Hello there! I was bored tonight as I scrolled through my drive and my eyes fell upon this document; the one which contained the prologue of this project. I thought: why not upload it? However, I should post some kind of warning first. This will be a long story, because those are the kind of stories I love to write, and it won't ever be my priority. As of today, I'm also writing a Harry Potter story, named Scala ad Caelum; which is my first and most important project.
What do I want to say by this? That chapters will be uploaded when they will. I write when I feel like it; sometimes, I write 5K words a day, just as I do not write a word in a week if I'm not in the mood. Maybe, there will be a few chapters each month, or maybe once each three months or even once a year. I don't know, and only time will tell.
This one will be similar to Scala ad Caelum since they both belong to the genre of epic fantasy, akin to those novels I love so much like A Song of Ice and Fire, The Stormlight Archive and the Wheel of Time.
In Genesis, you'll find a long and serious story narrated from the perspective of many and different characters; both from those that belong to Rick Riordan and some I created; I'll try to dig deeper into the aspects of world-building and a system or magic defined by clear rules for the fights. This being said, the original trio of Percy, Annabeth and Grover will be the main ones, though the cast of Heroes of Olympus will also play a very important role; I can only select four characters for the sum up, after all. I know loads of people in FF care about it, so let me warn you first: I suck at writing romance, so don't expect much of it, even though it will be necessary to create some bonds and motivation between the characters. This prologue is some kind of introduction to the way I write and to the story's tone.
Lastly, I wanted to say this: I am writing this story for me because this is a hobby I love and I like to challenge myself. If anyone wanna tag along for the ride, I would be very honoured and happy to have them. Even if no one reads this story, I'll keep writing until I don't enjoy it anymore, and if that happens, I will drop it the moment it becomes a burden.
Genesis, let it be in the form of a new life, age or event, was a moment of creation; of a new beginning. But, for something new to start, something old must die. Could it be time for the Age of the Olympians to come to an end? To that question, only the future had its answer.
Prologue: Winds of Change.
Demigods stunk, that was one of the very first things Grover came to learn long ago, even before he started tracking them down for Camp Half-Blood. Some were worse than others. For example, Thalia Grace and Percy Jackson had surely been the worst two the satyr had ever met. Probably, because of whom they were sons to—even though Grover liked to think that it was, mainly, because of how great heroes his friends were.
It had been quite a while since he last abandoned the Camp to search for some lost Demigods. After defeating Gaea, peace and placid days had finally found them—the Olympians, true to the oaths they swore, started to guide their sons to the safety of the camp. Hell, they had even started to claim them as soon as they reached the Camp!
However, those details did not matter much on that day. Not when strange things were happening lately; sombre things which Grover didn't like a bit. The scent gets stronger in this direction, the satyr thought. There he was, at that remote place, lost in the middle of nowhere, to carry out an impossible search, or so Chiron had named it—in theory, it wasn't impossible for him, but it was for the other satyrs, those younger and less experienced. And, certainly, in the old mentor's opinion, a mission important enough for Grover to be pulled out of his retirement.
Out there, at that forest of tall and dark trees, there was a group of Demigods, of unknown number, which had been attracting both satyrs and monsters alike. For the rest of his kind who tried, failure was all they could find, while, for those monsters who had tried to hunt the said group… Grover could still feel their banishing scents as they travelled back to the place they belonged to: The Tartarus.
It was the first time in his life Grover had to face such a peculiar search. Sure, some Demigods could kill a few monsters here and there to defend themselves—just like Percy did with the Minotaur—but to kill several of them in the span of a few months? Now, that was unheard of.
There were many questions in Grover's head; a storm of them that put the experienced satyr into a worried trance as he followed the course of a little brook. Did those Demigods even know what they really were? Why were they avoiding the satyrs with so much insistency, then? Where had they learnt how to fight? And how to kill? Unfortunately, there was only one way to obtain those answers he seeked so hard, and for that… A pack of wolves howled into the night far away, and Grover rushed his pace.
His wooden flute felt heavy in his trousers' pockets, but all he could hope was for the situation to not scale to a point in which it needed to be used. Grover felt observed, even though there wasn't anything but dense vegetation around him—the soft, cold wind of winter, the same which created those faint sounds of whistling, moved the trees' branches in a delicate swing.
Grover was the Lord of the Wild. but even he didn't feel safe that night.
Suddenly, his instincts told him to halt—there was a very strong scent nearby, that of a monster. It smelled quite familiar. He ran towards the closest tree and climbed it. From its crown and sat on a thick branch, about seven metres above the ground, Grover heard it. "To devour their flesh… To drink their blood," a cracking voice, like a faint growl, recited. "Oh, I shall be compensated by thee, but first, I will take my own reward!"
Unconsciously, at some point in the last few seconds, his flute had been pulled off the pocket and now was held by his hand in a tight grip; strong enough to hurt his fingers, which started to feel numb. Yet, as the creature walked below him, the only thing Grover could do was to stare at it as his face went pale as the moon itself. With a lion body, a human head and the tail of an escorpion, the Manticore brought bad memories to his mind.
Not this monster again! The last time Grover faced a Manticore, Artemis herself and her Hunters had to aid them to defeat the said creature—Dr Thorns, that had been its name that one time, and the bastard, even after being showered by a rain of silver arrows, still had enough strength to take Annabeth with him. For the first time in years, Grover doubted. He was all by himself and no one would come in his aid; could he…?
He shook his head in disgust to avert those thoughts away. He was the Lord of the Wild, the only satyr who could find Pan, the God of Wild—Grover was more than capable to find those Demigods and take them to Camp Half-Blood without a single casualty. He didn't have Annabeth's wits nor Percy's courage and strength, but he had nature by his side.
Out of the blue, his nose caught another scent, one which had eluded him for the last few hours. Those Demigods were close around! Shit, if I could detect them, so could the Manticore! He jumped down from the tree. His lower body was much stronger than that of a human, but the fall still sent a painful tickling through both of his legs.
Grover ran forward, to the other side of the brook, where the scent from the Manticore and the Demigods became almost one. There, an arrow almost went through his head—the satyr rolled over to the left, too shocked to do anything but to gasp. Fortunately, his body wasn't as slow as his mind—the flute rose to his lips, and the soft melody that came from it saved his life. A shield of roots was born from the ground, just in time to stop the spear and knife that tried to kill him. The hell is happening here?!
Grover kept playing the flute, this time, a frenzier melody. It echoed around, touching the trees with its invisible notes, and they told him all he needed to know. "Wait, I came here to help you!" Grover exclaimed. The satyr bet his life at one risky play—one so stupid even Percy would have been proud of. He put the flute back on his trousers as the root shield died, making its way back to the ground. "I'm friendly!" He exclaimed once again, raising his arms over the head. "I swear! I'd raise a damn white flag if I had one!"
The sound of footsteps came to his ears; the group was getting closer. The first person to get out of the thicket was a fellow satyr, who looked much younger than him—he carried some kind of wooden club in his hands, that could barely hold it due to how intensely they trembled. His hair was a mess of brown curls and his skin a shade a bit darker than Grover's. "A friend, you say?" The satyr asked with a shaking voice. "We do not have friends!" This time, his voice came out stronger as the club was raised over his head in a silent threat.
The poor lad didn't even have a single hair on his face, Grover noted. He was about to talk, but someone else beat him to it; two kids, actually.
The first one came out from a bush and strode towards the young satyr. Of short, dark hair and skin, he couldn't have been older than thirteen, yet his hands had a strong grip on the wooden bow he carried. "Mik, are you okay?" He asked the satyr. His breath came out raggedly, but the boy still placed an arrow on the bow with a firm hand.
"Of course he's okay, you dumbass," a high-pitched voice huffed. From the same place where the boy had come, a girl of the same age made an act of presence. For a few seconds, all Grover could do was to stare at the girl with open eyes. Of blond hair and grey eyes, she was a copy of a younger Annabeth! The girl analysed him with cold eyes. "You must be the one Claude told us about," she just said. Three pairs of eyes were set on her, yet she ignored them all with ease. "Okay, we might need your help, satyr. Follow us."
Grover had no idea about what was happening, but neither did the other two boys. "Do you have any idea of what the hell are you doing?" The black boy shouted at her. "For all we know, he might want to eat us!" The satyr nodded his head to back those words.
The girl just sent him a murderous look—she was Annabeth in miniature, indeed. "Satyrs don't eat humans," she replied. "Besides, did you see what he did with those roots that protected him? If he wanted to hurt us, we would already be dead!" She turned to look at Grover. "You said you wanted to help us, didn't you? Well, two friends of ours might need a bit of help fighting the ugly Manticore that came before you. What do you say, satyr? Mind being useful for a change?"
Damn, she sure does have a sharp tongue on hers! Instead of answering, Grover just unsheathed his flute and strode towards them, deepening into the forest. "You three stay behind me every damn second," he ordered once he took the lead of the group. The girl huffed, even though she did as told. "What's the situation? How did you know I would come in your search?"
"Claude has weird dreams," Mik, the satyr, said. "She's been telling us that a day would come in which we won't be able to stand our pursuers up. She said that another person like me would find us."
Prophetic dreams? I hate them! They never mean any good. The Manticore's scent got stronger as the vegetation got denser, and… There it was! The scent of a Demigod; strong enough to send shivers all down his spine. "That girl you just told me about, Claude, is she alone?" Grover asked in a rush.
"No," the blond girl answered. "Noel is with her. He's the oldest person in our group, and the one who always protects us from those ugly monsters."
In the name of Zeus and all the Olympians, what is happening here? Four Demigods, of which, at least, two emitted a very strong scent, and a young satyr who looked to have no links to Camp Half-Blood… Moreover, there was a bloody Manticore there! Grover was about to lose his head, but he kept running—he had a duty to compell, and no monster would stop him from saving those children.
He ran until there was no path to follow, and then jumped down, into the seven metre fall—the three kids behind him gasped in surprise, but Grover wasn't in the mood to pay them a single second of attention. In front of him, at the end of that large clearing, the Manticore stood still as it observed the two Demigods who opposed it; its long tail swung from one said to another, yet its spines remained inactive. "You two are not the ones I was supposed to eat," the monster muttered. It sounded confused, almost put off. "I was given promises of vengeance."
The male Demigod, Noel, stepped forward to meet the beast with a cold calm that impressed the satyr. Half a head taller than Grover, with eyes of an emerald green and bright as a firefly, his hair was the young man's most prominent feature—a mess of pale, white curls that fell all over his forehead up to the eyebrows, that were of the same colour. His skin was tanned as if he had spent a thousand hours under the sunlight. "Then turn around and go in search of those promises you were given," he just said. He looked to be at ease, however, his right hand made its way backwards, to the back pocket of his blue trousers, where it kept a strong grip around something Grover couldn't see.
While Noel had yet to acknowledge Grover's presence, the girl at his back set her gaze on the satyr as she placed a long arrow on her grey bow, of the same colour as her eyes. Claude, the girl who, supposedly, had prophetic dreams about their meeting, was a young, short woman of pale skin and hair as dark as night itself; just as the clothes she wore. She took her finger to the lips, beckoning him to remain silent.
"Mhm, I was lied to," the Manticore muttered as it strode around. For a second, Grover thought that it really looked uninterested about the Demigods after that last revelation. However, even though its eyes never looked at their direction, its tail was pointed at Noel the whole time. "Mhm, I think I will devour you either way, boy," its lion head finally settled on the Demigod; a set of knife-like teeth formed a sombre smile. "And I will bring the girl alive with me. Yes, that is what I will do—an offering to Him."
Grover took the flute to his lips, but the Manticore was faster. Its tail moved like a whip and a rain of spikes was born. They pierced through the air, echoed by a choir of whistles. Noel then pulled out the weapon his hand had been clutching to. A golden hilt gleamed amidst the darkness of the forest, and from it came a sword of blazing flames.
With a sharp cut downwards, a little wall of fire appeared right in time to consume the spikes. The Manticore looked as surprised as Grover was, but the shock was quickly transformed into primal rage by the next second, when Noel, following the motion of his last movement, suddenly raised his sword into the air as if following some invisible, oblique line.
A jet of bright flames were launched at the Manticore, which could barely jump away from the attack. The smell of burnt flesh filled Grover's nostrils as the monster roared into the night. It landed far from them, at the other end of the clearing; a new position that allowed its eyes to set onto the satyr's figure for an instant. "Forget about what I said," the beast growled. "First, I will shatter the bones and tear the flesh of your limbs, and then I shall keep you alive so you can enjoy the way I devoure everyone else."
Look at that, still as feisty as you were in the past, eh, Dr Thorns? A faint melody echoed around the clearing, through the trees of the forest. Grover played the flute as he took cover behind a thick tree; dozens of spikes almost pierced through it, but it was too late for the Manticore to do anything else.
The earth rose and root chains coiled around the creature's legs. Noel ran towards the monster, his flaming sword swung as many times as it needed to burn the spikes into ashes. Grover felt a tug from his chains, but he increased the pace of his melody to stop the Manticore from escaping. Percy and Thalia might not be here this time, but I have changed, Dr Thorns! I won't leave anyone behind! For an instant, the satyr saw a glimpse of fear in the monster's face, just as Noel's blade fell upon it. However, as if struck by lightning, the Manticore let out a furious cry that froze his blood. It jumped and the roots were pulled with it.
"Look out!" A feminine voice shouted from the other end of the clearing.
It was enough to pull Noel out of his brief slumber; just in time to dodge the rain of spikes with a roll over. With the flaming blade already guarding his body, the man rose to his feet as the Manticore landed between him and Grover. "Claude, take the kids away with you, as far as possible from here," he said after gulping a long breath.. "This ain't no ordinary monster."
Grover placed himself right behind the Manticore—closer, but far enough from it to react in time if needed. The notes of his melody came to life again; he felt how the grass under his feet answered to his call. Though Noel was right. There was something strange about Dr Thorns—his scent had changed out of a sudden. Damn you, Chiron! Why do you always give me the most dangerous jobs!
"It matters not the day," the Manticore let out a haughty laugh. "Maybe it will not happen today, but, oh, I can already feel it in my bones. My precious vengeance is waiting for me! I will destroy those Demigods who sent me to The Tartarus." Dr Thorns walked forward, almost in a trance, towards Noel, who just prepared himself for the new assault. The monster's scent got stronger, enough to make a dent in Grover's confidence. "The son of Poseidon and the daughters of Athena and Zeus… And I shall not forget about Artemis herself… They will all die… For the Genesis shall come!"
Noel raised his sword over his head, ready to strike the Manticore amidst its moment of madness. However, faster than his flaming sword, faster than Grover's melody, a black arrow pierced through the air to interrupt the monster's monologue—made of dark crystal, the arrow, silent as death itself, went through the Manticore's chest.
All the eyes were set on Dr Throns, who just lowered his gaze to observe his wound. "What is the meaning of this?" He asked aloud. His voice didn't sound pained at all—in fact, all Grover could detect in it was a slight touch of surprise. He grabbed the arrow with one hand and pulled it out from his chest. No blood came from it, just an hole in the flesh.
Then, Dr Thorns was turned into dust.
The Manticore didn't even have time to shout or cry; from one instant to another, his existence had come to an end. Grover took a few steps back, too shocked to form any coherent thought. His melody came to halt, and with it, the satyr also lost the connection with the Wild—however, for a brief instant, he felt the nature's repulsion. Its repulsion to that strange arrow. Whatever it was, the Wild wanted it as far from the trees as possible.
"Was it necessary?" Claude's voice startled him. Grover had been so lost in his thought that he had missed the moment in which everyone had come into the clearing. "I had a really bad feeling about that fucker, so I just went along with it."
"Honestly, I have no idea," Noel let out a tired sigh in response. The flames of his sword came to an end and its golden hilt was all that remained of the strange blade. "Maybe, between me and the satyr, we could have defeated it without getting hurt in the process; too much, at least." The man set his bright eyes on Grover; despite their lively colour, they were cold and tough as steel itself. "Now, who the hell are you?"
"He's the one satry Claude told us about," mini-Annabeth answered. On the contrary, she looked at Grover with a fire in her eyes that almost gleaned over its grey irises—Grover wondered if it was hope that he saw.
Noel's eyes briefly look in the woman's direction. "Well, it could be true," he admitted after a few seconds of silence. "He's far more capable than those other satyrs we found. The way he manipulates those roots with his music… It almost handed me that monster on a silver plate."
"So, it is true, then?" Mik the satyr piped in. He also sounded a bit excited. "Are we ready to move on from this place?"
The two adults of the group shared a quick look. "I only have three arrows left," Claude said. "I think we should leave this way of life behind, Noel. With each week, the amount of monsters that can track us down increases drastically, and so does their strength. This ain't about the two of us anymore, and you know it very well. There will come a day in which you won't be able to protect everyone."
Finally, Grover decided to cut in—his tired mind had far too many questions. "I don't know who the hell are you or why are so many monsters trying to hunt you down so fervently," he started. "However, a very good man sent me here to help you out, and that's what I'm gonna do. So, why don't we start again? My name is Grover, and I used to rescue Demigods from the tough world we live in to bring them to the safety of Camp Half-Blood; a place in which you can all live in peace." At least, so had been up to that day. However, just in case, he decided to omit that detail.
"My name is Claude," the young woman replied with a friendlier voice. Her long bow was now hooked to her back by a leather cord. "And this man here is Noel; we've known each other since we were twelve, when the monsters started to find us from time to time. Back then it wasn't as bad as it is nowadays; we could live for months in the same place before moving away. However, those good times ended a bit less than a year ago, when we met these three children."
"I'm Sofia," the blond girl took the word before pointing at her two companions. "Then you have Mik and Lewis! I've known them since I have a memory. The three of us used to live in an orphanage, but one day, during a trip to a museum, one of those ugly monsters found us. We escaped from the museum and ran into Claude and Noel. And well, I think you can imagine what happened next."
So they were two separate groups that came together once the monsters started to increase their activity, eh? It was common that at the age of twelve, when Demigods started to awaken their powers and true essence, the monsters started to feel drawn to them. However, Grover had no way to know whether that increase of the activity was natural or not. Furthermore, what really startled him was the fact those two adults had referred to another increase of the monster's activity—one that started around a year in the past, just the strange things started to happen.
"You seem to know quite a lot about the situation and your real nature," Grover pointed out, instead. He would worry about those matters later, behind the safety of the Camp's barriers—for the time being, he would settle for the important details. "It ain't everyday such a thing happens." Not only were there three children of around twelve years old there, lost far away from the Camp, but there also were two young adults with them; two Demigods with a strong scent that should have been led to the Camp by the Gods long ago.
"I have known about my real nature for many years, satyr," Noel huffed. "At first I thought I was turning mad; how could I not? From one day to another, my regular dreams were replaced by images of some tall man with a bright sun as head and robes made of fire. Then he started to whisper things to me—about who I really was; what was my relationship with him; the reason why monsters would start to pursue me from that day onwards… Well, I can't say my father was useless, at least. He gave me information and this incredible sword of flames."
Grover took a few seconds to compel all the information. For much he tried, it did not make sense—there were far too many incognites there. "Your dad… Is it Apollo?" The satyr asked, finally.
"Helios, the God of Sun," Claude replied before the man could open his mouth. "At least, that was what he said. The God, I mean."
Helios? That was impossible and utterly ridiculous—Helios died long ago, and never ever had the Camp hosted a single of his progenecy. The satyr voiced out his scepticism; needless was to say that it wasn't welcomed by the young man.
"Hell if I know," Noel sent him a sour look. "That man told me he was my father, and Helios was his name. All the things he said became a reality; really helpful things, most of them, those which allows a person to survive, satyr. You might know a hundred times more about this world than I do, but here I will trust that bastard's words. My father or not, he helped us survive. That means everything to me."
A tense silence enveloped them, but it was Sofia who broke it. "Well, who cares about those silly details now? We need to move from here! That monster freaked the hell out of me, and I don't want another one of its kind to find us." She made a pause to look at Noel with softer eyes. "Please, you promised we would change locations as soon as Claude's dreams became a reality. This is our chance, Noel. This satyr here spoke of a safe place where people like us can live!"
The two other children backed her words with a nod of their heads, and Claude even placed a hand on his shoulder. "I think she is right. We cannot protect them anymore. It is time to find another way."
Noel exhaled a long sigh as the golden hilt was stored back into his black jumper's front pocket. "Okay," he gave up. "We will follow this satyr. Your name was Grover, right? Well, then you better take us to that safe place you just talked about, Grover. I swear that I will kill you at the most insignificant glimpse of treason—that is a promise between you and me."
Jeez, this man has a worse character than Clarisse! Still, Grover just extended his arm forward—after a few seconds, Noel, still a bit reluctant, shook his hand. "Trust me, I am your friend," Grover said with a firm voice. "And I will take you to the safest place you could have ever imagined." However, neither would it be a short nor easy journey; especially, given the bad feeling he had after all those new revelations. "But for that, we'll need to stop at another place. Don't worry, it's just as safe as Camp Half-Blood."
A stop in New Rome was necessary—the Olympians knew they needed all the help they could get.