Chaper X

Camp activates and a sad tale on the beach

" The mystery of life isn't a problem to solve, but a reality to experience."

Eldrad Ulthran

Blood sprayed as Gunner Brand's axe in the Sigmarite's face. Bone shattered, a red river gushing forth. The corpse remained upright, snagged on metal, until the chieftain booted it in the chest.

Flicking blood from his axes, Gunner took in the moment. The mountainside grove was awash with carnage and screams. Most of the latter, it gratified him to know, came from the wretches his warriors were tearing apart. The brand tribe knew Attramor—high in the snowy peaks of Aqshy—better than any. Slipping between stocky trees and around boulders carved with old marks, Gunnar's warband had surrounded the trespassers. Now came the red work. They brought axe and spear against those who had come to these unforgiving heights—from where their ancestors had fled, and yet the Brands had made their own.

Snow crunched under Gunnar's boots. Through clouds of condensed breath, he could see where the Sigmarites massed around their campfire, shields presented as a ring of defiance. The bark of a fusil's muzzle split the night. To his left, Vatok span as if punch drunk, his throat turned to a red mist by a whistling musket ball. Any measure of respect withered within the chieftain. Gunnar raised his blade, its pitted face glinting flame-bright, and released an Ursine warshout. The darkness shuddered as his kin howled and charged.

It wasn't much of a battle. Gunnar drove an axe into the gut of a thickest man, hurling the man to the ground. He raised his foot to stomp. A sound, like a raptor's egg cracking between fingers, saw him glance right. Drendrel, his monolith of a huscal, was headbutting his already dead opponent. Bran-matter dribbled from his helm. Nearby, Tirrik Kel was defiling a Sigmarite banner, as she had sworn upon her oathstone to do. Her exultant howls verged on inhuman.

Rage cooling, Gunnar lowered his foot. He kneeled, drawing steel across his enemy's throat in a quick, passionless motion. Animal panic was overtaking the dead man's kith as they fled through a cleft in the mountains. Gunnar made no effort to stop them. He watched and waited for the inevitable cacophony to ring out: the thundering hooves of the horsemen he had left lying in wait, and the screams of the soldiers mixing with the crack of trampled bones.

As his kin began looting rations or sawing off trophy heads, Gunner approached the fire. Heat's caress, gentle enough to seem a trespasser itself in these harsh climes, soothed the ache in his fingers. Frigid breath spilling over his lips, he watched the smoke rise, obscuring the distant twinkle of the heavens.

The sound of hooves crunching on snow coaxed his attention onto the approaching riders. Steam billowed from the blood-splattered, war-painted flanks of their horses as they trotted into the grove. Their leader grinned, a bow hung over her shoulder as she tossed a severed head at Gunnar's feet.

"The look on their mewling faces, father."

"Enough." Gunnar speared his daughter's gloating as he continued to warm by the flames. "They're already dead, Singri. Mocking them won't change anything."

As her riders dismounted to join the pillaging, Singri patted her snorting steed's neck and made no secret of her disdain. "We won. Our enemies died. There's nothing wrong with celebrating that."

"Celebrate survival," Gunnar said, frowning. "Celebrate protecting what's yours and seeing kin again. That's what matters." Fire's eager crackle cut through the quiet. Eventually, Gunnar sighed. "You did well, daughter."

The chieftain's hand strayed to an oathstone around his neck. His brother Jorvak had carved it days before he had gone mad and begun offering the tribe to the cursed fiends of the forest. Jorvak had claimed it earned him power and favor from the gods. All it had done was unmake him.

Singri dismounted. She flicked blood from her face into the fire, letting it sizzle, before nudging an errant log.

"This is the spot, then?"

"Folk build campfires at sites of old magic," Gunnar said with a nod. "Even if we don't realize it, the souls of the realms call to us." For a moment he allowed himself to breathe, to take solace in the quiet, and in Singri joining him by the fire.

Then he felt the darksome presence slither into the glade.

"Yes-yes, here is where we must strike."

Each syllable scratched Gunnar's mind like claws—and not only his. His warbands were scrambling to their feet, blades hissing from sheaths, as Singri nocked an arrow into her bow. Gunnar's raised axe stopped them. He didn't sheath the weapon, though, as he turned to the figure crouched behind him.

The messenger was clearly some sort of skaven, though not like any Gunnar had seen or slain before. Low and stooped, little of its flesh could be seen—only a boil-riddled tail that slinked out from beneath grimy fabric. The stench of the unnatural smothered it. It gestured towards the campfire with fingers formed of spasming rat tails.

"Here-here, the work must be done." In the shadow of the rat creature's hood was the faint impression of motion, like a hundred jaws chittering in disharmony. "The crystal, where-where?"

Grunts of effort and a keening scrape echoed through the forest of black cedars. Strange tribesmen entered the glade, dragging a spur of green crystal behind them. Brand warriors drew back, muttering abjurations and clutching charms. Gunnar himself suppressed a shiver of unease as he watched the spindle-limb figure of Nadja scuttle nearby. The shamans beaked and snapped towards her chieftain.

"It pulses with the breath of the gods."

Gunnar and Singri backed away as the object was hauled over the snuffed firepit. With a heave, the tribesmen began to nail chains to the earth and drive the crystal's pointed tip downwards. It pierced rock with disturbing ease. The ground ululated painfully, heated air rattling from fresh ruptures. The wounds pulsed green.

"You bring filth into Attramor, ratman." Gunnar growled, forcing himself to watch the corruption spread. "And still won't speak plainly of your design."

"Our design?" the messenger cackled. The creature's fingernails grasped its robe, shifting it slightly. A foetied stench wafted across the glade. Within the folds of fabric glinted a tarnished icon: an eightfold pointed star, underset by two jagged arrows. Tribesmen mumbled and made devotional gestures.

"The Everchosen's design, yes-yes," the messenger gnashed. "His three eyes seek where to spear the lands with our stone. To turn the earth against the storm thing and his minions. He calls you to aide, and we facilitate. Because you are... loyal." It spat the word as a curse before wheezing a low chuckle. "And the Takblood Queen serves, where you hesitate."

Mention of Gunnar's chief rival was an unsubtle threat. The rat-thing knew that; its tail drummed an amused tattoo upon the protesting earth. Gunnar's eyes panned across his warriors, settling upon Singri's look of consternation. Then he gazed out over the plains of Capilaria.

On the far horizon, he thought he could see the orange glow of Sigmar's seething metropolis. It hunkered there, drawing its walls close. Weakness. Hard to believe its inhabitants and the tribes of the Darkoath had been one people in ages past.

"Aye, creature. We serve." Gunnar nodded as he turned back to the messenger. "We will set this trap if it harms the cowards. But we do it at the Everchosen's bidding." He pointed his axe at the creature. Blood dripped from its curve. "Not yours."

The creature spasmed. The shifting of its foot revealed where its touch had blackened the earth. As it looked back at Gunnar, its laugh was a thing of knives.

"Yes-yes, mortal. As you say."

The next few days they settled into a routine that felt almost normal, if you don't count the fact that they were getting lessons from Satyrs, nymphs, and a centaur.

Each morning Percy took Ancient Greek from Annabeth and Heron, and they talked about the gods and goddesses in the present tense, which was kind of weird. Percy discovered Annabeth and Heron were right about his dyslexia: Ancient Greek wasn't that hard for him to read. At least, no harder than English.

After a couple of mornings, Percy could stumble through a few lines of Homer without too much headache while Heron spoke fluently without any issue.

The rest of the day, they'd rotate through outdoor activities, looking for something the two of them were good at. Chiron tried to teach them archery but found out pretty quickly Percy wasn't any good with a bow and arrow. He didn't complain, even when he had to desnag a stray arrow out of his tail. Heron, on the other hand, was a natural at it.

Heron: 1

Percy: 0

Foot racing? Not good either. For Percy. The wood-nymph instructors left Percy in the dust, and Heron came out on top. They told Percy not to worry about it. They'd had centuries of practice running away from lovesick gods. But still, it was a little humiliating for his friend to be slower than a tree.

Heron: 2

Percy: 0

And wrestling? Forget it. Every time Percy got on the mat, Clarisse would pulverize him.

"There's more where that came from, punk," she'd mumbled in his ear.

When it came to Heron's turn, though, he would avenge his friend by pulverizing all of Ares cabin, but he held back on Clarisse, making the match a stalemate. The longest stalemate in the history of Camp Half-Blood.

Hero: 3

Percy: 0

The only thing Percy really excelled at and Heron was bad at was canoeing, and that wasn't the kind of skill people expected to see from the kid who had beaten the Minotaur; he was not terrible at it, but it was a struggle to keep the canoe going straight. Thankfully, he was glad he was not as bad as those from the Apollo and Dionysus cabins, who were just paddling around in circles.

On shore, everyone from camp was on the beach, either watching the race or, in the daughters of Aphrodite's case, lounging on the sand sunbathing in their bikinis and swimsuits.

Silena was the only one in her cabin who chose to dress more appropriately for the sun instead of in swimming gear as she watched the race and laughed at how fidgety Heron was becoming. He became so enraged that he hurled the oar into the boat's rear and dove headfirst into the river.

He wasn't good at rowing a boat, but swimming and diving, he was almost on par with Percy Jackson.

It seemed as though someone had dipped him in a bathtub full of ice cubes since the water was so cold. But after that, he swam like an Olympic athlete as his body swiftly adapted to the new temperature. Catching up to a surprise, Percy took this as a friendly challenge and began to row faster.

Everyone was wide-eyed at what they were doing and continued to widen their eyes when they saw Heron and Percy going full speed ahead.

The two boys were so focused on getting ahead of one another that they kept on going even though Percy had crossed the finish line. The two of them still kept racing. They were so dead set on beating each other that the two teenagers didn't realize that they were almost out to sea until Chiron shouted at the two of them to stop.

Once they arrived at the shore, Heron removed his shirt to drain the water, a move that drew many hungry glances from the daughters of Aphrodite and girls from various cabins. When Silena saw his exposed upper body, she blushed wildly. When Heron saw the looks he was getting from the girls, he was about to put his shirt back on before they could even try anything stupid. until a very funny idea came to mind.

Then he approached Silena, tossed his damp shirt over his shoulder, and exposed all six of his abs to Aphrodite's daughter, subtly flexing all of his muscles for her. As if she had no idea what was going on, he placed his hand on her forehead and made her face turn red like a tomato till it became too much and she passed out. Fortunately, Heron caught her before she fell to the ground. Heron eventually had to return Silena to her cabin, much to the envy of the other females.

Hero: 3

Percy: 1

Heron knew the senior campers and counselors were watching us, but they weren't having an easy time of it. Percy wasn't as strong as the Ares kids or as good at archery as the Apollo kids. He didn't have Hephaestus's skill with metalwork or—gods forbid—Dionysus's way with vine plants. Luke told them they might be children of Hermes, a kind of jack-of-all-trades, master of none. But Heron got the feeling he was just trying to make Percy feel better. He really didn't know what to make of me either.

Despite all this, he enjoyed camp. Heron became accustomed to the morning fog over the shore, the scent of scorching strawberry fields in the afternoon, and even the strange sounds of creatures in the woods at night. But old habits die hard. So he began removing the forest's monstrous residents. When asked why he kept traveling to the woods, Heron would explain, "To keep himself in shape." But in reality, it was to alleviate his anxiousness; battling in hostile worlds while attempting to shield settlers from awful deaths may wear on your nerves to the point that you can scarcely sleep.

He returned only when the corn horn was blown to signal dinner.

He would eat dinner with cabin eleven with Percy, scrape part of his meal (only the bones and fat) into the fire, and try to feel some connection to his real dad. Nothing. Just that warm feeling he'd always had, like the memory of his smile. Percy tried not to think too much about his mom, bit he kept wondering: if gods and monsters were real, if all this magical stuff was possible, surely there was some way to save her, to bring her back...

Heron could see that Percy started to understand Luke's bitterness and how he seemed to resent his father, Hermes. So okay, maybe God had important things to do. But couldn't they call once in a while, thunder, or something? Dionysus could make Diet Coke appear out of thin air. Why couldn't his dad, whoever he was, make a phone appear?

He would wholeheartedly agree if it weren't for the fact that his father is also a deity, and he is a champion of the god of combat, winter, and wolves; he's become somewhat of an expert in understanding their mysterious ways.

Thus, either A: Percy's father has no regard for his son and his wife. Or B: that Percy was being shielded by his father by not revealing his heritage.

Right now, Heron is praying it was the latter.

At the moment, though, Heron stood in the stables, watching Silena as she demonstrated how to put a saddle on a pegasus' back. She had been doing this for the last ten minutes, and while Heron was listening, he couldn't help but get a little sidetracked by how utterly gorgeous Silena was.

Her looks definitely came from her mother, even though Hern's never met her, but he had a feeling he one day will... and will probably have his jaw drop by looking upon beauty incarnate. Anyway, Heron came back to the present as he kept listening.

"Now, let's get to riding." Silena said with a smile as she took two Pegasi out of their stables. One was the one he was petting the other day when he and Silena were together, and the other was a brown Pegasus with chestnut brown eyes. Silena named the white one Moonshine, and the brown one was named Porkpie.

The two demigods saddled their Pegasus after they left the stables and went to a more open region; Silena did this much more quickly than Heron since she was more skilled and knowledgeable at it. The Aphrodite daughter saw Heron's nervousness as she galloped up to him and put her hand on his shoulder.

"It's okay; I was nervous my first time. But trust me, after the first time, the thrill of doing it again is amazing." Silena said with a smile on her gorgeous face. "Trust your Pegasus. Just watch me and copy."

Before Heron could say anything, Moonshine had already started running and spreading her wings before giving them a flap that sent her into the air with Silena holding on, laughing.

"Okay." Heron spoke silently, then glanced down at Porkpie. "All right, let's put our faith in one another. Don't let me fall or be dropped." As though to say, "No problem," the pegasus whined.

Before he knew it, Porkpie was running, then spreading its wings before giving them a flap. Heron briefly closed his eyes for a few seconds, and when he opened them, he saw they were in the air above the camp. Heron's eyes went wide with awe and amazement as he let out a "Whoooo!"

Silena flew her pegasus up next to him, giving him a big smile, to which he responded. The two spent the next several minutes soaring through the skies before Silena pulled her Pegasus back to the ground, where Heron followed and jumped off.

"That was amazing, right?" Silena asked, walking back next to him as they walked their pegasi into their stables.

"Hell yeah. Being in the air and feeling that freedom, I felt nothing like it before." Heron said with a smile before blushing as he asked. "I hope we can do this together again someday."

Silena also blushed. "Yeah, I'd like that." She said it with a smile.

Unbeknownst to Heron, Hestia was watching through the camp's hearth on Mount Olympus and smiled with satisfaction at her son, happy with his growth. Despite her reservations about her son's connection with one of her niece's daughters, Hestia wanted her son to be happy, and Silena was unlike her other siblings.

On Thursday afternoon, three days after they'd arrived at Camp Half-Blood, Percy had his first sword-fighting lesson. Everybody from cabin eleven gathered in the big circular arena, where Luke would be their instructor.

They started with basic stabbing and slashing, using some straw-stuffed dummies in Greek armor.

Heron was not unfamiliar with a greek sword; throughout the lesson, he had practiced with a variety of weapons, including one. He owned only the soul drinker, which was his solitary weapon in addition to his sword. Regrettably, it was fractured during his encounter with the manticore.

Percy did okay; at least he understood what he was supposed to do, and his reflexes were good.

The problem was that Percy couldn't find a blade that felt right in his hands. Either they were too heavy, too light, or too long. Luke tried his best to fix them up, but he agreed that none of the practice blades seemed to work for him.

Next, they engaged in pair dueling. Everyone was intrigued when Luke said he would be Heron's partner since they had seen Heron fight without a hammer during the wrestling classes with the Ares youngsters and were now eager to watch him use a weapon. There were others who predicted that Heron would lose the fight.

"Good luck," one of the campers told him."Luke's the best swordsman in the last three hundred years."

"That's so, eh? Well, let's put that to the test, shall we? Heron said

The camper snorted.

As the fight went on, Heron played defense while Luke played offensively, blocking and parrying each of his strikes with no evidence of fatigue or effort. During the fight, Heron evaded Luke's attack by placing a knee to the son of Hermes' stomach, forcing him to back off.

"You shouldn't depend just on the weapon you are brandishing in battle. Make the most of each and every chance. Additionally, your hands and legs can be used as weapons," said Heron.

Heron and Luke continued battling without asking for a break or a second bout, even though it appeared that the battle had come to a standstill. Heron couldn't deny that Luke was a formidable swordsman. He understood why he had been dubbed the finest in 300 years by the campers.

But Heron was no novice himself.

As he blocked and parried Luke's attacks, he spun, pulling out his knife from his belt, heating the blade until it was red hot, and swung it. The knife connected with Luke's sword hard, cutting through the blade before it shattered soon after, and Heron had his sword pointed at Luke's throat.

"Yield," he demanded.

Luke held his hand up and dropped the broken sword, smirking. "Well done. I wasn't expecting that."

"Use any means necessary to win a fight and save your life." Heron indicates. "On the battlefield, there is just one rule: kill or be killed. A wise man once instructed me, 'You must be steel. You must be doomed. You must utilize everything you've got! Our opponents have no honor.' But I suppose you already knew that."

"Too true, too true." Luke nodded and looked at the remains of his weapon. "Well, looks like I'm going to need a new sword for the next spar."

As the campers applauded the duel, Luke (after obtaining a fresh sword) said that he would begin the lesson with Percy as his partner because this was his first time.

Luke showed Percy thrusts and parries and shield blocks the hard way. With With every swipe, Percy got a little more battered and bruised. "Keep your guard up, Percy," Luke says, then whaps Percy in the ribs with the flat of his blade. "No, not that far up!" Whap! "Lunge!" What!"Now, back!" Whap!

By the time Luke called a break, Percy was soaked in sweat. Heron checked on Percy to see if he was okay, but he tried to play tough, even though he was battered and bruised.

Everyone mobbed the water cooler. Luke put ice water over his head, which seemed like a great idea; Percy did the same. However, as Heron glanced at Percy, he could see he was quickly feeling better. Strength flowed back into his arms. The way Percy handled his sword didn't appear uncomfortable. Heron squinted his eyes as his thoughts raced.

"Okay, everybody circle up!" Luke ordered. "If Percy doesn't mind, I want to give you a little demo."

Great, Percy thought. Let's all watch Percy get pounded.

Percy had a grimace on his face, Heron giving him a small pat on the shoulder.

The Hermes guys gathered around. They were suppressing smiles. Percy figured they'd been in his shoes before and couldn't wait to see how Luke used him for a punching bag. Heron sat nearby, perching his warhammer next to him so he could watch the fight as well. Luke told everybody he was going to demonstrate a disarming technique: how to twist the enemy's blade with the flat of your own sword so that he had no choice but to drop his weapon.

"This is difficult," he stressed. "I've had it used against me. No laughing at Percy now. Most swordsmen have to work years to master this technique."

He demonstrated the move on Percy in slow motion. Sure enough, the sword clattered out of his hand.

"Now in real time," he said, after Percy retrieved his weapon."We keep sparring until one of us pulls it off. Ready, Percy?"

Percy nodded, and Luke came after him. Somehow, Percy kept him from getting a shot at the hilt of Luke's sword. Heron could see Percy's sense opened up. He saw his attacks coming. Percy countered. He stepped forward and tried a thrust of his own. Luke's eyes narrowed like in the match with Heron, and he started to press Percy with more force.

The sword grew heavy in his hand. The balance wasn't right. Percy knew it was only a matter of seconds before Luke took him down, so Percy figured, What the heck?

He tried the disarming maneuver.

His blade hit the base of Luke's, and Percy twisted, putting his whole weight into a downward thrust.

Clang.

Luke's sword rattled against the stones. The tip of Percy's blade was an inch from Luke's undefended chest.

All the other campers remained quiet. A grin couldn't help but appear on Heron's face. Percy had a warrior inside him; he simply needed to be groomed and let go.

Percy lowered his sword. "Um, sorry."

For a moment, Luke was too stunned to speak.

"Sorry?" His scarred face broke into a grin. "By the gods, Percy, why are you sorry? Show me that again!"

Percy didn't want to. The short burst of manic energy had completely abandoned him. But Luke insisted.

This time, there was no contest. The moment their swords connected, Luke hit his hilt and sent Percy's weapon skidding across the floor.

After a long pause, somebody in the audience said, "Beginner's luck?"

Luke wiped the sweat off his brow. He appraised Percy with new interest. "Maybe," he said. "But I wonder what Percy could do with a balanced sword..." The campers shuffled at the reminder of Percy's additional handicap. Luke called an end to the lesson and sent everyone packing and slapped Percy on the shoulder as he passed.

"Hey, Percy."

Percy paused and glanced up at Luke.

"You did well today, Percy. Be proud of yourself. Own it."

Heron remained seated, summarizing the previous events. At first, Percy battled to defend himself, largely by himself with a sword, but as he threw open the bottle of water, it was like someone switched on a light switch; in a matter of seconds, Percy's fatigue virtually vanished, his strength doubled, and his speed accelerated to match Luke blow for blow. Furthermore, his companion proved to be a natural at paddling the canoe, matching even the most skilled paddlers during their race down the river.

Adding to the fact that his mother kept him away from any sport related to water led him to one logical conclusion.

Percy's father is a water deity.

There was no mistaking it; it could explain why he can do so well in the water and narrows it down a bit. There were about thirteen water deities.

So if Percy's father is one of the minor gods of the sea, then Hero needed solid proof. Rock-solid proof.

As he passed the main fire, he noticed a girl, who was about nine years old, poking the coals of the main fire with a stick. She had brown eyes and hair, and Heron could get the faint smell of marshmallow off of her. She was not wearing the normal orange t-shirt but wore a brown shirt instead with skin-colored pants.

She looked so familiar to him, as if he knew her from somewhere but couldn't place it. Heron walked up to the girl; she was too busy working with the fire to notice him. Heron spoke while standing behind her.

"Excuse me, but do I know you from somewhere?" Heron asked politely.

The girl jumped a little at the sound of his voice, and she slowly turned to face him, like she had just seen a ghost. Strange enough, the fire she was once pointing at started to dim almost unnoticeably.

"Uh-uh, n-no, we haven't." she stammered

He narrowed his gaze at her. Heron could swear to Ulric that he knew her from somewhere, but he couldn't put his finger on it. As he looked into her eyes, he swears he saw a fire—not a figurative one, but a real, full-fledged fire.

With curiosity, Heron responded, "Hmm, I swear I should know you." She was sweating profusely, but he ignored it since she was too close to the fire. He felt impelled to learn more about who this girl was.

Hestia could feel the nervous sweat running down the side of her face, never mind the tears she was trying to hold back. Her son was standing in front of her, and he looked so much like his father that it made her yearn to be in Heldens' company again.

She wanted to tell her son who she was; she wanted to claim him as her son as soon as he entered the camp, Half-Blood; she wanted to reveal her true self to him and hold him in her arms for the entire day. But she knew she couldn't, and the fact that her son was standing in front of her, saying he should know her, made it even more difficult to resist.

The only reason Hestia had come down from Olympus was to tend to the camp's hearth; she had timed her arrival with the camp schedule so that her son would be off eating while she tended the fire. Evidently, she had not accounted for her son's leaving early.

Hestia then noticed something was off about him; his scent was different. He once smelled like she did, being a wood smoke and marshmallow smell; he now had a smell of ozone and blood mixed in. However, it was very faint; to a point, only a god could sense it.

"What happened to you, Heron?" She thought she was worried for her son's well-being.

Hestia pulled on the mist to try to get her son to move along. "I don't think we have met before; you must be confusing me with someone else."

"No," her son said, surprising her; the mist did not work. "I am a hundred percent sure that I have seen you before."

Seeing no other option to escape her son, Hestia summoned a ball of fire behind her son. She knew that no amount of fire would hurt him, but the force would be great enough to buy her time to teleport away. The fireball shot at her son and struck him in the back, causing him to stumble forward before he turned around to see what hit him.

In that moment, Hestia teleported back to Olympus before her son turned back around. She let out a sigh of relief; she nearly gave in to her urge to reveal herself to her son. Hades, she could've gone to fair already, for she knew the fates could be causing something bad to happen to her son already.

Hestia headed for Hephaestus's workshop to check if he had completed her son's weapon once she had calmed down. He had been working constantly for the previous three days in his workshop; even after Hestia had requested him to manufacture the sword, he had not left his workshop; he had been working nonstop for the past three days.

Hestia arrived at Hephaestus' forge a few minutes later. What's left of it, that is? The entire place looks like it has gone through a war zone!

She at least counted seventeen holes the size of monster trucks; only a couple of marble pillars are what stood in the way of the roof collapsing on all of them.

The forge god was standing at one of his many workbenches, arms crossed, and looking down at something on the table. Hestia walked over to Hephaestus.

"Hello, Hestia, come to check on my work?" Hephaestus asked plainly, as he did not get many visitors.

"I did not plan on it, but my son spotted me when I was tending the camp's hearth." Hestia said, walking up beside Hephaestus.

As soon as Hestia got beside Hephaestus, she immediately started to feel the intense heat; however, since she possessed pyrokinesis, the heat felt nice against her skin, and Hestia's eyes drifted to the source of the heat.

On the workbench lay a sword, being a bit over 3 to 4 feet in length. The spathion sword is a straight, double-edged sword used by the soldiers in the Byzantine Empire in the 10th-11th century. The crossguard was covered with unknown intricate runes, and the handle was being covered with a dark leather grip.

The pommel had a roaring griffin with its talons out as if it were catching unsuspecting prey, and there was an engraving on the handle of a twin-tailed comet. A hammer with a crown, engraved around it but not attached to it, reaches to the edge of the two magnificent griffons brandishing their claws.

But the strange thing about it was that it was red hot, but it was much more intense along the edge of the blade. The blade edge of the weapon was red hot, and it looked like there was a fire inside of the weapon.

"Pardon me for my negligence, but I don't think it should be on fire." Hestia said, observing the burning weapon.

Despite the intimidating look of the weapon, it did look beautiful. The hammer engraving gave the weapon a lifelike feel, and the fire only complemented this. It looked like there was a living comet of fire hidden within the weapon.

"No, you are right; it shouldn't be burning right now." Hephaestus said, taking no offense from the goddess' comment in a field she had little understanding of. "When I first heated the strange metal to mold, I had to heat it to 108,000,000 degrees Fahrenheit just to get it to melt."

Hestia looked at the forge god with wide eyes. That was twice the temperature of the sun's core, and for this metal to only start to melt at that temperature meant that this metal was inaudible, strong, and heat resistant.

"How did you get it that hot?" Hestia asked, amazed.

Hephaestus looked at Hestia, letting a rare smile appear on his face. "Trade secret." He then looked back to the weapon sitting on his table. "When I finally got the metal into its cast and the damned thing finally cooled back into a solid, I had to sharpen it with a laser I had lying around. But even with that, it took me an entire day to shape the thing."

He then walked over to another workbench that had the drawing for the weapon, but it did not have the handle drawn into it. Near the drawing of the weapon was a drawing of

Hephaestus loomed over the drawing before he spoke again.

"But I did not carve out the runs you now see on the hilt. At first I thought it was just for decoration until I discovered that it was actually a more advanced form of rune magic."

Hestia's eyebrows went up in surprise. The weapon carved the runes in itself? How was that even possible?

"I lowered the broken sword of your son into the molten steel; the two metals had rather a 'violent reaction.'" the tone of the god of Smiths, one of "It took several tries to find the right metal to combine it with; when it burst, the metal and the cast iron I had added were both destroyed. I completed shaping and polishing the metal lines to create the blade after determining that Damascus steel was the right match for it; it then took on the shape that you see today."

Hestia was amazed at just where this metal came from. Never in her life had she heard of a weapon shaping itself, but she had to admit it turned out nicely.

"Oh, and you know when I said it cooled, I meant cool for me. That weapon has been burning ever since it became solid again, well, mostly." Hephaestus came back to the weapon with a bucket full of water and poured it on the weapon.

As soon as the water came into contact with the metal, it hissed and evaporated.

"I can't cool it no matter what I use." Hephaestus shot Hestia a glaring glance. Furthermore, the light from the sword illuminated Hade's whole domain like a brand-new sun as I carried it into the underworld. The majority of its hideous inhabitants were driven from the underworld by its light, which was so brilliant that it comforted the most wretched spirits who wandered the asphodel fields. The most startling thing of all happened when I lowered this weapon into the Lethe River; I had hoped that its waters would cool its heat, but even then, the water level began to fall."

Hestia's eyes couldn't get wider. This weapon stayed hot even in the water of the river Lethe. Not only that, but it also lowered the water level and lit up the entire underworld, which shouldn't be possible.

"The river threw the weapon back at me; I tried the other rivers in the underworld, only to have the same result until Hades urged that I go immediately. Hestia, this weapon may be more powerful than Zeus' master bolt," said Hephaestus with a terrified tone.

Hestia was now scared. If this sword was potentially that powerful, then she could not give this weapon to her son; it would be like giving him a death sentence. As soon as her brother Zeus found out about it, he would kill her son and take it for himself. She could not give this sword to her son; it would kill him.

"However," Hephaestus said, seeing Hestia's face riddled with fear. "Those magical runes you see around the crossguard. Is a seal, probably the most powerful seal I have ever seen? I doubt it will ever come off."

Hestia relaxed; she would just have to keep it a secret. She kept her son's existence a secret from the other gods for fourteen years; how hard could it be to keep a weapon's true power from them?

Hephaestus picked up the sword in his hands, and the fire dimmed until it was extinguished; even the runes from the weapon faded.

"It only started doing this a few hours ago. I started to test it to see if I could get the fire to reappear, but no matter what I did, it would not regenerate." Hephaestus went quiet for a few moments. "Until I got a visit from Ares."

"Does he know about the sword?"

Ares couldn't be trusted with a secret. He would tell Aphrodite in a heartbeat that Hestia would have to be concerned about her niece coming to Helden. No, she would instead encourage her daughters to learn more about Heron and even try to persuade him to date one of them. Heron was still too young to be dating, and she disapproved of the females at Aphrodite's cabin. Silena is a rare exception. That girl was unlike her sisters, yet she should still keep an eye on her. Just in case.

"No, he came in here to get one of his weapons repaired." Hephaestus went silent for a moment, closing his eyes.

The sword in his hands started to light up, the fire faintly turning to its exterior. Hephaestus let out a long sigh, and the sword returned to its idle self.

"It always pisses me off when he comes in here, because every time he does, I get reminded of my cheating 'wife.'. I had the weapon in my hands when he came in, and as soon as my anger started to flare, so did the weapon's flames. This sword responds to the wielder's emotions; the stronger they are, the hotter it will burn. Because of this, only beings with a complete resistance to fire." He said, putting his hand on the sword's hilt.

Fire surrounded the weapon completely, and when it disappeared, all that was left was a torchlight. Even the strange symbol on the torchlight was still there.

"This sword is definitely one of my masterworks." Hephaestus said, looking at the lighter in his hand before he extended his hand towards Hestia. "It will make a fine companion for your son."

Hestia took the lighter from Hephaestus' hard hands. "Thank you, Hephaestus."

Hephaestus shook his head. "Think nothing of it; I was just

Hestia looked at the sword, now lighter, in her hand. Her son had his weapon; now the trick was... how to get it to him without giving herself away.

Unknown to her, though, she would sadly not get her chance.

Friday afternoon, the ocean wind blew in his hair as Heron and Percy were sitting with Grover at the lake, resting from a near-death experience on the climbing wall. Grover had scampered to the top like a mountain goat, but the lava had gotten Percy. But was saved at the last second by Heron. His shirt had a smoking hole in it. The hairs had been singed off his forearms.

They sat on the pier, watching the naiads do underwater basket-weaving, until Percy got up the nerve to ask Grover how his conversation had gone with Mr. D.

His face turned a sickly shade of yellow.

"Fine," he said."Just great."

"You don't look fine." Heron pointed, "Your face is turning the color of a lemon."

"So your career's still on track?"

He glanced at Percy nervously. "Chiron told you I want a searcher's license?"

"Well... no." Percy had no idea what a searcher's license was, but it didn't seem like the right time to ask."He just said you have big plans. You know... and that you needed credit for completing a keeper's assignment. So did you get it?"

Grover looked down at the naiads."Mr. D suspended judgment. He said I hadn't failed our succeed with either of you yet, so our fates were still tied together. If you or Heron got a quest and I went along to protect you and we both came back alive, then maybe he'd consider the job complete."

Percy's spirits lifted. "Well, that's not so bad, right?"

"Blaa-ha-ha! He might as well have transferred me to stable-cleaning duty. The chances of you two getting a quest...and even if you did, why would you want me along?"

"Of course I'd want you along!"

Grover stared glumly into the water. "Basket-weaving... Must be nice to have a useful skill."

Percy tried to reassure him that he had a lot of talents, but that just made Grover look more miserable. They talked about canoeing and swordplay for a while, then debated the pros and cons of the different gods. Heron would immediately find a con Finally, Percy asked him about the four empty cabins.

"Number eight, the silver one, belongs to Artemis," he said. "She vowed to be a maiden forever. So of course, no kids. The cabin is, you know, honorary. If she didn't have one, she'd be mad."

"Yay, okay. But the other three, the ones at the end. Are those the Big Three?"

Grover tensed. Heron could see that they were getting close to a touchy subject. "No. One of them, number two, is Hera's," he said. "That's another honorary thing. She's the goddess of marriage, so of course she wouldn't go around having affairs with mortals. That's her husband's job. When we say the big three, we mean the three powerful brothers, the sons of Kronos."

"Zeus, Poseidon, Hades."

"Right. You know. After the great battle with the Titans, they took over the world from their dad and drew lots to decide who got what."

Zeus got the sky," Percy remembered, "Poseidon the sea, Hades the Underworld."

"Hu-huh."

"But Hades doesn't have a cabin here."

"No. He doesn't have a throne on Olympus, either. He sort of does his own thing in the underworld. If he did have a cabin..."Grover shuddered. "Well, it wouldn't be pleasant. Let's leave it at that."

"Dud, Hades is the king of the underworld, so his main responsibility is looking after the souls of the dead and the damned." Heron stated the fact. "So of course his cabin wouldn't be more pleasant than the rest of the gods. In reality, though, he is one of the responsible and well-mannered gods in the Greek pantheon, so I heard."

"Well-mannered!?" Grover said in disbelief, not believing what his friend was sprouting out of his mouth about the god of the underworld, "Heron... he sent the son of Pasiphae to you and sent a kindly one after Percy."

"The Minotaur I can understand, but a Fury?" Heron shook his head, not believing such a mythical creature would attack without cause. "One of the daughters of Gaia attacking Percy for no reason. It doesn't add to their current emo or their sacred responsibilities." But Percy thought otherwise.

"I didn't see anything sacred at the national museum other than Mrs. Dodds trying to eat me for lunch."

"The Erinyes are chthonic goddesses of vengeance, Percy, not your average mindless monsters." Heron refuted calmly, skipping another stone across the lake, "They go after men who sworn false oaths, pursuing the wicked specifically."

"But I didn't do anything wrong! Yeah, I did a couple of bad things throughout the years, but they were accidents. Nothing warrants me being evil!"

Heron moaned, amazed at his friend's lack of common sense. "That's not what I'm saying!" Then he let out a long sigh and began to explain the reason why. "What I'm trying to say, Percy, is that the main reason why Hades was put in such a bad light is because he was the stereotypical bad guy and that he didn't send out his personal tortures for no reason."

"Hades is also one of the first six Olympians." Heron said, "Didn't he help his brother Zeus destroy their father in the Titanomachy? Or, better still, help his brother in need by sending Hermes and Pan, the god of the wild, to rescue him while he fought Typhon's army in a guerilla war. But what concerns me is that Hades would so brazenly cheat on his wife, Persephone, much less children, because if that's true, then there should've been a record of it, or better yet, a legend about them."

"Yeah, that's right. But Zeus and Poseidon—they both have, like, a bazillion kids in the myths. Why are their cabins empty?"

Griver shifted his hooves uncomfortably. "About sixty years ago, after World War II, the Big Three agreed they wouldn't sire any more heroes. Their children were just too powerful. They were affecting the course of human events too much, causing too much carnage. World War II, you know, that was basically a fight between the sons of Zeus and Poseidon on one side and the sons of Hades on the other."

"Wait a second." Grover was abruptly halted by Heron, who made the following comment: "It appears that earwax is blocking my hearing because I thought you had just mentioned that the offspring of the three most powerful Greek gods in the Greek pantheon had started the greatest global conflict in human history, killing over 135 million people and spawning a racist, nationalistic ideology that cast a dark shadow over humanity to this day, in 39 countries no less."

"You heard me right," stated Grover in response, "the children of Zeus and Poseidon joined the Allies while the Hades kids joined the Axis powers."

"You mean to tell me that we're related to Nazis!?" asked Percy.

Grover smiled sheepishly, tapping his two fingers together like a naughty child with his hand stuck in the cookie jar. "Yes."

"Wonderful, that's just fantastic; thanks for informing me, Grover; I'm not only a demigod but also have blood relations with Nazis." Percy said sarcasm was clear in his voice. Sure, let's just add that to my list of family charms," he continued, rolling his eyes. "What's next? Finding out my great-great-grandmother was a cyclops?" Grover chuckled nervously, knowing that for demigods, the truth was often stranger than fiction.

"Well, it is that bad, huh? Poseidon and Zeus's sons joined the Allies."

"That does not change the fact that Percy and I are connected to a guy with a pinkie-sized mustache who engineered the motherfucking Holocaust." Heron shot back, then sighed heavily. "Did they also have a hand in World War I?!"

"No."

Oh, thank God.

"But Athena, Hermes, and Ares did."

WHAT THE FUCK!

"GROVER!"

If looks can kill, then Grover would be burnt roadkill torched by Greek fire, as Percy and Heron were now drilling holes into the poor satyr as they just learned the Greek gods not only started one but TWO WORLD WARS!

"I'm starting to understand why Heron thinks that the Greek gods are seriously messed up." Percy muttered

Heron sighed, nodding his head in agreement, "Welcome to the club."

"So anything else you want to tell us, Grover, or do I need to beat it out of you?"

"Uuuhhh, oh yeah, yeah, yeah! the winning side, Zeus and Poseidon, made Hades swear an oath with them: no more affairs with mortal women. They all swore on the River on the river Styx."

Thunder boomed.

Percy said, "That's the most serious oath you can make."

Gover nodded.

"And the brothers kept their word—no kids?" Grover's face darkened.

"Seventeen years ago, Zeus fell off the wagon. There was this TV starlet with a big, fluffy eighties hairdo—he just couldn't help himself. When their children were born, a little boy named Theseus and a little girl named Thalia... well, the River Styx is serious about promises. Zeus himself got off easy because he's immortal, but he brought a terrible fate on his daughter and son."

"But that isn't fair! It wasn't their fault."

Grover hesitated. "Percy children of the big three have powers greater than other half-bloods. They have a strong aura, a scent that attracts monsters. When Hades found out about the children, he wasn't too happy about Zeus breaking his oath. Hades let the worst monsters out of Tartarus to torment the two of them. A satyr was assigned to be their keeper when they reached twelve, but there was nothing he could do. They soon lost the brother. He tried to escort the girl here with a couple of other half-bloods she'd befriended. They almost made it. They got all the way to the top of that hill."

He pointed across the valley, to the pine tree where they'd fought the minotaur."All three kindly ones were after them, along with a horde of hellhounds. They were about to be overrun when Thalia told her satyr to take the other two half-bloods to safety while she held off the monsters. She was wounded and tired, and she didn't want to live like a hunted animal. The satyr didn't want to leave her, but he couldn't change her mind, and he had to protect the others. So Thalia made her final stand alone at the top of that hill. As she died, Zeus took pity on her. He turned her into that pine tree. Her spirit still helps protect the borders of the valley. That's why the hill is called Half-Blood Hill." Percy stared at the pine tree in the distance while Heron rubbed his chin with his thumb.

Heron admires Thalia's heroics against Hades's monsters and would choose her as a stormcaste if she were in mortal realms. However, Heron refused to believe that Zeus's transformation of her into a pine tree was out of pity, instead believing Zeus aimed to save face, a personality he believes would be perfect for the Kronos son, who prioritizes his own reputation over his daughter's life. He was surprised when Grover mentioned the terran name of Thiséas chári.

Theseus Grace was one of the two first sword brothers he made when he first arrived on Mallus Secundes, and like him, Theseus was a demigod, but whose always puzzled him. Though he came from Terra, the teen held no love for the place of his birth, even though he still visits from time to time. Creating a life for himself in the Olympia League.

Heron had not seen the 18-year-old general in three months and was living on a small estate in Olympia with his girlfriend before they headed to Rhodea to drive out pirates on the Southland Seas.

As Heron continued to be deep in thought, Percy had thoughts of his own.

The story made Percy feel hollow and guilty too. A girl his age had sacrificed herself to save her friends. She had faced a whole army of monsters. Next to that, his victory over the Minotaur didn't seem like much. Percy wondered if he'd acted differently; could he have saved his mother?

"Grover," Percy said, "have heroes really gone on quests to the Underworld?"

"Sometimes," he said. "Orpheus. Hercules. Houdini."

"And have they ever returned somebody from the dead?"

"No. Never. Orpheus came close...Percy, you're not seriously thinking—"

"Don't even think about it." Heron started realizing full well what he was trying to do: "If you're thinking I would let you bring your mom back to life by simply walking to the underworld and demanding her back, then forget about it."

"No," Percy lied. "I was just wondering. So... a satyr is always assigned to guard a demigod?"

Grover studied Percy warily. Percy hadn't persuaded him that he'd really dropped the Underworld idea. "Not always. We go undercover to a lot of schools. We try to sniff out the half-bloods who have the marking of great heroes. If we find one with a very strong aura, like the child of the big three, we alert Chiron. He tried to keep an eye on them, since they could cause really huge problems."

"And you found us. Chiron said you thought we might be something special."

Grover looked as if he'd just led him into a trap. "I didn't...Oh, listen, don't think like that. If you were—you know—you'd never ever be allowed a quest, and I'd never get my license. You're probably a child of Hermes. Or maybe even one of the minor gods, like Nemesis, the god of revenge. Don't worry, okay?"

Percy and Heron got the idea he was reassuring himself more than them.

Code Viper: Oh don't worry they'll will be many battles between the forces of Order, chaos, destruction, and undead are yet to come my friend you have my word on that. But it wouldn't just be orks or chaos but also other threats.

Gemini134:Thank you, as for Heron's adventure's it'll be split between the warhammer world and the Percy Jackson one.

IvanFabulous: Oh, don't worry, its not just going to be order vs. chaos. It's going to be order vs. destruction vs. undeath and vs. chaos. A war on three fronts and the prize is the soul of mankind while at the same time dealing with apocalyptic deities on Terra who wants nothing more to rule with an iron fist. Its a typical work day for the forces of order until shit hits the fan.