The gate clanged shut behind me. I turned my head back to see Olympus, standing tall and imposing with all its glory and triumph. Whether I had wished for it or not, it had been my home ever since I could remember. Now, leaving it seemed so strange, because it had never been an option before.
I took a deep breath and turned to face the smooth surfaces of the floating path before me. I walked forward. I reached the other end. I was met with a pair of commercial looking, but nevertheless high class elevator doors. It dinged open and I entered. Facing Olympus, I pressed on the ground button and let the sliding doors close the view of my sanctuary from me.
The elevator ride took some time, being on the 600th floor and all, but the surprisingly good elevator music filled the journey down to Earth. However, it wasn't a smooth ride. Already my simple 'travelling' was being interrupted.
On the 67th floor, a man in an expensive looking suit with a pair of sophisticated reading glasses perched on a high nose stepped into the elevator, filling it with awkward atmosphere. Me – teenager in casual, him – business man in suit. I'll say it again, awkward. And it doesn't stop there. Oh no. On the 58th floor, a janitor, dressed in the compulsory blue paper-like uniform, entered into the elevator with his trolley of cleaning supplies, taking up nearly half the space in the already spacious metal box. The pleasant elevator music plays on. Again the doors dinged open at the 42nd, 35th, 29th, 16th, 10th and all the floors after that, leaving the elevator packed like sardines. Sadly, when the doors finally opened to the ground floor, me, being squished to the very end corner of the carriage, had to wait for everyone to exit before I could stumble out, gasping on some much needed clean air. (Man, that fart has got to be the worst I've experienced)
I wiped away the sweat from my face, adjusted my ruffled clothing and re-sling my duffel bag before walking towards the automated sliding door as calmly as a person whom has never placed foot on Earth could. A white van with strawberries printed on the sides was parked near the entrance with a man leaning casually by the driver's side. I could immediately tell that was my ride, because who else would have as cool a driver as the hundred eyed man? I pretended to be shocked at the sight – I'm not supposed to know anything after all – and approached the man with perfectly expressed caution.
"Erm, is this the ride to Camp Half-Blood?" I asked hesitantly, looking around and avoiding eye contact (not that I could), trying to project my fake unease.
I got no response; the eyes are starting to freak me out a little.
"I was told to come here by my aunt, but if it's not the place, I'll just…go," I pointed to the other side and waited again. This time, I noticed his indication. All his eyes went to the side, indicating me to get on the van. A shiver ran up my spine and I quickly got onto the van. That was a creepy sight that I never wanted to see again.
The drive over to Camp Half-Blood was peaceful, oddly so, as I expected more than just people rushing by on the streets, talking madly into their phones and drivers filling up the roads, honking impatiently. We reached the impressive Greek columns that marked the entrance of the camp. A tall pine stood rigidly next to the columns, with the Golden Fleece draped on one of its branches and a purple coil of scale snorting out puffs of smoke. I had known that the heroes came into possession of the treasured fleece about 20 years or so ago, and that the dragon was soon employed later to protect it, quite like the garden of the Garden of Hesperides, if you asked me. The hundred-eyed man drove the car into the protected compound, the magical border flashing ever so slightly as we passed under those columns.
A valley opened up in front of me as we drove towards the huge mansion towards the west of the landscape. We passed a great volleyball game in playing, a building heavily influenced by ancient Greek architecture with the label – "Arts and Craft" – in Greek and did I just see some lava on a rock climbing structure? We also passed by a clear and inviting lake with a canoe competition going on and further down, a circle of Greek looking cabins. One had skulls and burning torches while another had a real rainbow arched above it.
"I like this place," I said to myself, a grin forming on my face at the thought of spending more than two months here, Olympus' grandeur all but forgotten.
We pulled up in the garage at the white mansion and got out of the parked van, and were greeted by a man with an impressive greying beard, approaching us in a well-oiled wheelchair.
"You must be Ambrosia?"
"Yes, sir," I answered diligently, an automatic response incited by the overwhelming need to respect this disabled man.
He waved at my response. "None of this 'sir' thing, you may call me Chiron, as all campers do here. I assumed that your aunt has explained to you why you were sent here?" he asked, his eyes squinting inquisitively.
"Yes, si-Chiron, that she was busy and this is a good place to spend my summer rather than just laze around like I tend to," I said, which wasn't all lies but more half-truths; she did say that I laze around a whole lot.
"Ah," he said, scrunching his eyebrows in thought.
"Is there something wrong si-Chiron?" I asked, concerned and face palming myself in my mind for having almost called him sir again when he asked not to. You just can't obey orders, can't you, Sia.
He dismissed my comment and instead wheeled his chair around in search of the, I'm assuming, look out boy of the camp, but he's hardly a boy, being a few hundred years old give or take. "Argus, please get Tina from the combat class and meet us in the briefing room, thank you. And, Ambrosia?" he turned his head around and waved for me to follow him.
Argus. Now I remember. He was Hera's creation. I wonder what he thought of her decision to give him a hundred eyes and make him a freak. He doesn't seem to mind though. He had left towards the left of the mansion towards the Greek looking arena where I assumed combat classes were held, while I followed behind Chiron onto the pristine porch and into the equally spotless interior. He led me down the hall and into a dark conference room with the projector on and the screen pulled down, ready to start. Rows of plastic chairs filled the room and several were already occupied by kids like me, except they were in a rougher state, with torn shirts and dirtied faces, some with fresh scars and bruises.
I looked down at my neat attire self-consciously, debating on whether to make a tear on my sleeve to fit in, before the door to the room burst opened and in came a tall, brutish looking girl about a year older than me, along with two other fellow campers, all dressed in flaming orange T-shirt with Camp Half-Blood printed in big bold letters across the back and front, a Pegasus taking flight beneath those words. They strode to the front of the room and started setting up the abused laptop they have brought with them. I sat down at the nearest seat from where I was standing, which was away from where all the other injured kids were seated, as quietly as possible, afraid to attract any attention. My efforts paid off when no one turned as I took my place in the conference.
"Right, half-bloods!" the brutish girl called out. "This is the orientation clip compulsory for all new comers. If you don't pay attention, you'll die either by my hands or the pincers of a monster, so I suggest you keep your eyes opened if you want to keep breathing," she threatened as one of the other campers that came in with her clicked play and the video started playing.
It started with all monsters most commonly seen by demigods outside of the protection of the camp borders: the Minotaur, Hydra, Hellhounds; the typical monsters that actively seek out their meals. Then came the faces of the gods and goddesses of Olympus, stating their domain and titles, starting with the twelve main Olympians. I had to muffle my laugh at certain parts of the introduction to the deities that were obviously influenced by the children of rivaling godly parents. Under Poseidon's facts, "Coolest dad ever!" and "He defiled my mom's temple!" were written while under Dionysus' wrote "Can't get a name right that man" and "Beware of grapevines – death guaranteed".
After that came the big revelation, that one of their parents or grandparents was – still is – an immortal, and that they were sent here to train so that they would be able to survive when they live outside of the borders. One of the kids gasped, while most just stared like they couldn't believe it. But they can't deny that this answers to all the questions they've ever had about their lives. This was followed by a short history of the two Great Prophecies that had happened during the past two decades, resulting in a lot of changes being made, our presence here at camp at the age of thirteen for once, and we were let out of the stuffy conference room after being told that we'll be claimed by our godly relatives sooner or later during our stay.
I left the room earliest, being the closest to the door, pondering on how Hera's going to explain to people here that I don't have a godly parent or anything like that. As the rest were filing out of the room and back down the hallway, I passed by an office door and whispers of a tense conversation caught my attention and stopped me in my tracks.
"It's been two weeks since the start of summer, she should be here by now," a worried male voice said.
"Be patient, I'm sure Hera would hold her side of the deal," Chiron's voice sounded, trying to comfort the obviously beyond anxious voice.
"Hera? The deal was out the minute she took her away from us! We should have never trusted her!" an angry female pounded out harshly, so emotional was her voice she seemed to be close to crying.
I paused at that fraction of the conversation. Hera? What has she got to do with this 'her'? I listened on, more carefully than before; trying to make out what was being said.
"Hey, hey, I'm sure she has her reasons. She put me to sleep for eight months before, and it turned out all right didn't it?" the male voice reasoned.
"Are you seriously talking good about Hera right now? This isn't eight months, Percy! Thirteen years away from S –"
I was suddenly pushed up against the wall next to the door that I'd been unabashedly eavesdropping on. One of the demigods had been fixing her destroyed hair desperately and therefore had not notice me standing in the middle of the hallway. She bumped into me, shoving me to the wall, making a soft but audible thumping noise. The voices inside the room ceased.
"Oh my god! Why were you standing here, gosh," she shot me a glare and ran off down the hallway.
I sighed and righted myself, before following the others down the hall and out of what I now knew called the Big House. It was going to be a long day.
Annabeth was sleeping soundly on the crinkly and uncomfortable hospital bed while Percy was standing by the covered window, crooning to their newly born daughter. Annabeth's water had broken in the early morning of the 6th of June and it was after five grueling hours that had Percy convinced that his arm was broken before their child was delivered into the world.
With mated black curls and stunning grey eyes, their daughter was cleaned and weighed, before the parents came into the decision to name her after the Egyptian deity of perception and knowing – Sia. With their latest encounter of prophecies with the Egyptians, it's only natural that they were quite affected by its mythology as well.
The family of three did not have a great celebration to welcome their child. They congratulated in each other in the quiet of the hospital, Annabeth giving a tired smile and falling asleep periodically before succumbing to the dream world. Sia was wrapped tightly in a yellow bundle and was now sucking on her thumb, deep in sleep. Percy now sat on the armchair by Annabeth's sleeping form and nodded off to sleep as well.
Unbeknownst to this peaceful, sleeping family, an evil lurked in the shadows of the room, reaching and coiling around the newborn babe. It thickened into a ghostly shape, ready to snatch the vulnerable baby from her father's grasp, when a swish of wind came into the totally confined room and blew away the grappling hands of the shadow. The mystical wind wrapped around the baby and gently lifts it from the father's calloused hands, taking her away and disappearing into thin air, leaving only a rain of sparks as evidence to the devastated parents when the morning came to reveal to them the heartbreaking situation. Their heart has been stolen.