Nightmares were typical for demigods, but that didn't make them any less unpleasant.
When Nico opened his eyes, he found himself on Half-Blood Hill –though instead of the lush green pastures and blooming flowers, there was ash. Miles and miles of ash, spreading like a wildfire, engulfing the trees and withering the plants. At first, it seemed to be suffocating Nico, choking him like a boa constrictor. Then he realized it was coming from him–rolling off him like waves, slithering across the grassy plains, turning everything in its wake to smoldering rubble.
There were no bodies strewn across the ground, not like his other dreams. Nor was there the face in the dirt. There was only the ash, and it continued to spread until it seemed to wrap around the entire world. Then, the earth shifted underneath Nico's feet. He stumbled backward, collapsing onto a fallen tree trunk, burnt to a crisp–with a shiver, he realized it was Thalia's tree, the great pine now a smoking pile of black.
The soil protruded before him, shooting up tens of feet in the air. Then it became to take form, growing a slim, human-like figure, long gravel-like hair, and a gown that seemed to be made of mud. Her face was beautiful in a 20th-century sort of way–and Nico was one to talk, since he'd grown up in the 20th century. Even though her eyes were closed and features unmoving, Nico could sense her smile.
When he spoke, his own voice sounded muffled, as if he were talking through a pillow. "Gaea."
The earth rumbled beneath him, which might have been laughter or maybe a growl. The goddess spoke smoothly, her words like polished marble.
Patience, young demigod. Your time will indeed come.
"My time? Time for what?" Nico shouted, unable to hide the tremor of fear in his voice. Gaea laughed again, nearly sending Nico tumbling into a charred patch of thorn bushes.
Your time to serve.
With that, Gaea dissipated, her form crumpling and scattering as if she were just an old statue. Walls of ash rose around Nico, choking him with smoke and blinding him with darkness. He collapsed, clutching at his throat and retching, his eyes stinging with tears.
Sacrifices. Beautiful sacrifices to wake the goddess.
Then the ash overwhelmed him.
Nico woke to sunlight, but not because of the sun. He jolted upward, startled by his own screams, clawing at the sheets with sweaty hands.
It took him a moment to take in the alarms that blared, the shouts of commands as the campers rushed outside. His chest was heaving, his lungs sore as if some of the smoke from his dreams had stayed with him.
He forced himself out of bed, his muscles like anvils, and gazed out the window. The campers were in a hurry, scrambling to put on armor, grabbing spears, swords and other weapons from a shack, rushing to meet Thalia's tree.
The sun was just rising, orange and pink tearing across the deep blue sky. Stars were fading, the moon paling, clouds appearing above. It seemed peaceful–except for all the noise and commotion. Nico wanted to collapse back onto his bed, bury his head under his pillow, and fall into a deep sleep–no nightmares, no interruptions. He deserved a little rest, after everything he'd been through. All the stress of the camp, all the pressure, was giving him a godly headache.
But of course he couldn't rest, so he straightened up, stretched out his arms and legs to lift some of the weight off them, and headed outside. There were racks of supplies beside the Zeus cabin–Nico slipped into a leather breastplate and thin iron helmet, unsheathed his stolen Celestial sword, and followed the others.
Past Thalia's tree, not too far from where he stood, something was moving steadily towards them–a large blotch of purple, white and silver. Once it got closer, Nico noticed that the white was togas, the silver was armor, and the purple... The purple was everything. Capes, T-shirts, even shoes.
Camp Jupiter. They'd arrived. They approached with confidence, as if certain they would trample this camp to rubble and walk away completely unharmed. Backs straight, hands tightly gripping their weapons, stepping in unison, moving as one. Once they were only about hundred yards away, Nico could pick a few out–Octavian, in the lead, his toga mummifying his stick of a body. He didn't seem to be happy, but he walked with a sort of amusement in his posture. He held his sword stiffly, his knuckles white, and Nico could tell he was itching to use it.
Dakota was a little ways behind Octavian, walking in pace with everyone else. He was frigid, unmoving except for his feet, as if he were a robot. A splotch of Kool-Aid stained his purple shirt.
Nico recognized some Romans who'd always taunted him, pushed him around for being a child of Hades–or Pluto, as they thought. They walked with scowls on their faces and fire in their eyes. He figured if he went out to negotiate with them, they'd cut him into pieces and send him on a long visit to his father's realm.
He pushed to the front of the crowd, earning him some Greek swears and evil-eyes. Reyna stood next to Clarisse. She stared out at the army grimly, like how someone looks as a picture of a deceased friend. Clarisse fidgeted with her spear, subconsciously biting her lip. The daughter of Ares had faced many monsters, even armies of monsters, but Nico guessed this was more challenging than any of them–monsters were simple-minded creatures, attacking without thought. These were humans–half human, anyway–with wits, training and minds. They wouldn't be so easy to defeat.
Nico opened his mouth to speak, but no words came out. They lodged in his throat, crowded by fear and anticipation. Instead, he tapped Reyna on the shoulder. She turned to him, the sadness still in her eyes. She donned full iron armor, and a purple cape cascaded down her back. Her hair was braided to one side, like how she'd worn it at Camp Jupiter. She must have wanted them to recognize her as their leader, not a traitor. But she still seemed to be in pain, her lips pursed and eyebrows pinched, like she'd been stabbed. Nico felt a strange desire to help her, to comfort her. Of course, that was ridiculous–Reyna didn't need comforting, and what good at it was Nico, anyway?
He mouthed "It's time" and gestured at Rachel, who was leaning against a rack of arrows a few feet away. She nodded, grabbing Rachel's arm and whispering something to her. They both said some things to Mr. D, then started down the hill, holding up their hands, palms out, signaling the Romans to hold their attack.
Nico couldn't see very well from where he stood–but he could make out some unsavory gestures and movements. Reyna said something to Octavian, who sneered and spat something back. Rachel yelled something with flailing arms, causing Reyna to shout "Enough!" fairly loudly and Octavian to raise his sword to his side. It wasn't too hard to guess things weren't going right.
Around him, the campers shifted nervously, whispering to one enough and moving their weapons from hand to hand. Tree nymphs melted into their trunks, river naiads fading away with their currents. They all could sense it, feel it in the air. Camp Half-Blood and Camp Jupiter were on the very brink of war, the only thing between them two girls arguing with a spiteful twig of a leader.
He couldn't just stand there and watch it happen. No, he had to do something, stupid and futile as it was. So he turned to Clarisse and spoke, his voice harsh and gritty.
"You realize you caused the destruction of your own camp."
She scowled, baring her teeth like an animal. "What are you talking about?"
"If you could have just offered the Romans the Parthenos, they might have accepted it and called off the war. But you made it a trap. A trap, to lure them in and kill them. How cold-hearted can you be? Maybe–"
"Let me stop you right there, di Angelo," Clarisse interrupted. Her eyes blazed, shining like the raging wildfires Nico had seen on news reports. "Key words: might, maybe. In war, there's no might. In battle, there's no maybe. It's either yes or no. Yes, one side wins. No, one side loses. If we offered that thing to them, maybe they would've accepted. What if they didn't? They're attack us from an advantage, and we'd almost definitely lose. We have to have the upper hand in this. Tricking them is the only smart thing to do."
"No, Clarisse. The smart thing is to create peace, to avoid war at all costs. This isn't about defeating the Romans. You're forgetting the most important part–Gaea is waking. Her giants have risen. We can't defeat them alone, we need the Romans' help. And you plan to annihilate them like that?"
Clarisse parted her lips, but couldn't seem to think of a reply. She clenched her fist around her spear, the bronze tip twinkling in the soft morning light.
"There's winning the battle, and there's winning the war, Clarisse. You do this, sure, we'll win the battle. But we'll lose the war. We won't have the power we need to kill the giants, let alone Gaea herself. We have to have the Romans as our allies, alive. That's what the Parthenos was meant to do. It was meant to heal, not deceive. But it's... It's like your spear." He gestured lamely at her weapon, razor-sharp and ready to be put to use. "It's just an object until you wield it. And you can either wield it for the sake of good, or for the sake of evil."
Clarisse hesitated for so long, Nico wondered whether or not she would respond. He watched Reyna and Rachel talk with Octavian. Rachel looked nervous, wringing her hands and shrinking up behind Reyna. Reyna continued speaking, and even though Nico couldn't hear her, he could see the cold determination in her eyes. The solid unwaveringness of her features, her smooth posture and relaxed grip on her sword. She looked so certain, so persistent, so... So Reyna. Over the past few weeks, she'd always seemed afraid or unsure, her eyes always shifting and muscles always tensing. Now that she was surrounded by her old comrades, negotiating something that would mean the difference between life or death, she was sharper, warier. More herself. For some reason, that calmed Nico. Gave him more courage, more certainty. Even the ridiculous urge to smile.
"What do you know?" Clarisse finally muttered. "You're a child of Hades. The death god. The one shut out by the Olympians, sent to live in another realm. You're an outcast, a loser, always have been and always will be. You don't know anything about this!" She turned to him, her face alight with fury. "I'm the daughter of Ares, god of war! I know everything there is to know about this! I've won many more fights than you have, beaten monsters and Titans alike, memorized battle strategy! You think you know war? You don't know a thing."
Anger sparked inside Nico, like a branch snapping. He trembled, gritting his teeth and balling his fists, his nerves turning to fire. Words piled up in his mouth, spilling out of him all at once without any thought. With each sentence spoken, Nico felt a weight being lifted off him.
"That's it. I'm sick and tired of being treated like garbage everywhere I turn. I've tried running, I've tried hiding. I've tried pretending I'm someone else, or pretending I'm not anyone at all. After all, you're right–I am a son of Hades, the god of death, the outcast. The loser god, some might say. I don't fit in anywhere, not even in this era. I can't lead an army, or negotiate peace, or rescue a group of demigods from a hungry drakon. But you know what? I am worth something. I can do more than you think, more than anyone gives me credit for." He was yelling now, and not just at Clarisse–at both the camps, at the people who'd mocked him, at the gods who'd disregarded him; at the world, the world that'd doubted him for so long and led him to doubt himself.
"I led the Seven of the Prophecy to Epirus. I agreed to deliver the Athena Parthenos here, and I followed through. I'd endured monster attacks and even thwarted being sacrificed to Gaea along the way. I'd made the journey. I'd shadow-traveled halfway across the world, fended off enemies alongside Reyna and Coach Hedge, all to create peace." Nico had captured the attention of all of Camp Half-Blood now, and some of Camp Jupiter. He peered down the hill and noticed Reyna had stopped talking to Octavian, both of them turning to look at Nico, listening to him. He hesitated for a brief moment, wondering if it'd be a bad idea to continue–then the words continued to escape him, flowing out of his mouth without pause.
"And now here I stand, on Half-Blood Hill, doing my best to prevent a war. I may be a child of Hades and not Zeus or Poseidon, or even Athena or Apollo. I do not know much strategy and I'm not the most useful in a fight. I don't even know what I'm good for. But Hades knows all about death–and I sense there'll be a lot of it if the Greeks and Romans battle one another. I am not trash, I am not useless–I am Nico di Angelo, Son of Hades, god of the Underworld. And right now, I am trying to save your lives and defeat Gaea. So find common sense in yourselves and listen to me!"
Time seemed to slow, as if Kronos were alive and working his magic on the world again. The campers froze, staring at Nico with gaping mouths and wide eyes, like his hair had caught on fire. Nico's senses sharpened–he heard the scrape of metal on metal, felt the shift in the air, saw the boy lift his bow and nock an arrow. Even from yards away, Nico could make out the vacant whiteness of the boy's eyes, and set of his jaw. The way he took aim and drew back the string sent a shiver down Nico's spine–as if there was enough time in the world to shoot. This was familiar to Nico–he'd seen it in the eyes of Leo Valdez when he fired on the Forum; eidolons.
He took off down the hill, bounding as fast as his legs could carry him. Behind him, the campers shouted, raising their weapons and lifting their shields. The Romans did the same, preparing to fight. But Nico didn't plan to attack–not even close. He flew downhill, running on momentum and adrenaline, pumping his arms and feet. The eidolon squinted at the front line of the Roman army, obviously targeting someone specific. This made Nico run faster, his chest burning, blood roaring in his ears.
The archer tugged the string one final time, white eyes locked on the girl with the purple cape.
Nico willed his legs to move faster, his destination seeming miles away.
The archer drew in a breath. Nico raced toward the Romans, disregarding their blades pointing directly at him.
The arrow was released too early. He heard the whistle as it sliced through the air–there wasn't time to push her out of the way, to yell at her to move. So instead, he leapt in front of her, his limbs outstretched like a human shield.
The world erupted around him as the arrow plunged into Nico's side.