"Revenge is an act of passion; vengeance of justice. Injuries are revenged; crimes are avenged."

-Samuel Johnson

The new moon watched the world beneath it. The dim moonlight could not bring light to the night but instead obscured the shadows. Towering buildings created alleyways for police sirens to echo, broadcasting alarms for all to hear in the city below the moon. Gotham City was a hellhole of a city. Life there created hardened individuals who knew the burden of pain, hate, and chaos. The predators ran rouge preying on the weak as they terrorized and prowled the innocents. They ran them down and delighted in the hunt throughout the labyrinth that was the city of Gotham. The alleys of Gotham. The birthplace of predators. The hunting grounds of predators.

In one of the alleyways, where faint traces of moonlight did reach, the start of a young hero's journey took its first steps. The first steps into an adventure of heroism, strength, pain, and loneliness. It all started in the alleys of Gotham. The birthplace of heroes. The proving grounds of heroes.

The slapping sounds of bare feet on asphalt echoed on the grimy walls of the alleyway. Each alley was beginning to blur together as Perseus 'Percy' Jackson scrambled between them. He avoided the lit streets, afraid of someone seeing him. He heard the stories of what happened to anyone in Gotham.

Acid attacks. Shootings. Stabbings. Abductions. The Joker.

You name it. It happened at night at Gotham. So, Percy kept away from any other living being. He kept to the alleys as he fled.

He fled from the hellhole that was once his home. Smelly Gabe was a monster in human skin. A drunk that drank more than he ever slept. A bully who threw his weight and size around and kept Percy hidden in his room. A vulgar siren that Percy struggled to block out.

He fled from Smelly Gabe. He preferred the terror of Gotham over the horror of Gabe's apartment.

Percy shivered as the cold air of the streets slapped his skin. In his haste to flee, he had forgone his shoes, his socks, and his winter jacket. He didn't want to spend another moment around the drunken man who hit him. He could taste the metallic taste of his blood as it touched the side of his lips from where it wept from a gash below his left eye. The taste invigorated him; it gave him a second wind—a reminder of why he ran in the first place.

One foot in front of the other, he ignored the numbing of his feet and the aches in his body. He closed his mind to the fear that dared to encroach.

He ran faster and faster as he entered a new alley that seemed to catch and reflect the scarce moonlight off the metal trash bins. He was approaching downtown if he was where he thought he was. He would need to make a lef-

The ground came hurtling toward his face. His arms raced forward to protect his face. He tripped over something and slid in the grime of the alley. The sewage of trash and rainwater soaked into his thin shirt as the winter air kissed the wet clothing and began to make him shiver.

"Where you off to, boy?"

Percy whipped his head around to the gruff man's voice. The man was homeless. His beard is dirtier than Smelly Gabe's "white" shirts. The grime of the alleys smeared his face. He wore a worn-down winter jacket that made Percy envious.

"I'm talking to you," the man grumbled.

Percy wanted to tell the man not to worry about it, to tell him off, but he had no voice. Not because he was too busy catching his breath after running a marathon. No, he couldn't speak because he never could in the first place. Born mute and unable to communicate, he ignored the man. He needed to get out of the alley and hang a left. He knew that there was a soup kitchen somewhere that way. He had been there several times and remembered the nearby landmarks that defined its location. After all, it was only just a few blocks down from the Wayne Tower and near a Thai place.

Percy stood up from where he fell. He wiped his scraped and bruised hands on his pajamas, leaving streaks of muck on the cloth. He made to turn from the homeless man, but a cold iron grip clawed his leg. Percy once again met the man's face. His eyes were a rustic-orangish brown of greed.

"Don't make me ask again," the man growled.

Percy tried to pull his leg free, but his smaller body was too light compared to the man's strength. Percy felt his leg get yanked back as he fell onto his back and smacked the back of his head onto the ground causing the world to spin. For a brief moment, he watched above as the moon swirled in and out of view. Yet, one thing crossed his thoughts…

"You see, boy, I didn't trip you up to watch you leave," the man revealed. His eyes narrowed on Percy as his grip on his leg tightened. "No, no, no. You little buddy can fetch me a nice warm meal and a welcomed dollar for my pocket from the Maroni's."

Fear lanced through Percy's heart as it drummed faster than a drum solo in a rock song. He desperately tried to shake his leg free to no avail. He did not want to be sold into the crime families of Gotham or, worse, picked up by one of the mad dogs that terrorized the city.

He knew this was a risk when he left in the first place. Perhaps his own arrogance in thinking it would never happen to him, whatever made him put aside those thoughts to flee in the first place, came crashing down. Would being forced to be a henchman be better than life with Gabe? But, life under the Joker or his ilk?

For once, he questioned himself for rashly running away. He never questioned his own actions. He just did.

He had to break free.

He would have to.

Percy tried to use his other leg to kick the man's face, but it met air as it missed his face. In return, the homeless man leaped onto Percy and crushed him under his body weight. It led to more panic as Percy flailed, trying to break free. He landed a blow or two, but his blows were weak with how much he had been malnourished since his mother vanished and stopped providing for him.

"Stop it, you little shit!" A blow smacked Percy across his face, and his head hit the ground, dazing him again.

He wasn't winning. The growing taste of blood in his mouth was a dead giveaway of that. He struggled once more to no effect as the homeless man held him in place.

"Hey, pedo!" A voice called out, silencing the struggle as the homeless man turned his head to meet the new voice. His arms were still holding down Percy. Heels clicked and echoed off the walls, "Get off the boy."

With the man's focus now on the lady, Percy was able to glimpse the newcomer. At least her shadow, as he could only see a tall and buxom silhouette approached, eclipsing the headlight of a motorcycle he had never heard approach.

"We really going to make this complicated?" She purred.

"You get out of here, lady, or you can go with him," The homeless man growled before he paused to take a moment to leer at her after he spoke. "Actually, why don't you stay a while."

"Please, you wouldn't be able to handle a woman like me," she responded as she clicked forward.

"A little struggle makes it more enjoyable."

"Disgusting. Now you've officially crossed the line, Basura," She snapped, stopping before the two males. "So, before I cross the line, get off the boy."

"No can do. You see, he is earning me a warm meal tonight and some cash, and let me tell you, it has been a while since I've had something warm."

"Is that what you want? A warm meal? Cash?" She asked curiously. She tilted her head to the side, observing the man before her. "I can give you that right now. Just let go of the boy."

"Well, you say that," his eyes traced over her figure. "But I think there is also one more thing I want. Struggle or not."

The Lady sneered. The idea repulsed her, and she would never allow someone beneath her to touch her. However, she needed the boy, and playing an illusion would be cake for her. "First, the boy. Then I can try to work out something that you'll find acceptable."

The man got off Percy and yanked him to his feet. Percy thrashed in his arms, but the man tightened his hold around Percy's body as one arm snapped and grappled his throat. Percy stilled as he faced the lady. He looked at her, and the first thing he noticed was her eyes. They were a warm brown similar to caramel. They reminded him of his mother's eyes. They were warm, too, with a hint of sadness that no scowl could ever hide.

"I see why mother brought me here tonight," the lady said as her eyes never broke away from Percy's silver eyes. "Give me the boy!" She demanded as she turned to the side and brought her right arm forward, palm facing to the moon, and her left arm folded behind her back. It looked as if she was readying to fight.

"I want my side of the bargain first!" The man counter-yelled, shaking Percy in the process, causing him to wince.

"Money, easy," she brought her left arm from behind her back and threw a bag of cash onto the ground. Percy had no idea where she pulled it from. "Take it and buy a warm meal. Just give me the boy."

The man's eyes grew wide as he looked at the bag of cash. "How much is that?"

"Let the boy go already and count it."

The man threw Percy to the ground at the Lady's feet. Then he raced for the bag of cash before distancing himself from the duo. The lady then crouched down to his height and helped him stand. Her hands were warm like a mug of hot chocolate. He couldn't help but lean into her arms.

"It's okay, I got you," she cooed into his ear. He pulled away slightly to look at her.

She was a Latina with luxurious curly black hair. Her left eye bore a tattoo, a vertical stripe on the top curled almost like a stylish 'p.' He leaned back into her embrace, somehow knowing he could trust her. She just felt safe. His eyes laid next to her neck, which had an elegant gold necklace with an amber gemstone hanging from it that ensnared his eyes.

"Let's get out of here, yeah?" She asked softly.

He nodded into her. She nodded as she turned back to the grimy homeless man, who was grinning like a madman as he counted the cash. Her softness faded, sharpening back into a look he had seen on criminals before—a look of focused hatred and a willingness to be violent.

"You have your money. If you want that warm meal, you best scurry along."

The man did just that. He cradled it to his dirty clothes as he hurried out of the alley and vanished to the right of the alley. Percy watched him go, and he felt a weight leave his shoulders. The man was something else. He turned back to the woman who was holding him.

Voice soft and caring once more, she turned to him. "So, little guy, whatever are you doing out here?"

Percy met her gaze and stared into her caramel eyes. How would he respond to her? What were the odds that she knew sign language? However, before he could try to sign, she was already speaking again.

"Look, I get it. I am a stranger in Gotham. Something to be scared of, for sure. However, I want you to know you can trust me. You see, I am known, publicly, as La Encantadora, and I believe that our mother sent me here for you."

All brain function seemed to grind to a halt. Lone gone was any concern about this Lady buying him out to be her pawn or something. Long gone was the notion that something would go wrong.

However, ever-present was the singular thought: our mother. She did share similar eyes with his mom. She even had dark black hair that matched his own. Was this his long-lost sister? Did his mother run off back then to find her? Now, their mother has sent his sister to retrieve him. He could see his mother again. It had to be… right?

"You are a shy one, aren't you?" She said, taking his silence for hesitance. "How about we just head to my home? Get yourself a good bath and a proper meal. We can talk about-" she gestured to him," all this. Then figure out what to do."

Percy looked down at himself after she said that a noted she had raised a valid point. He was filthy. He was wearing hardly enough for Gotham in the winter.

He met her caring eyes, eyes like his mother's, and he nodded back.

Riding on the back of a motorcycle was fun. The feeling of adrenaline pumping through his system was always something he enjoyed, and combined with the rapid motions of zooming in between traffic and through red lights, he loved it. He felt so excited that he wasn't afraid to let one of his arms detach from La Encantadora's waist to ride the air beside them. He never wanted it to end, but before he knew it, they had come to a stop.

Percy followed her into her apartment, his eyes soaked in everything in the immediate area. There were many windows across the back of the room, and two had a fire escape attached. There were two doors on the left, one on the right, and a passage to another open area at the back of the room, likely the kitchen. He knew ways out. No one was in the primary room. Where was his mom? Did this lady lie to him?

He steeled his gaze as he kept intaking the room.

He was disappointed not to see his mom waiting for him. It had been over a year since they last saw each other. He remembered that day clearly as it was his ninth birthday, but the lady said their mom sent her… so, where was their mom?

He turned his gaze to his rescuer. The lady who paid to save his life and who had taken him away from that horrible alley. He met her gaze, hoping to see something that revealed anything about what would happen next, but he could not glean anything but her questioning stare.

"You look upset. You prefer to be on the streets?" She asked him as she kept his stare. Her demeanor from before in the alley was gone. The hints of demand and authority were now relaxed and tired. She waited on his response.

He looked at his hands. He doubted she knew what he would say, but it would hopefully lead them to an understanding. It isn't like he could write it down between his dyslexia being horrendous and making the simplest of letters look like unreadable Thai scripture. Add on the fact that when he wrote, whether it be a pen or a pencil, the words would literally fizzle out of existence like they were never even there before he even lifted his utensil from the word he wrote. He only ever could use American sign language to speak. A language so few took the time to learn.

"I thought we were going to see mom," he signed.

La Encantadora paused at his response. He could see the puzzle solving itself in her head as she stared at his hands. Realization began to click in her eyes that she was dealing with a mute or even partially deaf child. However, he knew she didn't speak hands. English, yes. Spanish, seemingly so. Sign Language was out of her hands.

"That is a curveball," she began. Her gaze left his hands as she began to wander to the couch in the living room. She plopped herself down as he stood by the door, watching her. "I know you cannot write English well, nor can either of us read it well, so that is likely out of the equation. Hmm, I think you'll have to give me a moment to learn some way to understand you." He nodded back to her. "In the meantime, I believe you would enjoy a nice warm shower and some food hereafter."

He still stood by the front door, unsure of where to go. She had pulled a laptop off the coffee table and was beginning to type into it with fervor before she realized he still stood by the door.

"Los siento, the guest bathroom is through that door on the right and then inside on the left," she said, gesturing the path with her hands. "Towels are under the sink, and I have some spare clothes that should fit you somewhere. It will be there for you when you get out."

He nodded and followed her directions. Through the only door on the right, he entered an old bedroom with a twin-sized bed and dusty cardboard boxes. What caught his eyes was on the wall, though, a collage of newspaper clippings and pictures of Superman at the center. He took a moment to gaze at the assortment of images. One had the superhero carrying a civilian out of a fire, another with him punching a robot, and a third of him holding the weight of a bridge.

He pressed onward towards the door on the left of the room. It was the bathroom. A towel was already waiting for him, neatly folded on the back of the toilet, so he journeyed over and began to turn the shower on to warm up. His eyes then drifted to the mirror behind the sink. He couldn't help but cringe at his reflection.

He looked like a ghoul. Gabe didn't feed him often, so he had to pickpocket the nearby people for change for food at the nearby bodegas. Dirt and grime caked the edges of his face and hair. A smear of dried blood graced his right cheek from where Gabe had struck him earlier in the night. Then, he made eye contact with his reflection. He gazed on as the ghoul in the mirror began to hide behind the encroaching steam and condensation.

He turned away to shower.

As he got out and dried off, he found a fresh pair of clothes on the sink countertop. When did they get there? She never opened the door, or did he just not notice? He put on the fresh clothes regardless. The shirt fit him well, surprising considering his smaller size for his age, and the pants were snug as if they were just a size too small. She seemed to have guessed his size well enough. Where did she get these clothes, though? The bedroom and boxes outside, did she have a younger brother? Did she and mom prepare this room for him, clothes and all?

He looked towards the fogged mirror to find the ghoul gone as the condensation crept away to reveal the mirror beneath. Instead, he looked at his still damp black hair and, more importantly, clean. He ran his fingers through it. Its length, when pulled forward, was to his nose now. He pushed it back as he left the bathroom and went back into the spare room. He crossed the room to the last barrier between him and the lady, who maybe was his sister or something.

Drawing in a deep breath, he entered back into the living room.

She hadn't moved from her spot, but she looked completely different. Gone was any pretense of her being a dolled-up beautiful woman, and instead was a messy-haired adult who looked like they just worked a nine-hour shift and face-planted into their couch. Whereas before, her makeup was like a model's. Now the makeup was gone, yet the tattoo around the eye remained. Her curls were now pulled into a ponytail that didn't hold all of her hair, as some slipped out and dangled freely. She looked relaxed and happy with herself as she scrolled around on her computer.

He took a step forward, and a floorboard cried out beneath him. Encantadora turned her head to him and smiled a genuine smile.

"Look at you! You look so much better all cleaned up," she gave him a once over. "I am glad the outfit fits. I was worried it wouldn't. Those clothes have not been used in some time… I am just glad keeping them has made them usable once again." Percy dimly nodded back at her. What did she mean they haven't been used in a while? When were they last worn? By who?

"Come here. I did some browsing. It took me a bit of straining and eye drops, but I found a website with the alphabet in sign language. It wasn't hard to find, but you know how dyslexia can be for people like us." He did know. "So, I figured you could sign letter by letter, and I translate it. That way, we can talk with one another."

She paused after her reveal with a wide grin on her face. She was happy about her plan, Percy noted. It sounded like it would work, too, so he took the steps required to join her on the couch.

Of the many things her mother could have brought upon her tonight, a child was not what she expected, a mute child too.

Usually, she was tasked with retrieving an artifact or a scroll somebody dug up and was trying to pawn off. She would slip by, steal the real one, create an illusion, and leave it behind. But, tonight, she was brought to a child in need.

A child with silver eyes.

Was she to take him to camp?

"So, first question. What is your name?"

She stated the letters back to him as he signed each one, and when she finally put them together, her grin grew even more prominent, nearly touching her ears. This would work out. She could communicate with him, and they could understand one another. Then she can find out what to do with him.

She really was an outstanding problem solver.

"It is nice to meet you, Percy. My name is Lourdes Lucero." She knew he had never heard her name before, but he nodded back to her nonetheless. "Now, I assume your name is short for Perseus?" He nodded back." It makes sense, considering the family. However, why were you out in the streets tonight, not at home?"

Again, she repeated the process of matching hand symbols to letters. She already knew the answer to the question by the second letter. This was the life of young demigods. A constant no matter how many years passed since the time she, too, ran away and stumbled into Camp Half-Blood. Few campers ever got to make a Sunday afternoon drive to the summer camp with their parent.

It was always a race.

Sometimes a death march.

"Did you run from your father or a foster home?" She asked.

"Gabe."

"Gabe?"

"Bastard."

Such a volatile response from one so young. Gabe definitely wasn't a positive role model then. Someone Percy did not see as anything of family. So, likely foster or stepfather.

"Watch the language, Percy. Cussing isn't something you ever do in front of a lady, even if it isn't spoken aloud."

Percy advanced with more hand signals as if he had never heard her admonishing him.

"Where is mom?"

That is a loaded question. Where wasn't mother? Yet, she never is there either. That is the life of the gods. Yet, what do you tell a child desperate to meet his mother that will spare no favor but that which is earned by trial? How do you tell him that his mother cares for his potential but does not care for him?

"That is a tough one, honestly. Mother, our mother, is a busy lady, right?"

He nodded as if he knew this already. That could save half the trouble.

"Do you know who Mother is?"

Again, he nodded—a blessing.

"So, all that said, our mother is a very busy lady. And she juggles many tasks, responsibilities, and jobs."

He started to sign, and she took a moment to pause and follow along with what he was signing.

"She has had two jobs, but it has been a year since I saw her last."

"Mother has much more than two jobs, I assure you. And, I am surprised you have even met her, to begin with. I didn't meet her till I was, I think, eleven. Yeah, it was after I cast my first spell. I made some Hermes child think there was a rat in his bed. He ended up too paranoid to sleep in it, so I took it for myself." She couldn't help the smile that came to her face recalling that night. Hekate had visited her in her dreams, confessing that she would move on to do great things.

She glanced back at Percy, and confusion danced around his eyes. Maybe their mother didn't explain everything.

"When you saw her, did she explain the whole mortal and godly thing? Or is that my responsibility?"

"Godly?"

"I see, so that's my conversation to handle," she began. "Thanks, mother. Make me give him the talk. So, basically, to condense it. Our mother is Hekate, the Greek goddess of the magik, crossroads, the moon, and a few other things. She likely visited your father, found a reason to stick around or the likes, and well, she would have created you. A mix between a mortal and a god. A demigod."

"But my mom was human, Sally."

"Sally?"

"My mom wasn't a god or someone like Superman. She was mom. She cooked, she cleaned, and she loved me. But she left."

"Percy, there is a strong chance she wasn't your blood mother. You see, we aren't superheroes, but we are powered. Our mother is someone of extreme power, but it comes with rules and laws that forbid her from taking her child as her successor or protégé. It is very likely she placed you in a home for you to be raised. Especially if something happened to your dad. I guess what I am getting to is that the best way for us to validate who your mother is, well, is by trial."

She searched his eyes for a moment before proceeding: The eyes of a young boy experiencing a life-changing event where the reality of divinity settles upon the soul and opens the mind to more. It reminded her of the time when she showed her Little Victor what she could do. Oh, how his eyes loved to watch his older sister create magic from nothing. Would Percy hold that same wonder as he created magic?

"She wasn't my mother?"

"Blood does not dictate family, Percy. Choice does. Sally can be your mother, wherever she is, but life isn't so narrow for one possibility, and we must accept that Hekate could also be your mother. I can find that out for you. If you lend me your hand." She waited as he looked at his hands. He slowly reached out and placed them in hers. They were large for his size. They would fit a sword or even a spear well.

"You see, as children of gods, there are traces of divine ichor in us. The blood, the fuel, the essence of the divine. Each god and goddess have manifested their divinity uniquely. Some reign power over the Earth we walk. Poseidon harnessed his to control the seas. Apollo the sun after Helios forwent his post. Mother embraced her divinity to its core, saturated it with the cosmos like no other before, and harnessed magic.

"But, they are gods. They are fueled by power, and one power flow is not enough for them. They learned to manage their essence to become more powerful. However, we are not gods. We are but a fraction of that might. The essence in us is a derivative of what they could do. However, we seldom can do more with their power than one domain. Some may be rounded in scope but never far achieving. Others like me are well tuned to a domain, yet I lack the others."

She let a glimpse of power flicker through her system as an illusion of Superman flew around in the cradle of their hands. The tiny hero was hovering proud and beaming a smile that Percy matched.

"You could possess magic like me, but you have to test it. You have to channel that divinity within you. Would you like to try?"

He nodded eagerly, a burning in his eyes. A hungry desire to be able to do something. She could make a protégé out of him.

"Breathe in. Relax. Breathe out.

"Let not your brain think, but your body act.

"Channel the tension in your body and focus it on your hands. "

She watched as he tried, his eyes squinted as his hands shook with his might.

To no avail.

He pulled his hands away as he frowned. His eyes met her shoes, unable to look anywhere else.

"Percy?" She asked hesitantly. She had an idea of what he was feeling: A sense of disappointment of not being able to manifest his powers when he first tried. She felt similar things but with more anger. Oh, how she has grown since her youth. "Percy, do you trust me?"

He met her eyes again as she offered her hands before him.

He brought them just above her own, but she could see his mind thinking. Did he trust her? What had she done to convey anything but openness and hospitality to the young boy?

He nodded as he placed his hands into her own.

"Breathe in. Then breathe out. Center yourself. Feel it pull in your body. Then push it towards your hand."

And he did just that, just as she said.

Nothing.

"Again."

She watched as he breathed in. He held it there for a second. He breathed out. He breathed in, and he felt that swell in his lungs.

"Out," she reminded him." In and hold it. Let it swell."

Then he pushed it out and flexed his hand. She felt a rush of cold from the contact with his hands as a swell of light flashed from his hands. They watched as a shimmer of silver light tore out of his palm without distributing the skin and flew into the ceiling before dissipating into nothing.

Moonlight.

Moonlight came from his divinity.

The two sat there for a moment, eyes glued to the ceiling. A pregnant pause of silence followed as they stared. Then she cheered.

"See! You did it!" She looked him in his eyes, and she could see how his eyes seemed to close as the smile stretched and squeezed his face. "Very quickly too! A prodigy, and it is honestly quite rare to find a child of Hekate who feels the pull of the moon. Fear not. I still know enough to teach you something."

She pulled him into a hug, an action she had not been able to experience since before she lost her little brother, but now, she had it again.

She had a second chance at being a big sister. She wasn't going to take him to camp. He wouldn't flourish there. No. She would train him. He would become great with her. She would keep him from going down the path she went, depending on illusionary tricks to make ends meet.

He would be better than her.

She felt him begin to pull away as he began to sign quickly, almost too quickly for her to translate.

"I can become a superhero now. I can be like Superman."

Superman… Her little Superman… She would see to it. She would see him, Perseus Jackson, become her Little Hero. Her Superman.