Disclaimer: I don't own anything that has to do with Percy Jackson, unfortunately. Just a laptop.

Rating: T (swearing, adult themes, etc.)

Quote: Brainy Quote

Image: Google Images. I don't own that, either.

Chapter One

Peripheral Vision

My father used to play with my brother and me in the yard. Mother would come out and say, 'You're tearing up the grass'; 'We're not raising grass,' Dad would reply. 'We're raising boys.'

-Harmon Killebrew

~THREE YEARS LATER~

~Evelyn~

I growled at the metronome.

The annoying clicking sound of the metronome was starting to grate on my nerves. I slammed my palms down on the piano, making it emit a dissonant clashing sound of protest. Glaring at the metronome, I settled my shoulders. It took every inch of willpower that I had to keep from chucking the metronome across the room. Somehow, I didn't think that my music teacher would appreciate that. I eyed the sage green walls in front of me with a critical interest. No, it wouldn't do to put a dent in the walls, no matter how much the metronome set my teeth on edge.

Taking a deep breath, I steeled myself. My fingers danced over the white, polished keys, and my sharp fingernails clacked on the glassy lacquer. I frowned. Fix that, Evie, I thought to myself. You don't want to scratch out someone's eyeballs as soon as they sneak up behind you. Pursing my lips, I set the metronome. It resumed its even ticking, and, hunching my shoulders in resolve, I began to play. My eyes scanned over the piece of music, and my fingers flew over the keys rapidly, playing the works of Mozart. It was never easy, the piano playing, but as I set my jaw, I knew that I didn't have much of a choice, thinking back to my mother.

Melody Cox, world-famous classical pianist, had more worthwhile conversations with her piano than with me. She might have been incredibly skilled as a pianist, but her skills as a mother left something to be desired. My chords grew louder and heavier as my emotions became more agitated, and I straightened in my seat. I was going to have to rectify that if I ever wanted a place at Julliard. My throat tightened. I was a sophomore at Hudson Private School, and though Melody wasn't poor –not by a long stretch- she didn't have the money to send me to Juilliard without a large scholarship. I could just picture the look on my mother's face if I didn't get into the prestigious college. My chords grew clipped and more precise, and I felt some of the tension go out of my shoulders.

The song slowed at the ritardando, and I grew the crescendo to a booming fortissimo and ended the song with a loud, diminished chord. I winced at the off-key sound, cringing at the bang. "Well, that can't be right," I muttered. I tried playing the chord again, and smiled at the result. "Much better."

On top of the piano, my phone vibrated and buzzed. I stared at it, leveling my eyesight and biting my lip. There was only one person that would be calling me at this moment, and I didn't particularly want to talk to her. As I picked up my phone and saw the caller ID, I knew I was right. The name Melody flashed across the screen. Swallowing, I clicked the answer button.

"Hey, Mom," I said, my voice a façade of faux cheeriness. "I'm just at Hudson, practicing my piano; you don't have to worry." I crossed my fingers, pulling the phone away from my ear and checking the time. It was four fourteen; four hours and fourteen minutes after I had left the house, and two hours and fourteen minutes before I would be home. It wasn't so much that I was upset about my being late, and I hadn't done it on purpose, but I knew that Melody was going to yell my ear off for at least an hour and a half.

I heard the metallic rustling of my mother rummaging in her jewelry set. "Evelyn, I told you to be home at two o' clock sharp," she said, her voice cold. "It's far past that, and we have to leave for the opera in-" there was a pause as she checked the time. "One hour, it seems. Please tell me that you're on your way home, Evelyn."

Shit. I had completely forgotten about the opera. Melody had met a man at one of her business meetings, and he had so 'kindly' invited Melody and I to an opera. This had happened plenty of times before, and I wasn't surprised, exactly. Melody was beautiful, but she required that her daughter needed to tagalong. I had no illusions about the relationship with the business partner; it wouldn't last longer than a month, at the very most, but I didn't look forward to sitting in a stuffy theater for the next few hours. That being said, I also didn't look forward to sitting in my stuffy room for the next few weeks as punishment.

I frantically gathered up my various piano books in my hands. "Oh, yeah," I said, my voice trembling slightly as I stuffed my books into my rucksack. "I am totally on my way. I'll be there in ten minutes, I swear. Sorry that I'm running a little la- oh, crap!" I muttered as I dropped my bag and my books spilled out. As I jammed them back into my canvas-colored messenger bag, I resumed talking to my mother. "Just- y'know- havin' fun here, biking home. I'll see you in a few?"

"Evelyn," Melody said, her voice a little concerned. "Are you alright? What did you do to yourself? If you return home a scratched and battered mess, we can hardly send you to the opera, you know."

"I know. Love you lots, Mom, but I really, really, really have to go. I'll be there so soon that you'll think that I have superpowers." I hit the 'end call' button before Melody could say anything further. I was going to need a mixture of luck and godly powers to get me home at the rate that I was going, and unfortunately, I had neither.

I sprinted through the hallways of the deserted school, my gym shoes squeaking on the linoleum tiles. As I practically ran into the door heading outside, I looked down at my uniform with critical interest. Uniforms weren't such improper attire to go to an opera, right? There would be plenty of other children there wearing their plaid skirts and chaste, pale blue button-up shirts, right? I shook my head, dispelling the thought as I ran to my chained-up bike and frantically did the password. Unfortunately, young as I was, I had plenty of experience with operas. No one wore a school uniform to them, though they would probably be more comfortable than the stiff dress that I had waiting at home.

I crossed my fingers for luck as I pedaled off into the streets of New York City. It was going to take a pure godsend to get me home, and, unfortunately, I didn't exactly know any gods. The sky above me thundered, and I glared up at the rainclouds as the first few drops of rain came spattering down.

"Gee, thanks," I said to the sky. "Really owe you one, buddy." With that grim statement, I resumed pedaling, praying to whatever divine force ruled the earth that I would return home safely- and then survive my mother's wrath safely. It was times like these when you simply needed superspeed, I thought wryly.

Unfortunately, I was fresh out.

I was a firm believer in theories.

In a world of 'maybes' and 'what-ifs?' it was my firm belief that you needed theories to differentiate. The world often got too hectic and crazy to wrap your head around, and theories were like the magical medication of chaos. All you needed was a theory to give something the power to suddenly make sense, and: bingo. You no longer had a headache, and you had a better understanding of the world. Theories were a gift, really, if you knew how to dissect them.

I had come up with my own theory. It simply stated that every problem in the world could be split into two types of people. Not one, not three, not four, and certainly not five, but two. As I went through my life, I became increasingly more supportive of this theory. I saw it every day that I went outside. All you had to do was open your eyes, and it was there. The examples were everywhere; you just had to know where to look.

There were two types of religious people: people who believed in a divine force, and people who didn't, also known as atheists. I placed myself in the latter category. Melody had never been the sort of person to go to church, unless it was to aid her public image, and the few times that I had been to church, I hadn't understood half of it. I was one of those people who couldn't just accept a belief and move on. I was more one of those people who needed real, tangible proof to accept a belief and move on. It wasn't just the Christian church, either: Melody had brought me to temples, synagogues, mosques, and we had accepted the fact that I just wasn't a religious person. I just didn't believe in any sort of divine force. So far, I was sixteen years old, and hadn't seen any evidence that a deity existed. Therefore, I was an atheist. Other people were not. Hence: every problem could be split into two types of people.

There were also two types of imaginative people: the type of people that were incredibly creative and could set your mind to thinking by uttering a few words, or playing a few notes, or painting a few strokes, and the type of people that were about as interesting as a stone brick. Melody was in the first category, I was in the second. Much as my insistent mother tried to force creativity into me, I simply didn't have the aptitude for it.

Shockingly enough, another example of this was mothers. There were, to put it simply, kind, caring, good, mothers, and then there were neglecting, evil, bad mothers. I would put Melody in the second category, because, unsurprisingly, there were fathers that were present in your life, and fathers who didn't give a damn. My father also fell into the latter. I had never met him, and, to be completely honest, didn't really care to meet him. His role in my life was pretty nondescript: have sex with Melody, unknowingly father child, and leave forever. It was precisely why I had no desire to meet him. I had clearly gotten a rip-off on the parents department when I was born, and I didn't really appreciate it.

The list went on, and on, and on as you went down the list. Two types of smart people; stupid and dumb. Two types of fashionable people; those who had the sense not to wear socks with sandals, and those who didn't. It was a pretty obvious, straightforward theory that I kept in my mind at all times. It was great help in analyzing and dissecting the ways of the world.

My most fervent belief, however, was that there were two types of clothed people: there were those who dressed formally, and those who did not. Much to Melody's chagrin, I placed myself in the second category. I felt completely out of my comfort zone in anything that wasn't a sweatshirt, sweatpants, or a t-shirt. Any other clothing items were things that deserved to be incinerated in a fireplace. Unfortunately for me, my fireplace was electric.

Which left me in a stiff, black taffeta dress and heels feeling like I was going to fall over. My skill set was pretty limited, and walking in high heels was not among my skills. I honestly didn't see why people needed to walk in heels. Not only was it painful, it was also hard. I growled, teetering out of my bathroom.

I stepped into our living room, which consisted of a few pieces of stoic, white, designer furniture and was dominated by a massive black lacquer piano. Though I could play the piano adeptly, I had never in my life played on our piano. I was forbidden to do so by Melody, and wasn't too upset about the fact. If I so much as played a note too loud, I'd be out on the streets with a suitcase and a twenty-dollar bill.

Melody tapped her watch. She looked beautiful tonight, I had to admit. Her forty years of operas had led her to perfecting her attire. In her floor-length, ruby-red evening gown, towering heels, and tastefully accented jewelry, Melody looked a thousand times more elegant than I could ever look. "We're already late to the opera," she snapped, tucking her purse into the crook of her arm. "Honestly, Evelyn. Gerard is going to be so upset. I should've just left without you."

"Sorry, Mother," I said dutifully. Sixteen years of scolding had led me to perfecting my responses. "It won't happen again, I promise." I looked down at my shoes. The balls of my feet were already starting to ache, and I had hardly been wearing my heels for five minutes.

"It had better not," she said, looking over me cryptically. She sighed, clearly not liking what she saw. "Just… stand up straight, Evelyn. You never know who could be watching. The whole world's a stage, and your pose needs to be perfect."

It was a line that she had quoted at me many times before. 'The whole world's a stage, and your pose needs to be perfect'. It was easy for her to say, but I was graced with the wonderful gift of stage fright, and I had to disagree. The saying was a nice euphemism for 'the whole world is a judgment panel. Don't screw up now'. Nevertheless, I sighed. "Yes, Mother," I said, straightening my back.

Melody regarded me with a dull, uninterested expression. "It'll have to do," she sighed. "You know, Evelyn, girls your age would be jumping for joy at the chance to go and see an opera. You're extraordinarily lucky."

I swallowed down my fight. "Yes, Mother." I couldn't help but disagree with Melody. There was yet another category of people: those who enjoyed listening to warbled voices sing in a foreign language, and those who really didn't care for it. Again, I was in the second category. Melody was not.

I looked at the rain-streaked window, wondering how I had managed to become so different from Melody. There wasn't a single thing that we agreed on, and it made both of our lives a living hell. For one of the first times in my life, I wondered who my father had been. It was clear that I had inherited a lot more of his traits. Even my looks: my straight, short, dark blond hair, and my wide brown eyes, were as opposite from Melody's long ebony hair and pale blue eyes as possible. It seemed that my mother and I shared nothing.

As I watched the rain streak down the window in a miniature river, I wondered if my mother and I would ever share anything.

~Caroline~

"Again!"

I set my shoulders. Three steps, I thought to myself. Just three steps, Caroline, and you'll be golden. Focus. Three steps. Taking a deep breath, I steeled myself, fixating so that my posture was perfect. There were only three steps to throwing a knife, and yet, in my mind, they multiplied tenfold. Think, Caroline. You can do this. It's not that hard. You've done it dozens of time before. My palm was sweaty, and the knife in my right hand was held loosely. So why can't you do it now?

My fighting instructor was right. There were three steps to throwing a knife: steady yourself, aim, and throw. It was as textbook a procedure as you could ask for, and yet, I found that there were problems with it. My main problem was my surroundings. Around me, the practicing area was completely deserted. My only company was the buzzing cicadas and the hot summer sun, and, of course, my fighting instructor. That didn't stop my ADHD from going into overdrive, however.

There was something called peripheral vision. It was defined as side vision; what was seen on the side when looking straight ahead. Horses had better peripheral vision than most; they could see sideways and straight ahead as needed. Humans, being just that: human, decided to rectify this. Horses sometimes strayed sideways when pulling carriages, and so, humans came up with the idea of eye patches. While the horse was pulling the carriage, it could only see straight ahead. Horses also had to use these eye patches for jockey racing. It would be problematic if a horse ran sideways during a race, after all, and humans just couldn't have that.

Humans, however, for all their scruples, also had peripheral vision. They sensed what was on either side of them. They knew who was standing where and doing what. I disagreed with my fighting instructor. Throwing a knife was about more than just three steps. It was about knowing your surroundings. I closed my eyes, taking a deep breath, and pictured my settings. My instructor was standing to the left side of me, pacing. Something in the grass rustled to the right of me- a snake, probably. Behind me, there was an expanse of grassy fields. My eyes blinked open, and I tightened my grip on the knife.

One, I thought, steadying myself. Two. I squeezed one eye shut and leveled the knife with the target. Three. With as much smooth, fluid movement as I could muster, I let the knife fly from my hands. It went spiraling towards the target, and with a satisfying crunch, it landed in the bull's eye. I straightened, breathing out a sigh of relief. Thank gods.

"Better." Percy Jackson, my fighting instructor, strode in front of me. He yanked the knife from the target. "You're going to need to do better than that if you want to kill in a battle, though, Grace," he said, walking back towards me and handing me the knife. He held the knife out, as cool and unfeeling as a snake. It was moments like these when I wondered just what Percy Jackson was thinking. His dark hair was streaked through with gray, and his face held a little evidence of age with a few wrinkles, but he was as muscular, tall, and dangerous as ever.

I took the knife. "You can't be serious," I said incredulously. "I hit the bull's eye, Percy. How much better do you expect it to be? That was a perfect throw. My aim was spot-on. What can you even say against that?" I crossed my arms, glaring at him. "You can't even say anything. That move was perfect."

"No, it wasn't. Think, Caroline. Sure, that move was perfect now, in the middle of Camp Half-Blood. Think about when you're in a battle. You're not going to have five minutes to steady yourself for a throw. You're going to have three seconds." He held out his hand, and I slapped the knife down into it. "You don't have time to contemplate in a battle. You just have to throw the knife. Like this." Quick as a cobra, he flung the knife without even turning towards the target. It was a flick of his wrist, and I stared, transfixed. It plunged into the bull's eye. I gnashed my teeth together. "Monsters aren't going to wait. Your throw was perfect, yes, but you can't stop to think." Percy strode away. "Again, and this time, try to do it in ten seconds."

My nostrils flared. "But that's impossible!" I said, throwing my hands up into the air. "There is no way that I'm ever going to pull that off! It's not fair of you to demand that I do so! You've been doing this for ages. You can't seriously expect for me to do that." I glared at him.

Percy rubbed his chin. "I was fifteen when I learned that move. You're nineteen. You can do it, Caroline. You just have to put your mind to it. Count to ten, and before you reach ten, throw the knife. Sure, it may go waltzing off into the Great Beyond, but you need to be able to do this before you go into a fight."

I raised an eyebrow. "How old were you when you went into your first fight? Thirteen? Fourteen? I don't need this to be in a fight, Percy. You just want me to have every skill under the moon before I go out fighting." I looked at him pleadingly. "Please. I've spent the past three years training. I want to get out. See the world. I've been thinking, and there's probably real streets and people out there!"

"Don't be so hasty to get into a fight, Caroline. It gets people killed. I'm just trying to prepare you." Percy gazed into my eyes. "I've seen people that I love die, Carrie, and trust me when I tell you that nothing- nothing –can prepare you for the sight of someone you knew and loved dead on the ground." He walked over to the target and yanked the knife out. "Again. I was twelve when I was in my first fight, and trust me when I tell you it wasn't pretty." He smacked the knife into my palm.

I gawked. "Twelve? What the hell were you doing, fighting when you were twelve years old? Please tell me that you were fighting with something easy. Or large and fluffy, if a bit deceptively so. Like a killer teddy bear of death." I shook my head, trying to picture Percy Jackson at twelve, and failed. I couldn't picture him any younger than twenty, when I had first met him.

"I fought the Minotaur when I was twelve years old. I killed it, but not without more than a few consequences. Not everyone has demigod parents who've protected them from the monsters since the day that they were born." He raised an eyebrow, and I knew where the implications were coming from.

I set my jaw. "Yeah, well, not everyone has shit parents, now do they?" Without thinking, just like Percy had said, I whirled and threw the knife towards the target. It struck true, but it was outside of the bull's eye by a few inches. I cursed colorfully under my breath. "This is impossible," I whined.

"Not impossible, just improbable," Percy said, walking over to the target. "I think we're done for today, though." He shaded his eyes, looking at the setting sun. "I imagine you're probably glad to be relinquished from me." He handed me my knife back, and I took it, feeling the familiar texture of cold metal against my palm.

"No, this is better than archery," I said. I sighed. "Percy, what's the date today?" A heavy feeling settled in my stomach as I thought to the tenth of June. It couldn't have been far away, and yet, I prayed to the gods that it was further.

Percy squinted at the sun. He began walking back to camp with me, stuffing his hands into his pockets. "The sixth of June." He looked at me, a fatherly concern on his face. "Why? Dreading the tenth again?" Though his face was a mask of concern, I knew that there was meaning underneath his words.

"No, I'm dreading meeting my family again," I said, my tone bitter. "Why don't they just understand that I really don't want to see them? At all? Is it just too much to ask that I don't really ever want to see them again in my life?" I kicked the ground dejectedly with the toe of my gym shoe. "Why don't they all just leave my brother and me alone?"

Percy looked thoughtfully out into the distance as we climbed another hill. "You really hate them, don't you?" he said, sighing. "You've got to look forward to seeing your sisters and brother again. You've got to miss them, at least. You've seen them a total of three times in the past three years. Is your sibling rivalry really all that bad?"

"It's not so much that." I thought back to my oldest sister and youngest brother. "Janie and Reid- I don't hate them, I guess. They're just part of a family that I was never invited to be a part of. Will's not much different, actually." I thought of my oldest brother. "He just chose to stay here with me. Mom never treated him the best, either. And as for Audrey- she's two and a half. I've only ever seen her two times, and for either one, I hated her guts, yeah. Janie, Reid, and Audrey are all part of Mom and Dad's perfect little family that I'm just not a part of. Will could be, if he wanted to, but he chose to stay here instead. Not sure why, but he did."

"Caroline, it was a pretty long time ago, what your mom did. I know that I can't really hope to understand what you went through, but it might be time to start understanding her half of it, too. They are coming to camp in four days. It might be best to start accepting that you might have to-"

"Oh, not you, too!" I snapped. "I'm not going to forgive Mom or Dad. End of story. They made their intentions very clear when I was born. Trust me, I don't like being the side effect of a bottle of tequila and a college dorm couch, but that's pretty much just what I am. I made myself very clear three years ago when I told them to eff of and get the hell out of my life. Just because they come waltzing back to camp with their two perfect little kids and sweet, adorable little toddler doesn't mean that I forgive them. At all." I sniffed, turning my head up.

"I didn't say that you should forgive them," Percy said gently. "I think that what your mom did was a pretty messed up thing, too, Caroline. Trust me. I just think that you should imagine yourself in her position. She was twenty when you were born, Carrie, and she was scared. She didn't know what she was doing, mothering you, and she clearly didn't do a very good job of it, but I think that it's good that she's trying. Your mom could just forget about you forever and leave you here. Is that really what you want?"

"Yes." I stared at him defiantly, tilting my chin up. "Actually, that's exactly what I want. For Mom to leave me forever and never show up again would be like ten Christmases in a row."

Percy shook his head. "You know, Caroline, I sometimes wonder if you don't have a little bit of a one-track mind." He walked down the hill, muttering under his breath. I glared at him, utterly defiant. I despised my parents, and I didn't need any persuasion- from him or my parents –to return to my family and make up. That wasn't how the real world worked, in my opinion.

An awkward silence took hold, but I wasn't going to be the one to break it. The Legacy cabins weren't all that far away, anyhow. I was pretty sure that I wasn't going to be the one to interrupt the silence. I stared at the ground, tugging at the collar of my t-shirt. Was it just me, or were the cicadas especially loud today? Of course, I didn't have to wait long for the silence to be broken.

It was interrupted by a loud, piercing, strident scream.

~Emery~

In the dream, I was in a room.

The room was not so much a room as a cave. The stony walls sweated moisture, and it was filled with a murky, greenish-brown water from ceiling to floor. There was nothing in the room except for a great big floating bubble, and, inside the bubble, a woman. She was beautiful, this woman, though she looked to be nearly forty. The woman had blond hair streaming to her waist in unruly tendrils streaked with gray. She seemed to be sleeping: she was completely still, and her hands were folded over her middle. Her hair billowed around her. If not for the gentle, nearly imperceptible movements of her chest, I wouldn't have known that she was alive at all.

Her eyes snapped open. They were gray, I saw with a start, and the pupil was little more than a pinprick in the stormy sea of gray. "You're here," she said, her voice ragged. "I knew that you would come. I knew that you had woken." She let out a breath of relief. "My child." She closed her eyes, smiling peacefully. I made to move, but her eyes snapped open and she held up a hand. "Wait! Don't go. Not just yet. She's coming soon, my child, and I need you to see her. The monstrosity."

"Who…
are you?" I said, but as I opened my lips, no sound came out. "Why can't I talk?" I widened my eyes. "Why can't I talk? What is this place? Why am I here? What are you doing to me?" I shouted these words, but still, nothing came out of my mouth. I wrapped my arms around my shoulders. "Why?" I whispered, though still my mouth was silent.

"Do not try and speak," the woman said, as if voicing my thoughts. "I sense your presence. You are not my Marilyn, though." She frowned. "Then how are you my child at all?" The woman shook her head. "It matters not. Listen to me, very carefully. You cannot speak, because I have summoned you here. I am in very grave danger, but there are others in more danger still. It is because of this that I summon you, child." The woman shook her head.

"My name is not important. It is not relevant. You need not know who I am, or where I am imprisoned; just that I am a very important person, and I am only trying to help you." She took a deep breath. "There is a woman in this castle. Her name is Lady Amphitrite, though she calls herself a queen." Her eyes widened. "She is coming."

"What?" I tried to say, though all that came out were bubbles. The room and image before me was blurring, but my mind was whirling a thousand miles per hour. I knew Queen Amphitrite, better than perhaps anyone. "What are you trying to tell me? Please, tell me where you are!" Still, only silence, and the room seemed to be spiraling away into nothingness.

"She is coming," the woman whispered frantically. "I must send you away, now. But listen to these words very carefully, child, whoever you are: the Lady Amphitrite is evil. She is without mercy. If she is not stopped soon, then she will not hesitate to take over the world as we know it. Do you understand?"

"No!" I shouted. "I don't understand! Explain! Who is coming? Why is Queen Amphitrite evil? I don't understand! Who are you?" The last of my words should have come out in a scream, but still, there was only silence on my part. I didn't understand why the woman would bother asking a question if I was so obviously silenced.

"You must understand," the woman said. "For she is without mercy." Her eyes widened as a sound came from somewhere far, but I couldn't turn. Apparently, I was entirely stationary in this dream. My breaths quickened as she closed her eyes and began muttering what seemed like an incantation.

Just as the dream began melting away, I heard the creak of the door, and I saw another woman walk through it. She was beautiful, with long, billowing auburn tresses, sharp, bright green eyes, and pale, porcelain skin. The woman wore beautiful fabrics of green silk. None of this surprised me, however. I knew who this woman was. I saw her every single day of my life.

For the first time in my dream, I was glad that I made no sound when I spoke, for in that moment, as my dream was fading to mist, I uttered the words, "Queen Amphitrite."

I woke in a cold sweat.

My body slumped against my bed. Shivers convulsed through it, and, in mind's eye, I saw the woman, and the expression of pure terror on her face at the name 'Amphitrite'. My throat felt dry, and, out of habit, I reached for my pendant at my neck. I found the rough, uncut, reassuring crystal at my throat and breathed out a sigh of relief. My heart thrummed at a thousand miles per hour as I blinked, gasping in huge breaths of the clean, fresh, pure water in my room.

"Amphitrite," I muttered to myself. I didn't have to picture her in mind's eye. You typically didn't need to picture your mother in mind's eye, after all. I knew who Amphitrite was, and I didn't see how she was murderous, or merciless, or even fearsome. I ran a hand through my brown curls. She was my mother, after all. I wondered who that woman was, and whether or not that was truly a dream. It certainly didn't feel like one.

Amphitrite, queen of the sea, wife of the god Poseidon. They were my parents. I was the sea deity Emery, and I didn't see what Amphitrite could be doing down in the prison. Grumbling to myself, I rose from my bed. I was a healthy, thirteen year-old sea deity, and if I wanted to uncover this 'dream', if it truly was that, then I was going to have to dig around the palace myself.

As a whole, I didn't dream often. I was a deity, and Morpheus, god of dreams, didn't feel inclined to present me with dreams. Whenever I did have a dream, I had learned that a person – or being – had sent the dream to me, and summoned me there for some reason. Usually, it was because the being needed help, but the woman hadn't even asked for help. I furrowed my eyebrows, rubbing my face. Walking into my bathroom, I stared into the mirror.

"You know," I told my reflection, "it would be nice if something made sense for a change." My reflection simply stared back at me, unblinking gray eyes, brown curls, angular face, and all. My pendant hung near my collarbone, a stark contrast to my pale skin. I rubbed my face. "No, of course not. Why would anything ever make sense in my life?"

A knock sounded on my door. "Prince Emery," a voice said. "I've come with your breakfast." I didn't answer. Instead, I stared at the circles under my eyes. Definitely not a dream, then, I thought. I wasn't asleep last night at all. I was being transported into Señora Crazy's prison cell. The knock came again, louder and more insistently. "Prince Emery? Are you in your rooms?" There was a pause. "Would you like me to leave your food outside your rooms? It's your usual, Your Highness, and it would be no trouble."

"I'm in my rooms," I said tiredly. I walked over to the door, crossing my room in quick strides. It was nothing much, my room; just a bed, wardrobe, and bathroom; the way that I liked it. I swung open the door. "Calm down. I'm right here. No need to abuse my poor door."

The maid squeaked. Her eyes strayed down to my chest, and the tray began to rattle on her frail fingertips. She was small, and looked to be Asiatic, with short, dark hair, and large, almond-shaped eyes. "Sorry!" she exclaimed. Her voice came out in a high-pitched squeal. "Y-y-your H-h-ighn-ness?" she said, pointing to my chest. "You're half naked."

I looked down at my bare chest and raised an eyebrow. "So it seems," I said dryly, taking the tray from her grasp in one, smooth, fluid movement. I slammed the door in her face. It never ceased to amaze me how many maids had the difficulty accepting that I slept without a shirt. It wasn't that hard of a concept to grasp, but apparently, people had difficulty understanding it, all things considered. I shook my head.

I stared down at the tray. It wasn't much, just some fish wrapped in seaweed; fitting for an underwater diet, but I had lost my appetite. My thoughts were still on the woman, and why she had contacted me, of all people. There was one thing that unnerved me most, however. I picked up a sliced piece of fish, studying it, and slapped it back down on the silver plate. My thoughts were elsewhere.

The thing that unnerved me most about the woman was not her hair, streaked through with gray, or the pale, unhealthy pallor of her skin. It was not the fact that she was imprisoned in a bubble, in a cell. It was not that she had rambled on about the evil Amphitrite, known to me as my mother. It was not that she had summoned me. No, the thing that unnerved me most was that the woman was like me. My fingers brushed the pendant on my chest. Green eyes were a symbol of underwater powers, but the woman's eyes had been gray. They were the second pair of non-green eyes that I had seen in my life. I thought back to the first pair of gray eyes that I had seen and swallowed. I knew the first pair of gray eyes very well.

I saw them every time that I looked into a mirror.

~Janice~

I stared at my fingertips.

They crackled with blue sparks. The sparks rained down off of my fingertips, bouncing down onto the comforter of my bed. They twinkled in the complete darkness of my room, and I stared at them, transfixed. I flexed my fingers, and the sparks flew up into the air. They danced as they came back down, like sparkling, miniature snowflakes. I had only seen these sparks once in my life, and that had been enough for me. My entire life, I had prayed to not be cursed with them, but apparently, my wishes had not come true.

"Well, this is new," I muttered to myself. Though I only had one concrete memory of these sparks, I knew that I wasn't the only one in my family with their powers. Both my brother and my father had the lightning, and though I had wished to be spared, like my oldest sister, I had clearly slacked too much on the praying. The sparks, I knew, were evil. They led to the splitting of families.

Someone knocked on my door. "Janie? Janie, honey, it's time to get ready for school." My nanny, Jenny, was knocking at the door. With a wave of my hand, I grabbed the sparks in my palm, and they flickered into nothing, extinguishing completely. She opened my door, flicking on my light switch. "Janice? Honey, are you awake?"

I sprang up from my bed, stretching and yawning extensively. "Oh, yeah," I said, my voice the paragon of faux cheeriness. "I've been up. For, you know. A while now. See? I even got dressed." My lips peeled back at my attempt at a smile as I gestured to my jeans and t-shirt. "No need to worry about me!"

Jenny knitted her eyebrows together. "Since when have you gotten dressed before you needed to? It's Monday morning, Janie. How are you possibly up this early?" She shook her head. "What's going on?"

"Nothing!" I said, a bit too quickly. I cleared my throat. "Uh, I mean, nothing. Thanks, though, Jenny." I smiled widely. "It's all good." I kept my hands clasped behind my back. So far, I couldn't control my lightning, and I didn't think that it'd be a good thing if my hands suddenly started spurting ten-thousand volt lightning bolts that could probably melt my room into a puddle.

Jenny tilted her head, and a smile played at her lips. "Oh, Janie. You're eleven years old, sweetie. You can tell me anything. You know that, right?" She winked at me. "Anything. If there's a boy that's bothering you, or if you have-" she lowered her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. "Cramps, then you can tell me."

My jaw dropped. I threw up my hands, forgetting all about the sparks. "What?" I shrieked, hugging my arms to my stomach. "No! Gods, no!" My face was a mask of pure horror. "No! It's nothing even remotely like that!" I could feel the blood slowly draining from my face as Jenny shared a knowing smile.

"Look, if you want me to go to the store and buy some Tampons, I can," she said, her lips twitching. "Or some pads. It's nothing to be ashamed of, Janie. It's just a phase. If you'd like, I can tell your mom for you." My cheeks were burning, and I imagined that I was somewhere between ruby red and vermillion at this point. "Don't worry, sweetie."

"No!" I said, holding up my hands. Against my will, my hands cracked and sparked as miniature bolts of lightning rained out of my hands. I sucked in a breath, shoving them behind my back, but the scent of ozone was already tangible in the air. Jenny blinked, looking dazed. I cleared my throat. My nanny was gifted with the Sight as a mortal, and I imagined she knew exactly what she had seen, but I didn't particularly want to talk about my newfound talent. "Uh- no. Thanks, though. Jenny. It means- uh- a lot to me."

Jenny rubbed her eyes. "Janice, did I just see you shoot lightning bolts out of your fingers? Please tell me that I was imagining that, and I should just go to my doctor and ask for stronger medication." She stumbled back. My no-nonsense nanny, in all her five feet, five inches, gray haired, wrinkled, oxford-blouse, pencil skirt-wearing glory was in shock. "When your mother told me that your father- was- I didn't quite believe- sweet mother of Jesus!"

I put my face into my hands. "I know," I whimpered. I looked up at her. "I don't want this. I mean- I didn't want this. I still don't. It- it doesn't matter if I have it now or not. The last time one of my siblings had this power, he shot a hole in the porch of a house, and-"

Three years ago. The conversation that I had eavesdropped on, three years ago. The reason that I didn't look my mother in the eyes anymore, and I shied away from my father. I picked at the rubber band I had around my wrist. The last time my older brother had been born with this power, he had developed it at eleven. Tears pricked in my eyes. Will had been my favorite sibling. He had a temper that sparked off- quite literally- at the most inappropriate moments, and a sharp tongue that left me laughing. I missed Will, more so than my oldest sister. He made living in this household bearable. I thought back to my mother and grimaced.

Jenny gazed at me, her look understanding. "You're thinking about your brother, aren't you?" she said, her voice soft. "What was his name? William? He had this power, too, right? Just like his father before him?"

My head snapped up. "How do you know that?" My mind was reeling. As far as I knew, neither of my parents would mention my runaway siblings unless they had a considerable amount of alcohol in their systems. I furrowed my eyebrows at Jenny.

Jenny bit her lip and looked away. "That's not important." She looked at me with some pity. "I don't know the story behind your sister and brother running away, but I'm sorry, all the same, Janie. It sounds like you really miss them."

"Yeah. I do." I scratched my arm, remembering Will's brown face and blue eyes, and my sister's blonde hair and smile. My breath caught in my throat. I smiled, looking up at her and waving my arms cheerily. "It's okay, though. It was a long time ago. Three years, actually. I don't really miss them all that much. Besides, it was their choice to leave us. I doubt that either one misses me."

Jenny pursed her lips. "You know, I was a nanny before you. I used to babysit this other little girl for a pretty long time. I think it was- something like ten years, actually." She got a small little smile on her face. "The girl reminds me of you, in some ways."

"What happened to the girl? How does she remind you of me?" I said eagerly, ready to be off the subject of Will. It was far too painful. It brought up unpleasant memories that I wasn't happy to relive.

"Sit down," Jenny said, gesturing to my bed. My room was large, but was simple: a desk, a bed, and a closet. The only thing that I had done to decorate it was paint-ball the walls, and though I liked the result, I sometimes wished that a bit more of my personality showed through. Jenny kept my room clean, so it didn't even show my messy, unorganized side. I sat down on my four-poster bed, staring at the window. "The girl's name was Lynnie." Jenny shook her head, biting her lip. "Goodness. Lynnie."

"Lynnie?" I said. "What was that short for? Kaitlyn? Ashlyn? Is it a nickname for Lyn?" I thought back to it. "Allyn? Marie-lyn?" I was rambling, now, and I knew I should stop, but my nanny was a complete enigma. I knew almost nothing about her, and any information about her past was welcome.

"It was short for Marilyn," Jenny said, and she smiled a bit. "Lynnie- she was like you in some ways, and completely unlike you in others. She was very smart, and an only child. Like you, she hated her parents, though her mother had passed away a year before I began babysitting for her." She got a sad look on her face. "Lynnie was a bit too headstrong for her own good, just like you." She tapped my nose. I rolled my eyes, but Jenny continued her story. "When Lynnie was thirteen, she ran away from home. I don't know what happened to her."

My eyes widened. "She ran away from home? Like my brother and sister?" My voice caught. "Why would she ever run away from home?" My mind was reeling. That was an unexpected twist to the story.

"No, not like your brother and sister. She didn't really know where she was going, she just set out for a vague destination. If I had to guess-" Jenny swallowed. "I would have to say that she's probably dead." She tilted her head. "My point to this story, Janice, is that no matter how tough things seem now, they can get a lot tougher. It's a scary world out there, and I imagine that your brother and sister are regretting their choice to be fostered at Camp Half-Blood. It's not such a small world when you're only thirteen."

"I'm eleven," I pointed out. "Not thirteen. Therefore, it is a very small world when I'm eleven." Jenny rolled her eyes at me. "No, really! I've been to Europe with my parents. They took me on vacation, and I'm pretty sure the world isn't all that small." I crossed my arms, smirking at her.

Jenny sighed, getting up from the bed. "There are things that you can't hope to understand now, Janice. I know that. But- all the same, remember this: when the light in the day fades to the darkness of night, and the adrenaline in your veins wears off, and you're left with nothing, and nobody to comfort you, the world will seem very large indeed." She patted my leg. "You need to get downstairs soon and pack your bag for school, much as you might not like it." She stood up and walked out, shutting the door with a soft click behind her.

I thought back to my nanny's words. Three years ago, I had witnessed my family being torn in two. My brother had left me behind, and as had my sister. My hand closed into a fist. Four days from now, we were going to Camp Half-Blood to visit my siblings, but I didn't think that anything would change. I remembered the last time I had seen Will. He hadn't been the brother that I knew. He had been a cold, unfeeling boy. He hadn't stood with his hands shoved into his pockets; he had stood with the stance of a warrior.

When the light in the day faded to a cold, dark gray, and the adrenaline in your veins wore off, there was nothing that you could do to fix the carnage. I had cried, and screamed, and kicked at my mother when we left my siblings at Camp Half-Blood the first time. I had made a fool of myself, constructing a huge, embarrassing scene, but I didn't regret one moment of it. I thought to Lynnie, then the mysterious girl. She had run away when she was thirteen, and she hadn't survived the journey. I wasn't a fool. I wasn't about to run away. True, I despised my parents for what they had done to their children.

I thought back to the first time that Jenny had come through the door. It had been shortly after my youngest sibling, Audrey, had been born. She had been crying and wailing, and my mother had been desperate. I had watched from the doorway, peeking through. My mother had practically thrown Audrey at Jenny, shouting frantically to do something with 'it'. That was when I knew that nothing with my mother had changed. She was still the same woman, through and through. My mother was never going to love her children, despite the fact that it tore her family in two.

So, no. When the light of the day faded to gray, I wasn't going to simply stand there like an idiot. There was going to be payback time, and it wasn't going to be pretty. Of everyone in my family, I was the least exquisite in my looks: I had straight, plain brown hair, brown eyes, and a pale complexion. There was nothing exquisite about me, but I knew how to keep my head. I knew when shit got serious. I knew when not to screw around.

When the light of day faded to the dark of night, I did something. I might not have been special, but I had a head, and I knew how to use it. My family might have been torn apart, but I only had seven more years that I needed to make it.

I took a deep breath.

Seven years.

I could make it that long without getting myself killed.

A/N: I'm back, and sooner than expected. My updates will probably come weekly following this, but I had nothing to do today and a burning dose of inspiration, so here I am (albeit with a slightly shorter chapter than my usual).

A few notes about the chapter: As you probably noticed, it was split into four parts. That's because there are four aspects to this story, and I've split them accordingly. My chapters will probably always be split into either four or one, depending on the POV length. I also know that the 'incident three years ago' might have been a bit confusing, but everything will be revealed in time. I also know that I'm skipping a lot of years- I do have a reason for this, trust me.

Shout-out to reviewers: I would like to thank:

JustNicula

LovePercyJackson

Daughters of Fate

You guys are heroes! Thank you SO much!

Alright, lengthy author's note is done. I know, I know. Collective sighs of relief.

Please review! Let me know what you think, and any questions, concerns, or criticisms you might have!