Percy Jackson and the Far Side of the Moon

by 2BorNotTooBe2AForever

After binging the Percy Jackson series, BB came up with an amazing idea; a fanfi-Holy Grail War to end all Holy Grail wars. Kingprotea gave it five stars, Kazuradrop called it a massive waste of resources.

13. Welcome to Camp Half-blood『4話』

The day began as usual, with me up before dawn, counting heads in each bunk. Anyone missing earned a red mark, and three meant dreg duty. The worst of the worst: gutting animals, cleaning the stables, mopping the pavilion—though nothing could beat the misery of poop patrol. The thought alone sends a chill down my spine; the smell lingers in my nightmares. Thankfully, we haven't had a red mark in months. Cabin Six had built a reputation on discipline, so much so that we'd become almost a stereotype.

Not that we're perfect. We've got our jokers, just nothing like the chaos over in Cabin Eleven. People think the children of the wise are glued to rules, but we're like the rest, maybe even more so. Instead of breaking rules, we bend them, slip between the lines, getting clever. After all, rules are for chumps; Luke taught me that.

Maybe that's why they elected me as Archon. In Cabin Six, we don't have counselors; we have Archons—a fancier word for the same job. Normally, a counselor would be the oldest or the half-blood with the most quests under their belt. But there hasn't been a quest since Luke's. The Oracle's been silent so long people thought she'd finally kicked it—not that we'd know. Trust me, I've tried.

Our oldest at that time, Hayden, was a history buff who thought it would be a great idea to bring back elections, like ancient Athens. So, we did, and Hayden promptly lost her job. We've held elections ever since. Now it's my turn—for the third time in a row. I keep wishing we'd thought of term limits. Not that I'm complaining or maybe I am. The perks are nice, sure, but putting a twelve-year-old in charge of an entire group for weeks is practically inviting disaster. I can't help but stress over every possible failure, so I work extra hard to keep everyone in line.

Maybe that's why they keep re-electing me—my older siblings are lazy moochers. There's so much I could abuse with this power, but as Thalia once said, ' With great power comes great responsibility, ' right before she set that whole house on fire.

"Gregory, stop waving that sword! You're gonna poke someone's eye out!" I scolded our youngest and he whined.

Who was the 'genius' that gave him a weapon? Oh wait, that's me…

"So, what's the plan now?" That was Malcolm, he's a few years older than me but of all my siblings, he was the most reliable. Honestly, he should've been Archon, not me.

"I... I don't know. Mr. D's orders outrank me. There's nothing I can do."

"But we can't just do nothing. There's a monster in camp!"

"You think I don't know that? You think I want this to happen?" I snapped, unable to keep the frustration from boiling over. Malcolm flinched, taken aback. Really? He's older than me, stronger than me, yet somehow, my words cut through him? I caught the look in his eyes, and my anger wavered. I shouldn't be acting like this, like my age.

"I'm sorry. It's just…" The stress was catching up to me; I'd been Archon for too long.

"It's ok Annabeth, I understand." He awkwardly smiled.

You really don't.

"Maybe if we petition Chiron. That could work."

Chiron can't go against Mr. D's orders. Despite appearances, Mr. D is still the camp director, while Chiron handles all activities and day-to-day responsibilities. Mr. D leaves most things to Chiron, but in title and authority, he's still in charge. He listens to Chiron, sure, but it's not exactly out of friendship—more like a mutual respect. Yet, when Mr. D puts his foot down, even Chiron's hands are tied.

But of all the things he could do, he let a monster walk around camp? Not to mention a bunch of strangers?

I half-expected him to turn them into dolphins. Shows me for putting faith in him. He can be so inconsiderate, maybe that's the norm for gods. He's the only one I've ever met, not even my own mother visited me face to face. And yet, despite the insults, the chores, the utter lack of common decency, I still... I don't know what this feeling is. When I see him with Castor and Pollux, their laughs, their smiles.

I shake my head.

I don't want to think about it, let alone admit it, not even to myself. But some days, when I'm at my absolute lowest, when Luke's busy, and it's just me alone with my thoughts. I can't help but wish he was... Guess the stress really is getting to me.

"Annabeth?" Malcolm's voice broke through. "Did you hear what I said? Is it a good idea?"

I met his eyes, realizing I'd been silent a while. "Sure." I gave him a quick smile, and he nodded as we continued toward the border.

Border patrol isn't the worst job. It's definitely a favorite for Cabin Five—they'll jump at any chance to fight monsters. Whenever it's Cabin Ten's turn, they'll trade with Five, no matter how awful the job. So it must've annoyed them when Cabin Six got it instead. Six and Five are natural rivals, echoing the grudges of our parents.

When something goes down in camp, it's usually between us—a food fight, a sword fight, a fire fight, even rap battles, aka shouting matches. I didn't get it at first, but after a while, it grated on me. Those Cabin Five guys can be so pigheaded—bloodthirsty, stubborn. They make up their minds first and ignore anything that doesn't fit. They're quick to anger, slow to forgive, and hold a grudge over the smallest slight. A cabin full of hotheads—sometimes I wonder how they even function. Yet, despite it all, I have to admit they're good warriors… not that I'd ever say it out loud.

"Fan out," I told the group, as one of my older brothers nudged my shoulder. "Oh, right—watch the trees. Monsters can ambush from above." He just gave me a smile and walked ahead.

Maybe I'm a bit unfair, saying my older siblings do nothing. Technically, I have a group of "advisers"—Hayden calls them the Areopagus—made up of the most senior cabin members. But they mostly weigh in on combat matters; everything else is up to me, so I can't give them too much credit. Once, I caught them napping while I was knee-deep in cabin bureaucracy. Thanks, Hayden.

The littlest one began to move before I pulled him back. "Not you Gregory." I said sternly and the little boy whined.

Border patrol runs just outside the camp's forcefield. I'm not sure how other cabins handle it, but we stick to groups. If we spot a monster, we blow the whistle once; twice if we need backup; three times, and we all retreat to the barrier. Usually, the monsters are nothing major—no more than ten, and mostly small fry a group can handle easily. What we really watch for are named creatures or anything hellhound-sized. They show up maybe twice a year, and if they do, we blow three whistles in a row and fall back to the barrier to shoot it full of arrows. Cabin Five would call us cowards, but we prioritize safety over glory. Today was the first time anything interesting happened in ages, so when things went back to normal, the whole cabin felt let down. I was too, if I'm honest.

These were the first intruders in forever, and somehow, they broke in without any inside help and one of them was a cyclops. A cyclops . I can't stress enough how dangerous that is. Mr D knows this, why would he… I would never forget what happened in that manor, the nightmares still haunt me. Grover knows this too, he was there! Why would he–

"Annabeth, you're doing it again," Malcolm's voice interrupted over my shoulder.

The betrayal stung like a spider bite. I gripped my bow so tightly I thought it might snap.

"Sorry, it won't happen again." I replied, but he didn't look convinced. He knew this was personal. But I am the Archon. I had to at least maintain the appearance of one. Everyone was looking to me for answers. I could feel the pressure weight down on my shoulders, heavy as if I'm trapped underwater—and if I push too hard to break free, that same water might drown me. This is stupid, I shouldn't be feeling this way, I have responsibilities. Why did they make me the Archon, why can't anything go my way for once.

Luke. I can't do this alone.

"Let's go," I murmured, pushing down the anxiety bubbling up inside. ' Just keep walking' , like Thalia said. Putting on my brave face, I led the group into the woods. It was just us four—Malcolm, Gregory, and good old Phil, who was heading to college after this summer. He'd gotten into an Ivy League school, planning to major in Political Science. He even talked about running for president someday. Honestly? I'd vote for him.

Heard he had a girlfriend up north too. Apparently, he's planning to propose after camp. We all told him that was a horrible idea, but he just laughed it off. Phil has… questionable taste, but he's got a bright future. We're going to mourn him when he leaves; the whole cabin will.

"Are you doing okay, Phil?" I asked, trying to distract myself with small talk.

The oldest of us smiled back. He always had this grandfatherly look, we teased him for it all the time.

"Yeah, just a few months 'til retirement," he chuckled, sounding ancient.

"What?" I blinked.

"Graduation," he corrected, laughing awkwardly.

"Good old Phil," Malcolm jokingly punched his shoulders. "We're sure gonna miss that absent-mindedness."

"And his dumb jokes," I added.

"And his terrible stories," said Malcolm.

"You mean desperate stories," I added again.

"Yeah, and his endless optimism," Malcom smiled.

"You guys…" Phil rubbed the back of his neck, looking a little embarrassed.

"Is Phil going to die?" Gregory blurted. The rest of us whipped our heads toward him.

"What gave you that idea?" Phil replied, taken aback.

"Well… it seemed appropriate," Gregory muttered. That was it—he officially lost sword privileges. I snatched his weapon right out of his hands. It was only a matter of time before poke someone's eye out.

"Hey, that's unfair!" he whined.

"You'll get it back once you learn some self-control," I said, rolling my eyes.

Gregory pouted, but he didn't argue further. Malcolm just laughed, and even Phil shook his head with an amused smile. It was a small moment, but it broke the tension, easing the weight on my shoulders. Just for a moment, I felt lighter.

A routine patrol, nothing unusual. We moved through the underbrush—me taking point, Malcolm and Phil at my rear, with Gregory just in sight, close enough to pull him back if needed. Despite my age, I'm the most experienced with monsters in our cabin, thanks to my adventures with Luke and Thalia across country. Over time, I developed a hair-trigger instinct; I could sense monsters from nearly a football field away, mostly from being the designated scout whenever Thalia led us. Right now, though, there were no monsters in sight, no whistles, not even a cricket chirp. Just silence.

I spotted something—a single leaf, floating down slowly.

"Do you hear that?" Phil whispered.

"Yeah," I murmured back.

Nothing. It was too quiet. Too familiar. The bad kind.

"Boring!" Gregory groaned, taking a step forward before I yanked him back. He opened his mouth to protest but stopped when he caught a look at my face. His expression stiffened, and he swallowed.

I scanned the clearing; everything seemed to be holding its breath, like the whole forest had turned into a still photograph, frozen in time.

"Archon." Malcolm had his bow at the ready, and I reached for my knife.

This scene felt disturbingly familiar. I remembered being in Gregory's place, with Luke gripping my shoulder, his sword ready, both of us waiting for something. I felt a little ease stepping into his shoes but dread as well, my gut was twisting. Whatever we were facing wasn't just another monster.

Where is it?

I threw a quick look at Phil, silently telling him to prepare the whistle. But then, breaking the quiet, a flurry of birds burst into the sky, their shrill calls piercing the silence as they flew away from camp. My stomach dropped as I watched them scatter. What does that mean?

From the corner of my eye, another leaf fell beside us, then another, and soon, leaves cascaded down like rain. I glanced at the nearby shrub as it wilted, leaves turning black and stems withering before my eyes.

"Archon, Annabeth? What's going on?" Malcolm's voice shook, his breath tight with fear.

"I… I don't know," I managed. This was beyond anything I'd seen or read about, beyond any myth that I knew of.

"We're leaving." I steadied my voice. "Phil, blow the whistle three times. We're all going back to camp. Now."

Just as Phil raised the whistle to his lips, the ground quaked beneath us. Malcolm and Gregory toppled over, Phil staggered, and I gripped a nearby tree to steady myself. Then came the sound—a harsh, echoing crack, like glass shattering, only magnified a thousand times. The sound was unlike anything I'd ever felt; it vibrated through my bones, making my ears throb with an ache so sharp it almost felt like they were going to burst.

I sank to the ground, my back against the bark, trying to steady myself and regain my senses. My ears were ringing, a high, relentless pitch cutting through the fog in my head as my vision started to refocus. I could see the others in various stages of shock, struggling to find their balance, to make sense of what was happening.

"Tha—the... The camp! We—halfta... We have to get back to camp!" I mumbled, my legs shaking as I struggled to stand.

Malcolm pushed himself up, blinking dazedly. "Wha was—"

"We have to go!" I shouted, cutting him off, and quickly grabbed Gregory, hauling him to his feet.

Phil didn't hesitate; he blew the whistle three times in a row, each blast sharp and loud. The echoes had barely faded when, from somewhere deeper in the woods, I heard answering whistles—three times, over and over. Our signal to retreat.

"Go, go!" I grabbed Gregory's hand, pulling him along as we dashed back to camp. I couldn't tell what's happening, but every instinct told me it was a bad sign. The air felt thick with the stench of a trap or some strange magic—either way, it's trouble, and magic was way outside my expertise. Monsters I could handle; they were concrete, something you could see and fight. But magic? That was a whole different beast, manipulating the mist and just like mist I could never grasp it. It defied logic, confusing at best, crazy at worst, but always dangerous. No wonder the children of Athena stay well away from it.

As we ran, the feeling of wrongness grew stronger with every step. The closer we got to camp, the more the world seemed to decay—plants withering and blackening as though life itself was retreating. I didn't dare look back. It felt like we were sprinting straight into death's arms. Still, I trusted in our contingency plans. Once we regrouped, we'd figure out the best course of action—most likely consulting Chiron. If anyone knew what was happening, it would be him.

"Are we there yet?!" Malcolm huffed, his breath ragged as he struggled to keep up.

"Almost," I snapped, the word coming out more like a bark than reassurance. "We're nearly—"

We broke through the woods, and the world changed in an instant. The sky hung heavy and dark, storm clouds churning in angry waves. The wind howled around us, carrying a sour tang that lingered at the back of my throat. For a moment, I thought it was nightfall, but tiny slivers of sunlight pierced the chaos, only to be swallowed again by the raging storm.

I froze. Storms weren't supposed to happen here—not above camp. The skies were protected, unless… unless Zeus himself decreed otherwise. My mind reeled. Could we have angered him? But why?

A memory surfaced—just weeks ago, an entire section of the forest had been reduced to ash. The mortals had dismissed it as a wildfire, but we knew better. Nothing in camp had the power to cause that kind of devastation. Could this be connected?

Luke's voice echoed in my head: The gods don't think like humans. They're irrational. Selfish. Even so, this didn't make sense. If Olympus had discovered something—or someone, would they really punish all of us? The thought was horrifying, but the longer I dwelled on it, the more plausible it felt. I shook my head, pushing the thought away. Focus. Speculation wouldn't help us now. We had to reach Chiron.

My legs itched to break into a full sprint, but I forced myself to stay rooted. I was the Archon of Cabin Six. I had responsibilities, and running headlong into danger wouldn't help anyone. Gregory's hand brushed mine, grounding me. His usual fearlessness was gone, replaced by a vulnerable look that mirrored how I had felt the first time I ran away from home.

Trust the contingencies, Annabeth.

I turned back toward the woods, waiting as one by one, the others emerged from the treeline. Each face that appeared eased the knot in my chest, but I didn't relax. Not until every single one of us was accounted for.

The stream of campers slowed, then stopped altogether. My heart began to race. I raised my whistle to my lips and blew as hard as I could. Nothing.

"Where's the rest?" My voice broke through the tense silence.

A quick headcount confirmed my worst fears—six were missing. Jessamy's team. Ed. Isabella.

"Has anyone seen Team Five?" I called, scanning the group. No one answered.

Jock, or John as it was spelled, limped toward us, supported by Jane. He was the captain of Team Seven and a member of the Areopagus. His head was bleeding, the wound a jagged line cutting through his dark hair. The moment the cabin saw him, everyone sprang into action, rushing over with bandages and supplies.

"Jane, what happened?" I asked, my voice tight.

She didn't answer. Her face was pale and blank, frozen in shock.

"Jane?" I pressed gently, but still, no response.

"She's in shock," Jock rasped, his words strained through the pain as someone wrapped gauze around his head. "There… there was an ambush. From above. Monsters. They—" He winced, bracing his head.

"Don't talk," I said quickly.

Panic clawed at the edges of my thoughts. This was far worse than I had anticipated. My chest tightened under the weight of it all—the missing campers, the ambush, the mounting pressure to keep everyone together. I wanted to scream, to crumble under the weight of it, but I couldn't.

I'm the Archon. If I lose it, the cabin will too.

I inhaled deeply, grounding myself. Trust the contingencies.

"Malcolm, take Cabin Six to the Big House, report to Chiron" I ordered, my voice steady. "Get Jock to the infirmary. Phil, Cora, Sage, Brice—you're with me."

The group moved without hesitation. They understood the gravity of the situation. Gregory hesitated, tugging at my hand before I could leave.

"Are you coming back?" he asked, his voice small, his eyes wide with innocence that reminded me of myself.

I bent down, forcing a confident smile. "No monster can beat Cabin Six's finest," I said, flashing the smirk Luke had taught me. It masked the unease in my voice, but Gregory didn't seem to notice.

Fire lit in his eyes. "Give them hell!" he shouted before turning and running toward the others.

I turned back to my team. We were armed and ready. Cora had her bow, Sage and Brice their swords, and Phil his shield and spear. I gripped my knife tightly. Gregory's sword hung at my hip, but I preferred the knife. The others had mocked me for it, I'd asked Luke about it once, and his answer stuck with me: A knife's better than a sword; it gets close, like a kiss.

Stupid.

We moved into the woods, our eyes scanning the canopy for any signs of danger. I reminded myself of the mission. This wasn't about slaying monsters.

It was a rescue.

"No one left behind," I whispered to myself. That's what Thalia always said.

The woods were silent—eerily so. Not the kind of quiet that came with peace, but the heavy, suffocating stillness that promised something was wrong. My skin prickled as if invisible eyes bore into us. We were being watched. I was sure of it the moment we passed the first tree.

I clenched my teeth. I should've asked Jock more questions. What kind of monsters? Could they fly? Were they armed? All of it might've made a difference. But it was too late now.

Our group pressed on, weapons ready, tension tightening the air around us. We were heading towards Jessamy's team first. Odd's are, they were the same monsters that took Ed and Isabel. It hadn't been long since border patrols started—there was no way they could've gone far. Still, every step deeper into the woods made the silence louder, the shadows heavier. My grip tightened on the knife, the cool metal grounding me. I glanced at the others. Their eyes were sharp, scanning every branch and shadow. We all felt it. Something was out there.

Cora was the first to spot it—the trail. Broken branches, crushed leaves, and cut shrubs marked the signs of a struggle. My eyes caught an arrow lodged in a nearby tree. Celestial bronze. A camp arrow. They were here.

I crouched to examine the scene, but there was only so much I could piece together on my own.

"Does anyone have any ideas?" I asked, glancing back at the group.

"There were more people here," Sage said, pointing to the ground.

She was right. The footprints told the story—there were far more than four sets, and all of them looked like sneakers. No claws. No hooves. My mind reeled. Monsters with shoes? That made no sense. Their claws would make that unbearable, wouldn't they? Unless… were we dealing with a group of monsters who all wore shoes? That seemed just as unlikely.

"What's going on?" I muttered under my breath. "Anything in the trees?"

Cora's sharp eyes darted across the branches, her expression tense. "No," she whispered.

I frowned. If there was nothing in the trees, it meant whatever had attacked them was ground-based. Or maybe… maybe they were already gone.

The uncertainty gnawed at me. Something wasn't adding up, and I didn't like it.

"Wait!" Phil's voice cut through my spiraling thoughts. "What's that?" He pointed toward a shrub, his finger trembling slightly.

I raced over, the others following close behind. Something shimmered on the ground, catching the faint light that filtered through the leaves. I bent down and picked it up—a golden-wolf pin attached to a torn scrap of purple cloth. My mind stalled as I turned it over in my hands. No one in Cabin Six owned anything like this, and while it might belong to Cabin Ten, I doubted it. I'd inspected everyone's armor before patrols, and nothing like this had been among their gear.

The metal was cold and heavy, is this real gold? The cloth, soft and fine, felt like silk—not the kind of material anyone would casually bring on a patrol.

"A treasure of a vain monster?" I muttered, thinking aloud. "Or maybe… someone tore it off during a struggle?"

As I turned the pin over, something caught my eye: Roman numerals etched into the gold—IV. I racked my brain, cycling through every myth and fragment of knowledge I had, but nothing concrete came to mind. The details were too vague, the pieces not adding up.

"Are we dealing with a monster?" Sage asked, her voice sharp, drawing everyone's attention.

"What?" I turned to her.

"It seems to me there are more swords here than four," she said, pointing at the evidence—slashes on bark, branches scattered and sliced on the ground. I frowned, studying the marks. Jessamy's team wasn't the most careful, sure, but even they wouldn't flail their weapons around like this. So it was monsters with weapons? They do exist but that would mean… Where were their bodies then, I don't see any blood anywhere.

Sage's eyes narrowed, her suspicion shifting. "I think Five is pulling a prank on us," she snarled.

"A prank?" Phil asked, incredulous. "Isn't this taking it a bit too far?"

"It wouldn't be the first time," Sage replied with a scowl. "I've never met an Ares kid with self-control."

Cabin Five had always been reckless, impulsive, and prone to stirring up trouble—but this? This didn't fit. Even their worst stunts had limits. Attacking another camper, unprovoked or otherwise, was a line I couldn't imagine them crossing. Especially if it was just for a prank. This wasn't some petty fistfight or sparring session gone wrong—there were weapons involved. And people were missing. No matter how hot-blooded or unpredictable they could be, this felt too calculated, too deliberate. It didn't add up.

Cora was the first to move, she shot an arrow to the shrubs. "Ambush! " She screams.

We all moved, formation twelve, our backs against each other, it would have been better if we all had shields but we were in a hurry. I hear movement behind the trees. I didn't know how many they're were but they outnumbered us. They moved in a unit, too uniformed to be a beast, maybe a soldier? Monster soldiers, again it's possible, dragon tooth warriors, undead infantry, some other thing. They're more dangerous than your average monster, anything that could strategize is.

"Archon!" Phil's voice rang out like a thunderclap, and his shield shot up in front of my face. Something small and sharp bounced off the metal with a faint ping before clattering to the ground.

I blinked, my heart pounding as I glanced down. A dart?

"I can see them! They're—" Cora's voice cut off abruptly.

"Who are they!?" I shouted back.

"They're… campers," she hissed, her voice low and tight.

Campers? My mind stumbled over the word. It was Cabin Five all along!?

Figures emerged from the shadows of the leaves, stepping into the clearing with an eerie calm. They weren't wearing our camp's standard armor. Their gold-plated gear shimmered in the dappled light. Are they wielding gold? Why? Everything about them felt wrong, something… foreign.

"Who are—" Brice's shout cut short as his sword clashed against one of the attackers. The sharp ring of celestial bronze meeting gold echoed through the clearing. My stomach dropped. Brice's blade should have sliced clean through that soft metal—unless it wasn't gold at all.

Before Sage could step in, their formation broke, and chaos erupted.

One of them rushed straight at me. He looked only a few years older, clad in golden armor with purple raiments. Unlike the others, he carried a cattle prod, the tip crackling with electricity. I tightened my grip on my knife, backholding it to keep my guard up. I stepped forward just slightly, baiting him. He took the opening and lunged, the prod sparking as it jabbed toward me. I ducked low, feeling the heat of the charge hum near my ear. With a quick movement, I struck his wrist with the pommel of my knife. The rod flew from his grip as his hand recoiled in pain. Before he could recover, Phil slammed into him with his shield, sending him sprawling to the ground.

I stole a glance at Phil. His expression mirrored my unease. Neither of us said anything, but it was clear—we hadn't come here to fight humans, and we certainly hadn't come to take lives.

I was fine with fighting monsters. Monsters were straightforward, an enemy you could face without hesitation. But humans? That was different. I couldn't bring myself to fight with the same ferocity. And I knew my group felt the same. We were at a disadvantage.

Sage was holding her own, fending off two attackers at once. Brice was locked in a fierce struggle with another, sweat glistened on his brow as he deflected blow after blow. Cora, meanwhile, was in a bind. Armed only with her bow, she resorted to using it like a club, most of them were wearing helmets. Phil stayed close to me, his shield raised like a fortress wall. He deflected sword strikes aimed my way, countering with jabs of his spear. A blur of motion caught my eye—a golden-armored figure charging at me with a raised sword. Instinct kicked in. I sidestepped, ducked under his swing, and kicked my foot into his groin with all the force I could muster.

The boy's eyes widened, a strangled cry escaping his throat as he crumpled to the ground, clutching himself.

"Foul!" He hissed.

"Tough luck," I muttered, stepping back into formation. Thalia's voice echoed in my head, "Play dirty Annabeth. It's you or them."

I barely managed to parry another strike, my knife catching the blade of my opponent. I drove my other fist into her stomach, sending her staggering back. My pulse was racing, my breaths short. We were almost there—just one more down, then we can force an opening and escap—

Heavy chains crashed down on us like a net, their weight pressing hard against our bodies.

"What is this!?" Sage screamed.

I reached to throw them off, but before I could, a surge of electricity coursed through them. The shock hit me like a tidal wave of pain, needles stabbing every nerve in my body. We all screamed. The electricity seemed to burrow into my bones, lighting every inch of me on fire.

"Urgh—Annabeth!" Phil's voice cut through the chaos.

He tackled me, pinning me to the ground as his larger frame covered mine. He wrapped himself around me, bracing against the chains. The smell of singed cloth and skin filled the air, and I realized he was taking most of the current. Phil's body trembled violently as the electricity continued to surge. I screamed at him to stop, but he was too heavy to move. I'm the Archon, I should be the one protecting you.

Phil...

Eventually we all stopped screaming and so did the lightning. I heard bodies fall and all was silent. Phil's weight pressed heavily against me, his body limp and unresponsive. I could feel the faint rise and fall of his chest, but his eyes were unconscious. I suspect that's what happened to the rest.

"Wow, those Greeks are stubborn," one of the soldiers sneered, their smug voice cutting through the haze of pain and exhaustion. The hate inside me simmered, threatening to boil over.

The chains shifted, rattling ominously as the soldiers began to circle us.

"Well, what are you waiting for? Drag them to the pile!" barked another voice, sharper and more commanding. A wave of grumbling followed, and I could feel hands reaching for us.

Phil's weight began to lift off me as they grabbed him. My heart raced. The moment they loosened their grip on me, I made my move. I squirmed out from under Phil, my body screaming in protest, and sprang to my feet. Before they could react, I drove my fist into the nearest soldier's face, the satisfying crunch of bone reverberating up my arm.

"What the—" one of them gasped.

I turned to the soldier holding Phil and yanked my knife free, slashing it toward him. He let go immediately, stumbling backward with wide eyes.

"We've got a live one here!" someone shouted.

Adrenaline surged through me as I turned to face the others, standing between them and my unconscious team. The odds were impossible, but I didn't care. My grip on the knife tightened as I darted forward, slashing and jabbing, driving them away from my team's bodies.

I had no plan. No backup. No way to carry my team if I somehow managed to fend them off. But none of that mattered.

No one left behind. Thalia's voice echoed in my head.

"It's just a little girl, you pansies!" The mocking voice snapped me out of my frenzy.

The speaker stepped forward, older than the rest, around Phil's age, his golden armor gleaming in the dim light. Centurion. Recognition struck like lightning. Roman armor. That's what these guys were. LARPers , my mind spat dismissively. But on that thought, something unsettled me. Their weapons, their discipline, Are they...

No. These guys attacked us.

The centurion unsheathed his sword, a gladius. He flashed a ugly smile, ever heard of braces. He swung his blade, I ducked under and drove my knife. The soldier used his brace to block my blade upward. My knife was made of celestial bronze. It should have cut through his gold armor like paper. Magical metal, one I haven't seen before. He laughed.

"What do you think you can do?" He stabbed forward, I dodged to the right. "A little girl with a puny knife?"

My body felt like it was made of lead—sluggish and sore from the chains. The only edge I had left was my size. I tightened my grip on the knife, holding it backhanded as I lunged for his chest. But he was faster. His boot connected with my stomach, and the force slammed me onto the forest floor. The shock rattled me, almost knocking the knife from my hands. I heard his laugh—a cruel, mocking sound that clawed at my pride. Gritting my teeth, I forced myself up. My legs wobbled, and my chest burned, but I stayed on my feet. I wasn't the strongest, not even in my cabin, but that didn't matter.

Strength doesn't win fights, I reminded myself, hearing Thalia's voice in my head. It's not about how hard you hit—it's about where you strike.

His armor was segmented into overlapping layers, pressed so tightly together it could repel a sword strike. But a knife? My blade could easily slip through the cracks—if I could get close enough. First, I had to deal with his blade.

"This would be so much easier, girly, if you put down the knife," he sneered, his voice dripping with condescension.

I forced a smirk, lowering my knife slightly. "If you say so."

I unsheathed Gregory's sword from my hip. His eyes narrowed at the larger weapon, and he grunted before charging forward. His gladius came down hard, striking with enough force to rattle my arms as I blocked it with the sword. He was strong, stronger than me by a wide margin. I could already feel my grip slipping under the pressure. I wouldn't last long, but I didn't need to.

With my free hand, I struck. The knife slid into the gap between the plates of his armor, sinking deep into his ribs.

His smug expression twisted into one of shock and pain. He let out a guttural scream, breaking the clash between our blades. I yanked the knife free and stumbled back, the blade's tip flecked with his blood.

"You little shit! That fucking hurt!" he snarled, clutching his side. His eyes burned with rage, but his movements were slower now, less controlled.

I shifted my grip, backhanding the knife while keeping my sword leveled at him.

"Yaaah," he let out a short, twisted laugh. "I'll give you this—your bite's worse than your bark." He flexed his sword, his grin widening. "It's been a while since I've had a decent sparring partner." Squaring up, he leveled his blade at me, the grin turning sharp. "But playtime's over. Now you face the full might of a son of Mars."

He moved faster than before. I barely dodged as his gladius slammed down, the force shaking the ground where I stood. He didn't hesitate—another strike came, relentless. I blocked with my sword, but his strength was overwhelming, shoving me back. Before I knew it, I was on the ground again. Rolling instinctively, I escaped just as his gladius stabbed into the dirt where my head had been. He twisted the blade, swiping it horizontally in a deadly arc meant for my neck. I scrambled to my feet, narrowly avoiding the strike. There it was—a clear opening on his side. My knife was already moving, aimed straight for his ribs.

But before I could land the blow, he drove his body into mine, slamming me into the ground. His armor collided with my head, the metallic clang reverberating in my skull. For a moment, everything went black. The impact sent me skidding across the dirt. Pain flared everywhere, but I grit my teeth and forced myself up. My ears rang, and my vision blurred. I blinked hard, steadying myself, refusing to stay down.

"You've got spunk, girl. I like that," he hissed.

He lunged at me again, and I swung my sword purely on instinct. By some miracle, it connected with his blade, the clang ringing out between us. I didn't have time to think—my knife lashed out on its own, aiming for another strike.

Before it could land, searing pain shot up my arm. He'd caught me. With his free hand, he clamped down on my wrist, squeezing so hard it felt like the blood flow had stopped entirely. I tried to pull back, but his grip was like iron.

"Not so fast," he sneered, his grip tightening.

"Ugh—no!" I grunted, struggling against him. My sword arm was forced down, and before I could react, he slammed his gladius against my blade. The impact sent a jolt through my arm, and my sword was ripped from my grasp, clattering to the ground.

He started laughing, it sounded like pure joy.

"Greek," he sneered, yanking me closer until our faces were mere inches apart. "You must've come from my father's counterpart." His grip tightened, iron-strong, and I twisted in vain, trying to pry his hand off with my free arm.

"Fuck you!" I hissed through clenched teeth.

"There's that fire," he muttered, almost amused.

I lashed out with a kick, but my boots just bounced uselessly off his armor. He smirked, as if I were a child throwing a tantrum.

"Let's get you back to your friends," he said, hoisting me up with humiliating ease. It was only then I realized just how tall he was. Panic clawed at the edges of my thoughts. This is it. I'm captured. Is there really nothing I can do? Desperation churned in my gut as I scrambled for an idea. If I stop here we will all be captured, I couldn't let them down, Phil, Sage, Cora, Brice. Cabin Six. There had to be a way—there always was. My mind raced, dredging up every lesson, every scrap of wisdom from my days with Thalia and Luke.

Strength doesn't win fights

A knife's better than a sword; it gets close, like a kiss.

Play dirty Annabeth. It's you or them.

I glanced at the knife still clutched in my trembling fingers, the edge slick with sweat. I could hear Luke saying 'You don't have to win. You just have to not lose.'

"I am the Archon of Cabin Six," I whispered under my breath.

"Wha—"

Before he could react, I slammed my boots against his armor, using the momentum to propel myself higher. My other hand seized the knife, and I locked my legs around his chest. With a sharp twist, I drove the blade toward his throat.

"Gah!" he grunted, jerking his arm to force me off. But his sudden movement tipped his balance, and he toppled backward. We hit the ground hard. Pain ripped through my shoulder as my arm twisted unnaturally in his hold. The sickening snap and the scream that tore from my throat blurred everything for a moment.

When the dust settled, I was straddling him, my knife pressed to his throat. His fingers clamped down on my injured arm, and every nerve screamed in agony. But I gritted my teeth, forcing myself to focus.

He struggled beneath me, trying to shove me off. I leaned harder, the blade nicking his skin.

"Woah!" one of the soldiers exclaimed, their voices hushed with shock.

I glared at them, forcing myself to ignore the fiery throb in my arm. "Let us go, or your friend dies!" My voice was sharp, the edge of my blade biting into his skin.

The clearing went deathly quiet. The soldiers exchanged uneasy glances, their earlier bravado slipping like a mask.

"I'll do it!" I snarled, daring any of them to test me. One stepped forward, his hand twitching toward his weapon. I didn't hesitate, pressing the knife harder. He froze mid-step, then backed off.

"Drop your weapons and back—"

"What's your plan, little girl?" The soldier beneath me rasped, his breath hot against my face.

I shot a quick glance down at him, trying to keep my composure. I couldn't lose control now—not when everything was riding on this.

"Shut up, or I'll—"

"Do what?" His voice was low, almost taunting, as he tilted his neck closer to the blade. The confidence in his eyes shook me, and before I realized it, my hand instinctively eased the knife back a fraction.

His grin widened like he'd won a silent battle. "I knew it." He spat the words. "Those eyes… You're Minerva's, aren't you? This isn't your forte, little owl."

My grip on the knife tightened. "And how would you know that?" My voice came out cold, calculated. With deliberate precision, I nicked his neck just enough to draw blood. It trickled down, staining his golden armor. I needed to hold control, or we were all done for.

"Maybe I'm just the type to slice your throat and watch you choke on your own blood," I shot back, letting my words drip with venom. Each one was chosen carefully, measured to maintain the fragile balance.

He laughed, a low, guttural sound that sent a chill down my spine. "Because you don't have the eyes," he said, staring straight into mine. "You're not a killer. I've seen real killers, and yours… yours are still too warm."

My hands trembled before I could stop them. The knife wavered against his skin.

I'm losing control.

I caught the flicker of movement in his eyes, but it was too late. His hand shot out, grabbing something from the ground. Before I could react, pain exploded through me as he jabbed it into my side.

A cattle prod!?

Electricity tore through my body, sending searing jolts racing through every nerve. My scream ripped through the clearing, raw and helpless as the current consumed me. Lightning lanced through my veins, burning away every coherent thought.

How did I miss it!? That soldier from earlier—I should've seen it.

When the current finally stopped, my body went slack. The knife fell from my trembling hand, clattering uselessly to the ground. He released my arm, and I crumpled, collapsing onto the dirt in a haze of pain and exhaustion.

"Not bad, little girl, you'd have made a fine centurion someday." Those were the last words I heard before everything went black.

I couldn't tell if I was dreaming or in a waking nightmare. Everything blurred together, a feverish haze of half-wakefulness and restless sleep. I tried to open my eyes—sometimes I did—but they slid shut as quickly as they had lifted, the world slipping away before I could grasp it.

What I saw—if I saw anything at all—came in fleeting, disjointed fragments, as though my mind was unraveling, spilling shards of memory and madness. Monsters whirled in a primal dance around a bonfire, their shadows stretching unnaturally long. Families screamed as marble buildings collapsed. A woman stood at the edge of the void, her form overlaying an endless night. Thalia, face sharp with focus, drew a silver bow aimed at something I couldn't see.

A boy crouched over a corpse, blood pooling around his hands. The sky groaned, bending to kiss the jagged peak of a mountain. Phil hanging on a hook in a cold meat locker. Gunfire inside a burning building, the sound chased by manic, unhinged laughter. A page turned in a storybook, revealing a picture of a mermaid.

The sun bled red as it sank, its light spilling like a mortal wound across the horizon before vanishing entirely. I watched as the sea lost its color, its blues consumed by encroaching blackness, until all that remained was an abyss staring back at me.

Then, I saw Luke. He stood atop a distant hill, silhouetted against the sun, his entire form swallowed by shadow. No matter how fast I ran, he seemed to drift farther and farther away.

"Luke!" I screamed, my voice hoarse, the grass thickening around my legs, slowing me with every step. "Luke! Don't—"

I tripped, but as I fell, a hand caught mine.

"Luke, I—" I looked up, my heart lurching. But it wasn't him. I didn't know this man.

"Who are you?"

His lips moved, but no sound came out. Yet somehow, I thought I heard my name.

Annabeth. Annabeth. Annabeth. Wake up.

It wasn't Luke's voice yet it was.

Wake up. Wake up. Annabeth, wake—

My eyes fluttered open. Agony rippled through my entire body, moving like its alive. I was awake but it was dark and cold.

Where am I? I tried to move my head, but even that sent waves of pain crashing through me. My nerves felt like they were on fire, each jolt a sharp reminder of the battle I barely remembered. But the worst part wasn't the pain—it was my left arm.

It wouldn't move.

I tried again, willing it to respond, but it hung there, lifeless. The absence of control, of even the smallest twitch, was more terrifying than the agony coursing through me. I wanted to panic, to thrash or cry, but I didn't even have the strength for that. I wanted to scream for help, to call out to someone—anyone—but when I tried, only a hoarse whisper escaped my cracked lips. It was pathetic, a ghost of a sound.

Is this Hades? Am I dead?

The thought echoed in the void as I lay there, cheek pressed against something cold and unyielding. Metal. I knew this texture—the floor of the cold storage behind the kitchen. I'd mopped it countless times during cleanup duty, just steps away from the Pavilion. Where we keep the meat. Meat…

Wait.

I tried to sit up, to see my surroundings, but I was swallowed by darkness. My breathing quickened, and my heart raced, pounding so loud it felt like it was trying to escape my chest.

He's not here. He can't be here. Please, gods, let him not be here.

The silence was suffocating. I could feel warm tears trailing down my cheeks, mixing with the cold sweat that clung to me. My thoughts spun out of control.

I failed them. I failed all of them. They could be dead because of me. I don't deserve to be Archon.

"Meow."

A soft sound broke through my tears, gentle and almost too quiet to be real. I froze, straining to hear it again.

"Meow."

It was closer now, and then I felt something brush against my cheek. My heart stuttered. What?

"Meow."

This time, the sound came with light. Soft, silvery, and otherworldly, it crept through the darkness like the first crack of dawn. From the shadows, stars began to bloom, constellations sparking to life. The room dissolved into a canvas of the cosmos—galaxies spinning lazily, meteors streaking across a velvet expanse. Night itself had taken form.

It was a cat.

Its silhouette glowed faintly, a creature made of stars and shadows, its body shimmering with celestial light. White sparks danced along its outline, and every movement left trails of stardust behind. It was breathtaking, impossibly beautiful, and yet somehow familiar, like the soft pull of a lullaby you'd long forgotten.

The radiant glow chased away the darkness, revealing the cold storage room around me. Shelves and crates materialized, and I could finally see the hooks above. My breath caught in my throat as I turned my head.

Only venison and other magical meats we'd collected over the years. I let out a shaky sigh of relief, the tension melting from my body.

The cat turned its faceless head to me, it was wearing an odd headdress and tiny golden wings. Is this supposed to be a sphinx? It didn't look like any sphinx I'd ever seen. Maybe it's a subspecies? But sphinxes talk—don't they?

"Meow."

The sound broke my thoughts as it rubbed its luminous, star-dappled body against my head, purring softly. Its glow was comforting, almost hypnotic. I reached out instinctively, and to my surprise, its fur was velvety and warm. It circled me, rubbing along my side before stopping near my arm. I glanced down. My stomach twisted. My arm, bruised purple and I don't think it's supposed to bend that way. I couldn't feel it, but the sight alone made me want to retch. It wasn't responding to my commands.

I needed nectar. Ambrosia. Something. Worst-case scenario... amputation. Please don't let it come to that.

I tried to lift myself, pushing against the cold, hard floor. My body didn't respond. My arms trembled, and my knees buckled before I even managed to lift my torso.

Come on. People are counting on you.

The cat—or sphinx, whatever it was—moved under me, bracing its small body against mine. I felt its strange strength, an almost ethereal push willing me upright.

Luke is counting on you.

I gritted my teeth, summoning every ounce of strength I had left. With a strangled groan, I pushed off the ground, first onto my knees, then finally onto shaking legs. My vision swam, the room spinning, but I managed to stumble forward, catching myself against a counter before I collapsed.

I huffed, each breath visible in the freezing air, forming small clouds that vanished as quickly as they appeared. The cold bit into my skin, sharper now that I was upright and moving. My legs felt like they'd give out any second, but I kept going, tracing the edges of the room with trembling fingers, searching for—yes, the door handle. I pulled with what strength I had left, it won't budge. This was a one-way door, reinforced metal, built to keep the cold locked in. I'm trapped here.

"Meow." The little sphinx curled around my leg, I watched it casually walk into the metal, disappearing upon touch.

Is it a ghost?

I heard a noise, the door's mechanisms began to unlock, its hinges made a sound as it swung open. On the other side was the cat licking its paws.

I don't trust it. They say never look a gift horse in the mouth, but that's how Troy burned. But… I glance down at my arm, I don't have much of a choice, do I? I brace myself against the icy walls, I trusted it than my own legs right now. It's a struggle every step. All the while, I keep my eyes on the cat. It could kill me any second if it wanted to. Honestly, even a small monster could finish me off right now. It hasn't attacked. Not yet, anyway. But paranoia has saved my life before, and I wasn't about to let this be the one time I ignored it.

If I remember correctly, this hallway should lead directly to the dining pavilion outside. I lean against the wall, each step heavier than the last. The hallway is eerily silent, the lights completely off. The only illumination comes from the cat, its ethereal glow casting faint shadows along the cold, lifeless walls.

Odd. It should be near lunchtime. Where are the dryads? They're usually bustling around, preparing food, or the campers themselves. If I'm right, Cabin Five should've been on kitchen duty according to the chore wheel. Did they all…? No. Camp Half-Blood is stronger than that. It would take an army—an actual army—to siege this place. And even then, it wouldn't happen overnight. It would take weeks, maybe months. No, this camp wouldn't fall without a fight. Of that, I'm certain. But the emptiness, my overactive mind is thinking the worst. Where is everyone?

The cat halted in front of the door, one of those old swinging kitchen doors with a hazy, grease-smudged window. Its head tilted upward as if listening to something. Then, it shook and stepped back.

What?

I hesitated, about to take a step forward, when a loud thump reverberated through the hallway. My breath caught. Something big was out there, walking just beyond the door. The cat turned its head toward me. A massive shadow passed across the fogged window. It smells metallic, like copper, or blood. I dropped to a crouch instinctively, biting back a groan as pain shot through my body. My arm dangled uselessly at my side, and my breathing grew shallow as I tried to stay quiet.

The creature's footsteps were slow and deliberate, each one sending a faint vibration through the floor. I could hear its guttural breathing now, raspy and uneven. I didn't dare move, death walked outside. The cat remained unnervingly still, its tail swinging just slightly. The thing paused, its shadow lingering at the window for a few agonizing seconds before moving on.

I waited, counting each heartbeat, until the sound of its steps grew faint. Only then did I realise I was holding my breath.

What was…

I glanced at the sphinx again. It tilted its faceless head toward me, unblinking, as if it expected me to figure out the next move.

"I… The kitchen," I whispered hoarsely, my voice trembling. "There's another exit in the kitchen."

The sphinx didn't respond, just padded silently as I turned toward the center door at the end of the hallway. I forced myself up, swallowing the pain in my arm and masking it with a grimace. My legs wobbled beneath me as I marched toward the door, determination outweighing agony. My hand reached for the handle, but I froze as the faint clatter of silverware echoed from the other side. Someone—or something—was in there.

I glanced back at the sphinx. It was as still as I was, its glowing form almost blending into the eerie silence. My chest tightened—no other way out, no escape that didn't lead straight into the jaws of whatever waited beyond the door. My paranoia flared, tugging at me, whispering that staying meant safety, but I knew better. Safety was a lie here.

What would Luke do? His words echoed in my mind. Between death and the unknown, always pick the unknown. At least there's a chance.

Swallowing the lump in my throat, I took a shaky breath and nudged the door open—just an inch. Just enough to see, not enough to be seen. The room was steeped in darkness, too thick for comfort. I could make out vague outlines: the counters, the fridge, the stoves. It was silent, but I could feel it—something was in there.

My eyes landed on a frying pan sitting on the counter near the door. Not much of a weapon, but it would have to do. I glanced back at the cat, but it was gone. My heart sank as I searched the shadows. Nothing. Why now? Why leave me? Was it still out there, waiting to strike when I turned my back?

I didn't know.

Shutting my eyes, I fought to calm my nerves, but all I could see was Phil in that meat locker. The image clawed at my resolve. I needed to get out, to get back to Cabin Six. They were waiting for me.

Summoning every ounce of strength I had left, I stepped into the kitchen. It had never been this dark before. Usually, it buzzed with people, the air thick with the smell of cooked meat and spices. Now, it was just me and the silence. I gripped the pan, holding it up like a weapon. I had to do this with one hand, I'm already at a huge disadvantage.

I moved along the counter, feeling my way toward the door. Each step stretched endlessly, my heart pounding in my ears. Suddenly, I bumped into something solid. My body reacted on instinct—I swung the pan, hard. The figure darted to my left, quick as a shadow. I raised the pan for another strike, but then it screamed.

"Aahh, stop!"

The voice froze me mid-swing. My grip on the pan tightened as I strained to see in the dark. I knew that voice.

"Ed?"

I squinted into the gloom, barely making out a familiar silhouette.

"Annabeth?! Archon, is that you?" His voice was tinged with disbelief, but there was a brightness to it, a sliver of relief.

"Ed," I breathed, hope flooding my chest. "You're alive." I bit back the urge to shout. Ed. One of the missing campers from Jock's team. For the first time all day, something good had happened.

I moved to hug him but stopped short as he stepped back. Of course, he was on edge. I was too. I couldn't afford to let emotions take over—not yet.

"Ed, where were you? Where's Isabel? What happened out there? What are you doing here? What happened at camp?" The questions tumbled out of me in rapid fire.

"Whoa, whoa, slow down." He raised his hands, the faint outline of his figure becoming clearer as my eyes adjusted to the dark.

"Ed, what's going on?" I pressed, a desperate edge to my voice.

"I—ah…" He hesitated.

"Ed." I took a step closer, my heart sinking. "Talk to me."

"Archon," he sighed, leaning against the counter, his shoulders slumping. "A lot of things happened."

Ed was a year older than me, the kind of guy who always seemed too relaxed for his own good. He'd skip lessons, dodge responsibilities, and never showed much interest in fighting. He was more into art and science—a little like me, really.

"What happened out there in the woods?" I spoke as slowly as I could, trying to keep my voice steady.

"Well, we were attacked. These… umm, frog things jumped from the trees and smacked Isabel on the head. I was about to fight them before they jumped me too." He huffed between his breaths. "Then I woke up here."

Something felt off. His voice was slurred, too sluggish.

"Sorry, I have a little head injury." He rubbed his temple, but his hand trembled slightly.

"Right... How long have you been here?"

"Not that long, I don't think we should go outside though. I heard monsters out there." He hissed.

"How did they get into the camp?" I pressed.

"I don't know. I just know it's dangerous, we should hide here where it's safe." His voice had an odd tremor.

"Protocols, Ed. In case of monster attack, we have to get to the evac points."

"I-ah, I don't think that's a good idea." He whimpered.

"Don't be a coward. Didn't John drill you on this? John, did tell you, right?"

He went silent for a few moments, and when he spoke again, it was quiet, almost sheepish.

"Yeah, John did. Sorry, I'm just scared, that's all." He laughed weakly.

I gripped the handle on the pan tighter. The tension in my chest felt like it might snap. I gritted my teeth. "It's okay, Ed." I forced myself to say, while I moved toward the door.

"Wait—" Before I could stop myself, I swung the pan, smashing it across his head. His body crumpled to the floor with a thud. My heart pounded in my chest as I ran toward the door. I dropped the pan as I reached for the handle, but as my hand touched it, I felt something crawl up my fingers. The hairs on my neck stood on end.

Spiders!?

"What gave it away, Annabeth?" I heard Ed's voice, but it wasn't just his—it was like a hundred voices, all speaking at once. The lights flickered, casting shadows that danced across the room. I turned, and there he was, standing in front of me. I could finally see him clearly. It was Ed, but… not Ed. His skull was caved in, a long river of dried blood streaming down his face and staining his clothes. His eyes were vacant, dull. There was no life in them anymore.

"Annabeth," it said, though its mouth never moved. The voice was hollow, echoing from everywhere at once.

"What are you?!" I demanded, pouring every ounce of defiance into my voice.

"Annabeth," it repeated, its tone disturbingly calm. "How did you escape?"

I yanked at the door, but it wouldn't budge. Panic clawed at my chest.

"I've sealed this building with magecraft," it continued, taking a shaky, unnatural step forward. Its movements were jerky, like a puppet on frayed strings. "You shouldn't have been able to open any doors. How did you do it?"

Desperation surged through me. I snatched up the frying pan, raising it in trembling hands like a shield. The thing tilted its head, regarding me with what felt like amusement.

"You think a frying pan is enough to—"

I didn't let it finish. With a shout, I swung the pan, striking it square in the head. The blow landed with a sickening thud, but it didn't go down this time. Slowly, it turned back to me, its neck creaking like a rusted hinge. Its mouth hung open, spiders spilling out in thick, writhing clumps like drool. My stomach churned.

"Oooaahhh," it groaned, a mocking mimicry of pain. "You'll regret that."

It raised one hand, and before I could react, glowing red spiderwebs shot out, binding me like ropes. The threads constricted around my arms and torso, squeezing until I cried out in pain. I struggled, but the harder I fought, the tighter they grew.

"You think I care for this body?" it sneered, its voice dripping with malice. "Child of that arrogant kami! I could infest a million of these worthless husks, and it still wouldn't be enough!"

Its hand tightened, and the webs coiled around my throat. I gasped, the pressure suffocating. "Master said you must live," it hissed, leaning in closer, its hollow eyes boring into mine. "But he didn't say how."

Spiders poured out of its mouth, swarming up its arms and along the webs toward my face.

"How many spiders does a human eat while they sleep?" it giggled, its tone gleeful and sickening.

My eyes widened as the first of them reached my lips. I clenched my mouth shut, refusing to scream despite the burning pain in my arms. The spiders pressed against my face, their tiny legs skittering over my cheeks, seeking another way in. I felt them crawling higher, heading for my eyes.

I couldn't stop myself from crying.

Luke…

Suddenly, the webs slackened. Its arm snapped in two with a sickening crack, and the glowing threads unraveled, releasing me.

" What!? " it howled, flailing its severed stump as spiders spilled out like blood.

"Meow."

I turned toward the sound and saw the sphinx again. It stood proudly, in its mouth dangled four red spiders, each the size of my hand. It dropped them onto the floor, where they writhed briefly before shriveling and dying.

"My seals!? How did you—you rat! " the creature screeched.

Before it could strike, the cat sprang forward, its body growing in midair until it was as large as a mastiff. It landed with a thunderous pounce, pinning what was left of Ed to the ground. Its powerful jaws clamped onto his neck, shaking viciously. Spiders poured out of Ed's body, swarming up the sphinx's fur, but they were instantly consumed by bursts of blue fire that flared from the cat's body. The sphinx pressed on, its claws tearing through the creature's form with unrelenting ferocity.

Ed's body writhed and twisted beneath the sphinx, his screams echoing in a cacophony of a million voices. Then, with a final, gut-wrenching cry, a bright red light erupted from his body.

And just like that, all was silent.

I leaned against the wall, using it to steady myself as I forced my trembling legs to move. Step by step, I made my way to what was left of Ed's body. The sphinx sat beside him, its tail flicking lazily through the air, as if the battle had been nothing more than a game.

Ed's hand twitched, grasping at nothing. His entire body spasmed, faint wisps of smoke rising from his charred form.

"Ma... Uh…" His voice came out ragged, barely more than a whisper. It sounded like Ed—like the Ed I knew—but it was broken, like a record skipping its last note. "Mena… ll systems… compromised. Eighty… seven percent. All systems… inoperat… Comprised. Ending program."

His eyes met mine, and for one fleeting moment, they seemed alive again. A faint light flickered in their depths. "Annabeth…" he whispered, so soft I almost didn't hear it. Then, just as quickly as it had come, the light vanished. His body fell silent, still, and empty.

I remember a boy behind the workshop, crouched low to hide from the instructors. He grinned when he saw me, that lopsided smile of his, and invited me to play marbles. I didn't know the rules, but he was patient, even when I fumbled. "The red ones are the fastest," he'd said. He lied, of course. Every time he won, that smug little smirk would spread across his face, and I swore I'd beat him one day. Just once…

The weight of it hit me like a punch to the chest. My legs wavered, and my breath came in broken gasps. I stood there, trembling, as hot tears streaked down my face. The salt burned against my lips, and I couldn't stop the sobs that tore their way free.

I am the Archon of Cabin Six. It's my job to protect everyone.

My hand drifted to my injured arm, gripping it tightly as if the pain could somehow anchor me. When I close my eyes I see Phil in that meat locker, Ed dying on the floor.

I don't deserve to be Archon.

My head spun, light and unsteady, as if the floor itself were crumbling beneath me. I couldn't hold myself upright any longer. My knees buckled, and I braced for the fall—but it never came. The sphinx caught me. Its body, massive now, felt solid and warm beneath me, like a real lion. I lost the will to move, I don't think I cared anymore. I lay there, riding its back, my eyes fixed on the endless night swirling across its fur. The void stretched out like an infinite sky, vast and unfeeling. I just wanted to get lost in it. To lose myself in that endless night and never come back. The sphinx moved, but it felt distant, like a memory I wasn't part of. The wind howled, flames crackled, and somewhere, screams echoed in the dark. But I drowned it all out.

I was soaring now, weightless and free. A shooting star streaking through the sky, far from pain, far from grief. In the quiet expanse of my mind, I saw them. Thalia was there, smiling the way she used to. Ed stood beside her, with that stupid smirk. Jessamy, Isabel, Phil—they were all there. Even my dad, before he hated me.

I was so tired. My body was heavy, my eyes heavier still. Maybe this was it. Maybe it was my turn now. My eyelids drooped, the darkness pulling me deeper. I let it. For the first time, I didn't fight it.

"Get up!"

Something annoying yanked me from the dream, a voice cutting through the fog in my head. It was familiar—sharp, grating, and maddening, like someone who knew exactly how to crawl under my skin.

"Get up, Owl Head!"

A smack landed on my head, jolting my eyes open. Everything was blurry at first, but soon enough, the world came into focus, and there it was— her ugly mug. I groaned and closed my eyes again, but she hit me once more.

"Stop slacking! You have work to do!"

"A few more minutes," I hissed, my voice raw and tired.

"No time! We're under attack!" she snarled.

I scowled, forcing myself to look at her. Brown stringy hair, dark eyes, and muscles that looked like they could crush steel—yeah, she looked like a brute because she was one. There wasn't much going on behind those eyes except thoughts of fighting and more fighting. Once, I called her an ape behind her back, and it led to an eight-month-long duel. Chiron had to force us to stop.

Her scowl was even harsher than mine.

"Leave me alone," I muttered, turning my back to her. That's when I noticed the pain in my arm was gone. I was lying on a stretcher, but where...? No. I didn't want to think.

"As much as I want to, we still need you." She tried to pull me upright, but I clung to the stretcher like it was the only thing tethering me to this world.

"What's wrong with you!? Where's that boring overachiever? Aren't you supposed to be a counselor!?"

Her words stabbed at me, but it was the guilt that twisted the blade. I closed my eyes, and all I could see was that meat locker, those lifeless gray eyes staring back at me.

"Ed's dead," I whispered.

She stopped cold.

"What's the point?" My voice broke, and for a moment, there was silence. Sweet, suffocating silence. Maybe now I could sink back into that dream.

But then she yanked me from the stretcher, her grip ironclad as she pulled me close, forcing me to meet her gaze. Her dark irises flashed with red, and to my shock, she was trembling. There was moisture pooling in the corners of her eyes.

"You little shit," she growled, her voice shaking. "You think I didn't lose people too!? We all did!"

She slammed me back down, the force rattling the cot. I'd never seen her like this—vulnerable, it left me tongue-tied.

"Go have your pity party somewhere else," she snapped, pointing toward the distance. "The people who killed them are still out there!" Her arm dropped limply to her side as she turned away. "Worthless," she muttered. "We'll do it without you."

She marched off without looking back.

It was then I finally noticed where I was. This wasn't a medical tent; we were outside, under an ominous sky. Storm clouds loomed overhead, too exposed, too vulnerable. The enemy could pick us off any minute.

Frantically, I looked around. Campers lay sprawled on stretchers, sipping nectar or crying quietly. Apollo kids dashed back and forth, desperately trying to heal the wounded. The boy next to me looked comatose, blood seeping through the bandages on his head. Another sobbed into the arms of someone beside them. A younger girl cradled her bandaged arm, tears streaking her dirt-stained face.

I gripped the edges of my stretcher, realization dawning on me. My arm—I inspected it closely. No scars, no pain. Even the strangle marks were gone. The headache, the fatigue—all of it, gone. I felt as good as I had that morning.

But… how? Nectar was powerful, sure, but this? This would've taken days to heal.

An Apollo kid rushed past me.

"Wait!" I called out, stopping her in her tracks. She turned, jumpy and clearly in a hurry.

"We're too exposed here," I said urgently. "The monsters could easily overrun us—"

"It's fine, look!" She pointed at the sky, then hurried off without waiting for a response.

I squinted, finally noticing a faint golden shimmer pulsing above us—a dome, rippling like a shield.

"What is—" I started, but she was already gone.

I sat up, flexing my healed arm. It felt… normal. Too normal. My gaze darted to the field, where a large crowd was gathered around a single tent. Hesitant but curious, I stood and began walking toward it, ignoring the wary stares of the campers I passed.

"Annabeth?"

A familiar voice called my name. I turned to see Pollux, a blonde boy with hollow purple eyes. His face was streaked with dry tears, his expression tired.

"You're awake?" he asked, his voice shaky. "What are you doing here? You're needed in the war room!" Before I could respond, he grabbed my arm and took off, dragging me toward the tent. We ran past the onlookers, their faces a mix of confusion and wariness, until two guards blocked our path. Their spears crossed in front of the entrance to the tent, forming a barrier. They looked battle-worn, their hardened gazes making it clear they weren't going to let us through easily.

"You're not allowed—" one of them began.

"This is Annabeth! She's the counselor of Cabin Six!" Pollux interrupted, his voice urgent.

The guards hesitated, their eyes darting to me and then to each other. They didn't look convinced. Honestly, I didn't blame them. I wouldn't believe it, I'm way too young for the job description.

"Is this a joke?" one of them asked.

"No!" Pollux insisted, trying to push his way through. The guards shoved him back.

"Castor! It's me!" he shouted toward the tent.

A moment later, an identical boy stepped out, standing between the guards. "Pollux?" Castor's voice softened. "Well, what are you waiting for? Let them in," he said to the guards.

"But only counselors are allowed—"

"I named him deputy counselor. Now come on," Castor said firmly, waving us forward.

The guards looked uneasy but eventually uncrossed their spears, allowing us to pass.

"Where were you, Poll? I thought we agreed never to leave each other's side," Castor said, pulling his brother into a hug and checking him for injuries.

"I… I couldn't stand by and do nothing. I wanted to help." Pollux clasp his brother's shoulders earning a sympathetic stare. "Well, good news. Annabeth's awake." He showed me off like I was a prize, Castor nodded his head sarcastically.

Castor's gaze flicked to me. "Ahem. Good, very good," he said dryly, placing his fist under his chin. Now that I noticed it, he looked just as awful as Pollux, I could tell the smile didn't reach his eyes.

What's going on?" I asked, looking between them. "Is this the evac group?"

"No. This is VEIL," Castor said jokingly.

"The what?"

"Vanguard for Ending Injustice and Liberation!" Pollux answered brightly, as if that explained everything.

None of it made sense. Protocol dictated we evacuate all campers, regroup, and then take back the camp. Unless… I'm in the evacuation point now and we were planning already. But no way all the campers are outside.

My stomach sank.

"Did you get in contact with your dad? Did he order this? He's the camp director. Can he get reinforcements from Olympus?" I asked, my voice rising. Both boys' faces dropped, eyes looked straining at each other.

"I…" Castor's tone was completely gone. "Let's get you to the others."

No answers. Just silence as they led me through the tent. It was larger inside than I'd expected, divided into multiple rooms filled with weapon racks and scattered supplies.

I stopped as we passed a group of campers huddled around a hawk totem, its head adorned with a circular red gem. Mist flowed from their hands into the idol, their faces etched with concentration and exhaustion.

"This way," Castor said, gesturing to a tent flap.

From inside came the sound of grunts and cries of pain.

"Who sent you!? How did you get here!?"

It was Clarisse's voice. My heart sank. Steeling myself, I stepped inside.

There was a long table filled with maps but the other stopped me cold. One of the enemy soldiers was strapped to a chair, bound in bronze chains. His face was a mess of purple bruises and fresh blood, one eye swollen shut. Clarisse loomed over him, fists clenched and trembling with rage.

Next to her stood Lee Fletcher, the counselor of Cabin Seven. His expression was grim, his arms crossed over a jar of nectar. It's weird to see him like this, he's always the first to break into song.

"Look who finally decided to show up!" Clarisse barked at me before turning back to the prisoner and punching him square in the jaw.

"Wait, you're going to knock him unconscious if you keep doing that!" Lee waved his hand.

"You say that like it's a bad thing." She kicks the prisoners' shins and he yelps in pain.

I couldn't take it anymore. "Stop it!" I shouted, storming toward her. "What are you doing? This is not how we do things!"

"You're too late to play good cop," Clarisse snapped, her voice dripping with venom.

"We don't torture people!"

"They attacked us first!"

"This is not what Chiron taught us!"

"Well, he's not here right now!"

"Girls, please—" Lee tried to interject, but we both whipped around and yelled, "Shut up!"

I was ready to fight her, to drag her away from the prisoner if I had to. But then a voice cut through the chaos.

"What's going on here!?"

My head snapped toward the entrance so fast I thought my neck might break.

It was him .

My limbs went weak, and tears spilled from my eyes before I could stop them. Without thinking, I ran to him, throwing my arms around him and burying my face in his shirt. I must have looked ridiculous, but I didn't care. I clung to him, trembling as I repeated his name over and over like a mantra.

"It's okay, Annabeth," he said softly, his arms wrapping around me. His warmth enveloped me, smothering my fears. The world outside faded to nothing, even the nightmares lurking in the corners of my mind.

"It's going to be just fine," he murmured, tousling my hair. The weight of everything—the camp, the war, the death—lifted in that moment. The stress melted away, leaving only him. The world could end right now, and I wouldn't be afraid.

"Ahem," Castor coughed loudly from behind us.

I didn't pull away, too overwhelmed by the relief of seeing Luke alive and well. Only when he gently placed his hand on my shoulder did the flood of emotion begin to subside. I pulled back slightly and looked up at him.

He looked amazing . Not a single scratch or sign of exhaustion, as though he hadn't just spent weeks in the infirmary. For a moment, guilt washed over me—I'd assumed the worst, doubted him—but of course, this was Luke. He always managed the impossible.

"Annabeth," he said, his voice smooth and soothing, like a balm on my frayed nerves. "What happened? Where is your cabin?"

It took a moment for his words to register. "We got separated," I said, finally finding my voice. "A group went missing during border patrol. I sent everyone else to the Big House while I investigated."

Luke was silent, his expression thoughtful and calculating, already piecing together the next move.

"Me and my team were… captured," I admitted. "A group of soldiers ambushed us."

"I see," he said, his voice measured, before his attention shifted to the bound prisoner. "And what is this?"

"We caught him by surprise," Clarisse said, stepping forward. "Freed a bunch of campers from nets. He never saw us coming."

The prisoner muttered something under his breath, voice slurred and venomous. "Dirty Greeks. You have no honor."

"He's not talking, no matter how much I pummel him," Clarisse added with a frustrated growl, glaring at the prisoner as though willing him to speak.

Luke didn't respond. Instead, he strode forward until he was standing directly in front of the prisoner, face to face.

"I'm not talking, Greek," the prisoner spat, baring his teeth.

"I know," Luke replied coldly.

Before any of us could react, Luke's hand snapped out and pressed against the prisoner's temple. A sharp sizzling sound filled the air as the prisoner let out a bloodcurdling scream, thrashing against his restraints.

The noise was horrifying, echoing off the walls of the tent. Lee stumbled back, eyes wide with shock. Even Clarisse froze, her usual bravado replaced by unease. I couldn't move, my breath caught in my throat as I watched, horrified and confused.

Finally, Luke released the prisoner. The man's head slumped forward, his breathing ragged and shallow.

"There's a mystic code engraved on his flesh," Luke said, his voice detached, as though he hadn't just tortured someone. "His head will explode if I force my way through."

Without another word, he turned, snatched the jar from Lee and chugged the nectar down.

"Wait!" Lee shouted. "If you drink too much, it'll burn you alive!"

Luke ignored him. Tilting the jar back, he downed the nectar in one long gulp, not even pausing for breath. A golden streak spilled down his chin, glinting in the dim light.

We all stood frozen, too scared to intervene. The tension in the air was suffocating. When Luke finally finished drinking, he let the empty jar slip from his fingers. It shattered against the ground, shards scattering like sparks. He was huffing deep breaths, his chest heaving as he wiped the excess nectar from his mouth with his arm.

"How are you still alive?" Lee broke the silence, his voice barely above a whisper.

"Reasons," Luke mumbled, his tone dismissive. He turned to us, his movements slow and deliberate. "We should—" He paused, bringing a hand to his mouth as he let out a small burp. "Ugh, we should discuss our next—"

"Greeks... You monsters!" the prisoner interrupted, his voice raw with anguish. Tears streaked his bruised face as he glared at Luke with pure hatred. "You'll pay for what you did to New Rome! I swear to all the gods above that I will—"

"Enough," Luke snapped, his tone sharp as a blade.

A beam of golden light shot from his hand, striking the prisoner square in the forehead. The man slumped forward, unconscious, his chair tipping over with a loud clatter.

Silence.

"Since when can you do that?" Lee muttered, breaking the tension.

"Since always," Luke replied, his voice steady, though his eyes betrayed a flicker of something—fatigue, maybe.

We all exchanged glances, the unspoken question hanging in the air: What's happening to him?

"We should discuss our next course of action," Luke said, his tone calm and measured, as if what had just happened hadn't happened. "I've learned that evac points Alpha and Gamma were compromised," he continued, glancing at each of us in turn. "The enemy turned them into traps. All of Cabin Four and their counselor, Katie Gardner, were captured at Gamma."

We were speechless once more.

"How many are here?" Castor asked, breaking the tense silence.

Luke leaned against the table, pinching the bridge of his nose before answering. "I sent an Iris message to my cabin before everything went to hell. We've lost six people, but the rest made it here."

Lee shifted uncomfortably, looking at the floor. "Cabin Seven wasn't so lucky," he said, his voice trembling. "Most of us were out in the fields when the quake hit. The rest were in the Big House... We've lost so many. Even before we found this place."

Clarisse crossed her arms tightly, her jaw clenched. "Cabin Five had kitchen duty. Almost all of us were in the mess hall when things exploded. We fought like hell, and we were holding our own—then the monsters showed up."

I hesitated before asking, "Where's Victor?"

Clarisse's expression darkened, her fingers digging into her arms. "He stayed back with a few others to cover our retreat." Her voice wavered despite her gruff tone. "They weren't running. Victor took down fifteen giants before they swarmed him. He was a true son of Ares." Her forced smile cracked slightly, her eyes betraying the grief she was trying to suppress. "I'm counselor now."

The room fell into an uneasy silence.

"Cabin Nine was scattered," Luke said after a moment. "I saw Beckendorf before he ran off to help. Most of his cabin was in the forge when it hit. Only a few made it out and even fewer got here. I haven't heard anything from Cabin Ten or Silena. We have to assume the worst."

"And Cabin Six is in the Big House," I added quietly. "I'm the only one here."

Luke's brow furrowed, his frustration evident.

"What about the Council or the dryads?" Lee asked hesitantly.

"The dryads are dying en masse," Luke said, his voice bitter. "And the satyrs... The enemy is hunting them like animals."

My heart sank. Grover...

"Has anyone managed to send an Iris message? Or contact Chiron or Argus?" Luke pressed.

"No one's been able to summon Iris since the storm started," Castor said, shaking his head.

"And Chiron? Argus?" Luke's gaze darted around the room.

"They're nowhere to be found," Castor answered.

Luke slammed his fist against the table, rattling the scattered supplies. "Perfect. Just perfect. We're on our own, then."

"So what do we do?" Clarisse asked, her tone sharp.

Luke was silent for a long moment, staring at the map as if willing it to reveal an answer. Finally, he straightened up, his voice firm. "We can't wait for Beckendorf anymore. It's time to take the fight to them. We start our counterstrike now."