June 25, 1944

"Focus, Nico."

One hand out in front of him, his eyes closed. He took one breath in and let it out slowly. There. A tug behind his navel and the ground began to shake. A skeletal hand broke through the earth, clawing at the grass. His breath hitched in his throat. No matter how many times he practised, he was always startled by the first.

"Don't lose it."

Another deep breath. He closed his first and tugged with every ounce of every ounce of energy he had. The earth split open. Eight skeletal warriors, dressed from head to toe in Greek battle armour, sand and dirt pouring from every crevice and socket, emerged from the pit.

"Very good," Chiron murmured, a hand coming to Nico's shoulder. "Now. You know what to do."

"Only one," Nico said, his voice stronger than he felt. He was already tired from the effort of summoning. The phalanx advanced, ignoring him. Nico shrugged off Chiron's hand and drew his sword. "I said, only one."

The skeletons seemed to falter, looking at each other as if they might have the answer. Then all but one of the warriors collapsed, bones falling to the ground in a macabre jumble. The remaining skeleton advanced, sword in hand. Chiron backed away as Nico readied his stance.

The skeleton struck first. Nico parried reflexively, more than a little unprepared.

"Don't let your guard down," Chiron instructed.

Nico shoved the skeleton away, shaking his shoulders loose. He could do this. He had fought skeleton warriors before but the summoning always left him tense and drained. He went on the offensive, beating the soldier back with his celestial bronze blade.

"Watch your left side!"

Nico jumped out of the way just in time as the skeleton slashed at his waist. The soldier clacked its empty jaw menacingly. Nico ignored the noise, stabbing at the skeleton's rib cage. The blade passed harmlessly through the gaps between its bones.

"Think Nico!" Chiron scolded. "What are you fighting?"

Nico jogged back a handful of steps, giving himself a chance to breathe. The skeleton followed, brandishing its rusty blade. Before the soldier could strike, Nico swiped his blade at the skeleton's legs, knocking the bones out from under it – if not held together with muscles and ligaments, reanimated bones were surprisingly precarious.

What was left of the skeleton fell to the ground, hips and upwards balanced on the grass, hands still clasping the hilt of the sword.

Nico dodged the flying weapon and swung his sword across the skeleton's neck, cleaving the skull clean off.

The bones crumpled, rolling dully across the earth before bursting into little clumps of golden sand. A single pinky finger remained in the grass at Nico's feet, his spoil. Nico pocketed it to add to his steadily growing collection in the Big House attic.

Chiron clapped him on the back. "Good work, my boy. You're growing stronger."

Nico grinned at him. "Thanks, Chiron."

"Now, be a lad and fetch my bow and quiver. I have a class to teach."

He nodded and sheathed his sword. They had been training on the edge of the forest for the better part of an hour. It was a nice day, one of the warmest of the summer so far, and Nico could feel the heat of the sun burning on the back of his neck as he crossed the green.

The other campers did not deign to acknowledge him as he passed, choosing instead to become suddenly fascinated by their shoes or something off in the middle distance. It had been that way for the past year or so. Ever since Mary's accident.

Nico's feet pounded on the wooden steps to the porch. The screen door slammed shut behind him. It was stuffy in the Big House, despite the windows thrown wide. Nico wrinkled his nose at the feel of it; it was even worse upstairs in his bedroom.

He hurried down the hall to the right until he reached Chiron's office.

The door was closed, as it always was, but unlocked. Nico had been in Chiron's office before, but it wasn't a common occurrence. Once had been to receive a Christmas card from a relative that Hermes had sent his way, and the second to be lectured on the importance of keeping his weapons in good order in the armoury rather than tossed in the general directions of their racks.

Inside, the room was neat and orderly. An in-out tray sat on the corner of the dark wood desk alongside a jar of pens and a letter opener. A newspaper lay casually thrown in the centre of the desk. At the back of the room in between two windows, Chiron's bow and quiver hung in pride of place.

Nico skirted the edge of the desk to retrieve the items and turned to leave, but just as he did so, the newspaper's headline caught his eye. His dyslexia made it difficult to make out, but Nico could guess as much as Gunmen Murder One Million.

He blinked. What on earth was that about?

He swiped the paper off the desk and tucked it under his arm. Chiron had some reading to do.

Chiron was already on the archery range when Nico arrived. The centaur observed the campers as they strung their bows and checked their quivers. It was an advanced group of Ares and Athena campers who evidently had quite a lot of experience under their belts already.

"Here," said Nico, offering the weapons.

"Thank you, Nico," said Chiron with a warm smile.

"I found this," said Nico, not waiting for Chiron's attention to waver. He held out the newspaper for inspection and Chiron took it, slinging his bow and quiver over his back as he did so.

"Ah… Nico… do you know what this is?"

"Someone killed a million people, right? That's a lot for one battle. Where did it happen? Was it in France?"

"Nico… this…"

"What does it say?" Nico demanded.

Chiron gave him a cautious look and cleared his throat. "Germans Murder Jews in Poland."

Nico's stomach dropped. "The Germans? My– murder?"

Chiron fixed him with a searching look. "Are you certain you want to hear this?"

Nico exhaled, trying to shake the nerves from his body, and nodded. "Yes. Yes, I– I need to know what's happening."

Chiron eyed him carefully but continued to read. "From 1942 to 1944, more than 1,500,000 Jews were put to death by gas or other methods in the German concentration camps in Poland. In addition, a system of starvation is being carried out in which the number of deaths, on the admission of the Germans themselves, bids to be almost as large. This is stated in a report received by Allied Governments in London from a Polish major who was imprisoned at the camp. The report is based on statements by eye-witnesses who escaped from the camps last April. The most gruesome details of mass kill–"

Nico looked up at him in confusion. "And? What else does it say?"

Chiron's eyes were sorrowful as he surveyed Nico over the paper. "Nico you really should not have read this. It is not something a boy your age should know."

"Well, now I do know. So please explain it before I spend the next hour trying to figure it out on my own."

Chiron glanced around at the archery class warming up around him. "Take a rest, and meet me on the ropes course after lunch. We will talk about this later."

"But–"

"Later."

Before Nico could argue any further, Chiron had already left to begin his lesson. Nico huffed and turned away. No one told him anything.

"Oi, run along, kid," a jeering voice called. "Don't you have some children to terrorize?"

Nico clenched his fists. The Ares cabin. Over the past year, they had formed an unlikely alliance with the Aphrodite campers to make Nico's life miserable.

He knew he deserved it. What kind of demigod needed someone to die to use their powers? Half-bloods were supposed to help people, not kill them. His training had come along in leaps and bounds since Mary had died and he had come into his powers. It was pointless to pretend he hadn't profited from her death. But the fact that he deserved it didn't make it much easier to bear.

He kept walking.

"Hey, I'm talking to you."

A strong hand grabbed Nico by the shoulder and hauled him around. It was Bruce Wallace, one of the biggest and meanest Ares campers.

"I'm a little confused, are you a vampire or a zombie?"

Nico didn't meet his eyes, focusing on the bite of his fingernails digging into his palms.

"Come on, didn't your mother ever teach you it's rude to ignore someone?"

Nico bit down on his tongue hard enough to draw blood. Don't rise…

"Oh, that's right. She got herself blown up, didn't she?"

Bruce's voice was distant, barely audible over the roar of blood in Nico's ears. He could feel the heat rush to his face. No one talked about his mother like that.

"That's one thing The Lord of the Sky got right. Too bad he missed you. What? You don't have anything to say?"

Nico could feel the insistent tugging behind his navel. He had to get to the Big House before he lost control. If Bruce would just let go of him, he could walk away and–

Bruce gave him a violent shake. "Don't ignore me you little–"

A rumble rolled through the camp and the ground shook under Nico's feet. Cries of alarm sprung up from around the archery range.

"Let go of me," Nico ground out.

The earthquake shook the field, cracks springing to existence and zigzagging their way through the grass.

"Nico!" Chiron yelled. He cantered in their direction, only to stumble as the ground in front of him fell away.

"Is this what you did to Mary?" Bruce said with a forced sneer. "Made the ground give out under her chariot?" He sounded scared now, a slight tremble in his voice, the grip on Nico's arm tight enough to leave bruises.

"I never hurt Mary!" Nico snapped. "That wasn't my fault. The chariot–"

"Nico, stop this!" Chiron was only a few yards away.

Then Nico registered what was happening around him. Targets had fallen to the ground, campers, held onto each other's shoulders, kneeling in the grass because they couldn't keep their footing. The grass was split in places with cracks leading straight to the Underworld.

He squeezed his eyes shut, focussing on the lurch in his gut. Control it, he ordered himself. He concentrated on his breathing, taking deep, slow breaths. He couldn't let anyone else get hurt.

When he opened his eyes, the shaking had stopped. The cracks in the earth had sealed themselves, leaving dark scars in the green grass. The campers were getting to their feet, casting death glares in Nico's direction.

"Reset the field," Chiron ordered no one in particular, his eyes on Nico. "I will only be a moment."

Nico ducked his head. Bruce gave him one last shove and stalked away to find his siblings.

"Come along," said Chiron, ushering Nico away from the field.

"Nico, you are getting to be too old to lose control," he said sternly as they crossed the fields. "With over a year of training–"

"Spare me the lecture," Nico grumbled, "I know. Worst student you have ever had the misfortune of teaching."

"That is not what I was going to say." Nico rolled his eyes and shoved his hands in his pockets. "What was it this time?" Chiron asked after a long pause. "What did Bruce say?"

Nico chewed on his bottom lip. "…Nothing."

"Nico–"

"I just lost control. It was me."

"I cannot help you if–"

"I don't need you to fight my battles!"

The campers paused at the training field. Chiron glanced at the archery range and back to Nico.

"You aren't my father," Nico said, more quietly. "I don't need your help."

"I know you do not want to hear this," Chiron said in a low voice. "I am not trying to take your father's place, Nico, but you should not expect him to take a role in your life. Many demigods never meet their godly parent, the time you spent with your father is an exception and I am very sorry to say that it is likely the extent of your contact with him. You must let go of this notion–"

"That I have any sort of family?" Nico glared at him. "My mother died, my grandfather didn't want me, my sister left me here, and my father doesn't want anything to do with me."

"That is not what I said."

"But it's what you meant."

"What I meant is that holding on to what is lost will only make things more difficult for you. You need to let go and learn to be happy and find a new family here."

"I don't want a new family," Nico snapped. "I want my old one back."

He wanted snowy evenings in his grandfather's living room, sitting before a grand fireplace with Bianca and a plate of chocolate cake. He wanted his mother reading bedtime stories and teaching him piano. The days when he and Bianca weren't bickering and she would walk him to the store to buy penny candies or take him to the park. Those rare evenings when his father would visit, always accompanied by some new toy or treat. Nico remembered the life he had lead before, the grandson of a diplomat, he had had everything he wanted, everything he could possibly need. He missed having his sister to dust him off when he fell, and his mother to kiss every bump and bruise.

He wanted an end to the war. A world where the papers didn't report on mass murder, where children at school didn't have to prepare for air raids.

The loss of his old life was a familiar ache and one that had never entirely gone away even after three years. He learned to put the nostalgia out of his mind but each and every time he thought of his old life, the pain burned anew. He wondered if it would ever go away.

"Then it is your choice to hold on," Chiron sighed, "but I would urge you otherwise. You must be tired. Take a rest and start with your Latin, I will check on your progress when my class is over."

Nico stormed back to the Big House. He was sick of being told how he was supposed to feel and what he was supposed to want. He wanted his family, he wanted a way to escape the other campers, he wanted Chiron to understand him the way he had before the chariot race.

He shook his head and slammed the screen door behind him. There was no point wishing for things that could never happen. Maybe Chiron was right and he just needed to accept that Camp Half-Blood was his life now. He would continue to train and avoid the Ares campers until he turned sixteen and then– and then what?

He had never been told what happened after he turned sixteen only that he had to "prove himself" before he got there. How was he supposed to prove himself worthy if he let the other campers push him around like Chiron wanted him to? Surely the hero of the prophecy wasn't supposed to be picked on by summer campers.

Nothing made sense anymore. Nothing had really made sense since he had left Italy.

He stomped into the sitting room, the buzz of pain that echoed up through his body at each thump giving him a kind of satisfaction.

His Latin work sat open on a small desk under the window. He and Chiron had been working on it the previous evening, discussing the various accomplishments of the Olympian gods, with the notable exception of Hades, of course, over the course of the past century.

His assignment was simple and should have been easy, all he needed to do was translate one Latin paragraph into English, then into Italian, and then into Ancient Greek. Nico had been speaking the first three languages for years and Greek came to him easily enough, it was not a particularly gruelling project. Even so, Nico could hardly focus on the letters in front of him. His eyes skimmed over the words without taking in any meaning, the letters blurred together in dark squiggles in a way somehow entirely different from his usual reading problems.

He huffed and flipped his workbook shut. Latin could wait.

He kicked his chair under the desk and glanced around the room. Out the window, he could still see campers working in the archery fields. Chiron paced up and down the lines behind the campers, correcting form here and there, and calling the range 's hand automatically went to his sword hilt as he cast about for something to do. His fingers tapped along the pommel absently. Frowning, he looked down at his hand. That was something he could do.

Nico's hand automatically went to his sword hilt as he cast about for something to do. His fingers tapped along the pommel absently. Frowning, he looked down at his hand. That was something he could do.

He pulled his sword from its sheath with the familiar shing of metal on metal. Chiron never let him do anything cool in his lessons. It was always drills or sparring or powers practice. Never the tricks the older campers showed off.

The sword was comfortable in his hand, a now familiar weight. He swung experimentally, twisting his wrist to spin the sword in his palm. It spun easily, the blade slicing through the air with a satisfying ease. Nico grinned in spite of himself. He whirled the blade again and tossed it to catch in his left hand. It was so easy. He spun in a little circle, staring down an imaginary enemy with his sword raised. He could see Bruce's face perfectly ingrained in his memory as he slashed at mid-air.

CRASH!

Oh, Hades.

Nico dropped to his knees on the hardwood. The lamp lay in pieces on the rug in front of him. The ceramic base scattered in large chunks and the glass bulb smashed, little bits of glass sparkling in the wool of the rug. The lampshade had rolled away under an end table. Chiron was going to positively murder him.

He swept at the broken pieces with his bare hands, pulling them into a haphazard pile and ignoring the pinpricks on his skin. If Nico just cleaned everything up before Chiron came in, he would be none the wiser. He hoped.

Chiron's hooves clopped heavily on the porch step and Nico heard the familiar shuffle as he sank down into his wheelchair and came in through the screen door. Damn it damn it damn it! Nico cradled the handful of shattered ceramic in one hand and made for the kitchen dustbin.

Nico could hear Chiron enter the kitchen even as he dumped the pile into the bin. He whirled around.

"What's happened here?" Chiron asked seriously looking at Nico's bloodied hands.

Nico hastily tucked his hands behind his back. "Nothing!"

Chiron frowned at him. "That is a very poor lie, Nico. Let me see those hands." Nico shuffled his feet and ducked his head but allowed Chiron to gently pull his hands out from behind his back. Chiron tutted over them, noting the tiny pieces of glass from the smashed lightbulb that had stuck themselves into the skin of his palms. "Hmm… Well, I suppose it could be much worse. I highly doubt this will require stitches or nectar. Come sit and I'll clean this up."

"I can do it myself," Nico mumbled, his face flushed. He hated when Chiron treated him like a child. He was thirteen! He didn't need anyone to take care of him.

"I'm sure," said Chiron, sounding unconvinced. "Humour me."

It stung. Chiron was not quite as gentle as usual when he removed the glass shards with a pair of tweezers and washed out the cuts. They sat at the kitchen table, Nico very conscious of not dripping blood on to the blue gingham tablecloth.

"Look, I'm sorry about the lamp," Nico said.

"This isn't about the lamp, Nico." Chiron sighed and rubbed a hand across his forehead. "I asked you to do your language work, why can you not do as you are told? What were you doing?"

"I was trying to do sword tricks," he muttered. "I never get to learn anything like that in my lessons."

"That is because combat is not game," Chiron huffed. "I teach what you need to learn. When you understand the seriousness of the situation, perhaps you can learn other things."

Nico rolled his eyes. "I do 'understand the situation'. Father dumped me here to wait for gods know how long and you are left to pick up the pieces." He stomped his foot on the tiled floor hard enough to bruise his heel and glared at the ground as if that would get Hades' attention.

Chiron pinched the bridge of his nose. "I would appreciate it if you did not attempt to anger Lord Hades, Nico. Your frustration is understandable but kindly refrain from bringing the wrath of the Lord of the Underworld down on this camp. There are many innocent–"

"Innocent my eye," Nico snapped. "You see how they treat me. Let Hades crush them, see if I care."

"I know you do not mean that."

"Don't I? I only ever do what I'm told. It's always lessons and chores and turning the other cheek. I screw up once and– and suddenly it's the end of the world because Zeus will smite me and no one will take on the prophecy."

"I never said that," Chiron countered. "You are being dramatic."

"Oh, am I?" Nico said scathingly. "It doesn't seem like that to me."

"You simply cannot afford to make these mistakes, Nico," Chiron barked, his voice uncharacteristically harsh.

"That isn't fair!"

Chiron took a deep, steadying breath, eyes closed. When he opened them again, he seemed to have regained his usual composure. "No," he said. "It isn't fair. But I can only accept the very best from you."

Nico slumped in his chair. "...How can you expect the best from me if I don't even have all the information?"

"Is that what all this was?" Chiron asked, bitterly amused. "An elaborate plan to convince me to read the article?"

"No," Nico admitted. "But I do want to hear it. The prophecy too."

"I will concede the article to you," Chiron agreed. "The prophecy, I am afraid, will have to wait upon the gods' permission."

Of course it would. Just like nearly everything else in his life since Italy, Nico would wait for Olympus' approval. He was honestly surprised that they didn't call for a meeting of the twelve when Nico wanted to take a bath.

Chiron pulled the newspaper from a basket under his wheelchair and flipped it open to the correct page before passing it on to Nico. He skimmed through what Chiron had already read to him.

"Prisoners are housed in rows of buildings surrounded by electrified fencing nine feet high with machine-gun and searchlight towers at–"

"Intervals," Chiron provided.

"–at intervals of 500 yards. Four… Um..."

"Crematories."

"...Crematories each with a daily capacity of 1,500 were built in the camp in February 1943. The camp doctor divides sick personal into two groups, seriously ill and curable. The former are disposed of by fatal injection near the heart but 50 percent of all Jews, curable or not, receive the injection."

Nico looked up at Chiron in confusion. "What does that mean?"

Chiron's hands were clasped in his lap, his face drawn in concentration. "It means that Germany has begun to eliminate all Jews from their occupied territory. I believe people have begun to call it a 'genocide'."

"Not–" Nico looked down at the paper again. "But not all of them. They wouldn't kill everyone. They can't."

"It seems they are trying."

Nico's stomach lurched. He thought he was going to be ill. If he was embracing his heritage as a son of Hades, was this his future? Murder and destruction? He didn't want any of that.

He felt ashamed. He wanted to retch. He wanted to sob, to scream.

How could people like him, people who shared his blood, treat other human beings like that? He felt ill, then felt guilty for feeling ill. He had no right to be so distraught at the discovery. He had not suffered from it in the slightest. He had been safely tucked away, sheltered from the knowledge of the true nature of the war in his boarding house, playing with the other boys, laughing with Pietro, and dismissing Bianca's solemn looks at the Swastikas hung in shop windows. And even after leaving St. Dismas, Nico had been sequestered away in the Big House at Camp Half-Blood where his only worry was what the other campers thought of him.

It was ridiculous. How could he have been so ignorant, so completely out of touch with the world around him that he hadn't realized what was going on? He had hardly even thought to ask Chiron. What kind of person did that make him? To be so self-centered that even in the midst of a war he didn't think to ask about the true victims of hardship?

He remembered what his teachers at St. Dismas' had called him. An ungrateful child. Troublesome. A fool. And one particularly colourful 'devil child'. They were right, of course they had been. He had been an idiot to ever think otherwise.

When night fell, Nico's mind was still on the war. Chiron had confiscated his practice sword and made him finish cleaning up the broken lamp. Nico had finished his language work in tense silence while Chiron read on the sofa. Their practice on the ropes course wasn't nearly as much fun as it usually was with the tension hanging in the air.

At dinner, Nico had scraped a portion of his food into the fire with a silent prayer to his father and tried to ignore the scathing looks from the campers as he ate at the end of the Hermes table. He knew they were judging him not only for losing control of his powers but also, always, for his parentage, his country. Everything.

He picked at his food unenthusiastically.

It had not been a good day.

When Chiron had dismissed them from the dining pavilion, Nico did not return to the Big House and instead wandered through the dark to the beach. He had an odd sort of thrill being near water, the same kind of feeling as standing at the edge of a high cliff: his stomach did cartwheels and his heart beat faster. He supposed it was the risk. He knew entering the water would be a near death sentence now that he knew his parentage; a son of Hades venturing into the ocean would be an insult to Poseidon.

Nico settled himself down on the sand, kicking off his shoes and socks. It was a warm night and the moon shone bright enough to illuminate the water with an eerie glow. Nico leaned back on his hands, letting the sand trickle over his fingers and toes. It wasn't the most pleasant sensation in the world but the discomfort gave him an odd satisfaction.

"You alright?"

Nico jumped and whirled around. A tall boy stood behind him in the scrubby grass where the main green met the beach. His dark hair rustled in the breeze, the moonlight glinting off his blue eyes. Phillip. Despite being in his early twenties, the son of Zeus had returned to camp for the summer to help Chiron with some of the younger campers. He never spoke to Nico when it wasn't absolutely necessary.

"What are you doing here?" said Nico, fidgeting with his hands in his lap.

"I saw what happened on the archery field. I thought you might want someone to talk to."

"Really?"

"No. Chiron said he would teach my beginner javelin class for two weeks if I did."

"Oh." Nico drew his knees up and hugged them to his chest.

Phillip sighed. "I was joking." He settled down in the sand beside Nico. "Well, no, Chiron did say he would cover my class but that isn't the only reason I came. What happened on the archery field… that kind of thing used to happen to me all the time."

Nico snorted. "No. I don't think so."

"Really," Phillip insisted. "After I was claimed, I could get so nervous. There's a lot of pressure being a child of the Big Three, you know that. Mostly it was just little things, clouds rolling in when I was under pressure, pouring with rain just outside the borders. But sometimes it was much worse. Lightning strikes on the top of the Big House and in the woods - more than one fire started, actually. It was awful. I was so scared I was going to hurt someone. And that was when Chiron was familiar with my powers, he's taught hundreds of Zeus' children. He can probably count on his hands how many children of Hades he's taught. It isn't your fault, Nico. It's a lot of power to contain without a lot of help. It's hard. Trust me, I know."

Of course Phillip knew. Why hadn't Nico thought to ask before? They were the only Big Three children left at camp after all. It made sense Phillip could help him.

Nico looked up at him. "Why didn't you… why didn't you ever tell me any of that before?"

Phillip shifted uncomfortably. "Look, Nico… You– you aren't a bad kid but I would have an angry mob after me if anyone else knew about this. You understand, don't you?"

Nico's stomach sank. "Oh. I thought– never mind." Of course he didn't actually want to be friends with Nico. …Or anything else. Why would he?

"Hey…" he patted Nico's shoulder awkwardly. "It isn't all that bad. I bet living in the Big House is a lot more comfortable than the cabins."

As if that was any consolation.

"Would be more comfortable if everyone didn't hate me," Nico pointed out.

"People don't hate you–"

"Don't they?" Nico demanded. "Seems like they do. Even Chiron–"

"Hey," Phillip's voice was suddenly harsher than before. "Don't take this out on Chiron. He's doing what he can, but he can't change everyone's minds for them. Especially not when you aren't doing anything to make friends on your own." Nico huffed and clenched his fists in the sand. He wished Phillip wasn't right. He knew he hadn't exactly gone out of his way to endear himself to the other campers.

"I know Chiron's hard on you. But he's doing everything he can to help you. You're lucky the gods sent you here, Chiron can do a lot to help you. And he's only hard on you because he knows how great you can be."

Nico flushed, grateful that the darkness hid the blush on his cheeks. Phillip thought he could be great.

"Yeah?" said Nico with forced spite. "Well, right now all he's doing is make me feel like I'm just not good enough. Never will be."

Phillip pushed himself to his feet, brushing sand from his shorts and palms. "It isn't Chiron's fault if you push everyone away. Instead of being angry at the world, maybe you should take a look at why you refuse to be a part of it."

Nico wrapped his arms around his knees and pulled them up to his chest, glaring at the sand, as Phillip turned away. He curled his toes, feeling the sand trickle in and around the creases between his toes. Suddenly the beach did not feel peaceful or contemplative. It was nothing, but eerily lonely.