I do not own any of the characters (except the OC's) Percy Jackson & The Olympians, Heroes of Olympus, or Trials of Apollo. All of that belongs to Rick Riordan.

1. Departure Into The Unknown

The Great Convergence

Day One – Entry One

"It's best to document your thoughts, lest you lose them in the vacuum."

Those were the words of my master, Hannes. I don't quite know why I'm writing in this journal, but those words keep ringing in my head. Sometimes memory isn't enough, and I need plenty for this.

This may very well be the most important thing I've ever done. On the outside looking in, it's a tremendous affair. The gathering of all the camps, who have previously never interacted with each other, all to take down a single enemy…is a feat.

But can I do it? That's what I keep asking myself. Will it be worth it? Is it the best strategy. After thinking on it night after night, I've gone over thousands of outcomes. This one is the only one that I see working. The combined force of both our camps, two, was not enough to win the battle, and fully defeat a weakened Ouranos.

Despite everything, I must try.

Sigurd closed the journal and stuffed it in a small pouch under his cloak. He sat on the edge of Camp Asgard, knees propped up in front of him on a flattened rock, overlooking the snowy mountains and the cloak of falling snow.

Sigurd thought about what he was about to do, and it suddenly seemed daunting. For the first time, it seemed that way. He had never felt more overwhelmed, even when he was engaged in battle with Ymir, the most powerful figure in his pantheon. Somehow, this made him the slightest bit nervous, maybe because it was such a mystery. At least with Ymir, he knew what to look for. He'd been planning the Primordial's defeat for years, with the help of all his friends. This time, he took on the road before him alone.

But it was his choice, and he'll gladly do it. This is for the greater good.

Of course, he never thought much about retirement. Sure, after all the quests, all the battles, the final one with Ymir, he basically considered the major stuff done and settled down with Arya.

That is, until this happened. Matt, the Greeks, Ouranos, all of it.

He always theorized that there were Camps for other pantheons. There were so many myths, and so much evidence, that they existed. Finding the location of Camp Half Blood was like opening a gate.

And it led to what he was about to do. He couldn't believe it, but here he was. He knew it felt right.

He thought about reaching out to Matt, connecting his mind with his, or coming to him in a dream to talk, but he changed his mind. He figured if Matt needed him, he would try and contact Sigurd first. He thought it best to leave well enough alone and not bother him.

He hadn't expected to make a friend in Matt Beckett. When he found out about his existence, he assumed it would be strictly business, at best. At worst, there would be conflict. If he were a betting man, he would've bet on the latter. From what he read about the Greeks; they could be quite violent. But really, any pantheon could.

The Son of Hercules, based on appearance, and what he'd seen in a few combat situations, was a fierce individual. Not only was he physically intimidating, but he was also extremely powerful. Even more so than Sigurd himself, which shouldn't have taken him by surprise. According to myth, even a casual study session would tell you the Greeks were in the top five most powerful of pantheons, and leagues above the Norse. But Matt was a demigod, and younger than Sigurd, for him to wield such power, brought a bit of admiration from the Son of Odin. That, and a bit of caution.

Of course, once he met him, all of that doubt went away.

Upon shaking his hand, he could tell that Matt meant no harm, and was very nervous about coming to Scandinavia. He didn't take that as weakness from the demigod though. He could tell that Matt had a dark side, a beast inside him that if let loose, would cause serious carnage. But Matt clearly had it under control.

And in Sigurd's mind, the men that are monsters, but can keep their urges under control, are the best men.

His friends were quite interesting too. It reminded him a lot of his own. A tight group of friends that considered the others family, would gladly die for each other, and work together like a well-oiled machine.

What of them now? What of them in a year's time? It had only been a few days since they set sail back to their homeland in America, but Sigurd couldn't help but wonder…how long will all of this take. He may not even have a month, let alone a year or two.

It could take that long to even convince the other camp's leaders to even work with him. Even just one. And there wasn't only just one.

There were several, and they may not be as cooperative as Matt was. In fact, they probably won't.

"Sigurd? I thought you'd already left."

The red head turned around to see Arya walking up to him, a confused scrunch clear on her features, her blonde hair swaying behind her with the wind.

"No, I needed some time to think first." He'd told her he was leaving that morning, but he chose to sit out here for a while, alone in his head.

"If you think too much, you might change your mind, you know."

It was a jest, he could tell, but he'd never been one for jokes anyway. Especially when it came to something as serious as this.

"Oh no, I'm not backing out of this. Far too important."

"Have you spoken with Matt?"

"No." He shook his head, "I think it's best if I wait on him to contact me. If he doesn't...then I guess the next time we meet will be when I'm all done with this."

Arya comes to his side and puts a comforting hand on his shoulder, "You sure about this? I haven't seen you like this since your battle with Fenrir."

Yes, Sigurd remembers well. The great wolf bounding in the air and slashing at him with his claws, swiping across the demigod's face. Blood flying in the air and coating the white snow with red droplets. A loud, rumbling roar echoes from it's mouth, Sigurd comes back, his face burning, but he holds his sword tight and meets Loki's spawn in the middle, his blade grazing Fenrir's leg.

Sigurd's eyes open, and he's brought back to the present. "I'm not afraid, Arya. I'm just...unsure of what to expect. It was only a year or so ago that I only theorized the existence of other pantheons, and now I'm going to attempt to create an alliance between them. That's quite the shift if you ask me."

"You're nervous."

He groans, "Don't say that."

"Oh come on." She chides, and gives a firm rub to his back, "It's only you and me, you can be honest. Right now, you're not the leader of this Camp, you're my husband."

He moves around uncomfortably. "I shouldn't be nervous. I've been doing this for too long, far too long. It's just...I don't know what's going to happen, there are a million ways to go about this, and that's what bothers me. I've always been one step ahead of everything, but with this I'm clueless. I'm walking in blind."

Arya let out a chuckle, "How about this? Take a play out of the Greeks book. What did they do when they got here?"

"Made a lot of noise." He mumbles.

"They improvised. It's okay to not have a plan for everything. Heh, in some cases it might be better."

"Improvising might get me killed."

Arya shrugs, "It might. But you've got no other choice, now do you?"

"Thanks for lifting my spirits." He leaves a hint of abrasive ness there, but in reality he feels a bit better. If the Greeks had gotten this far just by improvising...there may be a tiny sliver of hope.

He stands up and brushes off his cloak. "I should get going, if I sit any longer I may get frostbite."

"We've lived here our entire lives." Arya chuckles, "I wouldn't worry about frostbite."

Sigurd pulls her close and kisses her briefly, too briefly for Arya's liking. She makes a small whimper of annoyance.

"Why-"

"That's the first half." He interrupts, and upturns his lips ever so slightly. "The second half will come when I return...a few days from now."

"A few days? You and I both know it's going to take longer than that."

"A few days...a few weeks, either way, I'll be as quick as possible. I promise."

She starts to say something, but stops, and simply nods.

Sigurd steps away and closes his eyes. In his mind, he sees a crow flying.

Father, be with me on this journey. This very well may be my most important mission yet.

The crow looks at him through the glass of his brain, and caws in confirmation. Sigurd opens his eyes quickly, and suddeny he's somewhere else.

His form isn't really there, but he can see everything that's going on. It's just as he predicted.

Mexico.

He stands among a crowd in a sandy street, lined on each side with stands of food and other goods. He can't place a warrior among the bunch, but he knows that something is different about this place. It must be near...

The Mayan Camp.

(000)