After this, expect the update pace to slow down somewhat. I'm going on a trip fairly soon and won't be able to write quite as much. But I'm still posting this chapter today, because why not?

I'd like to thank everyone who has been reading this story thus far. It means so much to me. And if you want to contact me off of this platform, my Discord tag is Lucas the Lion#7822. I'll see you there, and enjoy this chapter!


Zeus: Upon leaving the symposium, where did you go?

Defendant: I went home.

Zeus: From my understanding, the house you lived in as a minor was not your first residence. That is, your "parents" were not your biological parents.

Defendant: Does that matter? They were still my real parents.

Zeus: (sighs) I suppose it does not. Continue with your story.

Over the next week, I spent a lot of time at home. The oppressive heat made the prospect of going outside, even to acquire necessities such as groceries, a daunting one. Far better to hole up indoors with the air conditioning on full blast.

I lived in a middle-class part of Los Angeles with my foster parents. It wasn't a perfect suburban life, but it was close enough to the American Dream. I didn't have anything to complain about; it could have been a lot worse.

I didn't know much about my birth parents. As far as I knew, both of them had mysteriously vanished when I was a baby, and I'd somehow ended up at the local orphanage. And I didn't remember anything from that orphanage either, since I was adopted at a very young age.

In some ways, I was jealous of my peers who weren't adopted. They hadn't been ditched by their birth parents for something they hadn't been able to control. They didn't have to wonder why there were no baby pictures in their house. Perhaps most importantly, they had a theoretical guarantee of stability within their lives.

Granted, as far as the American foster care system went, it was still pretty good. Plenty of proverbial lottery tickets would send me to a neglectful and/or abusive household. And my foster parents were nothing like that.

Later in the evening of July 4, I sat at my desk, sweating profusely. I'd spent the last hour poring over my notes from the symposium with no luck whatsoever.

How am I ever going to turn this into a coherent essay? Is the problem that I didn't take enough notes?

I typed what I could make out into my computer, but that was a big problem: My handwriting was far from legible. Sometimes it felt like the words floated around on the page, and the letters wouldn't stay where I wanted them to.

Mr. and Mrs. Stark kept talking about finding an evaluation for me, to see if I have a learning disability or anything like that. But they weren't able to. I guess that's the education system for you.

As I squinted at the page for the umpteenth time, I realized that my time could be much better spent looking for more information on the symposium. Perhaps the local news would be covering it if there was nothing more noteworthy; nowhere did the assignment specify that we couldn't use outside sources.

So that's what I did. Neither of my foster parents were watching TV, so I turned it on and switched the channel to Fox News.

One of the anchors, a blonde woman, appeared on screen next to a graphic of the Dignity Health Sports Park. I couldn't remember her name; to me, all the Fox personalities were interchangeable.

"This afternoon, a rather curious event was held at a football stadium in Los Angeles. The organizers allege that ancient Greco-Roman mythology is alive and well in America today.

"Of course, if it were true, it wouldn't really be called mythology, I should think. It would just be history. But Charles "Upchuck" Weldworth doesn't see it that way!"

I couldn't help but chuckle. For once, a Fox anchor had said something I agreed with. It wasn't every day that this happened.

The anchor continued. "The symposium's main speaker has made other claims that cannot be substantiated. Some of these claims cannot be repeated here, simply because they're so outlandish that you wouldn't believe them. But some of them can be, so here we go."

I was on the edge of my seat now. I might not have been paying attention as strongly before, but that wasn't the case anymore. My ears were tuned closely to what this anchor had to say.

"Upchuck Weldworth alleges that there exists a barrier between the mortal and immortal worlds called the Mist. Supposedly, that's why there haven't been any independently verified sightings of any Greek deities or monsters. Of course, one must then ask the question: Could this also be because the man is a lunatic?"

I mean, that would be my first guess.

"Mr. Weldworth also claimed that World War II was caused by a conflict between the children of Zeus and Poseidon, the Ancient Greek gods of the sky and sea respectively, on one side, and the children of Hades, the Lord of the Dead, on the other. Weldworth would have you throw out everything you knew, or at least thought you knew, about World War II history.

"According to him, the war was not caused by German expansionism, economic collapse, or anything else. Nope, it was a disagreement between mythological deities that created the deadliest conflict in human history. I mean, this is already beyond parody, but it gets worse.

"So after the Allies, backed by Zeus and Poseidon, won the war, they came to an agreement with Hades that there would be no more affairs with mortals. It just couldn't happen. So that's why you don't see many particularly powerful demigods lately, except for one Peter Johnson."

Peter Johnson. There's that name again.

"As a disclaimer before we play the video, virtually nothing you're going to hear in this segment is true. It's only Mr. Weldworth there, making things up as he goes."

The video beside the anchor began playing. I'd seen it in person before, of course, but only now did I get a full appreciation of the sheer size of the crowd. Thousands of people believed this nonsense.

Of course, thousands of people is a drop in the bucket compared to the whole American population. But then again, I'd assume that everyone there is from the L.A. area. There could be over a million lunatics in this country.

I turned the TV off not long after. Returning to my room, I stepped softly on the floorboards so that they didn't creak. I didn't want to wake up either of my foster parents.

And then I started writing, though I didn't get very far. Although the Fox News segment was entertaining, it hadn't told me anything that I didn't already know. It wasn't going to help me too much.

In the end, I decided to spend some time surfing the Internet; it was the best way to make the minutes go by a little faster. I'd never understood how anyone could have survived without it.

Maybe if I write my paper on Greek mythology, it'll be easier. So that's precisely what I'll do.

I ended up finding a portal on Wikipedia that linked to all sorts of pages about ancient myths. I knew that Wikipedia wasn't a source professors wanted you to cite, but there were always pages linked to the articles, so it was still useful.

Zeus: So you did not know the law of technology? What some might call the Trace?

Defendant: This isn't Harry Potter, my lord. And besides, I was an adult, legally speaking, at that time.

Zeus: Still, you didn't seem to understand that when a…when someone like you uses technology such as a phone, or surfing the Internet, that puts a target on your back. We wanted to protect you, Mr. St. Lawrence, but you have to protect yourself first.

Defendant: Knowing what I know now, yeah, it was stupid. But how could I have been aware of how dangerous it was?

Zeus: Search histories are still public if someone can do enough digging, and what is more, your browsing activity that day indicated an interest in Greek mythology. The more knowledgeable you become in that subject, the more of a threat you are, and the more of a threat "they" pose to you.

Defendant: Well, like I said, I didn't suspect anything at the time. I thought Upchuck Weldworth was just a crazy person. Never could I have imagined any of this.

I had just cobbled together an outline when I experienced what can only be described as an ominous sensation of being watched.

I shivered despite the warm air. Mr. and Mrs. Stark, my adoptive parents, were the type of people who needed their beauty sleep. They wouldn't appreciate it if I woke them up, so why would they be out of bed now?

So I turned around, but didn't see anyone else in my bedroom. Nor were there any eyes staring through my window.

That's definitely odd. Why would I feel as though someone else is watching me?

I tried to get back to work. Now that I had an outline, I could theoretically work off of that to crank the whole essay out. And then I'd be able to have a stress-free summer, forgetting that I'd once attended the most bizarre lecture of my life.

But progress was elusive. The letters seemed to move across the page like synchronized swimmers, and it was nearly impossible to focus.

Maybe I was just tired. I had a month and a half left to finish the essay, after all, so it would be okay to hit the hay just this once.

By my standards, I'm doing pretty well. Normally I don't get started with these things quickly enough.

So I got ready for bed. The whole time I was brushing my teeth, I kept imagining eyes staring at me from the other side of the window. I pictured eerie light piercing through the glass and touching down on the nearby walls.

And I didn't get much sleep that night.


During the next few days, I couldn't stop thinking about what had happened that night. Perhaps I was paranoid that the police would come and take me away for having called Upchuck Weldworth a lunatic. Or maybe it had just been a hallucination driven by lack of sleep.

Whatever the case might be, I didn't mention the last theory, nor the overall feeling, to my foster parents. It was an idea I didn't like toying with, but one that I had to at least consider.

Could Mr. Weldworth actually have some truth up his sleeves?

No, it was ridiculous. As far as I was concerned, those who believed in pagan mythology were not only irrational, but potentially dangerous. They were in the same category as faith healers who sold snake oil, or those annoying End Times preachers who promise that the apocalypse will come within the next few years. They weren't to be taken seriously.

I was about to dismiss it entirely when I recalled an old adage I'd heard about scientific inquiry, which I suppose applied to journalism as well.

The scientist has a very fine line to walk. They must be open to a new idea, but not so gullible as to accept it without evidence. They must be skeptical of any hypothesis, but not so cynical as to dismiss it out of hand.

And so, as much as it pains me to admit this, I doubled down on my research, hardcore.

I read pages upon pages of old Greek stories, about satyrs and nymphs and monsters. About heroes and gods and Titans. I read until it felt like my eyes would bleed, but it didn't give me any answers. If anything, it left me with even more questions.

No. I don't need to wonder about any of this stuff. The truth, the most likely explanation, is that Upchuck Weldworth was talking out of his ass.

Rodney Stark, my adoptive father, entered my room one day. He noticed me hunched over my desk, squinting at my computer with determination in my eyes.

"Are you okay, Brandon?" he asked me. "You haven't left your room in hours. This isn't like you."

"Yeah, I'm fine," I responded simply. "I'm just doing research for my essay."

Mr. Stark frowned. "I didn't realize it was a research paper. I thought it was just an essay based on what you saw at the event."

I shook my head. "No, it wasn't that. Outside research on the subject is also encouraged."

I was impressed with my own ability to come up with such a lie on the spot. I'm not sure how much my adoptive father bought it, but he seemed satisfied, at least for now.

"Very well. Just take care of yourself, you hear me? If you don't do that, your paper won't be as good as it could be."

"Got it."

After that, Mr. Stark left my bedroom, leaving me to continue plugging away at the paper. Of course, numerous distractions abounded, hampering my efforts to do so.

The more I researched this stuff, the less sense it made. With every page I read on Wikipedia before tossing it into my computer's trash section, I became increasingly convinced that Upchuck Weldworth had been out of his mind. Perhaps he was even high on some drug that caused him to be delusional.

Eh, it's probably better not to speculate about that.

One evening, roughly a week after the symposium, I found myself in the same position I'd been in for much of the last few days. It was hard not to slouch as I pored over information on Greek and Roman mythology.

Apparently the Greek gods had different names in Ancient Rome; for instance, Zeus was Jupiter, Poseidon was Neptune, Hades was Pluto, and the list went on and on. I recognized some of those Roman names; they were planets in our solar system (well, except Pluto.)

In any case, this rabbit hole eventually led me to research Upchuck Weldworth. Perhaps this would give me more clarity, though I wasn't holding my breath in that regard.

Sure enough, I was sorely disappointed. Mr. Weldworth, despite his bombastic appearance at the symposium, kept a relatively low profile on the Internet. He had no social media accounts that I could find, and even the few news articles I discovered didn't say much.

Of course, I thought bitterly. If I were him, I wouldn't want too many people knowing about me. Then again, he thinks he's right about all this shit.

With every hour that went by, I began to feel more and more paranoid. Something was just outside my window, or maybe it was with me in this room. Although I couldn't see any monsters, I felt certain that something could see me.

But that's ridiculous!, I told myself. There's nobody else here. I just need to drink more water, that's all.

Even after I'd gulped down several glasses of water, though, the sense of impending doom remained. I did not feel lethargic; on the contrary, my level of awareness seemed to have been augmented.

This might be the most vivid hallucination I've ever had. Of course, there's not much competition.

I eventually decided to head to bed. I'd feel better in the morning; at least, that's what I told myself.

Despite the warm night air, I found myself shivering the instant I laid down. I wasn't alone in this room, that was obvious. But I wouldn't be able to show that to my foster parents, and not just because they were already asleep.

I was hoping for a dreamless sleep, one that would make my paranoia less pronounced. All I wanted was to wake up in the morning and never think about monsters outside my window again.

I was not so lucky.

The instant I fell asleep, I ended up in a dream. And it wasn't a pleasant one.

Three teenagers, all around the age of fifteen or sixteen, could be seen fighting in the decrepit ruins of what had once been a mansion. I couldn't see what they were fighting, exactly, only that they seemed desperate to avoid attacks from their invisible enemies.

The atmosphere was incredibly tense, as well as cold; the temperature was a far cry from that of Los Angeles in real life. There was also a woman in a cage, wearing a black dress and shawl over her dark hair.

Before I could even attempt to interpret what I was seeing, the scene changed again.

Now I was still at the ruined manor, but it was nearly deserted. There was only one creature there: A she-wolf, sitting on the front steps of the ruins.

I got to my feet and began approaching the wolf. With each step, I felt an increasing sense of trepidation.

Although I didn't know who the wolf was, I knew somehow that she could either be my best friend or my worst enemy. That would depend on how I treated her.

"Good evening, Brandon St. Lawrence" the wolf announced softly as I came nearer to her. "Welcome to my domain."

I frowned. "Where is this?"

There was a bit of laughter from the wolf. Then, she responded, in a rather soft yet firm tone.

"Alas, when you ask me that, I cannot answer. There are certain things you should not know before it is your time. Indeed, you have made some mistakes yourself."

"What mistake? Attending the symposium?"

"Well, that was one of them," she replied.

"Upchuck Weldworth…is he dangerous? Because he's a delusional joker, that's what he is."

The wolf seemed to weigh the question for a moment, then shook her head. "Charles Weldworth, Brandon. That is how you should refer to him, for to be unafraid of someone is to be willing to speak their true name. As to the question you asked, he is dangerous, but not in the way you imagine."

"You mean he's not just dangerous by virtue of being a lunatic?"

The wolf bared her fangs at me, but not in a threatening manner. Then, she responded.

"It is true that stupid people are dangerous, but Charles Weldworth may not be as stupid as you are imagining. He has plenty of people believing what he says."

"But that doesn't mean it's true" I replied flatly. "Look at all those people who believe all sorts of wacky things. The human race can be quite gullible."

The wolf narrowed her eyes, and I saw an icy blue glint in them. If dying in a dream was a possibility, I didn't want to find out the hard way. I put my hands in the air like a suspect under arrest.

"Perhaps they are," she said. "But that's not the purpose of our meeting, so I will abandon the subject. Normally, before my visitors seek refuge, they visit me at my domain, where I test them to see if they are worthy. If they have fought valiantly, they will be spared and given a home."

"But I already have a home," I told her. "I've got Rodney and Michelle Stark, two loving foster parents, and I'm going to college in a month and a half. I've got a perfectly stable life here."

"But do you?" the wolf asked. "Brandon, my name is Lupa. Have you heard of me before?"

I shook my head. "No?"

It sounded like a name Mr. Weldworth might have mentioned during his speech, but I hadn't been as focused as I could have been during it. I didn't remember the name.

"The reason I ask", Lupa replied, "is because you've shown a remarkable ability to avoid detection thus far. For someone like you, the fact that they haven't caught up with you yet is very impressive."

"Who are they?"

Lupa shook her head. "Again, the more you know, the more precarious your situation becomes. Our enemies see those more knowledgeable as threats, and who can blame them?"

"I'm not a threat to anyone" I insisted, trying to imagine myself hurting a neighbor.

"Really? You don't know your own strength, Brandon. It is for this reason that I have full confidence in you to fulfill your destiny. You have passed my test with flying colors."

"Uh, thanks" I said blankly, still not knowing what this was all about. "I guess."

"You should be thankful, although it's also through your own strength that you've passed. You do not wish to know what happens if you fail."

I pictured Lupa eating me for dinner; then, shaking my head and trying to block it out of my mind: "I…don't think I want to know."

"Very well," Lupa responded. "There is only one matter left to attend to, and that is this: Remember your fatal flaw."

With that cheerful series of four words, I woke up once more. But something wasn't quite right; it was still dark out.

I glanced at my clock and saw that it was slightly after midnight. I couldn't have been asleep for more than an hour or two. Not surprisingly, I felt distinctly unrested.

Remember my fatal flaw. That doesn't sound promising, especially since the word "fatal" is included.

The room was silent at first, but it wasn't long before a low howl pierced the night.