A/N: Thanks for all the love on the past few chapters.

Okay, story time. When I first planned the story, the idea was always to have 6 in our main crew. Percy, Thalia, Annabeth and 3 OCs. Somehow or rather I thought it would be more interesting if the characters came in at different times. That's why I had Percy and Thalia meet up first then only meet with the rest of the crew.

I also planned for my final OC which this chapter is about to come in now. If I could go back in time I would not have done it this way as it is kinda jarring. But it is what it is. I hope yall will eventually fall in love with her to.

And yes the next chapter will be out on Monday. I decided to upload this one early to atone for the double cliffhanger.

Disclaimer: I do not own Percy Jackson or its characters. All rights go to Rick Riordan.

Chapter 31

The Blacksmith

Kara

Kara reveled in the heat of the forge. Every strike of her hammer, sending a resounding jolt up her arms. She watched the red-hot metal bend beneath her. The one thing in life she ever had control of. On and on she struck, a numbing, resounding thrum flowing through her. Forging weapons now a necessity with the threat that faced the village. A threat that was entirely her fault.

"Kara!" rang a rough voice as a boy her age stepped into view. He was stocky, to say the least, his tunic tearing at the seams. His dark shoulder-length hair, falling in a mess and obscuring his features. Galen, it seemed, was here for his shift. "Always the one to outdo me huh. It won't work. You know who Stavros prefers."

"I work for the village," she shot him a sweet smile. "Not him."

Stavros was their mentor, blacksmith of Astypalia. Galen had been his apprentice since he was fourteen, while Kara only had the pleasure for the last year or so. Kara though had learnt blacksmithing from a younger age. But that was a lifetime ago; a different time, a different place, a different her. Stavros was not a nice man, perhaps not even a good man. But he was the only blacksmith in Astypalia, and her morals be damned, the comfort of the forge was one thing she was not willing to give up.

Kara and Galen had been taking shifts; keeping the forge running perpetually to supply the weapons needed to defend the village. Stavros had not come in to work for a week now…since the death of his wife.

"You wouldn't be saying that if he were here," Galen's voice bringing her back to the then and now. "He'd kick you out of the forge."

If only he knew the half of it.

Galen strode over casually and examined her work. "Not bad."

"It's better than anything you've done, and you know it," huffed Kara. "Now get out of my space. I'll leave once this is done."

Galen raised his hands in apology and took a step back. "Quenching bucket?"

"If you would be so kind," said Kara, moving aside slightly to make space for the bucket. "What's the situation like out there anyway?"

"Father says it was a quiet night." Galen's father was the village elder and therefore led the recently established nightly patrol. "The first one in quite some time. I wonder if this is it."

"What?" she asked, one eye closed as she landed a precise blow with her hammer.

"The end. My mother wishes it so. Father, though, he's certain that this is just a precursor for something worse. Honestly, I think this business has taken a bigger toll on her then him. You'd think she was the one who was engaged in constant warfare and sleepless nights."

"I would love for your mother to be right," Kara sighed. "But we both know how the fates work."

Only silence followed that faithless comment.

"Do you think Stavros is coping?" Kara asked finally.

"That heartless bastard," Galen laughed. "Why do you care? He'll be back here whipping you into shape in no time."

The words struck deep. Deeper than he could have ever known. He was right though. Stavros did not deserve an ounce of her pity. A small, twisted part of her had always wished untold horrors upon him. But out of respect for the dead, and concern for her friend, Kara did not show any amusement.

Galen had picked up more than just his blacksmithing skills from Stavros. He had also inherited a hint of that subtle cruelty and inherent bitterness. Not unheard of; an apprentice becoming his master. Kara, in spite of her best interest, still tried her best with Galen. A part of her thought that perhaps she could save him from becoming too much like their mentor.

Galen, reading her silence, apologised.

"I'm sorry. What I meant to say is that he's strong willed. He'll be alright—as alright as anyone in his situation can be expected to be…" Galen watched as she dipped the molten metal into the bucket. A loud hiss followed by a cloud of steam filling her view. When the steam dissipated, Galen was still eyeing her as if he were an adrift soul looking for its anchor.

"Spit it out," said Kara, flipping her newly forged blade in inspection. "I know you want to ask me something."

"How did it feel? Leaving your home." That was not at all what she was expecting.

"Erm…" she handed him the blade and made to lean against the stone beam beside him. "It's hard, I suppose. Leaving everything you know behind."

"You fared well enough," he nudged her playfully. "What has it been? Two years?"

"Almost,"

"Two years and your Greek is as good as mine."

Kara's mother had insisted she learn Greek from a young age. At the time, it made no sense to her. Spending so much money and time looking for a tutor in Vaishali that taught Greek of all things.

"I survived because I had my mother with me. In a way, I never left home. Why the sudden interest?"

"I'm leaving for the mainland," he answered. "It has always been my dream."

"Oh, where to?"

"I don't know," he shrugged his shoulders. "Anywhere, I guess…Sparta, Athens, Thebes. Wherever a blacksmith is needed. The thing is, I can't help but feel like I'm abandoning my family. I know they'll support my decision. But like I told you, my mother is getting old, she's tired."

"I'll still be here. I could help look out for her," Kara offered.

"You would?"

Kara nodded, elbowing him gently. "Go chase your dreams."

"What about yours?"

"Mine?"

"Your dreams, Kara."

"Oh, I've never really had any," she answered, only then realizing how sad that sounded. "I had everything I ever wanted back home. And then it was months of travelling, months without knowing what awaited me. Then this," she splayed her arms. "I love the forge too. Maybe I'll follow in your steps one day. Once my Ma is healthy enough to travel. Speaking of my Ma…I better get back to her. Help me sharpen the blade, will you?'

Galen nodded and Kara turned on her heels to leave. But just as she was about to be out of earshot, he called for her.

"Kara," she turned to meet his gaze. He was holding out her blade, "You're right. This is better than anything I've forged."

"It's nice to finally be appreciated," she smiled a soft smile.

"You are, you know. Life here was awfully boring before you arrived. I'll miss you."

Kara had not expected such sentimentality from him. The tenderness he was offering her entirely unlike the boy she had come to know. Perhaps, she had succeeded. Perhaps, he would escape Stavros's grasp and become a man she would be proud to call a friend.

"Hey, and I you. But don't let that get in the way of your dreams."

"I won't," he waved. "Hopefully, a brighter future awaits us both."

"To a brighter future," she echoed.

Kara trudged her way back, deep in thought. Before she knew it, she was upon her hut. A part of her hated it. Hated those rows upon rows of wooden logs resting atop one another. It did not at all offer the same comfort or security of the sturdy stone home she'd left behind. There were times she wondered if it would come crumbling down around her. Like everything in her life had.

The smell that greeted her when the door creaked upon hammered away the thought.

Not everything.

Not everything, for before her stood her mother, one hand braced against a lone chair, the other stirring over the cooking pot.

"Ma!" Kara raised her voice in exasperation. "You're only now regaining your strength. You should be resting."

Still resting her weight against the chair, she shifted herself so as to get a good look at her daughter.

"Fifteen years I've taken care of you. It's the only thing I have ever been good for," she smiled sadly. "So don't you dare take that away from me."

"Don't say that," Kara cut in.

"It's true and you know it-"

"You're cooking, aren't you?"

"To take care of you,"

"Hmph, you always have to get the final word in, don't you?" Kara chided.

"I do," her smile, widening. "Two years, Kara. I need a purpose. And you, my beautiful girl, are a good one as any."

"You're going to make me melt with your words, Ma. And I've just come from a blazing forge." Kara closed the distance between them and slid an arm around her mother. "At least let me help."

"Fine," her mother conceded. "Your shoulder will be more stable than this rickety old thing anyway."

So there Kara stood, not only a literal support, but aiding her mother in preparing the ingredients.

"How was work?"

"Good, I guess."

"You guess?" said her mother, eyes narrowed, ladle waving along.

"It's just that," Kara sighed, hands flailing around in frustration. "I can't help but feel like all that's happening is my fault."

"Well, if not yours then whose?" She offered casually. Kara, taken aback, glared at her mother. "That's what you wanted to hear, wasn't it? This is not the first time we've been through this. You can't live your life in fear or guilt."

"Isn't that what you did, though?" Kara challenged. "When you decided it was safer to flee Vaishali, than stay."

Too far. Kara had gone too far. She'd crossed a fragile line.

There was a reason for that decision to be rarely spoken of. It was the hardest choice her mother had ever made. Kara knew the reasons. She had just not quite come to terms with them. How could she? It was that journey that had shattered her mother's health.

"What was I supposed to do?" Kara's mother snapped. "The Magadha empire was expanding rapidly. Our country, ravaged by war. Even if that were not the case, I made your father a promise."

"To what end, Ma?" Kara croaked, tears threatening to spill. "He's not even here."

"You know that's not how it works."

"Then tell me how it works!"

So much for crossing the line. She had blazed past it, leaving only ashes in her wake.

Kara's mother closed her eyes, drawing a deep breath. "You'd get your answers if you would listen to me. I begged you to carry on."

"I'm not leaving you behind." Kara replied firmly. "And that's the end of it."

Her mother took a weary peek at her. Her faced crinkled in defeat.

"Hemitheopolis is no place for me. This was how it was always meant to be."

"Then damn that place," finished Kara, letting her head fall to a rest on her mother's shoulder.

"Kara," her mother's voice the softest of lullabies, one hand stretched across to caress her cheek. "I'm recovering. Please, you have to go. If not for your father, then do it for me."

"I…" she leaned into her mother's touch. "I'll think about it."

And that was it, the end of the conversation. They never argued for long. And in the rare situation they did, the anger never lasted. Like all negative emotions, it dissipated in the ocean of love and respect that spanned between them.

Once the meal was prepared, Kara helped her mother carefully to the wooden stump they called a table. While they ate, Kara chronicled her day of work from the moment she left their doorway till the one she returned. It was a daily routine that Kara hoped brought her mother some comfort. She knew how much her mother longed for that criminally under-appreciated privilege. The simple freedom of movement. Bedridden for over a year. And for what? A man that never cared to play husband or father.

When they were done talking—which was long after they were done with their meals—Kara eased her mother into bed. She reached for the bedside container containing her mother's medicines and cursed. Only enough for two nights. She'd have to visit the healer first thing tomorrow. Hopefully, he'd be in high spirits. Kara would need her drachmae to stretch.

You see, putting aside her love for blacksmithing, and her hatred for Stavros, her job was an art that paid well. And Kara would need every last coin to purchase the supply of medicinal herbs her mother required. Kara kissed her mother goodnight and tiptoed to her room.

It was a small squarish space at the back of the hut. Sparsely decorated but not for any lack of ingenuity but rather a lack of belongings. The only things Kara had brought on her journey across the sea were the clothes on her back. That and the tool that glimmered dimly in the corner.

Kara had always loved that hammer—every inch of it. The polished mahogany handle, the large slab of forged steel at its end and the threads of gold that wound around it. Simple in its elegance but elaborate in its boldness.

It was the one thing of significant worth that she could call her own. A tool crafted for and gifted to her by her mentor in Vaishali. She missed him. He'd beat Stavros within an inch of his life for what he had done.

She let the thought percolate for just a moment, the satisfaction she might have felt. Then she seared the thought away. She would not stoop to Stavros's level and she would not tarnish her real mentor's memory.

It was a shame, she supposed, that fifteen-year-old her did not have the strength to wield it. But now…

No. She would keep this one piece of her untouched and undisturbed. One final untainted reminder of her home and country. And with that sentimental thought, Kara crawled into bed and let her exhaustion wash over her.

Kara woke to an incessant pounding. Both in her chest and not. There was someone or something at the door. One could never be too sure in these times. Kara threw aside her sheet and leapt out of bed, one hand already wrapping around her hammer's handle.

It was only when she heard the voice at the door did her breathing return to normal.

"What is it?" her mother's voice, groggy.

"It's Galen, Ma. I think he needs my help. Don't leave your bed."

As expected, her mother protested, but Kara was having none of it. She pulled open the door to be greeted by a drenched Galen. He was doubled over, his ragged breathing easily heard over the pitter-patter of the rain.

"What's happened?" asked Kara.

"An attack," he gasped. "These creatures…they fight as one. They're intelligent and armed."

Kara froze. Astypalia had survived well enough for one reason alone. Their isolation made it so that they were only attacked by winged creatures and the occasional hellhound. Not even sea-monsters could get past the shallow shore and close enough to deal any damage. But organised, intelligent creatures that were out for blood. The thought was blood-curdling to say the least.

"The watch needs us. We're the last line of defense."

"Where to?" Kara set her jaw.

"The southern coast."

"Then, let's go," she said brushing past him. "How did they make land?"

"We can't be sure." His long strides allowing him to overtake her.

"You mentioned that they were armed. Could they have somehow sailed to the island?" suggested Kara.

"I don't see how else," he sighed. "And I don't see how it matters. They're here now."

"Fair enough," she grumbled. "But after this is over, we need to learn how they made it here. If by sea, then at least we could design some sort of defence mechanism."

"Then let's hope we survive."

Kara swallowed the lump that formed in her throat and spent the rest of the journey in silence, focusing her breaths so as to push her physical limits. If only it hadn't been raining. Then perhaps Kara would not have had to slow down at every turn. Even then, she'd nearly fell face-flat a couple of times. To add to it, she was freezing. She cursed herself for not being better prepared. Then again, how could she have known?

First came the screams. They echoed out from the shroud of mist that hugged the coastline. To use nature to their advantage…

What manner of monsters were these?

Kara wished she had never asked the question. For there they stood almost one with the mist. Almost, for splattered amongst the icy blue were splotches of red. And scattered before the creatures were what remained of the village watchmen. Some alive, others…scattered. The sand soaked in red.

Kara flinched away from that sight, choosing instead to focus her anger on the creatures themselves. They moved forward with an unnatural gait that was as unnerving as the endless abyss that were their eyes. In their hands were a whole host of makeshift weaponry. Spears and knives that looked to be held together by only string. Kara and Galen pushed closer, forming up with what remained of their forces. And with the distance closed, she was struck with horror. What she had thought to be string was actually strands of hair—human hair. And from there, it was easy enough to place why their blades were white.

A perversion of the art of weapon forgery. A perversion of nature.

"Galen!" Galen's father shouted over his shield. "Stay alert. Their aim is wicked."

As though having heard the compliment, one of the creatures launched his spear straight at Kara. She knocked it aside with a simple swipe of her hammer. The creature's continued their unnatural advance, creeping forward and around so as to flank them. The thought of an intelligent opponent had been bad enough, but to see it in action…

To see the enticement when they bared those long canines. Kara wondered if she would ever sleep peacefully again.

Perhaps if they had more men, perhaps then a shield wall would have done the job. After all, it was a Greek specialty. Or at least that's what the history books she had read had taught her. But then again these were a rag-tag team of villagers who at most knew how to swing their weapons. There was no finesse or tactics involved, only brute strength. The same could be said about her.

Kara was with the vanguard, her weapon of no use if she were to be surrounded by her allies. She swung her hammer in wide swathes. Again, and again. It was a testament to the sheer size of her weapon that she always found her mark. If not directly crushing a creature, then at least the weapon it held. Her muscles were crying from the effort. She hoped what damage was done would not be permanent. She could not bear to lose her place in the forge.

The villagers seemed to be faring well enough now that more reinforcements had streamed in. And it was with that quick survey of the landscape did she realise that Galen had been fighting by her side the entire time. In his hand, the sword she had forged. In spite of the situation, a slight smile played on her lips.

It lasted only a second. A strangled scream turning her attention. What she found, made her blood curdle. It was Galen's father; he had dropped to his knees, blood spurting from his neck, buried in it a bone-knife.

Kara followed his wrathful gaze straight to the creature struggling beneath her. She had not been quick enough to finish the job and now a man was dying. Kara shoved away the thought as quick as it wormed its way to her heart and brought down her hammer. It broke straight through the creature's ribcage, what semblance of life seen in those eyes vanishing in an instant.

Raising her gaze back to Galen's father was impossibly heart-wrenching. Another pair of eyes losing the glow of life.

Galen was beside his father, both hands cupped to his father's wound in a futile attempt to halt the bleeding. His fingers doused in blood. Strangled sobs from them both. Kara stood over them for the rest of the battle, making sure that this time every creature fell with a single blow.

It was over.

"He's gone," said Galen, voice at this point devoid of emotion. "He's gone," repeated Galen, staring blankly at Kara. "My father…"

"Galen," whispered Kara, moving to offer a comforting hand. He was quick to brush it away, his father's blood smearing across her fingers. "I'm so sorry."

Still he knelt there emotionless. Moments passed, heavier than even the weapon she bore. Finally, Galen gathered his father's limp body into his arms before rising to his feet. Around them, stood vigil the survivors of the battle, head bowed low in respect for the fallen. Because of her, they had all lost a leader today. And perhaps, she had lost a friend along with it.

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