A/N: So uhh I guess the first chapter was kinda too short to be honest. I'll try my best to make the later chapters maybe longer more high quality, but this is the best I could muster up ig. This chapter will be going into more of Sylvester's backstory and life at the orphanage, but the other demigods will be making an appearance soon. K, enough with that chatter. Let's get onto the actual stuff. Enjoy~

Chapter 2: Mr. Forger and his Fiery Sword-Axe

I could hear noises coming from down beneath me. It always surprised me how these kids were able to wake up so early in the morning. I followed Michael as we traveled to the hall, where all of the morning routines took place. The hall was slowly starting to fill up with children, mostly under the age of eight, with some exceptions being nine or maybe even ten. I was the only one here who was over the age of eleven.

I said my hellos to the children, before heading to the end of one of the long tables, sitting down at a place that was furthest from the rest of the children. I did that to intentionally separate myself from the younger children. It was one way to prevent the cycle of losing friends from happening again, and I couldn't really find a common topic to discuss with them anyways.

After a while, the children had all settled into their seats, waiting for their breakfast. Marcus was still tinkering with his bronze tool, the sounds of his hammer colliding with metal ringing loud and clear over the sounds of the children.

"Now, settle down, settle down" Mrs. Forger started. She cleared her throat, and all the children stopped talking. In an instant, all the eyes in the hall (well, except for Marcus') were on Mrs. Forger.

"We all know that Christmas is coming soon, right? Well, what that means, is that we all need to get into the Christmas spirit. We will be decorating the building and preparing for the Christmas season. I will be making gifts for all of you, and just like all of the past years, we will be having mystery gifts."

Some of the newer kids were whispering amongst themselves. I couldn't really hear what they were saying, but I could probably guess that they were all wondering what these mystery gifts were. This year, there were a few new additions to the orphanage, mostly young kids around the age of 6. Mystery Gifts are a tradition here at Trinity. For as long as I could remember, Christmas was always filled with chatter and fun, and one of the most highly anticipated events during Christmas was the exchange of mystery gifts.

"Mystery gifts," Mrs. Forger explained, "are gifts that you give to each other. Each and every one of you would be randomly assigned another person, and you will make a gift for that specific person. They will receive the gift from you, but they won't know it's you, so this gift can be anything, and you can let your imaginations run wild while preparing this gift, but remember, don't let them know who made that gift."

The children started talking even louder. I smiled. It's quite heartwarming, seeing all of the kids getting excited over the Christmas gifts. Christmas never gets boring, no matter how many times you experience it. There's always something new to be added to this bunch every year, whether it was checking out the gifts, comparing our gifts with others, or of course, our favorite challenge: try to find out who made your gift.

We all knew that this was not the point of this event. Giving others gifts anonymously was supposed to be an event in which the kids get to feel love from strangers. It's a way to make everyone feel special, to feel like they were loved by more than just the few people close to them. Yet for some reason, maybe due to how humans are slightly competitive by nature, we always try to figure out the giver of this gift.

The kids were called up one by one, to receive the randomly assigned partner that they will have to prepare gifts for. We were given two weeks. Two weeks to make another person in this orphanage feel special.

I thought about all the years that I have spent in the orphanage and recalled the gifts that I had received. There were crochet plushies, wooden chairs and toys (somehow the kids managed to do that), a handmade lava lamp, kites, all that sort. And I once even received an old Swiss army knife from someone. I expect it was probably from Michael or one of the older kids. The mystery gifts were never really grand, but they all contained the love and care that we held for each other at the orphanage.

"Slyvester Hunter!" I heard Mrs. Forger call out. I walked towards the table on which she had placed a large jar that had been filled with paper slips. I reached inside the jar and pulled out the piece of paper. Unfolding it, I saw the name written on it. Sylvia Richardson.

Mrs. Forger took a peek at my slip. When she saw the name on it, she smiled.

"Well, Sylvester, I do expect you to make something good for her. It's two weeks until Christmas. Good luck!"

I sighed. Sylvia is a nice kid around the age of seven. Most of the time, she's a wonderful individual: thoughtful, calm, and never too pushy. She was much more mature than the rest of the children around her age, and it sometimes felt strange, seeing a child of seven act like a composed adult who has already seen too much of the world. And that was the hard part. She seemed to have already seen everything, and it was really hard to actually prepare a gift for her that could make her eyes light up.

I finished up the pancake on my plate, and after helping Mrs. Forger clean up the tables after breakfast, I decided to go outside for a walk, mainly because I didn't really have anything else to do for the day. Perhaps a stroll in the forest could give me ideas.

During the end of the year, around Christmas, the biggest thing around Trinity was the mystery gifts, and though there were no hard rules against it, making a bad gift for others is usually frowned upon. That's why over here at Trinity, everyone tries their best to make the best gift they could. Even though we aren't well off economically, we try our best to spread the love and care to the others at the orphanage.

I pushed open the front door, feeling a cold wind rush inside the doorway, brushing against my cheeks. I walked out onto the powdery snow layers that had yet to be cleaned, towards the forest that I had become all too familiar with in my years at the orphanage.

The forest wasn't too big, but it wasn't too small either. It surrounded all four sides of the orphanage, secluding it from the busy streets of New York. It always held a sort of mystery to us kids, since Mrs. Forger never allowed the little kids to go out into the forest, and we were strictly forbidden from entering the forest after sunset. This rule was never really explained, so we assumed that it was likely set in order to prevent us from wandering into the forest and getting lost at night.

I strolled around the edges of the forest, thinking about ideas for the gift. The snow crunched cheerily under my boots as I walked around casually, enjoying the sensation of the cold that surrounded me. The sun had slowly risen to a height in the sky, and the sky was clear, without clouds for miles. The perfect weather for a walk inside the forest. I turned around, making sure that nobody was watching, and turned towards the trees.

Why did I have to make sure that nobody was watching me? Well, as the eldest kid in the orphanage, it was quite common for the younger kids to tail behind me, to follow me wherever I go, which I couldn't really understand. What was the point of following me? It's not like I'll do anything meaningful or interesting anyways. I made sure that the kids weren't around to follow me into the forest, or else Mrs. Forger would be really angry at me. And also at the kid who was unlucky enough to follow me.

Now, why would I choose to go into the forest if I could be punished for it? Well, If I had to rank my favorite places at the orphanage, I would say that the forest would a number two. Number one would be the rooftop, of course. I really liked the forest, since, like the rooftop, it was able to let me enter a state of peace. It wasn't exactly a certain aspect of the forest that I liked, since, if you were to take out one certain specific asset of the forest, for example the trees or the critters, and put me inside an environment with them, I wouldn't be able to feel the sensation of peace that I could feel inside the forest. It was the added effect of the trees, the animals, the small pond that resided somewhere inside the forest, and all the other assets of the forest, that made the forest the place that it is. It was also much larger than the rooftop, so I had more freedom and more places to go to in the forest.

The snowfall over the past few days left quite a thick layer of snow on the ground, and the tracks of animals could be seen clearly imprinted in the snow. I took in a deep breath, the cold air and the fresh scent of the trees intermingling, clearing my mind. I knelt down, inspecting the tracks that were left in the snow. They were fresh, imprinted recently. Deer tracks, most likely. Yes, there are deer in New York city. It's just that most people are too absorbed in their own activities to ever notice that there are wild animals that reside in some of the quieter corners of the bustling city.

I stood up again, looking over at the direction in which the tracks extended in. Tracking was a hobby of mine, for some reason. Though I was never introduced to tracking or hunting, nor has anyone ever taught me how to track or hunt, I gained an interest in tracking, and somehow became proficient at it. As if it was an innate trait of mine.

I studied the tracks and followed them deeper into the forest. After a few minutes of walking along the trails, I reached the edge of a frozen stream, and just as expected, there was a buck wandering next to it. My presence didn't seem to scare it, though. It didn't react to me staring at it. I decided to take a step closer, and beckoned it to come nearer to me. I seemed to have an inborn affinity with animals, and somehow, I sometimes felt that if I tried hard enough… maybe I could even talk to them.

The buck was a few feet away from me, and it seemed to notice that I was telling it to come close to me. It stepped closer to me, and I stretched out a hand, patting it on its head before running my hand through its fur.

It was then something that was most unexpected happened.

There was the sound of an explosion that echoed from the deeper parts of the forest. The buck immediately bolted away, out of vision. I was frozen in place, in both fear and also excitement. The explosion had caused quite a ruckus in the forest. The birds were flying off in all directions, startled from their place in the branches. I just stared in the direction of the explosion, attempting to imagine whatever caused that explosion in this secluded corner of New York. Should I go check out what caused the explosion? I mean, if it's something major then the police force would probably take care of it, and it would be incredibly irresponsible if I end up hurting myself in the process of finding out whatever was happening. But who really cares anyways? I don't see any smoke coming out from there, so I assume it hasn't caused a fire yet. So why not? I don't see the danger in doing it.

I ran towards the source of the noise, bending down a few times to avoid some low-hanging branches. My heart was racing with anticipation. Could it be a terrorist attack? But that definitely couldn't happen here, in the middle of the forest. Could it be a lab explosion? Well, that definitely didn't seem likely. Could it be a wizard gathering? Nah. Wizards don't exist. At least I think so.

I ran faster, feeling the wind against my face, my boots leaving footprints in the snow. I listened to the steady crunch that my boots made on the snow while weaving through the trees of the forest, avoiding low branches or bumps on the ground that I could possibly trip over.

I was nearing the source of the explosion. I brushed aside a few branches, my heart racing faster than before. I peeked out from behind a tree, my mind filled with all sorts of theories. Could it be a cult gathering? A murder scene? Could it be…

But all that was there was fallen tree, and also Mr. Forger, standing there, with the bronze thingy in his hand. I just stared at him, dumbfounded.

He seemed to notice me, and he turned around, saying "Oh hey there Syl. Didn't expect to see you here".

The way he said it made it sound casual, as if blowing up trees in a forest seemed like everyday business to him. I felt myself deflating, the excitement rushing away from me like air from a balloon. And then it was replaced with confusion. Questions were flying through my head. What was that explosion? Why is Marcus here? When did he get out of the orphanage? Marcus seemed to notice my puzzled expression, so he said, "Oh, are you wondering about the explosion?"

I nodded.

"Oh, well, as you could infer from the situation right now, yes, I did cause the explosion, and no worries, no one would've heard it, and I don't think it caused too much harm to the environment." He added quickly, noticing my worried expression.

"How?" I asked, unsure about what to say in this situation. It was then I noticed that the bronze item that Marcus had been tinkering with looked oddly similar to a sword, and he was holding it like he had just slain a beast.

"Oh, it's through the power of SCIENCE!" he said, brandishing the item in the air dramatically. The sun's rays reached it, and reflected off it in all directions, casting light everywhere. I flinched from the sunlight as one of the rays was reflected straight into my eyes.

The item in his hands seemed well-crafted. Beautiful even. It was shaped like a sword. The hilt seemed to be covered in leather, and there were multiple buttons on it. The guard was quite large, covering the wielder's hand entirely. The blade itself was straight, and had multiple holes lining the flat of the blade. The edges were also made out of bronze. The angle it was held in made it clearly identifiable as a sword, yet due to its color scheme and strange geometry, it was hardly identifiable as a sword when it was on that workbench.

I just stared at the sword, stunned at its delicate and ornate craftsmanship.

Marcus noticed my stare, and grinned, "I made this all by myself, you know?"

There was silence for a moment, before I started speaking.

"Can I… touch it?" I asked slowly. It seemed like a really cool sword, and after that initial shock went away, I started to realize how cool this was. Marcus had crafted a sword. An actual sword.

"Yeah, I guess," Marcus shrugged, and handed the sword to me.

I gripped the handle tightly, examining it before balancing it in my hands. It seemed to be vibrating slightly. Constantly. I decided to give it a swing. It wasn't as heavy as I expected it would be, but it wasn't too light either. It seemed to be… perfectly balanced. I decided to try it out a bit, swinging it from left to right, stabbing the air as if it was a fierce opponent, blocking, parrying…

Marcus' smile seemed to dissipate slowly, and he started to stare at me with a strange look in his eyes, as if I was some strange specimen. I quickly noticed his expression, so I stopped.

"Uh, is there something wrong?" I asked, panting slightly from the movements.

"No no no, everything's fine. I just thought the way you held that sword was… interesting, to say the least."

I held the sword for a bit longer, but Marcus' gaze on me started to become a bit uncomfortable. I handed the sword back to Marcus.

Silence persisted for a moment, before Marcus decided to break the ice that was slowly starting to form between us.

"You know, this weapon also has a few quirks." He said, pushing some buttons on the handle. "Like this."

He pushed down a specific combo of buttons, and the sword started changing in shape. There was the sound of gears turning as the sword decomposed into strips of bronze and wood and leather, peeling down like a banana, and then slowly reforming itself into something else. After a few seconds, the sword was still morphing, but I could make out the outline of a blade and handle. The handle elongated, the bronze edges slithered around, until it finally settled into the shape of an axe.

"Or this," he grinned, the smile returning to his face when he saw my shocked expression. He pushed another button on the handle. All of a sudden, there was a burst of bright light from the axe, and fire came out of the holes on the blade. Saying that my jaw dropped to the ground would be an understatement. The grin on Marcus' face turned even brighter, and he spoke again.

"Or, I can create a small explosion just like what I did back there."

He walked towards a nearby tree, and held the axe like a logger, and aimed at the trunk of the tree.

"Wait, don't do that Marcus!" I yelled, finally resuming from my stupor.

But Marcus just grinned, and I watched in terror as he swung the fiery axe towards the tree trunk. I covered my ears and ran, hiding behind a nearby tree.

The axe landed on the trunk, going quite deep, but nothing really happened. The flames stayed on the axe and didn't end up spreading onto the tree, which was quite unexpected. I slowly lifted my hands off my ears, confused. I expected much more chaos than this. I didn't really know what I expected, but it was definitely not this.

But then, I saw Marcus push a button on the sword, and all of a sudden, there was a fiery blast coming out of the weapon, creating a booming explosion just like the one I heard in the forest before.

Only this time it was a lot louder, since, I was probably less than twenty feet away from it.

I didn't even realize it when I was doing this, but I screamed. Like I was a three-year old toddler. I hid myself behind the tree, curling into a ball, using my hands and arms to shield my face from the shockwave that was emitted by the explosion. The shockwave spread out, causing small flurries on the ground, where the snow was still soft. Marcus was still standing there, the axe still lodged in the trunk of the tree. After a while, he pulled out the axe. The fire on the axe was turned off. The tree seemed to stand there for a moment, wavering a bit, before finally succumbing to gravity and falling slowly to the ground with a dull thud. Marcus turned to me, and when he saw the expression on my face and how I was curled up like an armadillo, he laughed.

Yes, he started laughing. Laughing very loud.

I felt my cheeks getting hot. I quickly got up, and cried out, "H-hey! I never saw what this thing could do! I was just taking cautionary measures!"

But Marcus kept laughing. I just stared at him, perhaps a bit embarrassed of acting like a scared three-year-old.

After a while, his laughter subsided, and he said through tears, "oh, you should've seen the expression on your face when that happened!" the laughter came back to him. I felt my cheeks getting even hotter.

"Like, you just ran and went AAAA!" he made a high-pitched sound that sounded more like a squeal rather than a laugh.

"Can you just stop it…" I muttered. Marcus stopped laughing, but that didn't wipe the smile off his face.

"You know what," I muttered, "just forget it. Please?" I added.

"Yeah, sure, sure." Marcus replied. "But you did squeal like a guinea pig though."

"Marcus!"