A/N: Not 100% happy with all of these, but I think they get the message across… enjoy! :)

~~ Caspian ~~

Walking back towards base after he'd checked on the patrols, Caspian still found his mood sour after encountering the Seelie faerie a couple of days prior. It did not bode well, if they thought they could keep returning, and demanding Kellan speak with them or visit the Seelie. He hadn't been able to ask Kellan what they'd spoken on, as it seemed Kellan been carefully avoiding him. Either way, he supposed he wouldn't be much help, anyway, with such things.

Reaching base, his gaze scanned some of the new recruits who were milling about, a supervisor directing them. It was a strange mix of former Unseelie and Seelie, and they'd undoubtedly be good fighters to have as part of the Hunt. The thought of them having no choice in joining – being forced to join through death – was an even stranger one.

His gaze froze on one faerie in particular, and his breath caught in shock. The faerie's features were familiar enough to work out, and he stared for a moment too long. It was… his father?

No, surely he hadn't been recruited-… surely Kellan hadn't-…

Shaking his head quickly, he took a couple of steps back, a sick feeling in his stomach. If Kellan had just asked him, he would have told him not to. To be forced to join another faction would have killed his father. He would have preferred to die honourably in battle, than to be turned to the enemy's side. The thought was too horrid to ponder.

The faerie who had been his father, turned his gaze to scan the side, his eyes catching on Caspian. He frowned slightly, likely pondering their likeness, for they had always shared many features. Of course, the faerie wouldn't even remember who he was now. Caspian watched as the faerie opened his mouth, as if to say something, before Caspian quickly turned his back to him, hurrying away from base.

He didn't think he was capable of explaining anything, or even facing him yet. So, like some coward, he fled, retreating to the Downworld Towns to try and gather his thoughts.

~~ Kellan ~~

After the visit from Ethos, Kellan tried to organise as many things as he could, not knowing how long he would be gone. If he'd been asked to leave for the Seelie straight away, he might have declined. Or at least he hoped that he would have had the will to. There was much to do, and he felt guilty at the thought of leaving the Hunt to fend for itself.

He knew he had little choice though, when Ethos returned. If he refused, then the Queen would likely send someone else to fetch him, and Ethos would get in trouble. Or worse. He did not want to cause a war or any kind of conflict, so there was no point in pondering anything else.

He was worried though, about how the other supervisors would take his absence, especially after the last time. If he told them about it beforehand, they might not even let him go. He did not blame them for not understanding - how could they, when they didn't know why the Queen had such a fascination with him?

Picking up his leather satchel, he packed some supplies for the trip, making sure he had some food, water, and medicinal supplies. There was always a possibility that they could run into trouble on the way.

Perhaps the hardest part of his trip would be keeping his thoughts clear. Last time the Seelie Court had been tempting and enticing in many ways, and he had to keep a hold of his emotions. He would have talked to Aspen about it if he could have, but Aspen was busy with his own problems. Sighing, he straightened, adjusting the straps of his satchel.

He would just have to keep himself in line.

~~ Steff ~~

Steff reread the letter from Cole many times.

She had been surprised when the envelope was passed to her, initially worried that her parents had sent her another letter. She'd slipped it into her pocket and taken it to her room to read privately. Sitting down at her desk, she turned on her witchlight to read it by. Of course, as soon as she'd seen how her name was written on the front, she froze. It was not her parent's handwriting. No, she recognised the writing instantly, and she had gasped, quick to open the envelope.

She couldn't help but smile at the start of his letter, and how he had included a passage from War and Peace. Then there was a rush of relief when she read that his health was not declining. That maybe he was… okay. It seemed like a miracle, more than anything. Maybe the poison remained satisfied with a taste of him, not yet wanting to let him go.

At his notes about his past, she read attentively, not wanting to miss any details. She did not know much about his birth place, Uzbekistan, and she resolved to look it up later in a book. And his parents were likely from somewhere in the U.K? They had more in common than she thought. Interestingly, for the first time, he seemed curious about his and his family's history. She wondered just how much he'd changed over the time he'd been away.

When he signed off his 'name' at the bottom, she laughed, before covering her mouth with her hand. He always did have his own sense of humour.

She read it many more times, before finally setting it down. She was filled with a number of emotions, and it was hard to distinguish them all; relief, gladness, curiosity, annoyance. Her frustration mainly came from the fact that he still insisted that they were not friends, and he gave her no option to reply. As if he could always have the last word.

Standing up, she paced to the other side of the room, thinking. Of course, it wouldn't be smart for him to write a return address or to give away too many hints as to his location, in case anyone else read it and grew suspicious. But it seemed he didn't want a reply, which is why he gave no hints at all.

No, that was not fair. Straightening, she finally came to a stop, in front of her desk. Sitting down again, determinedly, she placed some fresh paper in front of her, before carefully picking up her writing implements. She would write a reply, and she would deliver it to him by hand, if she had to. Even if it meant searching for him in all of the Institutes in France. Setting ink to the page, she wrote neatly, her emotions hidden behind her carefully constructed cursive.

He would not always get the last say.

~~ Percy – age 9 ~~

Percy always had a hatred for his horns.

He longed to be rid of them – for the evidence of his demon father to be gone. Most of all, he just wanted to fit in with the other kids. His mother always told him that she loved him, but no one else did. Some laughed, thinking his horns were some Halloween costume joke, while others stared. Once, when he had been younger, he remembered an old lady pointing at him and calling him the devil's child.

At a younger age, he had been home schooled, always wearing a hat when he walked outside in self-consciousness. He had begged his mother to dye his hair – the white colour standing out just as much – but she had refused, telling him he was beautiful how he was. But he wasn't, really, and how he wished to be normal.

Just after he'd turned eight, his mother managed to get in contact with an older warlock, and he took pity on him, teaching him how to cast a glamour to hide the odd aspects of his appearance. Then he was able to go to school with the other kids, but it took a lot of concentration to keep up the glamour, and he struggled with it for a while.

If he could rip them out, then he could. He did not want to be seen as evil, with the mark of demons marring him. He hated them, just like he hated his father – if you could call him that - and what he had done to his mother. If there was ever a next time, he would be there to protect her.

On his way home from school one day, he paused near his neighbour's house. The door to the shed was wide open, and he walked over, peering inside. There was no one there, and he scanned the shelves as he started inside it. A variety of tools were laid out, and his gaze fell on a saw. It looked sharp, and he fitted his hand into the grip, finding it a bit too big. Raising it, he looked into a mirror propped up against a cabinet. Maybe he could get rid of them himself, even if only for a little while. His horns were still small, but they seemed to grow as he did, and he knew that eventually they would be much bigger.

Slowly, he set the sharp edge of the saw against one of his horns, his hand shaking. Would it hurt? He hoped it wouldn't, if he didn't cut it too far down near the skin. He squeezed his eyes shut, and gritted his teeth. Even if it hurt, he couldn't cry out.

Urging his hand to move, he soon found it was frozen. Surely he was not such a coward. Surely he could follow through-…

After a long moment, he lowered the saw, opening his eyes and breathing hard. A tear slid down his cheek, before he wiped it away. Maybe he was a coward, after all.

"What are you doing, kid?" a voice called out behind him, and as he whirled around in fright, he cut his finger in his haste on the blade. Idiot. Nearly throwing the saw onto the table, he backed away, holding his finger to his chest. Blood dripped down his hand, and it stung, but it wasn't too deep, he didn't think.

The man tried to stop him, but he fled, too upset to be able to maintain his glamour. He didn't know why he'd done such a stupid thing, sniffling as he ran to his house. After all, he'd always thought he was the smartest in the class, and his marks proved that.

When he made it inside, his mother took one look at him, before reaching for the medical kit, and quickly tending to his finger, cleaning it and wrapping it in bandages. Then she held him in her arms as he cried, saying soothing words and rocking him, until he fell to sleep.

A/N: The idea behind Percy's section was actually inspired by Hellboy. I haven't actually seen any of the movies/read the comics, but someone told me about how he files down his horns to look less evil and to show his dedication to the good, despite his origins. It's an interesting thought, and of course made me think of Percy…