Another fanfic I've been meaning to write. I don't have an upload schedule, especially since I'm working on the next chapter to s/13899507/1/Waking-Dreams but If you all like this idea I'll keep posting. It wont be often, but I can continue this.

Part I: Shiverdawn

Jason didn't know where he was.

That would make sense: he remembered dying on the yachts in California, getting stabbed in the chest by one of Caligula's cronies before being gunned down, the feeling of blood pooling in his lungs as he painfully died in the chaos.

But it was sunny there; he was able to fight his way outside and hold off a horde of oncoming enemies as Piper and Apollo escaped. When he collapsed on the deck, the sun was burning his corneas, but the warmth of the sunlight comforted him somewhat.

Somehow, he had been at peace, as if he had fulfilled his purpose. It felt twisted in a way, how he had been through so much only to die such a bitter death, but to him the alternative was unacceptable. He couldn't lose Piper, even if he had to die to keep her alive.

Then he woke up here. The interim had felt both instantaneous and like an eternity, as if he had nodded off in a chair in class and the teacher woke him up with a question. He was tired, so tired, and unlike on the warm deck of the yacht, he felt chilled to the bone as he floated through the strange ether.

He forced his eyes open, the viscous water stinging his eyes as if it was filled with salt. He fumbled, realizing he was actually underwater before slamming into a rock, causing him to yelp in pain and shock. He surfaced with a desperate gasp, life filling his limbs and adrenaline coursing through his veins as he frantically searched for some respite. The river was incredibly wide, and the surface was marred with a brewing storm that blotted out any potential sunlight with a passion, lightning crackling in the air and sometimes even striking the water. The mayhem made it nigh impossible to see anything, especially since the surface of the water looked black as the darkest night, like the surface of the Styx itself. He sputtered, half-surfaced, until the currents ripped him underwater again with the force of a maelstrom.

Underwater wasn't much better. It was hard to see anything, and what he could see wasn't reassuring at all. Strings of what looked like seaweed clung to many objects with vice grips, some of them skeletons. Sharp, jagged rocks jutted from the riverbed, it's white sand and glimmering rocks in sharp contrast with the river itself. Bones marred its surface, both human and monstrous, and large creatures that looked like massive catfish scoured the bottom, their mouths like vacuum cleaners. They sucked up everything, including the bones, as if their stomachs could digest anything. He didn't want to find out if that was true or not.

The rapids were pulling him further and further down the river, water splashing in his face and yanking him underwater for seconds at a time, making it hard for him to get a full breath of air in. He didn't know how the fish underwater put up with it, but they seemed impervious to the pressure the waves exerted, as if the water was only targeting him.

He slammed into another rock, and this time the jagged stone left a nasty cut on his forearm. It wasn't deep, but it hurt enough for him to yell in pain and surprise. Blood gushed into the water and left a trail of crimson as he was pulled further, and apparently some of the fish liked the smell, as some of the smaller ones stopped scavenging the wastes of the riverbed and wriggled towards him. Mind you, while they were smaller when compared to the biggest fish in the river, they were still the size of your average adult alligator, and their mouths were filled to the brim with rows and rows of razor sharp teeth that could turn him into a diced Jason if the fish wanted to.

Jason knew that couldn't be a good thing, so he padded his pockets and felt his golden coin, IVLIVS, still firmly tucked in one of them. He frantically pulled it out and willed it to extend into a Gladius. It was strange, because he could have sworn it was destroyed when he battled Enceladus with Piper and Leo, but he wasn't going to complain. He was able to grab onto another rock, the edges cutting into his palm, and skewer one of the fish causing it to screech before pushing it off with the heel of his soaked shoe. The fish fell to the riverbed, squirming from it's severed spinal cord, before it's many brethren tore it apart like one of those shark week feeding frenzies he'd see on Animal Planet.

They mayhem didn't go unnoticed: many more of the ugly catfish-piranha hybrids began to investigate why the river was filled with blood, and many more attempted to swarm him, their whiskers trembling as they sensed his wounded arm and thought he'd make for a tasty meal.

Jason stabbed another one through it's beady eye, puncturing it's brain and leaving it to float in the water. Another was able to get past his defenses, however, and take a big bite into his leg. Jason grunted and forced the blade between it's eyes, killing it instantly and loosening it's jaws enough for him to pry it's death-grip from his shin.

The bleeding was becoming more profuse and the fighting was more intense; Jason was fighting for his life as his lungs burned from the effort of keeping his already weak body supplied with enough oxygen. His nostrils and mouth stung from the disgusting, salty water and his hair was plastered to his face, making it harder for him to see. He could barely hold onto the rock, his hand becoming numb from the bleeding and the sheer effort it took to keep him from being ripped back into the rapids.

Jason was able to skewer a few more before the riverbed rumbled, and the sand shifted away to reveal a set of seven, beady black eyes that looked like rotten, slimy plums. They shifted around curiously, as if they were a crab scanning the seabed, before a massive fish leaped upward and consumed one of the many small schools of fish, including several of its own kind, in one massive gulp. It pushed the bloody water out through its gills and the nostrils on the tip of its mouth, which didn't seem to be used for breathing at all. It trembled and shuddered as it's spines elongated from it's back like those of a massive lionfish, and it's comically long whiskers darted around like they had minds of their own. It's scales were old, having lost their sheen long ago, and many were in patches or cracked, but the many scars showed a survivor. It's two massive eyes centered onto him and it grumbled once again, marking Jason as an obvious target.

Great. He thought, Just fabulous.

The creature rushed towards Jason, who let go of the rock and fled further downstream. The massive catfish thing slammed face first into the rock itself, it's teeth lodged into the stone as it attempted to escape and attack Jason again. Jason fled to another rock just a few dozen feet downstream before pressing himself against it. He knew he had to kill that thing quickly or he'd die again in this river.

The massive catfish finally ripped the rock off it's base and caused it to crack and crumble with the brute force of it's deceptively thin jaw. It then eyed Jason with irritation, as if to say stay still so I can eat you.

Jason obliged, the fish charging again, only this time Jason was ready, or at least he hoped he was ready. At the last moment, he slid to the side, the jagged edges making small cuts on his back before holding onto the rock with its hand. One of it's teeth punctured his arm, but he grit his own teeth and shoved his sword into the fish's oversized eyeball, causing disgusting purple-ish black blood to spurt out like paint in water. The massive fish monster let out a high-pitched squeal of a scream before releasing the rock and jerking around, forcing Jason along with it. The fish then slammed him back into the rock, impaling him against the abrasive surface and forcing the air out of his lungs. His abdomen burned; he must've broken a few ribs as well.

Jason scrambled to the surface to breathe, but before he could fully recover, the massive fish bit his leg yet again and dragged him back down. Jason hissed in pain and pulled his sword out from it's eye before stabbing it again and again, his blood beginning to boil.

Now, Jason wasn't the most violent or the most prone to anger, but with the severe pain of his many wounds and adrenaline coursing through his veins, it was easier for him to succumb to the destructive temperature his father was known for. He felt pissed at this fish and pissed at the world. He was so angry that just when his life was beginning to go right, it all had to come to a tragic end with a spear through his chest and a cackling ex-Roman emperor sitting on his throne like a young Palpatine. Why did the fates enjoy torturing him and everyone he loved? Why him?

He channeled all his anger through his chest, the inward sobbing from his heart transforming into violent rage. He let it fuel him, the anger turning into energy that seemed to arc from his fingertips like electricity. No, not electricity, lightning.

He released it in the form of raw energy, the lightning arcing through the water and surrounding both him and the fish in a bubble of scalding steam and noxious ozone. The fish screeched in pain as the water formed into steam and heated to thousands of degrees, yet somehow the pain was only minor to him compared to how quickly it flayed and fried the fish alive like a piece of bacon.

Jason grimaced as the pain in his arm flared up, but he kept strong as the fish curled up and died under the withering assault. Then, as the massive catfish sank to the riverbed, he surfaced and gasped for air, his exhaustion, the salt and muck in his eyes, and his soaked hair all disrupted his view of the surrounding waters. He saw a large gray object in the distance, clearing towards him.

"Help!" He croaked, his lungs giving out on him. "Somebody! Please!"

He sunk under again and resurfaced to breathe. The object, a ship, seemed to be heading closer. He tried to call out again, but his voice became weaker and weaker with each passing second. It didn't help that his wounds were festering and his head was spinning, most likely from blood loss.

He couldn't do it anymore. He sank into the water, his eyes fluttering as his willpower crumbled. He watched the moonlight dance across the surface of the water as the last of his consciousness dissipated.

Then he felt a ripple in the water, and someone pulled him upwards by his armpit. His eyes fluttered open just as he was pulled to the surface, but he could only make out snippets; men and women yelling at each other from the deck, ropes being tossed, the occasional harpoon or arrow whizzing by. He closed his eyes and opened them again, and it was as if ten minutes had passed. Now he was on the deck itself, a young woman with raven black hair giving him CPR while a bare-chested man shouted orders while wringing out a shirt. The woman gave one more forceful push, causing him to gag and cough up about three or four cups of water from his aching lungs, the fresh air blistering his insides like fire.

The young woman looked relieved by him being alive. "Thank Asha," she muttered to herself before tossing her long, wet hair behind her head. Her green eyes were filled with concern but also determination. Her face was angular and lean, but still graceful. "Now don't you fall asleep on me yet, if you fall asleep you won't wake up."

Jason coughed and sputtered as the water drained from his ear canals and he could hear just how loud it was. The storm brewing above coupled with the shouting of the crew members created a sense of urgency and dread. Rain slammed into the deck like bullets, soaking the wood and sails. Jason also realized just how cold it was: his body felt like it was just pulled out of a blast chiller filled to the brim with ice water. He shook violently as the woman attempted to comfort him. She cradled his head in her lap as she began to pull items out of her rucksack. "Everything's going to be okay, just listen to my voice, focus on me, and I'll have you patched up in no time." She cut open his pants and grimaced at the damage done to his calf. Jason didn't look lest he vomit up what little was in his stomach. She steeled her nerves and began to do her work.

The chaos on the deck was distracting, but he listened to her intently as she began to sing a little song and pull items from her rucksack. Her voice was soft and angelic, like Piper's, and he immediately hated it. Not because it was bad, it definitely wasn't, but because it reminded him of her, and it only made his heart hurt more.

But the music had another effect: despite how it brought up memories of his late girlfriend, it was still soothing, unnaturally so. The pain of his stinging wounds seemed to fade, and his exhaustion became just a little less burdening. It was as if her voice itself was healing him. All the while, he barely noticed her soaking rags in something sour smelling and pressing them onto his cuts, stopping the bleeding and cleaning out his wounds. She was gentle yet firm, making sure everything was done quickly and correctly and with a caring touch.

She tied a torquinette on his left leg, the one that was bitten and torn up by the first fish, and disinfected it thoroughly as he hissed in agony: not even the music could stifle that pain. She simply whispered "I know, I know." Apologetically like one would with a dog or a child, and finally firmly bandaged it up before moving on.

"Tyra," The man who had once been wringing out his shirt was now tossing harpoons into the water with the rest of his men. He had turned around to call her, the many scars coating his face and chest glowing when lightning struck. "Take the injured out of this rain and under the deck, they'll be safer there."

The girl who was treating him, Tyra, nodded before lifting Jason up. "Alright, big guy, I'm gonna need you to help me here. I'll help you get under the deck and you hobble with your good leg." She reached under his armpit again and lifted him up onto his good leg, supporting some of his weight with her shoulder. "C'mon, big guy, let's go."

She led him to a staircase leading to decks below, him yelping with every step as some of his ribs jangled in his chest like a wind chime. She winced at every step as well, but it didn't seem to be from the pain. "I know it hurts, but just stay with me."

She gripped the splintered guard rail with one hand and wrapped her arm around his waist to steady him with the other. "Grip the rail and we'll take it slow. Then we'll find a cot for you to rest in while I help more of the injured down."

They shimmied down the stairs, gripping the handrails as the ship rocked from the chaos of the storm, before finally reaching the bottom. Jason sighed with relief as she pushed open a door leading into a room of bunk beds, the tops and bottoms bolted to the floor and the ceiling respectively as to prevent sliding and toppling during stormy weather. The cots themselves were constructed in a pretty ingenious way: mattresses were placed in box-like containers to keep the inhabitants from falling out, and each end had two semicircular sliding hinges on each side along with one bolted fulcrum in the center designed to make sure that the bed's bottom weight always remained horizontal even when the ship bobbed and weaved through the waves. Annabeth would've thought those were a cool idea.

He sighed at the thought of Annabeth. He hadn't known her that well, but she had still been a great friend on the Argo II when they were traveling to Rome and then eventually Greece to fight Gaia and the Giants. Her love for knowledge and especially architecture, as well as her tactical mind were both welcome additions to the team and pretty endearing if he was to be honest.

And now she was gone. They were all gone.

Well, technically, Jason was gone, but losing all your friends puts how much you valued them into perspective, and Jason had a nagging feeling that he wasn't that good of a friend to her. Not bad, mind you, but he believed that he could have known more about her and had some better times with her.

He realized that when she and Percy fell into Tartarus, but there was hope there; a solution. Here, there was no hope. He had died, and instead of Elysium or even the fields of Asphodel, he was in this strange place with rivers and streams and a strange silver boat cutting through them like a knife.

Those memories were making him angry with himself and the world. He had to think about something else: he didn't regret dying for Piper and he never would, so he'd better stop moping and start moving forward.

The girl, Tyra, moved him forward and eased him onto one of the bottom bunks before examining him thoroughly. "You seem pretty okay at the moment, that gauze on your back and your legs should stop most of the bleeding." She gave him a wink before kneeling down and placing a palm on his forehead. "No sign of a fever thankfully, but you're still freezing and you lost a lot of blood. I'll make sure you get some warm food in a bit, just stay under the covers for me so you can start to warm up."

He nodded weakly and she stood back up, wiping the blood off her black apron and hurrying back up the stairs and into the storm. She must've been a field medic or even a doctor with how efficiently she treated him. He was glad there was at least one doctor on the ship or he would have died… again.

He laid there, shivering violently as the boat careened through another wave in the river. The boat made him think about Leo, who would've found a way to make a joke out of the situation just to cheer him up. Jason could've used that right now, but he would survive. He listened to the waves beating on the hull, letting the rhythm soothe him like the beat of a dull drum. Being the son of Zues, or Jupitor depending on who you ask, you'd think that he'd be put off by the sound of the waves and the water, but he guessed that his friendship with Percy had eased some of that tension. Or maybe he had bigger problems than some ancient mythological rivalry between two gods that were even more petty and vain than their children.

Tyra and some other crew members, mostly women, carried more injured men and women into the sickbay and treated them as best they could in the chaos. Most of them were young, in their twenties and thirties, and the river had done a number on all of them. Jason felt lucky to be alive, as he had a bad feeling many of them weren't going to make it.

The storm settled down after a while, and the frantic and frustrated crew was able to catch their bearings, or at least that's what Jason thought had happened; the pounding of footsteps became less loud and the shouting less strained and hoarse, as if the crew had time to rest their lungs. The rain also felt softer, as if it had reduced to a drizzle. It was a relief: he was afraid that the ship was going to capsize at any moment.

But the sounds of the storm and the crew were replaced with the groans of sick and injured passengers; Jason couldn't help but agree, but he kept quiet, burying himself under the covers as the rocking of the boat lulled him into a fitful sleep.

Jason woke up to someone gently shaking his shoulder. He shuddered and opened his eyes, seeing the face of Tyra looking over him. He groaned, his head pounding, and attempted to sit up, but she pushed him back down gently. "Just relax, I came to check on you and change your bandages."

Jason remembered that he was covered in wounds and felt the throbbed pain from his legs. Tyra seemed sympathetic, but she took her sack from off her back and pulled out some fresh bandages and a flask of something dark, red and translucent. He eyed the bottle warily, but she noticed his apprehension. "Don't worry, it's just vinegar, it'll help clean your wounds."

She scooted down to his legs and lifted his left leg, examining his calf before gently shearing off the old bandages and soaking a rag in the vinegar. Once the soiled bandages fell off, Jason almost gagged: his leg was torn up and swollen, with several small fangs still jutting out. The bite he had received must have been way worse than he thought.

Tyra must've seen his expression, because she grimaced as she looked him in the eye. "I'm sorry about that, I was in a hurry to keep you alive and I must've missed some of those teeth. We're going to have to remove them."

The thought of pulling out those teeth made him cringe. "Nope, I'm good. You go help other people."

Tyra shook her head. "It wasn't a choice. Devilfish have notoriously jagged and rotten teeth: if I leave them in you'll be at risk of catching sepsis and eventually even necrosis. I'd rather you keep your leg, so they're coming out."

She rummaged through her bag again and pulled out a pair of medical forceps as well as a hemostat. She padded down his calf with the vinegar laced rag before gently placing one of the bigger teeth in the blades of the forceps and pulling.

Jason let a strained yelp leave his pursed lips as the tooth was pulled. He was expecting it to be much worse, but that didn't mean it wasn't painful: far from it. It felt like he was having teeth extracted from his thigh without any anesthesia whatsoever. All the while, Tyra was whispering to him, attempting to reassure him that everything would be alright and that it would be over soon.

"Just kill me," he grumbled under his breath, "that'd be quicker."

Tyra shook her head and extracted another tooth from his leg, this one being one of the smaller teeth from a back row. It hurt less, but the jagged edge still left a nasty, swollen cut. "You'll make it, big guy, just focus on me, focus on my voice again."

She began to sing softly, in a language he couldn't decipher, and his pain began to recede. He didn't know the words, but he could imagine what it meant from the pictures fluttering past his vision when he closed his eyes: A shrine in a forest, a burning statuette, and an Ox with skin and fur the color of snow. He didn't even notice when the rest of the teeth were pulled out and his leg was bandaged, it all happened so fast.

"What is with your voice?" He asked, astonished, "it's like… magic."

Tyra had a small smirk on her lips. "A lady never tells."

"That's such garbage."

She chuckled. "Maybe, but it's not for outsiders to understand. Maybe one day you will."

Her cryptic response didn't answer any of his questions, so he decided to change his approach. "Where am I, where is this place?"

Tyra pursed her lips and thought for a moment. "What do you remember last, before you came here?"

Jason hesitated, but he figured it was a fair question to ask. "A city called San Francisco, in a place called California. Have you ever heard of it?"

She scrunched her eyebrows in surprise. "I've heard of a lot of places, so many that they tend to mix together, But I don't recall San Francisco. What was it like?"

He recalled the features of the city. "It was always sunny and warm, with beautiful beaches and palm trees everywhere. I was… fighting there."

"Until you died?"

Her spot on deduction surprised him. "How… how did you know-"

"I died a long time ago," she continued. "I was helping evacuate a town besieged by Oron slavers. In the chaos, I was cut down by one of their leaders while defending a temple from being sacked and burned. Then I woke up here, in this same river, although with fewer teeth stuck in my rump."

Jason just stared, caught completely off guard. "How… so, you're from another world too?"

She shrugged. "You could say that. A lot of people here are from 'other worlds'" she made air quotes to signify that it was a messy subject. "They call it the Maelstrom; every few years, a great storm summons a myriad of people who end up in this river along with a bunch of other rivers all leading from the same few estuaries, nobody knows why. It's almost as if people just fall in, but they all claim they're from different worlds, me included. After a while, it just became an accepted fact that other worlds existed, and that this was some kind of afterlife."

"Oh." Jason said weakly. He wasn't prepared to get such a straight answer right away.

"It sounds like a big deal when you think about it, but in reality it's pretty inconsequential; the people who ended up here still found a way to get along."

Jason didn't respond, thinking of the implications. So instead of going to the underworld, he was transported to this seemingly normal world. "So that's why you guys are put here? To pick up the stragglers?"

Tyra nodded. "There are always patrols scouting along the rivers to locate the next wave of arrivals, it happens every five years or so, a few hundred will just appear and we'll have to fish them out of the freezing water. It's harder this far north because of the temperature and the wildlife, but we manage. Besides, it's something to do."

Jason remembered his battle with the massive fish in the freezing water. "You called them devilfish, right? Were those the things that attacked me?"

Tyra nodded. "Yes, I believe so. And I saw you fight one of the matriarchs, that was impressive."

"Matriarch?"

"Oh, I forgot you don't know about devilfish." She seemed relieved to have something else to talk to. "The females can grow massive, about the size of your average battering ram, and they're ravenous. The names aren't nearly as impressive, but can still grow pretty large. And I wasn't joking about they're teeth: They erode pretty quickly but only fall out when they bite into things, so even if you kill it, you could still get a nasty infection."

Jason nodded weakly. "Yeah, I heard sepsis isn't fun."

She gave him a smirk. "Yeah, it's not. Imagine falling into a coma while your blood is on fire, then you'll get a pretty good picture of what sepsis does to you."

Jason shuddered at the thought. "Yeah, definitely not a fun way to die."

She harrumphed like a mother who knew she was right. "Well, dinner will be a few hours away, and we'll reach the city of Shiverdawn by the morning. You should get some more sleep so that your leg can heal up."

Jason nodded before relaxing and laying back, Tyra placing a pillow under his bad leg so it could have some cushioning as well as prevent too much bleeding. Then she lifted her medical sack and went to treat other patients. Jason appreciated her concern, but he didn't like getting so much attention from a pretty girl, especially after his falling out with Piper. He was sure his interactions with Tyra were wholly platonic, but it still felt wrong in a way.

With a sigh, he buried his head in his pillow and listened to the waves beat against the hull as they lulled him back to sleep.

He was woken up again with Tyra gently shaking his shoulder, a bowl of something in her free hand. "Hey, I've got food if you're hungry."

He mumbled under his breath incoherently and rubbed the sleep out of his eyes. He was actually sleeping pretty soundly until she showed up, but he wasn't mad, she was just attempting to help out and make sure he was okay.

In her hand was a deep wooden bowl with a metal spoon sticking out. It steamed and smelled pretty good, like fennel, dill and tarragon. He also noticed a plate on the ground with something that looked like a miniature pie, but it smelled savory. His stomach growled like a wild animal at the thought of food, and Tyra suppressed a smile.

She helped him up into a sitting position, being careful as to not put too much weight on his ribs, and carefully placed a thin wooden board on his lap to serve as a kind of impromptu table. Then she placed the food onto it, putting a special iron ring around the lower half of the bowl to prevent it from tipping over or spilling. Then she pulled out a small flask of something crimson and opaque.

The soup itself was odd, but he wasn't complaining. A filet of fish floated in a broth with a few slices of celery or leek and another root, maybe a fennel bulb. It smelled nice enough but Jason didn't recognize it. The pie was simpler: just a golden brown hand pie in the shape of an oval. He had to admit that it smelled incredible.

"What's all this?", he asked, surprised to find decent food on what looked like a medieval ship. He figured he'd be stuck eating something

She just gestured to it. "Dinner, we want you to recover, and we found that too many people would die of hypothermia if we didn't provide something hot to eat." She gestured to the soup. "And fish is plentiful here. Shiverdawn is a coastal town, with lots of fishing and trading, so the people there developed a diet on what's fresh and available."

Jason reluctantly took a bite of the pie, finding it filled with some kind of mystery fish as well as buckwheat and herbs. A bit of moist gravy tied it all together in a way that actually worked. He tried the soup next, finding the broth to be rich and tasty. It was nice to eat something warm and filling after such a hard day.

"I'm glad you like it." She said before placing the vial of crimson liquid on the board. "Some mead to wash it down with, it'll help."

Jason's eyes nearly bulged out of his head. He swallowed another bite of the pie and held up his hands in refusal. "I uh… I don't drink alcohol, sorry," he said sheepishly.

She nodded and picked up the flask. "I understand. I can go get you some water or something."

Jason waved his hands again. "No, no- it's fine, I appreciate everything. I just don't want to be a bother."

She nodded. "I get it, but you're not a bother; it's my job to make sure you're okay, and I care about every patient in this sickbay." She gestured to all the sick and injured survivors and personnel in the many bunks. "Besides, with the way you killed that devilfish, you at least deserve a little special treatment."

Jason blushed a little from all the attention, which was nice, but it was starting to make him uncomfortable. Other injured men and women needed attention too and he was sure he was in much better shape than some of them, despite how rough his fight with the devilfish matriarch was.

"I just… it's making me uncomfortable. I'm sorry, I'm not trying to be rude, but I just feel like I don't need or deserve all this attention."

She nodded, seemingly unhurt by his statement. "That's fine, I'll go speak with the captain, tomorrow's an important day and we need to get things straightened out."

It was faint, but he thought she may have sounded a little hurt. But he didn't dwell on it; there was still the night to go and he had a feeling it'd be a long one if he tried to sleep on an empty stomach.

As he ate, he couldn't help but think about the implications of this world. As a demigod, his world was a secret and his powers made him unique amongst the rest of the world. He was used to seeing other people as… well not necessarily lesser, but rather unimportant in the grand scheme of things, maybe irrelevant was a better term. Not that he saw himself as better or more worthy than your average person, just that it was hard to take someone seriously when the mist made them see the world in such a simple way. It made him feel detached from the mortal world.

Now, he was surrounded by those very opposite kinds of people, in a world of powerful individuals from what could be seen as endless worlds. The girl, Tyra, had even seen him slay that devilfish with his lightning, meaning that there was likely no mist here. It wasn't necessarily bad, just a culture shock.

As he finished eating, another young woman, one with brown skin and frizzy hair, took his dishes and checked to see if he was okay. He thanked her and laid back down, wincing from the pains in his chest as he did so. He wasn't tired enough to fall back asleep, so he closed his eyes and thought about the Argo II and his time there. Even with the looming threat of Gaia's return, it had been the best six months of his life and it had helped cement who he was after he lost everything at the hands of Hera. After her meddling, he lost his identity, and not just from memory loss: his time at Camp Half Blood radically changed how he thought about everything.

The trip on the Argo II helped him realize what he wanted out of life. He wanted peace.

It was a silly thing to strive for; demigods rarely had happy endings. Some would die on quests, others would be betrayed by those they loved, even more would succumb to their fatal flaws. Jason knew that his life was a ticking time bomb waiting to go off, and that all he could do was enjoy the little things while they lasted.

He laid back and closed his eyes, relaxing and drifting off to sleep.

For once, Jason was blessed with a dreamless sleep.

He woke up with a start when the ship lurched forward abruptly and the deck rocked ever so slightly, waking most of the injured and causing a few of the crew tending to them to hold onto the walls for balance.

Jason tried to lift himself up but he hissed in pain when he felt his still broken ribs move. Tyra was nowhere to be found, and he started to regret being so uncomfortable last night, but other staff were present, helping the rest of the injured passengers out from their berths and on their feet as they limped from the sickbay. Jason rose to his feet with a grunt and leaned on the bed frame so as to not topple over, gasping for breath from the chest pain.

Someone entered the sickbay, catching the attention of the the nurses and staff. It was the captain from before, the burly main with the curly brown hair and scar-covered skin. He scowled at Jason, but didn't say anything, allowing the staff to escort most of the patients out of the sickbay before approaching Jason.

"So…" he started, his voice deep and gravelly as if yelled so much that his throat became permanently raw. "You're that guy the whole ship's been pestering me about. They say you killed one of those devilfish matriarchs." As he spoke, he twirled something between his fingers. "Good work."

Jason gave him an odd look, the man not faltering. His moss-green eyes were solid like steel, and his tone was a bit boring, as if he was a teacher grading Jason's test with a mediocre score. He wore finely crafted fur armor along with a light steel scale armor that covered his chest and upper arms, and thick fur pants the color of bearskin. A helmet covered in a bear's head hung from his hip like a trophy.

"Who are you?" Jason asked, a bit confused.

"I'm the captain of this ship. We were doing our rounds when one of our spotters heard you calling for help. I wasn't just going to let you die in the river, so I jumped in and pulled you out."

"Thanks," Jason said. "But what's with all the armor?"

"Pirates." The captain replied simply. "They're worse than the devilfish, not by much though."

They were interrupted by the loud thumping of metal boots on the deck.

"And those would be the ancillaries. Let's go, the harbormaster will be waiting."

One of the crew members helped him across a wide plank onto the brick pier of the docks, and Jason saw the city for the first time. Several distant moons orbited overhead, shining a dim light onto the city skyline. Tall marble towers reached into the sky, the largest being about two thirds of the height of the empire state building. They were wider though, significantly so, with balconies and extra wings sticking out from the sides. The city was built on a sloping cliff, the buildings growing taller as they reached the center. Houses were made from plaster, wood and marble, with chimneys billowing smoke and windows glowing with candlelight. It looked like a medieval fantasy city, and a wealthy one at that, like a Nordic or Rus trading hub. In the dim light of the moons, the city glowed, a silver sheen gracing every structure like an enchantment. The streets were wide and made from polished limestone bricks, hooded carriages with wheels of steel-braced wood carrying everything from passengers to goods rolling by.

"Welcome to Shiverdawn, the city of the never-ending night," the Captain said, "Let's get you logged into the books and find you a spare bed, because it's going to be a long week and you'll need some more sleep before then."