus, Poseidon or Hades. Emile was surprised upon his induction into the mysteries of demigod life, that the old perception, limited though it may have been, that Zeus was stronger than the other Olympians put together (even said so by Homer!) was false. Though some people were more inclined to think that it was a purely situational comparison, given the circumstances of a similar incident a few years ago, in which a daughter Of Zeus was saved upon the cusp of death by being turned into the pine tree that sits atop Half-Blood Hill. Whatever his lineage, it'll be interesting to see how he does later on, Emile thought to himself as he counted down the hours until Capture the Flag would be begin.
…
Six o'clock rolled by and all campers rushed to the North Woods, everybody forming themselves along either side of the creek that ran through the middle of the forest. There was a great deal to gain and much to lose over Catch the Flag and Luke seemed to quite eager to get the win on this occasion; he forestalled the usual ambivalence felt towards the Athenians and from there, went on to form an alliance with Apollo, thus securing not only the most tactically and strategically proficient demigods at camp, but also the cabins that held a substantial numerical advantage. Yet, one should, if they have a lick of common sense, be weary of the children of Ares, given their natural tendency towards martial excellence.
Though it need not be mentioned, given the terrain, employing a phalanx formation wouldn't be the wisest course of action. Fighting tends to be quite vicious in the cramped environment that the forest provides so there's only so much tactical consideration that one can realistically control for, although there was rumblings amongst few of the Hermes kids to bribe a camper on the red team in order to render an Ephialtic service. That was quickly dismissed by Annabeth and Luke, with the latter suggesting that the newest arrival, Percy, be used as bait to entice the still-miffed Clarisse, though this wasn't relayed to him personally for fear that he wouldn't accept the engagement given to him. Emile was placed in what could be designated the centre which designed to take advantage of the numerical superiority that both the Hermes and Apollo cabins possessed. Luke was placed on the left flank, with Annabeth on the right, both accompanied by a contingent of campers from the Apollo and Athena cabins.
And thus the battle begun, but not as expected.
A strong frontal attack, led by Charles Beckendorf, a son of Hephaestus that would cause most monsters to quake in their books, took Emile's group by surprise as they crossed over the boundary line.
"It's no good," said Malcom Pace, son of Athena, with a uncharacteristic degree of alarm to his voice, "They're pushing us against the river, we need to spread our formation out, try to encircle them!"
The unit heard the instruction and duly attempted the realignment but the trembling of the ground around their flanks ceased the action; venational wall of vines erupted beside on either side of the unit, hemming them and given the number of combatants, stifled any resistance on their part. The twins, Castor and Dionysius, sons of Dionysius, emerged from the ranks of the red team, their eyes peering through the slit of their helmet with a gleam in their eye at the tactical upset they had initiated.
Emile was in the thick of the action, exchanging blows with the normally quiet Beckendorf, who seemed elated with the degree of success his team had experienced so far. A flash of the young man mountain nearly saw Emile's head being cleaved off if were not for a quick ducking motion.
If I want thing to go right this week, I want it to be this, Emile thought to himself, his strength waning after each titanic blow given out by Beckendorf, dropping him to his knees.
"It seems this isn't just a game of numbers after all," Beckendorf said.
Forget my father, forget his absence, forget this whole demigod thing, curly-haired youth taught, clenching his teeth as his irritation began to spike, Right now, this is the only thing I want…I WANT TO WIN!
"N-no…" Emile muttered, feeling himself grow weaker though, "But it doesn't matter, we – I…I'm going to win this!" At that moment, a slight pause from the son of Hephaestus allowed for Emile to get some room, but it wasn't only the latter that was feeling mentally boosted. His fellow teammates all seemed more roused, pushing back against the red team in a complete reversal of how the engagement originally played out. At that moment, a large roar erupted from the blue unit, consequently pushing back against their co-belligerents and sending them into flight back through the forest.
It was exhilarating; Emile hadn't felt such a rush in the heat of battle as he had tonight, not on any previous occasion of Capture the Flag from the previous summer. It was as though he had his first taste of victory, his first unsatisfying lapping at the fountain of glory, and he couldn't contain himself. He rushed forward at the head of unit, before crashing into a heavy skirmish with the Hephaestus counsellor, who rallied his teammates into making one last stand.
"Coming through!" was the speedy warning of a familiar, as Luke darted through the action, followed by a contingent of his half-siblings who were desperately trying to stave off a contingent of Hephaestus campers whom they had clashed with on that flank. Emile could just about make out Luke crossing the boundary, with the usual transfiguration of the defeated teams flag changing to match that of the victor's. Emile dropped to the ground in exhaustion, that morale boost, wherever it may have came from, having dissipated not soon long after it had occurred.
As the other campers made their way, Emile stopped and stared above, a light shining from above his head, a sixteen-rayed Vergina Star. The young man was paralysed by the apparition, remembering the words from the dream that had occurred a few days ago; "In time, your ambition will reveal what you seek."
His desire to win had won him the recognition of his father.
Author's Note: Hello there my friends, I'd just like to say if ye take the time out of your busy day to read this little 'oul piece of mine, then I hope at least that you've enjoyed it! I've recently gotten back into the Percy Jackson franchise and I'd like to say I've notched a little niche for myself as regards to where a good story could take place i.e., a focus on those camper's who stay year-round at Camp Half-Blood. However, the main thing that I hope to achieve in writing this piece, and I hope you fellas will make sure to hold me accountable, is that this could be read as something that could have occured within the books if enough light was thrown onto it, and for it not to be so spectacular that it outshines Percy, Annabeth and the rest of the gang's achievements!
Hopefully I've enticed ye enough to come for another chapter sometime in the future and until then, take care my freinds!