I just want to share before we get into the fic that I might have stumbled upon a 2D Zelda game online and it might just come up if you look up "Classroom 6x Unblocked Games" and scroll down to The Legend of Zelda. Again, this is a completely hypothetical scenario and is in no way a link (heh, link) to a free version of a certain 2D Zelda game that came out on November 4, 2004. That would be insane if it was, though.

Happy reading.


Chapter 10: Thieves of Circumstance

How depressed the coastline of Lurelin was, the people along the banks no less sad. Their hands stretched out like trees desperate for a lick of sunlight in the storm. The only sunlight they saw was Link, bobbing on the distant waves in a small fisherman's boat.

Even from so far away, Link could see Baye's face among them, her eyes stormier than the rain ripping at his sail. A threat coiled within them: Come back with my children or don't come back at all.

He shuddered; he wasn't ready to imagine her rage whenever she found Nico's bedroll empty.

"Am I clear?" the boy asked from underneath several swathes of fishing nets.

"Just a moment." Sea mist sprayed off the waves, their Lurelin farewell party disappearing into gray vapor. "Alright."

Link helped him untangle himself, Nico spitting sand and the smell of dead fish from his mouth. As much as Link liked Baye's husband, there wasn't much the man could do for fish blood soaking through the boards. Hopefully, if they were careful enough, Nico's own blood wouldn't be added to the mix.

Nico slung a weighted net off his legs. Link didn't miss how he winced with every movement. "Thanks again for bringing me along."

"I wouldn't thank me just yet. You still have to face Baye afterwards."

"Ugh, don't remind me." He shifted uncomfortably. His right hand hovered over his abdomen, as if he was keeping his stitches together by sheer will. "So . . . pirates."

Link tugged at the sail, his eyes glued to the dark clouds above. "Mm-hm."

"And the weather."

"Yep."

Nico puffed air through his nose. "You don't seem afraid. Like, at all."

"What's there to be afraid of?" Link asked. "Lizalfos aren't so difficult to fight once you figure out their attack patterns, and this storm won't put a dent in the Wind Waker."

"What is the Wind Waker, anyway?" He leaned forward eagerly. "Baye said that her kids tried to destroy the house with it. Is it some kind of weapon?"

He tied the sails. "Come closer."

Link fished the small baton out of his pocket, balancing his hand on the boat bench between them. Nico, ever so curious, scrutinized it with a deep glare, scratching at a bandage on his face. Finally, he wrinkled his nose and looked away.

"Don't be so dismissive! This is a sacred object — a relic of Hyrule's history." For good measure, Link pulled the Wind Waker back to his chest.

Nico had the decency to look ashamed. "Sorry, but . . . I just don't get it. It's a stick. A pretty stick, but a stick."

Link snorted. "Well, this stick can turn the winds in any direction. Legend has it that a great hero used it to defeat an evil lord and save the sea."

"What did they do with it? Shove it up this 'evil lord's' nose?" Nico asked.

As if the sea itself felt slighted, a violent wave nearly threw them overboard. The worst of the storm clouds were dangerously close, lightning flashing and booming within them. With luck, they wouldn't be fried by the time they made it to Eventide Island.

Something odd flickered in Link's peripheral vision: a pale green light. He searched for a source, sure that lightning had finally touched down around them. Only the light wasn't coming from the weather; it was his own eyes.

"Link? Are you okay?" Nico shook Link's wrist, his voice growing heavy.

His eyelashes fluttered; the green haze remained. "I. . . . What?"

"Are you—" He gasped, pulling away like Link was on fire. "Your hand! What's wrong with it?"

Clutched around the Wind Waker, his glove glowed bright gold in the cold, cloudy darkness. No, not his glove — the Triforce piece beneath it.

Link looked up at Nico, only Nico wasn't there; neither were the boat or the storm. The sea remained, but it wasn't the Necluda Sea; it was the Great Sea, a sapphire expanse that stretched forever, inhabited by few and civilized by none. The sky was barren and sheet white above him.

The shape of a seagull fluttered in the distance. The sight of it sent a pang through Link's heart; it reminded him painfully of his sister.

I don't have a sister, part of him thought. I'm an only child. But something else — someone else— fought back, adamant that she was real, that he would do anything to protect her. To save her.

A voice ripped through the illusion of the past — or was it the present? Something cracked hard into the back of his head.

"LINK!" the voice shrieked — Nico's voice.

Suddenly, the pale sky clotted with thick clouds. Lightning slammed ruthlessly against the horizon, clawing its way to the sea floor. A gust of wind stronger than he had ever known sent him sprawling against the island bank, nearly flinging him into a rock behind him. Miles away, an island flickered on the waves, a white column of lightning ripping around it. But this island wasn't on his sea chart, and it was far too close to be Windfall. . . . No, no. Windfall? He'd never heard of a Windfall Island before. Wait, of course he had—No. Definitely not. But. . . .

"Link."

This voice wasn't Nico's; it was too deep, too wise. It came from a little wooden sailboat bobbing calmly against the bank. The sides were painted red, the bow carved into a dragon's bearded face. And the face moved; moved with every word.

"Link," the boat said again, its wooden head tipping to the side. "Didn't you hear my instructions, boy? Play the song!"

Link rubbed his throbbing skull. "The . . . song?"

It nodded. "Don't you remember?"

Remember.

"You're the King of Red Lions," he realized. "This is the Era of the—!" His voice, much higher than he was used to, died in his throat, like a switch had been flipped in his brain. "This is Dragon Roost Island. What is that?" he asked, pointing his bare hands at the cyclone.

"You must!" the King of Red Lions said suddenly, his blue irises fading into his yellow corneas.

"Play the song, you mean?"

He shook his head like a wet dog. "YOU MUST!"

The King of Red Lions's face faded, replaced by Nico's, hovering upside down above him. Link had fallen over the boat bench, straight into Nico's trembling arms.

"We're going to die!" he shrieked, shaking Link's face in his hands. "Do something!"

Die? That couldn't be right . . . the Elder made sure that they couldn't die. And then he saw it: a cyclone, spinning straight towards them.

Link looked down, unsurprised to find that his muscular arms were replaced with those of a ten-year-old boy's. Yellow eyes flashed in his mind: YOU MUST!

His conducting was so impulsive, so second nature, that if it wasn't for the song ringing through his ears, he wouldn't have known that he did anything. But the cyclone knew; it halted where it was, the turning clouds slowing to a gentle flow. Their boat sifted easily through the barrier, straight into the eye of the storm. Only then did Link let his arm fall weakly to his side.

The world around him returned to how it was. His arms were his own, his life his own. He was suddenly aware of Nico's frail chest heaving against the top of his head, his calloused fingers tight against Link's chest. His dry breath scraped through the quiet serenity around them.

Just as soon as it began, the prosperity of the voyage was over. The cyclone spit them out on the other side, waves ripping ruthless as ever against their boat. Link had enough time to shout,"The sail!" before he was gone again, stolen away into another time.

At least, he thought it was another time — the waves and rain continued to rip through him, soaking him to the bone. But Nico wasn't there, and neither was their boat. Link was on a scant little sail-raft, wearing a humble farmer's tunic.

He tugged desperately at the ropes around the sail; the glowing Triforce on his hand blinded him as he did. He just wanted to go back to Hyrule, back to his uncle's farm, back to Zelda — why did there have to be such an unforgiving storm on the way back? The dock men had insisted that the rainy season was over before he left.

Link didn't bother fighting it anymore; if his heart was so set on believing in things that weren't really happening, then he might as well let it run its course.

Finally, after what must have been thousands of years of struggle, his raft scraped against a sandy beach. He collapsed along with it. Even through the storm, thousands of tropical birds melodized in palm trees. But the most beautiful voice among them was a girl's — a human girl's.

What a pretty song, he thought.

Nico reappeared, laying on his stomach beside him. His wet black hair clung like a dead spider to his scalp, wheezes slipping from his mouth. Gone were the cheerful songbirds and their human friend; Link and Nico were dreadfully alone on the beach, accompanied only by the storm.

The Triforce stopped throbbing on his hand.

Link sat up slowly, then patted his face; it was just as it had always been. Nico glared up at him through his bangs.

"What . . . happened t-to you?" he croaked. Goddesses, he sounded so weak.

His eyes widened. "Oh, Nico. . . ."

A pool of blood stretched beneath the boy's stomach, and it was continuing to grow. He probably hadn't noticed until Link said something.

Nico frowned, blood staining his teeth. "Huh. That's not good."

Then he went limp.


"I can't believe that Dunson!" Mrs. Madysson fussed, sweat dripping off her face. "No horse, no escort — ooh, the letter I'll write to the castle!"

"Mm-hm," Hazel replied, which was really all she could say under so many bags. Mrs. Madysson's old age (and subsequent smoking habits) had convinced Hazel to carry most of their traveling load. Unfortunately, Mrs. Madysson decided that a sewing kit half her size was a necessity. And the rain certainly didn't make things any easier.

She definitely has a sewing machine in here, Hazel thought with an exhausted puff.

Mrs. Madysson's own load (a single bag) was so heavy, she dragged it across the ground. "I'm so sorry about all of this, Hazel dear. Maybe if I were a little richer, we could afford a horse — maybe even a cart! Oh, that would make this so much easier. So much easier. . . ."

Yes, it would. Even an average horse would cut their travel time in half. Not to mention that Arion would get them there instantly.

Hazel shifted the bags on her shoulders. "Does Akkala have any wild horses?" she asked, trying to look as innocent as possible.

"Oh, yes. Plenty in the plains over this little hill."

"Alright, then," Hazel said. "That settles it: I'm catching you a horse." And then she dumped all her things.

Mrs. Madysson scrambled after her, though she dumped her bag among the pile all the same. "WHAT? Oh dear, horse breaking is terribly dangerous, isn't it? I really don't need—"

But Hazel was already climbing up the hill, rocky as it was. Mrs. Madysson climbed up behind her, Tarrey Town leering at them a few football-fields-worth away. From what Mrs. Madysson told her, the road to East Akkala Stable was short and easy, yet Hazel thought the path looked like a snake carving through the woods. All venomous and violent. . . . She wouldn't walk another step. (Snakes are cool, Hazel. Stop being a hater.)

The land dipped into a natural bowl on the opposite side of the hill, flat all the way to the bay. Just that morning, Hazel had stumbled to the shoreline there, exhausted and hungry. She was suddenly very disappointed to see that there were horses so close the whole time.

A small herd of no more than three horses grazed near the navel of the basin. They weren't like any of the horses Sammy cared for, and certainly not Arion. They were wild, but they were draft horses; the kind suited for carrying heavy loads, which was good for their situation. But draft horses were only bred, never wild.

"That's impossible," Hazel whispered. "There's literally no such thing!"

Mrs. Madysson heaved her smoker's laugh. "Nothing is impossible, dear. Hyrule boasts the only wild draft horses in the entire world! They are born untamed and live their lives untamed." Her excitement dropped. "Oh, but they're even more dangerous to break, I'm sure. We can just continue on foot, dear. No trouble!"

She shuddered, raindrops splattering around her. "Do you have any rope in your bag? Maybe some leather cord?"

"Um, I think I might have some rope. But why—?"

"Can you get it, please?"

She could have sworn she heard Mrs. Madysson say something under her breath, but the old woman did as requested. When she returned, a thick coil of braided rope in her hand, she looked more apprehensive than ever.

"There should be several feet of this," Mrs. Madysson told her. "What on earth are you doing with it?"

"Making a bridle."

"Without a bit?"

"It should do just fine."

The old woman looked up imploringly, as if sharing an exasperated thought with the heavens. "Alright. . . ."

Hazel used her own leg for a brace, imagining that one of those horses' muzzles was about the same diameter as her calf. She'd done this before, back when she would spend so many afternoons with Sammy. Normally, these bridles were made for quick transport and if the other bridles available were too expensive to use so briefly. They were only ever used on horses with a gentle temperament, though, so she was just as dubious about her plan as Mrs. Madysson was.

"Which one do you like?" Hazel asked, finally getting to the browband.

"You're the one that's going to catch it," she said. Then she looked incredulous, like she couldn't believe what she was saying. "You should pick it out, dear."

"It's going to be your horse. I already have one at home."

She grinned hesitantly. "Well, when you put it like that . . . I suppose I'll go with that lovely brown stallion, dear. He reminds me of this adorable little orchid mantis that used to live on our door wreath."

It was so odd to compare a mantis to a horse, but Hazel could understand why. The stallion Mrs. Madysson chose was white with a brown flank, his socks much the same color. His thin ears were also brown, twitching in their direction as he grazed. And he was awfully gangly for a horse — like an insect. Of course Mrs. Madysson chose him.

Hazel stuffed her makeshift bridle in her jacket. "You got it."

She felt so silly, slinking around in the long, wet grass, Mrs. Madysson nervously wringing her hands behind her. As proud as she was of being Arion's rider, she was suddenly aware that she had never broken a horse before; oh, but she'd seen it, especially at Camp Half-Blood. Half the pegasi in the stables were caught and tamed by none other than Annabeth, who offered plenty of times to teach her how. Hazel had always refused — she couldn't betray Arion like that — but now she wished she hadn't. Maybe she wouldn't be so nervous.

I'm at the perfect level for them to kick my teeth in, she thought as she got closer. Then she stiffened; one of the horses was straying from the group, only to stop a few feet away. She had to bite her lip to stifle a sigh of relief.

The horse was so achingly close now, his head dipped into the long grass. Just a few more feet and she could reach its back. But she didn't want to imagine what the other two would do when she stood up.

As it would turn out, Hazel didn't need to worry about the rest of the herd. One horse just so happened to look back, then shrieked when it saw her. The other charged away just as quickly.

The mantis-horse had just enough time to look back at her before Hazel vaulted onto his back. Both of them gave out a startled cry as he galloped away, tearing across the plains.

"AREN'T HORSES SUPPOSED TO BUCK?" Hazel yelled, holding onto the horse's mane for dear life.

"He might have a really gentle temperament!" Mrs. Madysson shouted in reply, though Hazel wasn't looking for an answer. She was too busy trying to not fly off. "Horses like that don't put up much of a fight, dear! Just hold on!"

"NO PROBLEM!"

Suddenly, the horse skidded to a halt, nearly slipping in the process. For a fleeting moment, Hazel thought that he might have accepted his defeat, but then she felt the muscles in his shoulders tense. She had just enough time to throw her face back before the horse reared, the back of his neck inches away from Hazel's nose.

"Don't play dirty!" Hazel scolded, digging the reins out of her pocket. As the horse lowered his head, she leaned dangerously forward. By some miracle, she managed to slip the bridle over his face without falling to the ground.

She bumped her heels against his flank. "Come on, boy."

With a disgruntled rumble, he began walking.

"Oh, Hazel!" Mrs. Madysson fussed. "In all my years—oh, I'm just so proud of you! I just can't believe it!" She moved forward, her hand outstretched, but Hazel pulled him back before she could get too close.

"Careful! He seems like a biter."

The stallion's ears flattened in confirmation.

"He needs a name," she tutted, tapping her chin. "What shall we call you? Something dashing, I'm sure. . . ." She clapped her hands together excitedly. "Oh, I have it! Tanamis!"

Hazel snorted. "Tanamis? Why's that?"

"It's just mantis unscrambled, dear! And with an extra A. How do you like it, Tanamis?" Mrs. Madysson cooed, making kissy noises.

The stallion glanced back at Hazel, as if asking, Is this lady crazy?

Probably. But she did give Hazel the idea to tame a horse, so maybe her insanity was well placed.

She reached down for Mrs. Madysson's arm. "Come on. We better get our things quickly. We need to get to the stables before nightfall."

"Of course." She smiled pleasantly. "You'll get us there in no time, right, Little Tanamis?"

They started down the hill.


Zelda sipped her tea. "That is certainly dire. I never thought I would hear a prophecy in my lifetime."

"You can have all of them," Annabeth said, picking through various scones (she had already eaten all of the sandwiches).

Annabeth was an interesting character — maybe even more interesting than the prophecy she had just issued. She was pretty the way a sword was pretty: dark and shiny and sharp. Her eyes glistened like black sea-pearls, flickering over everything, as if she was trying to figure out the very fabric of the world.

It seemed so right that she was there with Zelda, but also so alien. Not just because she was human — though Zelda had met a few in other kingdoms — but because everything about Annabeth was otherworldly. Even her name: Annabeth. Zelda had never heard it before.

Zelda wondered how she looked, sharing lunch with her. She felt like her body wasn't her own, just some bright casing over her rolling spirit within. Her voice didn't sound like hers, either. Goddesses, how was she so calm about all this? She was just given a prophecy. She should be cynical, bitter. She already had so much to deal with, and now this.

"So," she said, brushing crumbs off her lip, "you really believe me?"

"It's too strange not to." Zelda's teacup tapped her saucer with a delicate clink. "You've come to Hyrule in a most vulnerable state, Annabeth. I'm sad to tell you that my kingdom is no different from you in that regard."

Annabeth swallowed dryly. "The storms."

"Not just that, but yes."

"Do you understand any of the prophecy?" she asked. "Besides the first stanza, of course. I already told you about that."

Zelda shuddered, trying to shake the shock out of her bones. Another world, another world. . . . Her stomach flipped at the thought of it. Hyrulean tales were no stranger to other realms and worlds, but something of this scale was so unfamiliar to her. They were lucky that no monstrous creatures had already toppled the throne, just as they did so many times before. Annabeth certainly wasn't monstrous, though Zelda was watching her tear through half of the food laid out. The poor girl must have been starving. (Especially after up-chucking lmao.)

"'The arrogant prince forsakes the cause,'" Zelda quoted. "Hyrule doesn't have a prince, and I don't know any personally. I'm the last heir of the Royal Family."

"I'm sorry."

"Me too." She sighed heavily, fidgeting with her father's cloak. "Unfortunately, I think I understand some of the other lines. I hope I'm wrong."

Annabeth was kind enough to look sympathetic. "I think it's too late to back out of it."

"Yes. But those lines, 'The heavenly triangles gleam bright / Or dullen in the beast's jaws'? Those are in regards to my culture, my history. And if they're correct" — she breathed shakily — "then Hyrule is at war."

"We have all the time in the world," Annabeth said.

She looked so hungry, but not for food. Light flashed within the dark pools of her eyes, like a raven. No, not a raven — an owl. An owl, starved of knowledge.

Zelda wasn't cruel enough to keep it from her.

"Hyrule has a long, rich history," she began, deliberating over how to explain it. "The forces of light and dark have struggled since the very beginning. We have vacillated between war and prosperity across millenia, one thing always at the center of the conflict: the Triforce."

Annabeth leaned forward, no less interested.

"It was created at the beginning of time by three goddesses: Din, the Goddess of Power; Nayru, the Goddess of Wisdom; and Farore, the Goddess of Courage."

"'Courage bears arms with Nine,'" Annabeth voiced, awe hanging heavily in her throat.

She winced. "I'm getting to that. Anyway, these golden goddesses each created our world, its law, and the life to uphold it. Then, they departed for the heavens, leaving us in the hands of the goddess Hylia, who maintained the land and its people.

"You see, we Hylians were given a special gift upon our birth: our ears." The princess gently cupped one hand behind her own. "They are pointed so that we may hear the blessings of the gods, along with their omens."

"Interesting."

"Hyrule wasn't a named kingdom then; it was only in its infancy. Even so, it experienced a glowing age of prosperity — until whispers of the Triforce scourged its inhabitants." She leaned forward. "Can you imagine how compelling an object created by gods would be to mortals?"

Annabeth frowned, a distant look in her eyes. "I don't need to imagine it."

Zelda nodded gravely. "According to legend, the Triforce is an object that knows not of evil nor good, but only ability. It is both physical and metaphysical, and its pieces reside either within a mortal or the Sacred Realm, where Hylia can watch it. Whoever unites all three pieces is granted their greatest desire, but at a heavy price — the world around them will reflect the state of their heart."

"No one cared about the price," Annabeth guessed.

"No; they became greedy. What they didn't know was that their greed and vices had long since materialized into a hateful creature below Hyrule's surface, called Demise. He waged war on the people, sending monsters and darkness out to subdue them. He knew that the only way to get to the Triforce was through Hylia, and what better way was there to find her than through her people?

"But the goddess was wise, and she and the other gods forged a powerful sword to defeat him; she named it the Blade of Evil's Bane. She bestowed it upon a Hylian hero so that he could reforge it for his people. Together, they bolstered the tribes of the surface and advanced on Demise.

"They fought for seven days and seven nights — it was barely enough. In the end, Hylia gathered her people on a section of land and used the Blade of Evil's Bane to split the earth. When her hero delivered the sword to their people, a column of light erupted from the ground, sending them skyward.

"Demise was imprisoned on the surface, but the battle was ultimately prolonged. The Hero died in the goddess's arms, and she, mortally wounded from sealing away Demise, used her final breath to make sure that the two would return within the souls of their people. She hid the Triforce with them."

Zelda felt something stirring deep within her. Her father loved telling her this legend, usually after she got home from prayers. She had simplified it for Annabeth's sake, but he would undoubtedly spend the next few hours telling every facet of the story. Sometimes, she wondered how much time he spent researching it. Probably half of his life.

"They returned centuries later," she told her, "and as mortals. The hero's incarnation managed to restore the Blade of Evil's Bane to its former glory; he redubbed it the Master Sword. He and the goddess's incarnation defeated Demise, but the foul demon left them a curse on his final breath: throughout space and time, the three of them would incarnate and find each other, and one day he would slay their descendents.

"Afterwards, Hyrule became the kingdom you see today. The mortal incarnation of the goddess's descendents became the first kings and queens of Hyrule. Their blood runs through my veins."

Annabeth's eyes widened ever so slightly. "And the Triforce?"

"Split. Every few centuries, it turns up in the history books again — new incarnations of the three each has a piece, and it becomes the conflict of the era. Other times, people start warring over it again. My family has passed one piece down since the beginning — the Triforce of Wisdom."

Princess Zelda reached across the table, displaying her hand like she was showing off a new ring. Under her glove, her birthright glowed faintly. Annabeth looked at it like Zelda had just put an active bomb on the table.

"You've passed this down for how long, exactly?"

"A little over ten thousand years."

"Ten thousand—?!" She choked, then placed her hand on her sternum to calm herself. "That is . . . a long time." Her face softened. "I think I understand why you're so worried, though. This prophecy is the first mention of the Triforce in a while, I'm guessing?"

"Three centuries, give or take."

Annabeth looked ready to throw up; for good measure, Zelda leaned away. "So I basically just stomped into your kingdom with a declaration of war."

"More like an omen of war, but yes," she agreed. "Annabeth, we already knew that this was coming. The Triforce of Courage has shown up again, and its holder has drawn the Master Sword. Whether you came here or not, we know that our era of prosperity is coming to a close."

"Alright, alright," she said, though she hardly looked any less guilty. "What worries me most, however, is that I haven't heard any mention of my friends. I thought you would know, considering. . . ." She gestured at the castle grounds around them.

Zelda chuckled. "I've only heard of one such human, and I've already sent for her. I think her name was Piper?"

Annabeth clapped her hands together. "Pipes!" Suddenly, her excitement faded. "You haven't heard anything about anyone else, though?"

"I'm afraid not."

She pursed her lips.

"Annabeth, I've already arranged for Piper to come here, and it wouldn't be an issue to write some letters about more of your friends." Zelda placed her hand over hers. "I don't mean to overstep, but do you think that you could stay here for the time being?"

Her eyes were the size of plates. "Here?"

The princess smiled. "My normal advisor has been missing for some time — we could say that you're her substitute. And you said that you have war counseling experience, right? Your expertise would be invaluable."

"I suppose. . . ." Annabeth straightened, the shock slowly dissipating around her. "Our situations are mutual, Princess. I don't think either of us will do well if we don't help each other."

"I agree."

"But I have one condition."

"Name it," Zelda said. She drew her hand away, placing the other over it as she did. She didn't expect Annabeth to ask for the Triforce, but even so . . . it never hurt to be careful. Even if she felt a little treacherous.

"My boyfriend is one of the missing humans," Annabeth explained. "His name is Perseus Jackson, but he likes to go by Percy. If I hear even a whisper about him, I'm out."

Although Annabeth's sword was sheathed at her side, Zelda sensed that she was pointing a blade at her. A threat hung in the air: Stop me and see what happens.

Zelda wasn't foolish enough to challenge her.

"I will do everything in the meantime to find him, Annabeth. I can promise you that."

"Good."

"Now" — Zelda stood, brushing any possible crumbs off her lap — "why don't I show you around the castle? You ought to know where things are if you're going to stay here."

An eager light flashed in her eyes. "Do you have a library?"


Faces materialized on the trees around her, their trunks smoldering beneath globs of black and pink goo.

"Leave this place," they whispered. "It is not safe."

Some, braver than others, tried to trip her with their roots, but Rachel ignored them all the same. Whatever awaited her in the woods was bigger than any of them could fathom. As guilty as she felt about everything, she needed to get some bearings on the issue if she had any hope of helping.

The dark slime worsened as she walked deeper. Towards the beginning of her search, she made the mistake of stepping on it. Just the tip of her shoe was enough to send a sharp pang through her heart, as if lightning had hit her sternum. With a gasp, she scrambled off of it, wheezing around the sudden tingling-burn still lingering in her chest.

It was much harder to avoid it now, and the mud made it no less difficult. She was practically tip-toeing, but it all paid off when she finally found it: the drag marks, surrounded by hoof and foot prints.

Rachel kneeled down, almost giddy when she found that the hoof prints were without horseshoes. "Hazel and Arion must have been here," she muttered to herself.

If she remembered correctly (as many times as she had replayed that night in her head, she should), Hazel was part of Percy's patrol group. The others had been . . . Annabeth, obviously, and maybe Frank? That was their first mistake — demigods were safest in groups of three. Hopefully, that mistake wouldn't prove fatal.

The drag marks were deepest where Rachel stood, trailing off lighter and lighter into the dismal woods. Whatever took them, its kidnapping began here, and if Rachel followed that trail—

"Rach, what are you doing?"

Rachel whipped around to find Will Solace and — of all people Calypso — jogging through the mud, pointedly avoiding the pink-and-black sludge. Both were soaked to the bone, as Rachel surely was, only they weren't supposed to be. This was Rachel's fault; this was Rachel's burden. Not theirs.

"What are you doing here?" She tightened her fists at her sides. "You shouldn't be here. Go back."

Calypso raised her eyebrows. "I could say the same to you. Have you lost your mind?"

"Rachel," Will said, his voice much calmer — like she was a crazy woman he was trying to coax. Rachel was past the point of denying it; she was crazy, all right. Mad with grief. "Rach, come back to camp with us. It's not safe here." He held his hand out to her. "Please?"

The oracle jerked away, shaking her head frantically. "I can't leave until I fix this. It's my fault, Will!"

"Rachel—"

"Look!" She gestured towards the drag marks in the mud. "This was where Percy's group was stationed. I've almost found them! I'm going to get our people back—"

"Keep your voice down," Calypso whispered, glancing warily towards the trees.

"The monsters can come and get me if they want to! At least they'll take me to our friends!"

"Rachel."

Will was a sliver of light in the darkness, his golden curls like a crown of laurels on his head. People always said that he was the spitting image of an Apollo kid, but none ever mentioned how much he looked like Apollo. If Rachel clawed angrily at him, she wouldn't know the difference between him and his father.

The thought brought her to tears.

"I know, I know," Will said. He patted Rachel on her shoulder as she bowed her face into her hands. "I miss them too."

"I couldn't" — she choked on a sob — "understand the prophecy. We should have just left the woods alone! If I had known. . . ."

Calypso, standing a comfortable distance away, hummed disdainfully. "That's the thing, Rachel — no one could have known. Not even you."

A heavy snap reverberated through the woods. Will's grip trembled on her shoulder, then tightened. Before Rachel could wipe the remaining tears out of her eyes, he had pulled the three of them under a small alcove of tree roots.

"What is it?" Rachel asked, pushing his hand away. She never liked being dragged.

Unfortunately for her, Will and Calypso were sharing a wary glance. Now that Rachel thought about it, she had never seen them exchange more than a few words before. Why were they suddenly acting like best friends?

The sorceress tilted her head at the small gaps between the roots, her dark eyes never leaving his for a second. "What do you think he'll do if he finds us here?" she whispered.

"He won't be happy, I can tell you that," he replied. Then, for Rachel's benefit: "Chiron."

Cold-footed spiders made their way down Rachel's spine. "That can't be. He's usually on his way back to the Big House around this time."

"The nymph might have told him that you're here," he offered.

"But he wouldn't go out this far—"

Clop, clop.

Calypso clamped her hand over Rachel's mouth, except she didn't need to. Rachel wasn't about to announce their presence to Chiron. She could only imagine what punishment he would give them for sneaking out this far. Hopefully not dishwashing duty.

Then she saw the approaching figure, and she knew instantly that it couldn't be Chiron.

Rachel understood why Will and Calypso mistook it for Chiron — it had an equine body with a humanoid torso sprouting in place of its neck, but the similarities ended there. Dark purple stripes slivered along its white flank. It looked almost top heavy; vicious muscles rippled on both trunks, but its human shoulders were broader than its horse stomach. Where a human face would be was the snarling visage of a lion, only this lion had glowing red eyes and two spiraling horns.

It walked over the dark slime with ease, no pain betrayed in his harsh gaze. Of course it wasn't hurt; the slime was part of this monster's roster. It probably ate the stuff for breakfast — probably as often as it ate demigods.

The demon-centaur crept forward slowly, sniffing as it went.

Will leaned closer into her side. Calypso's eyes locked onto hers, filled to the brim with panic.

It's sniffing us out.

Quick as lightning, the centaur brought out a bow, an arrow already nocked. Rachel was beginning to think some rather creative curses to the gods before it turned towards the way they came.

Her anger melted into terror: Chiron.

Please, please, please, she prayed. Not Chiron. Not Chiron.

Something hanging from the demon-centaur's neck caught the dim light of the sunset. The glint was nearly enough to blind her, even from so far away, but she could make it out if she squinted.

Nico's skull ring.

It took both of the girls to hold Will back; poor Rachel was sandwiched between them, so Calypso's elbow dug into her sternum from the effort it took to grab his arm. He thrashed, but thankfully stilled just as quickly. Ever so considerate, he never made a sound.

Whatever alerted the monster had disappeared. The creature gave a dismissive huff, then trotted back into the woods.

They were quiet for what seemed like an hour. Finally, Will will pulled away from them.

"The drag marks," he said, his voice tight, "are from Percy. Do you think that they'll take us to them?"

"Will. . . ." Calypso warned.

"Do you know, Rachel?"

And Rachel thought he looked like Apollo before. With his blue eyes glaring at her, she almost forgot who was speaking to her. She had seen that look in many gods eyes before: divine anger.

She bowed her head. "It's all we have."

That was good enough for him. Will climbed out of the small alcove, the others following — where else could they go?

They followed the trail in silence, side-by-side. As they got farther, Rachel felt something tighten in her chest. No, not just farther; closer. Closer to what, though, Rachel didn't know.

The light between the trees dimmed until they were in complete darkness, the glowing purple slime their only guide. Rachel couldn't remember when they started holding hands, but she was grateful. She didn't want to imagine being lost so deep in the woods.

"The nymphs," Calypso muttered. "I cannot feel them anymore."

If there were no nymphs, there would also be no trees to block the light — but Calypso was right. The leaves did not rustle; the birds did not chirp. Somehow, the woods were devoid of life. It was only a matter of time before their little group dissipated, too.

The tension in her chest worsened. If these woods silenced nymphs, then what had become of Percy? And what of their other friends?

Will froze beside her, his hand rigid in hers. She couldn't make out anything of either of them in the darkness, not even the whites of their eyes.

"We need to leave," he whispered.

Anger surged through her. "But—"

"Now." He shuddered violently. "They're not here, Rachel. There's nothing to follow."

"He's right; the trail is gone," Calypso agreed.

"Please, Rach."

Cowards. Even so, her wrath had lost its sting. They were just as sorrowful as her — maybe just as mad, too — but not so nuclear. Rachel knew they were right, anyway. They had long lost anything to follow. Their friends weren't just absent; they were never there to begin with.

But that twist in her chest. . . . It had to mean something, right? The beast and the slime were not there for nothing. Something happened here.

She sucked a breath through her nose. "Alright. W-we can go back. I'll take the fall."

"Don't take all the credit," Will said; he almost sounded hurt.

"This concerns all of us, Rachel."

As dark and frightening as the woods were, for a moment Rachel thought that she wouldn't mind staying there a little longer. She never felt lonely at Camp Half-Blood, exactly, but a prominent rift had settled between her and the campers. She was too often the issuer of their death sentences; sometimes it felt like Percy, Annabeth, and Chiron were the only people she talked to.

Calypso sat across from her during meals, sure; it had never occurred to Rachel that the sorceress might be looking out for her. As for Will, that was his job — to catch her after she choked up green mist. No more, no less — and certainly not friends.

That brief minute that they stood together, hand in hand, felt like a lifetime of lost care. Rachel felt so grieved to tear away from it.

"Alright," she relented. But she was lying.

By her own will or not, she would return here. Alone.

End of Chapter 10


Whew! This chapter was a lot shorter than usual!

It might be a while until my next update; I think I'm going to pay my other fics a visit before the summer is over. Though, technically summer hasn't officially begun. Equinoxes sure are difficult to keep track of sometimes!

I think I'm going to spend the next month setting out the outline for every chapter. I had a lot of trouble with the POVs in this one — I've been trying to keep things chronological, since I was kind of all over the place in the first four chapters. I hope it doesn't take me long.

I'm always so sad when I don't update for a while, but things should be alright. My cats are sitting on the bed with me, and it's raining outside. I'm balancing my computer on the afghan over my knee; my aunt crocheted it just for me. The song I'm listening to is bittersweet.

Life is good. It would be a waste to hurry.