A/N (I recommend reading this): I'm going to MAKE THIS CLEAR. Just like I mention on my bio page about every other fanfiction I done: I DON'T OWN THE PERCY JACKSON AND THE OLYMPIAN SERIES or AND THE KANE CHRONICLES OR IT'S CHARACTERS as the rights goes to Rick Rioran. Also I suggest you guys start paying attention to the Author notes and my warnings that I left on EVERY chapter of EVERY story.

Sorry if this chapter is too much like the book.

This is a The Tales of version of the Percy Jackson and Kane Chronicles crossover and takes place after 'The Tales of the Heroes of Olympus part of the series. So if you haven't read them yet read before reading this story as stuff that happened in them will be mentioned:

The Tales of the Son of Poseidon: the Early Adventures
The Tales of the Son of Poseidon: The Lightning Thief
The Tales of the Son of Poseidon: The Sea of Monsters
The Tales of the Son of Poseidon: The Titan's Curse
The Tales of the Son of Poseidon: The Magical Labyrinth
The Tales of the Son of Poseidon: the Stolen Chariot
The Tales of the Son of Poseidon: the Sword of Hades
The Tales of the Son of Poseidon: the Bronze Dragon
The Tales of the Son of Poseidon: The Last Olympian
The Tales of the Son of Poseidon: the Staff of Hermes
The Tales of the Heroes of Olympus: The Lost Hero
The Tales of the Heroes of Olympus: The Quest for Buford
The Tales of the Heroes of Olympus: The Son of Neptune
The Tales of the Heroes of Olympus: The Mark of Athena
The Tales of the Heroes of Olympus: The House of Hades
The Tales of the Heroes of Olympus: The Blood of Olympus
The Tales of Magicians and Demigods: The Son of Sobek
The Tales of Magicians and Demigods: The Staff of Serapis
The Tales of Magicians and Demigods: The Crown of Ptolemy

Also if you haven't got the chance feel free to read:

The Tales of Classical Mythology

A crossover with The Tales of series with my dictionary on Greek/Roman Mythology where The Tales of Percy Jackson tells his version of stories behind famous names in Greek and Roman Mythology.

And if you are a fan of Stephen King:

The Tales of the Heroes of the Stand

Which is basically a crossover of The Tales of series with one of Stephen King's best novels The Stand.

Lastly, any one who wants to do a Demigods and Olympian reads story using 'The Tales of the Son of Poseidon' is allowed as long as you inform me about it.

I Get to Spend Time with my Children and Old Friends

I dreamed I was driving the sun chariot across the sky. I had the top down in Maserati mode. I was cruising along, honking at jet planes to get out of my way, enjoying the smell of cold stratosphere, and bopping to my favorite jam: Alabama Shakes' "Rise to the Sun."

I was thinking about transforming the Spyder into a Google self-driving car. I wanted to get out my lute and play a scorching solo that would make Brittany Howard proud.

Then a woman appeared in my passenger seat. "You've got to hurry, man."

I almost jumped out of the sun.

My guest was dressed like a Libyan queen of old. (I should know. I dated a few of them.) her gown swirled with red, black, and gold floral designs. Her long dark hair was crowned with a tiara that looked like a curved miniature ladder—two gold rails lined the rungs of silver. Her face was mature but stately, the way a benevolent queen should look.

So not Hera, then. Besides, Hera would never smile at me so kindly. Also… this woman wore a large metal peace symbol around her neck, which did not seem like Hera's style.

Still, I felt I should know her. Despite the elder-hippie vibe, she was so attractive that I assumed we must be related.

"Who are you?" I asked.

Her eyes flashed dangerous shade of gold, like a feline predator's. "Follow the voices."

A lump swell in my throat. I tried to think straight, but my brain felt like it had been recently run through a Vitamix. "I heard you in the woods…. Were you—were you speaking a prophecy?"

"Find the gates." She grabbed my wrist. "You've gotta find them first, you dig?"

"But—"

The woman burst into flames. I pulled back my singed wrist and grabbed the wheel as the sun chariot plunged into a nosedive. The Maserati morphed into a school bus—a mode I only used when I had to transport many people.

Somewhere behind me, a nasal voice said, "By all means, find the gates."

I glanced in the rearview mirror. Through the smoke, I saw a portly man in a mauve suit. He lounged across the backseat, where the troublemakers normally sit—or my sister's hunters when I must transport them as they normally sat as far from me as possible. This man was a male and my sister only let two men in history join the hunters and both died. Hermes was also fond of that seat—but this man was not Hermes either.

He had a weak jawline, an overlarge nose, and a beard that wrapped around his double chin like a helmet strap. His hair was curly and dark like mine, except not as fashionable tousled or luxuriant. His lip curled as if he smelled something unpleasant.

"Who are you?" I yelled, desperately trying to pull the chariot out of its dive. "Why are you on my bus?"

The man smiled, which made his face even uglier. "My own forefather does not recognize me. I'm hurt!"

I tried to place him. My cursed mortal brain was too small, too inflexible. It had jettisoned four thousand years of memories like so much ballast.

"I—I don't," I said. "I'm sorry."

The man laughed as flames licked his purple sleeves. "You're not sorry yet, but you will be. Find me the gates. Lead me to the Oracle. I'll enjoy burning it down!"

The sun chariot careened toward the earth. I gripped the wheel and stared in horror as a massive bronze face loomed outside the windshield. It was the face of the man in purple, fashioned from an expanse of metal larger than my bus. As we hurtled toward it, the features shifted and became my own.

Then I woke, shivering and sweating.

"Easy." Someone's hand rested on my shoulder. "Don't try to sit up."

Naturally, I tried to sit up.

My bedside attendant was a young man about my age—my mortal age—with shaggy blond hair and blue eyes. He wore doctor's scrubs with an open ski jacket, the words OKEMIO MOUNTAIN stitched on the pocket. His face had a skier tan. I felt I should know him. (I had been having that sensation a lot since my fall from Olympus.)

I was lying in a cot in the middle of a cabin. On either side, bunk beds lined the walls. Rough cedar beams ribbed the ceiling. The white plaster walls were bare except for a few hooks for coats and weapons.

It could have been a modest abode in almost any age—ancient Athens, medieval France, the farmlands of Iowa. It smelled of clean linen and dried sage. The only decorations were some flowerpots on the windowsill, where cheerful yellow blooms were thriving despite the cold weather outside.

"Those flowers…" My voice was hoarse, as if I had inhaled the smoke from my dream. "Those are from Delos, my sacred island."

"Yep," said the young man. "They only grown in and around Cabin Seven—your cabin. Do you know who I am?"

I studied his face. The calmness of his eyes, the smile resting easily on his lips, the way his hair curled around his ears… I had a vague memory of a woman, an alt-country singer named Naomi Solace, whom I had met in Austin. I blushed thinking about her even now. To my teenage self, our romance felt like something that I had watched in a movie a long time ago—a movie my parents would not have allowed me to see.

But this boy was Naomi's son.

Which meant he was my son too.

Which felt very, very strange.

"You're Will Solace," I said. "My, ah… erm—"

"Yeah," Will agreed. "It's awkward."

My frontal lobe did a one eighty inside my skull. I listed sideways.

"Whoa, there." Will steadied me. "I tried to heal you, but honestly, I don't understand what's wrong. You have got blood, not ichor. You were able to have nectar but not too much like a demigod as you started turning pale after so much. You are also recovering quickly from your injuries from what I been told, but your vital signs are completely human. At best I can guess is you're a demigod."

Demigod, huh? Well at least I now know I can drink nectar and eat ambrosia, just not too much of it.

"I'll take demigod over being a plane mortal," I said. "That means there's hope I might still have some powers."

"I don't know about that, but you seem to be about my age, fifteen or so. Your heart rate is back to normal. Ribs are mending faster, and your nose is better with now with nectar." Will explained.

"Did Meg tell you anything about my condition?" I asked.

"A bit, but I didn't catch much." Will took my wrist and checked my pulse.

"If I'm a demigod, how come I have acne and flab?" I asked.

Will tilted his head. "Even demigods have acne and started off with flabs before we start training."

Easy for him to say. It was difficult to even think of this young man as my son. He was so poised, so unassuming, so free of acne. He also did not appear to be awestruck in my presence. In fact, the corner of his mouth had started twitching.

"Are—are you amused?" I demanded.

Will shrugged. "Well, it's either find this funny or freak out. My dad, the god Apollo, is a fifteen-year-old—"

"Sixteen," I corrected. "Let's go with sixteen."

"A sixteen-year-old demigod, lying in a cot in my cabin, and with all my healing arts—which I got from you—I still can't figured out how to fix you."

"There is no fixing this," I said miserably. "I am cast out of Olympus. My fate is tied to a girl named Meg. It could not be worse!"

Will laughed, which I thought took a great deal of gall. "Meg seems cool. She's already poked Conor Stoll in the eyes and kicked Sherman Yang in the crotch."

"She did what?"

"She'll get along fine here. She's waiting for you outside—along with most of the campers." Will's smile faded. "Just so you are prepared, they're asking a lot of questions. Everybody is wondering if your arrival, your demigod situation, has anything to do with what's been going on at camp."

I frowned. "What has been going on at camp?"

The cabin door opened. Two more demigods stepped inside. One was a tall boy of about thirteen, his skin burnished bronze and his cornrows woven like DNA helixes. In his black wool peacoat and black jeans, he looked as if he had stepped from the deck of an eighteenth-century whaling vessel. The other newcomer was a younger girl in olive camouflage. She had a full quiver on her shoulder, and her short ginger hair was dyed with a shock of bright green, which seemed to defeat the point of wearing camouflage.

I smiled, delighted that I remembered their names.

"Austin," I said. "And Kayla, isn't it?"

Rather than falling to their knees and blubbering gratefully, they gave each other a nervous glance.

"So, it's really you," Kayla said.

Austin frowned. "Meg told us you were beaten up by a couple of thugs. She said you had no powers, and you went hysterical out in the woods."

My mouth tasted like burnt school bus upholstery. "Meg talks too much."

"But you're mortal?" Kayla asked. "As in completely mortal? Does that mean I am going to lose my archery skills? I can't even qualify for the Olympics until I'm sixteen!"

"And if I lose my music…" Austin shook his head. "No, man, that's wrong. My last video got, like, five hundred thousand views in a week. What am I supposed to do?"

It warmed my heart that my children had the right priorities: their skills, their images, their views on YouTube. Say what you will about the gods being absentee parents; our children inherit many of our finest personality traits.

"Well as Will and I discovered, I turn out to be a demigod," I said. "Even so, my problems should not affect you. If Zeus went around retroactively yanking my divine power out of all my descendants, half the medical schools in the country would be empty. The Rock and Roll Hall of Fame would disappear. The Tarot-card reading industry would collapse overnight!"

Austin's shoulders relaxed. "That's a relief."

"So, if you die while you're a demigod," Kayla said. "we won't disappear?"

"Guys," Will interrupted, "why don't you run to the Big House and tell Chiron that our… our patient is conscience. I will bring him along in a minute. And, uh, see if you can disperse the crowd outside, okay? I don't want everybody rushing Apollo at once."

Kayla and Austin nodded sagely. As my children, they no doubt understood the importance of controlling the paparazzi.

As soon as they were gone, Will gave me an apologetic smile. "They're in shock. We all are. It takes some time to get used to… whatever this is. Be lucky Michael Yew is not here. He demands a lot more answers still."

Ah, I remember Michael Yew, my other child. Short kid with ferret face.

"Where is Michael?" I asked.

"Camp Jupiter. He and a few other campers left moved there after the war to check it out," Will said. "He should be back this summer if nothing happens over there. Meantime I am acting as head counselor, and I learn I must keep it together for everyone else. Let us get you on your feet."

The nectar seemed to help as I only fell once. My head spun as though reeling from and my eyes felt as if they were being microwaved in their socket. Recent dreams continued to churn in my brain like river silt, muddying my thoughts—the woman with the crown and the peace symbol, the man in the purple suit. Lead me to the Oracle. I will enjoy burning it down!

I saw the backpack I arrived with along with the Kopis at my bedside.

"Bring that with us," I said pointing to the bag. "There's something in it I promised to give to Chiron."

Will nodded and grabbed the backpack and helped he out of the cabin.

The cabin began to feel stifling. I was anxious to get some fresh air.

One thing my sister Artemis and I agree on: every worthwhile pursuit is better outdoors than indoors. Music is best played under the dome of heaven. Poetry should be shared in the agora. Archery easier outside, as I can attest after that one time, I tried target practice in my father's throne room. And driving the sun… well, that is not really an indoor sport either.

Leaning on Will for support, I stepped outside. Kayla and Austin had succeeded in shooing the crowd away. The only one waiting for me—oh, joy and happiness—was my young overlord, Meg, who had apparently now gained fame at camp as Crotch kicker McCaffrey.

She still wore Sally Jackson's hand-me-down green dress, though it was a bit dirtier now. Her leggings were ripped and torn. On her bicep, a line of butterfly bandages closed a nasty cut she must have gotten in the woods.

She took one look at me, scrunched up her face, and stuck out her tongue. "You look yuck."

"And you, Meg," I said, "are as charming as ever."

She adjusted her glasses until they were just crooked enough to be annoying. "Thought you were going to die."

"Glad to disappoint you."

"Nah." She shrugged. "You still owe me a year of service. We're bound, whether you like it or not!"

I sighed. It was ever so wonderful to be back in Meg's company.

"I suppose I should thank you…" I had a hazy memory of my delirium in the forest, Meg carrying me along, the trees seeming to part before us. "How did you get us out of the woods?"

Her expression turned guarded. "Dunno. Luck." She jabbed a thumb at Will Solace. "From what he's been telling me, it's a good thing we got out before nightfall."

"Why?"

Will started to answer, then apparently thought better of it. "I should let Chiron explained. Come on."

I rarely visited Camp Half-Blood in winter. The last time had been three years ago, when a girl named Thalia Grace crash-landed my bus in the canoe lake.

I expected the camp to be sparsely populated. I knew most demigods only came for the summer, leaving a small core of year-rounders during the school term—those who for various reasons found camp the only safe place they could live.

Still, I was struck by how few demigods I saw. If Cabin Seven was any indication, each god's cabin could hold beds for about twenty campers. That meant a maximum capacity of four hundred demigods—enough for several phalanxes or one amazing yacht party.

Yet, as we walked across the camp, I saw no more than a dozen people. In the fading light of sunset, a lone girl was scaling the climbing wall as lava flowed down either side. At the lake, a crew of three checked the rigging on the trireme.

Some campers had found reasons to be outside just so they could gawk at me. Over b the hearth, one young man sat polishing his shield, watching me in the reflective surface. Another fellow glared at me as he splices barbed wire outside Ares cabin. From the awkward way he walked, I assume he was Sherman Yang of the recently kicked crotch.

In the doorway of Hermes cabin, two girls giggled and whispered as I passed. Normally this sort of attention would not have fazed me. My magnetism was understandably irresistible. But now my face burned. Me—the manly paragon of romance—reduced to a gawky, inexperienced boy!

I would have screamed at the heavens for this unfairness, but that would have been super embarrassing.

We made our way through the fallow strawberry fields. Up on Half-Blood Hill, the Golden Fleece glinted in the lowest branch of a tall pine tree. Whiffs of steam rose from the head of Peleus, the guardian dragon coiled around the base of the trunk. Next to the tree, Athena Parthenos looked angry red in the sunset. Or perhaps she just was not happy to see me. (Athena had never gotten over our little tiff during the Trojan War.)

Halfway down the hillside, I spotted the Oracle's cave, its entrance shrouded by thick burgundy curtains. The torches on either side stood unlit—usually a sign that my prophetess, Rachel Dare, was not in residence. I was not sure whether to be disappointed or relieved.

Even when she was not channeling prophecies, Rachel was a wise young lady. I had hoped to consult her about my problems. On the other hand, since her prophetic power had apparently stopped working (which I suppose in some small part was my fault), I was not sure Rachel would want to see me. She would expect explanations from her Main Man, and while I had invented mansplaining and was its foremost practitioner, I had no answers to give her.

The dream of the bus stayed with me: the groovy crowned woman urging me to find the gates, the ugly, mauve-suited man threatening to burn the Oracle.

Well… the cave was right there. I was not sure why the woman in the crown was having such trouble finding it, or why the ugly man would be so intent on burning its "gates," which amounted to nothing more than purple curtains.

Unless the dream was referring to something other than the Oracle of Delphi, but only other source of prophecies was written accounts on the floor of Jupiter's temple in Camp Jupiter and in the memory of a harpy of the Sibyl Books. I got the feeling neither were what those two were talking about either.

I rubbed my throbbing temples. I kept reaching for memories that were not there, trying to plunge into my vast lake of knowledge only to find it had been reduced to a kiddie pool. You simply cannot do much with a kiddie pool brain.

On the porch of the Big House, a dark-haired young man was waiting for us. He wore faded black trousers, a Ramones T-shirt (bonus points for musical taste), and a black leather bomber jacket. At his side hung a Stygian iron sword.

"I remember you," I said. "Is it Nicholas, son of Hades?"

"Nico di Angelo." He studied me, his eyes sharp and colorless, like broken glass. "So, you were made a mortal demigod. There's an aura of death around you—a thick possibly of death."

Meg snorted. "Sounds like a weather forecast. And what do you mean he is a demigod? I thought he was made mortal?"

"It turns out I was made demigod. But even with that, like any demigod, I am mortal," I explained, not so amused.

Being face-to-face with a son of Hades, I recalled the many mortals I had sent to the Underworld with my plague arrows. It had always seemed like good clean fun—meting out richly deserved punishments for wicked deeds. Now, I began to understand the terror in my victim's eyes. I did not want an aura of death hanging over me. I did not want to stand in judgment before Nico di Angelo's father.

Will put his hand on Nico's shoulder. "Nico, we need to have another talk about your people skills."

"Hey, I'm just stating the obvious. If this is Apollo, and he dies, we're all-in trouble."

Will turned to me. "I apologize for my boyfriend."

Nico rolled his eyes. "Could you not—"

"Would you prefer special guy?" Will asked. "Or significant other?"

"Significant annoyance, in your case," Nico grumbled.

"Oh, I'll get you for that. Besides Nico, Apollo would not mind. You told me yourself that Percy reminded you of Apollo's interest."

By that I got the feeling Will was referring to how I go after women and men, just as Daphne and Hyacinthus. I know most mortals are judgmental about sexuality, but Will and Percy were right, I am not a god to judge based on that.

Meg wiped her dripping nose. "You guys fight a lot. I thought we were going to see a centaur."

"And here I am." The screen door opened. Chiron trotted out, ducking his head to avoid the doorframe.

From the waist up, he looked every bit the professor he often pretended to be in the mortal world. His brown wool jacket had patches on the elbows. His plaid dress shirt did not quite match his green tie. His beard was neatly trimmed, but his hair would have failed the tidiness inspection required for a proper rat's nest.

From the waist down, he was a white stallion.

My old friend smiled, though his eyes were stormy and distracted. "Apollo, it's good you are here. We need to talk about the disappearances."

A/N: Yeah I made Apollo more of a mortal demigod. I thought it still fit his punishment since most demigods aren't born with Godly strength (except for Heracles/Hercules), or can obliterate their enemies with their voice or wave of their hands. But Apollo still have rare godly burst later on. I brought up Ella and the lines of the Sybille books on Jupiter Temple because that obviously be the other source of prophecies besides the Oracle of Delphi