"...Mr. Brunner? You are a centaur?" Percy asked, staring at the fusion between his Latin teacher and a white stallion.
"Indeed, Percy. Though, at the risk of sounding arrogant, I am no ordinary centaur. A hint; my name is not actually Mr. Brunner," The centaur said kindly, smiling pleasantly.
"...Chiron? The legendary trainer of heroes? Who should be well over three thousand years old?" Percy remembered what Grover had said on their walk down Half-Blood Hill.
Chiron's smile turned slightly pained. "Right on all accounts, Mr. Jackson- well done. However, I do wish you wouldn't mention my age, it is quite a sensitive topic…"
"My apologies, sir," Percy said, bowing his head slightly.
"Quite alright, my boy. Now, how about we discuss your journey here? It does not seem to have been easy, if the state of your mother and your clothes are anything to go by."
"It has been handled."
Chiron chuckled. "Yes, I see that, my boy, but that does not exactly tell me how."
"The Minotaur attempted to kill me, so I slaughtered it."
Chiron's head reared back in shock, his tail twitching. "W-Well, you certainly do not sugarcoat things, Mr. Jackson," he muttered, his laughter becoming uneasy. "Is that how your mother ended up unconscious? It injured her?"
"No, she simply passed out."
"Then I will have the Apollo campers check over her once she wakes. On a related note, how do you feel? Would you like to take a trip to the infirmary?"
"No, I believe sleep will suffice. I did not receive any wounds, merely exhausted myself."
"That is good. Then, I believe our business for tonight is over. Any of the rooms in the Big House should be free, with the exception of the one at the base of the stairs, which is currently occupied by your mother. Oh, and Mr. Jackson?"
Percy looked over from where he had turned away, ready to seek out an empty bed.
"Welcome to Camp Half-Blood."
The orientation film was more informative than Grover had believed. The rudimentary explanation of the Greek world vastly increased Percy's meager knowledge of the subject, and also gave him an idea of how to navigate this new home of his- he would not be returning to his old apartment if he could help it, not while that disgusting beast was still there.
Things began to click into place. He was a demigod, meaning that one of his parents- in this case, his father- had divine powers, some of which Percy would be able to access. Apparently, it was the parent that claimed the child in most cases, and usually whenever they had proven themselves worthy. Had anyone known of his time as a Hunter of the Dream, then it is likely that he would have been claimed long ago.
Regardless, he had an advantage, since he was a bit more sensitive to arcane energies than other half-bloods, and therefore felt the way it reacted positively to the presence of sea water. Therefore, it was likely that Percy was descended from a sea god. The only question was, which one?
If he remembered correctly from Mr. Brunner's Latin class (which seemed to be less about language and more about Greek mythology), then there were numerous gods for each element. For example, one of Zeus' elements was wind, which was also shared with four others, and then some. He likely wouldn't be the child of a nature spirit, despite the fact that they were considered gods as well, since their children tended to be nature gods themselves, or half-animals, such as satyrs.
Off the top of his head, Poseidon was the only sea god Percy could name, as well as Poseidon's son Triton. He would have to ask around, to see just how many there were, before he figured out who his godly parent was. That, or he was claimed, which worked just as well.
He would have to get to work, then.
"So, you're the one that killed the Minotaur?" a blonde girl asked him. She had her arms crossed, and seemed unimpressed with her first look at him.
"Yes."
The blonde girl raised an eyebrow at him, then glanced at the two horns hanging from his belt, where they were secured with two custom holsters, courtesy of the Hephaestus Cabin- a welcoming gift, of sorts.
Apparently, she had found what she came looking for, because she walked away without another word. She never gave him her name, and didn't ask him his, either.
From this moment on, she would be dubbed 'Blonde-Hair.'
Staring at the lake was not helping. He had tried to exert his will over the water, but only got far enough to be aware of it with his sixth, arcane, sense. This may have had something to do with the fact that, whenever Percy used arcane energy, he typically had a focus of some sort in hand. It seemed to be much more difficult to call upon it in a raw state.
Watching him skeptically was Luke Castellan, the leader of the Hermes Cabin, and therefore his new cabin counsellor. The justification for stuffing all those people in the Hermes Cabin was a bit weak, when they could have just built another cabin for the unclaimed. It wasn't like they didn't have a massive forest nearby with which to gather building materials, and the children of Hephaestus, the forge god. They should have been able to easily get the job done.
Either way, it was not Percy's job to criticize the rules, so he took his place on the floor, alongside twenty other kids.
"Uh, Percy, you sure you know what you're doing?" Luke asked, bemused at the younger boy's lack of success.
"No."
Luke's face shifted into a mixture of amusement at the blunt answer, and annoyance at having his time wasted.
"Well, then you can do this in your free time. Right now, the Hermes Cabin has archery practice. The Apollo kids get kinda irritated when people show up late and interrupt."
Percy could handle a bow. It just sucked. A lot.
"...Are you even trying to hit the target?" Michael Yew asked, staring at the arrow which had gone ten feet above the target.
"Yes."
Michael just sighed. There was nothing he could really do- the kid's stance and breathing were perfect, and the bow seemed to be lined up, but the arrow simply would not go straight.
"Just… Keep trying, I guess," Michael said, walking away to chat with some of the more competent archers.
Percy longed for his Evelyn.
"So, yer the punk that killed the Minotaur?" a large, brunette girl asked him. This seemed oddly familiar, except this time, the interrogator was not alone, and seemed more derisive than Blonde-Hair. Since the girl seemed to be the leader, she was likely the only one worth remembering. Therefore, she was now Brown-Hair.
"Yes."
Brown-Hair bared her teeth at him in the facsimile of a smile, before crossing her arms.
"You sure? No way a runt like you could've taken down something like that. Minotaur probably died from laughing so hard 'cause ya looked so stupid."
Her minions laughed and jeered, clapping each other then pointing at Percy, as if they were trying to get the focus of the group back on the matter at hand, despite it never wavering.
Percy furrowed his eyebrows in confusion- what was the point of this? Were these people the same as Red-Hair from Yancy Academy? He would've figured that the children of gods would be above such childish behavior. Then again, nobody in this particular group looked to be much older than himself, and he was twelve. It was somewhat difficult to tell, considering the lack of baby fat on the cheeks and their large statures- both due to physical labor/exercise- but he could see it in their eyes. Either they had been sheltered, or they simply had not yet lived long enough to see true horror, and mature through the experience.
Regardless of their maturity, or lack thereof, they were inconsequential. Percy stepped around the group, heading to join up with the rest of the Hermes Cabin for their canoeing class, a particularly relaxing moment in these dull days. However, it seemed Brown-Hair had other ideas.
"Hey!" she growled, slamming a hand onto his shoulder. "You tryin' to run, punk?"
"I have things to do."
Brown-Hair twitched at the obvious dismissal. "Oh yeah, you definitely got things to do- like gettin' yer head dunked in the toilet! C'mon, let's give this punk the initiation ceremony."
Her goons closed in, and Percy exhaled a silent sigh, quietly centering himself. He lashed out quickly, slamming a foot into the back of Brown-Hair's knee, causing her to drop into a kneel. An uppercut jammed her teeth together, forcing her eyes into the back of her head. The girl slumped to the ground, unconscious, with blood dripping from her bitten tongue. The other teens glanced at each other in surprise, before turning hateful glares on Percy. All five moved forward, though they attacked in an uncoordinated fashion.
Goon 1 threw a picture-perfect cross, which was so incredibly telegraphed Percy dodged it by a hair, allowing it to graze his cheek, before retaliating with a slug to the gut, doubling him over. A knee to the nose left the boy in a bloody mess on the ground, much like his leader.
Goon 2 attempted to slam an uppercut into his chin, only to find his hand caught in an iron grip. With a tug, Goon 2 was yanked into the path of a jab from Goon 3, spinning his jaw and sending him to the dirt, hard. Goon 3 was a bit too stunned, and she didn't anticipate the fist that jammed her nose sideways, the force of it knocking her out.
Goon 4 was taken aback by the quick takedowns of his buddies, and his hesitance cost him. He didn't put his guard up fast enough, and a roundhouse kick to the chin locked his jaw.
Goon 5 charged with a reckless shout of anger, swinging wildly with a wide hook. Percy leaned in, pushing both fists into his opponent's stomach. When she was doubled over, a sideswipe to the face with a sharp elbow put her out of commission. Finally, the sixth member of the group was left, simply because they had yet to rush the twelve-year-old. For a long moment, the two simply stared at each other, before Goon 6 took a step back, slowly putting his hands up.
Breathing out through his nose, Percy loosened up his limbs, falling out of his fighting stance, which involved a strong base with no guard, leaving his hands free to fly up from any unconventional angle. Like now, for instance, when Goon 6 attempted to launch a surprise attack, bringing a foot up for a throat-kick. Catching his ankle, Percy mercilessly slammed a fist into the boy's knee, bending the joint sideways. Before Goon 6 could even scream, Percy leapt forward, grabbing him by the face, and bashing the back of his head into the packed dirt below. The blow to the soft spot of his head knocked the final antagonizer out, and Percy finally allowed himself to truly relax.
"Well, that was… Interesting." Blonde-Hair. What was she doing here? "I thought you might need some help, but it looks like you've got things handled." Oh. She sounded rather neutral, but her marginally-widened eyes exposed her shock. Percy observed her for a moment, then simply turned away and continued on his previous path.
"Hey! Come back here!" Percy kept walking. "Wait! I want to talk to you!"
Percy sighed, and finally stopped moving. "I happen to be busy. Can it wait?"
"No, not really. First off, what's your name?"
Percy just stared blankly at her.
"Uh… Alright. Where did you learn how to fight like that?"
More staring. Blonde-Hair was getting irritated, judging by the crease in her eyebrows. "Are you gonna answer me!?"
"Get to the point, or I'm leaving."
"The point is that I want answers!"
"Goodbye."
Blonde-Hair's growl of rage sounded remarkably like a beast of Yharnam, and for a moment, Percy had to force himself to remember he was walking on a grassy hill instead of a bloody cobblestone street. He would not whip around and slice deep in Blonde-Hair's flesh with his blade (which he didn't even have anymore), would not remove her head from her shoulders, and most definitely would not partake in her sweet, sweet blood. Shaking himself out of the lapse in sanity, he kept moving.
Evening, after classes. Percy met up with Grover a few hours before dinner. Apparently, the satyr had been sent to retrieve him. For what, he wouldn't say. However, it became obvious when Grover led him to the porch of the Big House, where Chiron, Blonde-Hair, and a portly man were waiting for him.
Grover leaned over to him. "That's Mr. D," he said, gesturing at the rotund man, " He's the camp director, so be polite. That's Annabeth," he pointed at Blonde-Hair, "She's a normal camper, but she's been at Camp for longer than most. And you already know Chiron." The centaur, sitting in his magic wheelchair at the moment, waved genially, then went back to the card game which Mr. D hadn't even looked up from.
"Ah, Mr. Jackson, wonderful of you to stop by!" Chiron cried, spreading his arms wide. He was careful to tilt his hand of cards away from the watching hands of Mr. D. "Now we have four for pinochle! Both of you, sit, sit!" Percy sat to the right of Mr. D, and Grover opposite him. There was a long moment of silence, filled by Chiron's steady stare, before Mr. D finally sighed.
"Oh, I suppose I better say it, before this old horse talks my ear off. Welcome to Camp Half-Blood, brat. Don't think for a second that I'm glad to see you."
"I wouldn't dream of it."
Mr. D snorted. "Hmph. Of course you wouldn't- if I'm right, you probably wouldn't want to ever dream again. Tell me, boy; why do you reek of blood?"
Percy stiffened slightened, more than a bit concerned by the emphasis put on the word dream. No way could this man know… Could he? Percy decided to err on the side of caution with his response, hoping he could irritate the man enough to get him off the topic.
"Oh, I don't know, sir. Perhaps because my veins are full of it?"
For the first time, Mr. D looked Percy in the eyes, and the boy was nearly drawn into the depths of those purple pupils. As it was, he just snapped his head to the side, breathing noticeably louder.
"You know that is not what I meant." Percy remained silent, keeping his gaze to the ground despite Grover's insistent nudging. After a long moment, the pudgy man sighed. A scraping of plastic against wood indicated that he had pushed his chair back, his heavy feet falling loudly on the porch. "Walk with me, Perseus Jackson."
"Now, Mr. D, surely Mr. Jackson has not offended you-?"
"He hasn't. Calm your beard, you old horse. I'm merely… Curious. Come along, Jackson- I don't like to be kept waiting."
The authority in his voice left no room for denial, and Percy reluctantly rose. He ignored Grover's hyperventilating, and Blonde… Annabeth's audible confusion. Chiron was simply staring at him solemnly. Percy followed Mr. D off the porch of the Big House, and down to the vineyard, silent the whole while. The stout man began the conversation, seeing as it was obvious that the boy would not.
"You know, these grapes make for a good source of income. They draw on my powers, growing larger, more juicy than anything a mortal could produce. If I could, I'd squeeze every single one of these suckers into wine, but alas! My father has banned me from drinking even a drop of alcohol so long as I am the director of Camp Half-Blood… But I'm not here to talk to you about grapes or my punishment. I'm here to talk to you, about you. So, care to answer my question from earlier?"
Percy opened his mouth, then paused. How could he possibly explain this away? Why did this Mr. D even have any idea about this stuff?
As if reading his mind, Mr. D cleared his throat. "Perhaps I didn't make myself clear enough. I'll rephrase; why do you smell of the old blood?"
And with the addition of that one word, all of Percy's doubts were blown away. Mr. D knew of the Old Blood, the Great Ones, the Dream. His head was spinning- could this man be in the same situation as him? A Hunter, trapped in the body of a person from another world? Those thoughts dissipated when he once more locked eyes with the short man, feeling the insanity in those purple wells tugging at his soul, whipping his blood into a maddened frenzy. Gasping, Percy leapt backwards, reaching for a weapon he no longer had.
"Amygdala."