AUTHOR NOTE: Obligatory "I don't own any of this. All non-OC characters are the properties of Rick Riordan or their respective creators". Now that that's taken care of, we may begin.

First off, to those who have read my work before - surprise, I'm alive. I know it's been 7 years since I posted anything and I apologise (I blame it on teenage depression and university kicking my ass). I have only recently just gotten back into writing and I'm shocked at how bad my writing used to be. This time, I can guarantee I'm going to stick around for a long time (I've already got the outlines for the next 20-30 chapters locked in my safe). So sit back and enjoy.

Chapter 1
Monsters, Mayhem, and Other Family Traditions

I never really thought much about how I would die.

Before today, I'd pictured – no, hoped for – a quiet fade into old age, surrounded by loved ones. My legacy would be the people I left behind, the memories we'd shared.

Legacy. What a cruel joke.

What legacy is there in dying miles from home, shivering and alone, bleeding into the dirt, mere feet from salvation?

Rain lashed down, carving crimson rivers through the mud clinging to my broken body. Above, the storm clouds roiled, indifferent to my pain. I hoped they wouldn't find me like this. Shattered. Bleeding. A gruesome image seared into their memories.

My head lolled against the rough bark of the lone pine, its roots a cold, unforgiving cradle. The world darkened at the edges. The wind whispered through the branches, a mournful lullaby only the dying could hear.

Rest, child. You'll be safe with us. Forever.

Rest. The word echoed in my fading mind. Rest sounded… nice. I'll just stay here and… rest.

Two Days Earlier

Believe it or not, my life wasn't always a blood-soaked, monster-infested mess.

Up until two days ago, things were… average. Not normal – I was never normal – but average. I had friends, hobbies, a dad who threatened historical accuracy lectures if I slacked on homework (worse than waterboarding, trust me), and a mum who always insisted on a minimum of three extracurricular activities. Something about being "well-rounded". Looking back, I think she was just prepping me for the inevitable monster apocalypse.

And then, two days ago, my gym teacher tried to eat me.

The end of average.

Let me tell you how that particular brand of crazy went down.

It started in history class.

But Theo, wasn't it your gym teacher? Why are you talking about history class?

Shut up, inner monologue, I'm getting to it. This is important.

So, there I was, doodling intricate designs in my notebook while my dad, Mr. West, history enthusiast extraordinaire, lectured the class on the Trojan War.

Yes, my dad is my teacher. No, it's not as bad as it sounds. And no, I don't get special treatment – if anything, it's the opposite. He holds me to a higher standard. Like, Olympian-god-level higher.

"Theo!"

My head snapped up. Dad was giving me The Look. You know the one – the perfect blend of disappointment and I'm-not-even-surprised-you-little-twerp.

The rest of the class snickered. Crap. He'd asked a question, hadn't he? Brain, you traitorous lump of grey matter.

Think, Theo. Trojan War. Odysseus. Achilles. Wooden horse. Say something smart.

"Uh… the horse was a gamble."

Silence. My dad pinched the bridge of his nose, his sigh echoing through the room like the death knell of my GPA.

"That… is not what I asked," he said, his voice strained. "But since you brought it up, care to elaborate?"

Now I had to commit to the gamble analogy. Great.

"Well," I stalled, buying myself precious seconds. "The Trojan Horse was a risky move. If the Trojans had been, y'know, slightly less gullible – and maybe checked inside the giant wooden horse before wheeling it through their city gates – the whole war would've ended differently. Odysseus and a bunch of other Greeks would've been kebab-ed, and the rest of the army would've been stuck outside, twiddling their thumbs."

A few nods from my classmates. Okay, not a complete disaster.

Dad folded his arms, his gaze sharp. "That's true. However, my question was, do you believe Odysseus would have survived his journey home without his intelligence?"

Damn.

I offered a weak smile, shrinking under his gaze.

"Probably not?" I squeaked. "He wasn't a powerhouse like Achilles, so he couldn't exactly punch his way out of every situation. He had to use his brains, his cunning, to escape all the… unpleasantness."

Another tense silence. Then, surprisingly, Dad smiled.

"Nice save," he conceded, turning to the class. "Odysseus wasn't as strong as Heracles, nor invulnerable like Achilles, yet he's remembered as one of the greatest heroes because he relied on his wit. When brute force wasn't an option, he survived through intelligence, creativity, and strategy."

He looked at me again, but this time, The Look was different. Heavier. Weightier. Like there was more behind his words than just a history lesson.

"As history has shown, surviving the world's monsters takes more than just a strong sword arm," he continued, his voice taking on a strange, almost ominous tone. "Sometimes, knowing when to fight isn't enough. Sometimes, it takes knowing when to run. And when to think your way out."

Something flickered in his eyes – a fleeting memory, a shadow of experience that sent a chill down my spine. The way he said "monsters" made the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end.

"I dunno, being unkillable sounds way better than thinking real hard," Dean, the class clown and resident purveyor of questionable logic, piped up from the back.

Dad's lips twitched, but his gaze flicked back to me, like he was waiting for me to catch something, some hidden meaning in his words.

"Well, congrats, Dean, you're halfway there," I quipped.

A ripple of laughter went through the class, and Dean chucked a pencil at me, a grin splitting his face.

Dad chuckled, but that look in his eyes remained. A shiver ran down my spine, and I knew, with a chilling certainty, that it wasn't from the draft.

The bell rang, releasing the class into its usual post-lecture frenzy. I gathered my stuff slowly, a strange tension clinging to my neck.

Dean slung his bag over his shoulder like a bazooka, narrowly avoiding a collision with a group of giggling girls. His perpetually messy blond hair stuck up at odd angles, and his green eyes gleamed with mischief as he threw an arm around my shoulders.

"So, Theo," he began, his voice dripping with mock concern, "Do you, like, hoard all your brainpower for history class and then just… forget about it for every other subject?" He gasped dramatically, eyes widening in feigned shock. "Is that why your grades in other classes look like they're made of pure wishful thinking?"

He couldn't contain his grin, clearly relishing the opportunity to tease me mercilessly. I rolled my eyes, but a smile tugged at the corners of my mouth despite myself.

"Says the guy who lost at trivia to a seven-year-old," I retorted.

His smile vanished. "Sam's a cheater, and you know it."

Kim, our other friend and resident voice of reason, leaned against a locker, arms crossed. Her vibrant red hair, pulled into a high ponytail, swayed gently as she shifted her weight. The hallway lights glinted off her braces as she grinned, clearly enjoying Dean's suffering.

"Oh, please," she laughed. "Sam's seven, not some evil mastermind. You just got outplayed."

Dean scoffed, pulling his arm off my shoulder and pointing an accusing finger at her. "You weren't there, Kim. My brother's a menace. He was playing 4D chess while I was stuck on… Candy Land."

"You thought 'baguette' was the capital of France, dude," I reminded him helpfully.

Kim lost it, clutching at a locker for support as she dissolved into laughter.

"Yeah, well…" Dean looked like he was trying to divide by zero. "Shut up."

We both howled with laughter.

"Yeah, yeah, laugh it up," he grumbled, but the grin on his face betrayed him.

A sudden prickle ran up my neck. I tried to shake it off – probably just residual embarrassment from Dean's epic trivia fail – but something felt… off.

I turned and saw him.

An older kid, maybe sixteen or seventeen, dressed in a plaid hoodie, faded jeans, and a beanie, was staring at me from across the crowded hallway. My stomach twisted. He wasn't just looking; he was studying me, like I was some kind of lab rat.

I nudged Kim and Dean, keeping my voice low. "Either of you recognise that guy?"

Dean squinted, following my gaze. "What, Beanie Boy over there? Looks like he lost a bet with a thrift store." He shrugged, unimpressed.

Kim, however, frowned. "Actually… I think I saw him yesterday, too."

That got my attention. "Where?"

She twirled a strand of hair around her finger, her eyes narrowed in thought. "The library, I think? He was just sitting there, but every time I looked up, he wasn't reading. Just… staring at people."

Dean snorted. "Okay, so he's either a really bad spy or the world's laziest serial killer." He clapped me on my shoulder. "Congrats, Theo, you've got your first stalker."

Kim elbowed him. "Not funny, Dean."

"Eh, it's a little funny," he defended with a grin.

I turned back. Gone. Just… vanished. No movement in the crowd. No one else even seemed to notice him. Either he was a ninja, or I had bigger problems than bad grades.

I had to agree with Kim. This wasn't funny. Not at all.

Dodgeball. The great equaliser. It didn't matter if you were a straight-A student, star athlete, or the kid who tripped over air – once that whistle blew, everyone was fair game. Some thrived in the chaos. Others, not so much.

I fell somewhere in the middle.

The whistle shrieked, and the gym erupted. Balls flew in every direction, a blur of red and blue. I ducked, twisted, and rolled, my sneakers squeaking against the polished floor as I narrowly avoided getting pegged. I wasn't taking any chances.

Kim, naturally, was in her element. She flipped over a throw, landed in a crouch, and then – defying all laws of physics – executed a perfect back handspring to avoid another. As she sprang upright, a ball hurtled towards her. Instead of flinching, she cartwheeled, catching the ball mid-motion before firing it straight into some poor guy's stomach. He crumpled to the floor with a stunned wheeze.

"Kim, what the hell?" I panted, dodging another throw.

She grinned, barely winded. "Gymnastics, Theo. You should try it sometime."

"Gymnastics?!" I sputtered. "Kim, that wasn't gymnastics – that was defying the laws of physics with bonus ninja points!"

Kim just laughed, diving over another throw like she was in a Matrix movie. Meanwhile, I was just trying not to get brained by an overzealous jock with a cannon for an arm.

I ducked, weaved, and twisted, then – purely on instinct – turned my head towards the bleachers.

There he was. Beanie Guy.

He wasn't watching the game. He was watching me.

The sounds of the gym faded, the world narrowing to that intense, calculating stare. He wasn't just some bored upperclassman; this was deliberate. Like he was observing a specimen.

A dodgeball whizzed past my ear, snapping me back to reality. I whipped around just in time to see another one headed straight for my chest. My reflexes kicked in before my brain could process, and I caught it with a solid thwack.

"Eliminated!" Coach Martinez barked, pointing at the thrower.

Dean, who'd been eliminated approximately five minutes into the game, let out a dramatic cheer from the sidelines. "YES! THEO, YOU BEAUTIFUL GENIUS! NOW RETURN FIRE!"

Kim, still somehow untouchable, flipped over another throw and launched a ball so fast I swear it broke the sound barrier. Another opponent down.

I took a deep breath, rolling my shoulders. If I was doing this, I was doing it right.

I grabbed another dodgeball, took aim, and hurled it at one of the remaining players. He dodged – barely – but that put him directly in Kim's line of fire. A second later, he joined the ranks of the fallen.

Dean whooped. "YES! FEED OFF THE CHAOS, THEO!"

I snorted, then lobbed another ball, nailing a girl in the leg. She glared at me as she stomped off the court.

It was down to me, Kim, and one last opponent. He was fast, dodging and weaving with impressive agility. But then he made his mistake – he lunged for a ball near the centre line.

Kim and I threw simultaneously. He managed to dodge mine, but Kim's ball caught him squarely in the shoulder.

The whistle blew. "Game over! Theo, Kim, victory!"

Dean pumped his fists in the air. "MY GUY! See? I told you to start throwing!"

I shook my head, panting. "Yeah, yeah. I'm just glad I made it out in one piece."

Kim smirked. "Thanks to me."

Dean draped himself over our shoulders like we'd just won the World Cup. "Alright, as a reward for your glorious triumph, I propose we celebrate the only way that matters – Greasy's."

Kim's eyes lit up. "Oh, now that's a good idea."

Greasy's was a culinary black hole that probably violated every health code imaginable, but nobody cared because the burgers were legendary. Triple patties, crispy bacon, mountains of fries, and shakes thick enough to stand a spoon in. It was a heart attack waiting to happen, but damn, it was a delicious one.

"Triple bacon cheeseburger," I said, already salivating. "Large fries. Chocolate shake."

Dean clutched his chest dramatically. "I knew I liked you for a reason."

Kim slung her bag over her shoulder. "Alright, let's get moving before-"

"West! Stay behind."

I turned to see Coach Martinez standing in the middle of the court, arms crossed, his expression unreadable.

Dean whistled low. "Oof. What'd you do?"

I blinked. "I have no idea."

Kim patted my back sympathetically. "We'll save you a seat."

"I'll pour out some fries in your honour," Dean added, giving me an exaggerated salute.

I forced a grin. "If I don't make it out, tell my story."

As they headed out, I took a deep breath and walked toward Coach Martinez, a knot tightening in my stomach. Something about the way he was looking at me made my instincts scream run.

"Yes, Coach?" I asked, trying to sound casual.

He took a step forward, and for the first time, I noticed how… big he was. Like, abnormally large. His muscles strained against his shirt, and the sound of his neck cracking sent a shiver down my spine.

Then he grew.

One second, he was a large, intimidating gym teacher. The next? He was a hulking monstrosity, three times his normal size. His skin rippled, his head elongated, and his features distorted until his face was dominated by a single, cyclopean eye. His crooked teeth gleamed in a predatory grin.

"Well, kid," he rumbled, his voice deep and resonant, "Gotta say – I loved that hustle. The way you dodged? Beautiful. Caught that ball mid-air?" He made a chef's kiss gesture. "And that throw? Absolute power. You've got natural talent."

I took a slow, careful step back. "Uh… thanks?"

His grin widened. "No problem, sport! Which is why it kills me to say… you'd probably taste delicious."

I didn't hesitate. I turned and sprinted for the exit.

Dean and Kim had just walked out; I could still hear their voices echoing in the hallway. If I could just–

I slammed shoulder-first into the doors.

They didn't budge. Ow.

I yanked the handle. Locked.

Are you kidding me?! Auto-locking gym doors?!

Behind me, Coach Martinez sighed, shaking his head. "Come on, West, you didn't even juke? Just a straight shot for the door? Gotta work on those survival instincts, kid… but don't worry! You'll learn from this – oh wait. No, you won't."

I spun around and bolted for the bleachers. There was an open window at the top – if I could just climb fast enough–

BOOM!

The bleachers exploded. Coach Martinez had kicked them, sending metal and wood flying. I barely had time to react before I was falling, the world tilting sickeningly.

I hit the ground hard, pain shooting up my arm. Bruised, definitely. Broken, possibly.

The coach loomed over me, grinning like a proud uncle at a barbecue. "Aww, you almost had it! Great thinking! Using the terrain to your advantage? Smart! Gotta respect that creativity."

I scrambled back as his massive foot came down, narrowly avoiding being crushed like a bug. Not good. Not good at all.

Desperate, I grabbed a wooden plank from the wreckage and swung at his knee.

CRACK!

He staggered, his single eye blinking in surprise.

"Oh-ho! Nice! Going for the joints? Classic move! But–"

His hand backhanded me before I could follow up.

I went flying, slamming into the wall. Pain exploded in my side. My vision flickered, and my arm screamed in protest when I tried to push myself up. Warmth trickled down my forehead.

"Oof," Martinez winced. "That's rough, kid. But hey, gotta respect the effort! You don't quit, and I love that about you."

He reached down, his massive hand closing around my torso. His grip tightened, his grin widening.

"Well, Theo, this has been fun, but I'm on a strict no-witnesses diet."

He opened his mouth, his breath reeking of something I really, really didn't want to identify, and started to bring me closer–

And then the doors exploded inward.

A blur of motion. A rush of force.

Coach Martinez stumbled back, dropping me as something – someone – slammed into his gut like a battering ram.

I hit the ground with a painful grunt, rolling over to see a figure land between me and the Cyclops.

It was Beanie Guy.

Only now, up close, I could see what I'd missed before. His jeans were torn at the knees, revealing… furry goat legs. And his shoes? Not shoes. Hooves.

He cracked his neck, shaking out his arms.

"Alright, One-Eye," he said, his voice surprisingly calm. "You wanna eat the kid? Gotta go through me."

Martinez blinked, then let out a booming laugh.

"Oh, man. A satyr? They sent a satyr to protect him?" He clapped his hands together. "This just keeps getting better!"

I groaned, clutching my ribs. Everything hurt, but I forced myself to focus. The satyr shifted his stance, his weight balanced on his hooves as he sized up the Cyclops.

"Alright, Goat-Boy," Martinez chuckled. "Let's see what you got."

The satyr didn't hesitate. He lunged forward with surprising speed, dipping low before launching himself upward. His head connected with Martinez's gut like a battering ram, sending the Cyclops stumbling back. He followed up with a vicious donkey kick to the knee, making the monster grunt in pain.

I forced myself up against the wall, wincing. The satyr was holding his own. For now.

Martinez rubbed his knee, rolling it experimentally. "Huh. You actually made me feel that one. But let's see how you handle – THIS!"

The Cyclops moved with unnatural speed, his massive fist whistling through the air. The satyr dodged, but Martinez's other hand shot out, catching him mid-air.

"Gotcha!"

Before the satyr could react, Martinez swung him across the gym like a ragdoll. He slammed into the scoreboard with a sickening CRACK, then collapsed to the floor.

"And that's why you always watch for the off-hand," Martinez chuckled.

I forced myself to my feet. The satyr wasn't getting up anytime soon, and my ribs felt like they'd been tenderised. I needed a plan. Fast.

That's when I saw the equipment closet. A desperate, probably stupid idea formed in my mind.

I grabbed a dodgeball and tossed it lightly between my hands. "Hey, Coach! How's your footwork?"

Martinez tilted his head. "Oh? Still got some fight in you?"

I bolted for the closet.

"Running? Come on, West, I thought we were working on your instincts!"

He charged after me, the floor shaking with every step. At the last second, I swerved, tossing the dodgeball as a distraction. His eye flicked to the fake, and that split-second hesitation was all I needed.

Martinez barrelled straight into the open equipment closet – specifically, the giant metal storage cage inside.

CLANG!

The cage rattled as he crashed into it. Before he could backpedal, I slammed the door shut and locked it, rolling a ball rack in front for good measure.

Panting, I grinned. "Boom. Trapped."

Martinez blinked. "Really, West? You think this is gonna hold me?"

I frowned. "It's literally solid steel."

"Uh-huh." He raised a fist and gave the door a casual tap.

BANG!

The entire door and barricade popped off like a soda can lid, smacking me in the chest and sending me flying. I crashed into the whiteboard with enough force to knock it off its stand, the air whooshing from my lungs.

Martinez dusted off his hands. "See? Gotta think ahead, West. You don't just trap the opponent – you make sure they stay trapped."

I groaned, pushing myself up. My body had officially filed for retirement.

Martinez grinned, cracking his knuckles. "Alright, round two! Let's see if–"

I grabbed the first thing my hand landed on and threw it. The whiteboard marker hit him dead in the eye. For a split second, nothing happened. Then–

POP!

A massive spurt of black ink exploded across his face.

Martinez howled, clutching his eye. "AGH! WHAT THE– IS THIS DRY ERASE?! WHY YOU LITTLE–!"

I didn't stick around to hear the rest. I scrambled to my feet, stumbling towards the dazed satyr.

"Up," I grunted, slinging one of his arms over my shoulder.

"Whuh–?"

"No time, move!"

Together, we staggered towards the exit. Martinez was still cursing, blindly swiping at the air as ink dripped down his face.

"YOU THINK THIS'LL STOP ME?!" he roared. "I'M GONNA TURN YOU INTO PROTEIN POWDER, WEST!"

We shoved through the doors, gasping for air as we stumbled into the hallway.

We barely made it three steps before a thunderous CRASH echoed behind us, the entire building shaking. I risked a glance back and saw Martinez, still covered in ink, slamming into the wall like a furious, one-eyed wrecking ball.

The satyr groaned, still half-limp against my side. "You, uh, really pissed him off, huh?"

"Oh, you think?" I gritted my teeth, dragging him forward. "Any brilliant escape plans?"

He shook his head, trying to clear the cobwebs. "Truck."

"What?"

"My truck," he muttered, regaining his footing. "Parked out back. We get there, we're golden."

Another crash rang out – Martinez had just taken out a set of lockers.

We exchanged a look, then bolted.

The hallways blurred as we sprinted, my lungs burning. Behind us, Martinez roared, his enraged bellows echoing through the school. I didn't look back. Didn't slow down. Just ran like my life depended on it. Which, you know, it did.

We burst through the emergency exit, the cold air hitting me like a slap. Sure enough, a battered old pickup truck sat in the parking lot, its paint so rusted it looked like it had survived a nuclear apocalypse.

The satyr yanked open the passenger door and practically threw me inside before scrambling into the driver's seat. The engine roared to life, coughing and sputtering like a chain smoker. He slammed the truck into gear and floored it, the tires screeching as we swerved onto the street just as a massive shadow loomed behind us.

WHAM!

Something hit the back of the truck so hard I nearly kissed the dashboard.

"Oh, come on!" the satyr growled, wrestling with the wheel.

I twisted in my seat just in time to see Martinez – still covered in ink – barrelling toward us like a linebacker with a vengeance. His single eye was bloodshot, his face twisted in rage.

"STOP RUNNING AND BE MY SNACK!" he bellowed.

"DRIVE FASTER!" I squeaked.

He didn't need to be told twice. The tires screamed as he yanked the wheel, sending us skidding across the pavement. Martinez lunged, his massive hands reaching for the truck bed–

THUNK!

The satyr swerved at the last second, and Martinez slammed chest-first into a streetlight, bending the pole like a twig.

"Hah! Suck it, Coach!" the satyr crowed, the school shrinking in the distance. I had a sinking feeling I wouldn't be seeing it again anytime soon. And an even worse feeling that I wouldn't be getting that triple bacon cheeseburger at Greasy's. Damn.

I sucked in a shaky breath, pressing my hand to my aching ribs. My brain was still struggling to process what had just happened.

After a minute of stunned silence, I turned to my goat-legged rescuer.

"Okay," I said, my voice still trembling slightly. "What. The. Hell. Just. Happened?"

He kept his eyes on the road, his grip tight on the steering wheel. "Which part? The Cyclops? Or how I just saved your ass back there?" He shot me a glance. "You're welcome, by the way."

"Sure, thanks," I mumbled, my mind buzzing with questions. "But who the hell are you?"

"The name's Silas," he replied with a smirk. "Silas Glade, protector extraordinaire, and your personal bodyguard… for the time being, at least."

I stared at him. "Huh."

"What?"

"Nothing," I said. "I just… I've been calling you Beanie Guy in my head."

His eyes narrowed. "Seriously? Beanie Guy? That's the best you could come up with? Not something cool, like 'Goatstrike' or 'The Hoofinator'? Just… Beanie Guy?"

I shrugged. "I was a little busy trying not to get eaten."

Silas muttered something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like "damn kids these days" before shaking his head.

I leaned back against the seat, trying to process everything.

"Okay, fine, Silas," I said. "Now, can you explain why my gym teacher suddenly turned into a one-eyed monster?"

Silas drummed his fingers on the steering wheel.

"Simple," he said. "You're a demigod. That means monsters – like Martinez back there – can smell you. And demigods smell… delicious."

I stared at him. "You're telling me I got attacked because I smell?"

"Basically," Silas replied. "To monsters, demigods are like… prime rib. The rarer, the better."

My brain short-circuited. Prime rib? I wanted to laugh, but the absurdity of it all was overshadowed by a growing sense of unease. Were there invisible alarms on my body now? Could monsters just track me down like… stray dogs sniffing out a discarded hotdog?

"That's the dumbest thing I've ever heard."

Silas smirked. "Yeah? Well, that 'dumb thing' nearly got you killed."

I rubbed my temple. "I'm not saying I don't believe you," I conceded, glancing at his goat legs, "But why now? Martinez has been my teacher all year. He never tried to eat me before."

Silas sighed. "Could be a couple of things. Maybe you've been flying under the radar. Maybe something – or someone – tipped him off. Or maybe you just started smelling extra tasty today."

I grimaced. "I hate everything about that sentence."

Silas chuckled but kept his eyes on the road. My mind raced, trying to make sense of it all. I wasn't special. I wasn't powerful. I was just… me. Some kid from Texas.

"Wait," I said, a sudden thought striking me. "If I'm a… demigod, as you say, does that mean my mum–"

Silas hesitated. "Honestly? No clue."

"What?"

"I mean, usually it's the mortal parent raising the kid," he explained, "but not always. I assumed your dad was the mortal one, since he's the one I was in contact with, but it could just as easily be the other way around. For all I know, your dad's just a really good cover."

"So… my mum could be a goddess?"

"Maybe," Silas said. "Or maybe not. You'll find out soon enough."

That wasn't exactly comforting.

I shook my head. "And you? What's your deal? Besides being half-barnyard animal?"

Silas bristled slightly. "I told you, kid. I'm your protector."

"Yeah, but what does that mean?" I pressed. "Are you some kind of monster hunter? A babysitter for god-spawn? What?"

Silas snorted. "Kinda both. My job is to find demigods like you and get them to safety."

"Safety?" I repeated. "From what, exactly? Cyclops gym teachers? How many monsters are out there?"

Silas hesitated just long enough for me to notice. "A lot," he admitted.

"Like… ten? A hundred?"

He clenched his jaw. "More than that."

I narrowed my eyes. "You're being vague."

He glanced at me. "Look, the more I tell you, the stronger your scent becomes. And trust me, we do not want more monsters sniffing us out before we get to camp."

Camp? I assumed that was the "safety" he kept mentioning.

I let out a slow breath. "So, the less I know, the safer we are?"

"Bingo."

I crossed my arms. "That sounds like an excuse."

"It's not," Silas insisted. "You're already attracting enough trouble as it is. The last thing I need is a dozen more monsters jumping us because you couldn't handle a little mystery."

I frowned but didn't push it. As much as I hated not knowing, I hated the idea of another monster attack even more.

Silas must've sensed my apprehension. "I'll explain everything once we reach camp," he promised. "Just… hold out until then, alright?"

I wasn't happy about it, but I nodded. "Fine. Whatever."

Silas relaxed slightly, but I wasn't done. "I need to see my family."

Silas stiffened. "No."

"What do you mean, no?"

"I mean no. It's too dangerous."

"I can't just leave them," I argued. "They're gonna freak out when I disappear."

"I get that, kid, but trust me – this is for their safety, too."

I stared at him, the weight of his words sinking in. "I just need to talk to them. Just once."

Silas shook his head. "I've been doing this for twenty years. I know how this goes. You show up, you say your goodbyes, and then monsters smell you, and suddenly your family's caught in the crossfire."

The thought of leaving without a word twisted my gut, but I knew he was right. Seeing them, hugging them goodbye… it would only make things worse. It would put them in danger.

"So, what?" I asked, my voice barely a whisper, "I'm just supposed to… never see them again?"

"If it means keeping them alive?" Silas said, his voice gentle but firm. "Yeah."

I looked away, my fists clenching. Silas was right, I knew it, but it didn't make it any easier.

"Please," I whispered.

Silas sighed, drumming his fingers against the steering wheel again. He muttered something under his breath about stubborn demigods, but after a long pause, he turned the car around.

"This is a bad idea," he said.

"I'll be quick," I promised.

Silas grumbled. "Yeah, yeah. Famous last words."

The tires crunched on the gravel as Silas pulled up in front of my house. I practically jumped out before the truck came to a full stop, my heart pounding.

It was surreal. The house looked… normal. The beige siding, the porch swing Dad built last summer, the warm glow spilling from the windows – everything was exactly as it should be. But I couldn't shake the feeling that something was terribly, terribly wrong.

My skin prickled, a sense of foreboding settling over me like a shroud. The house felt less like a sanctuary and more like the calm before a storm.

Silas stepped out behind me, adjusting his beanie. "Alright, kid. Make it quick."

I stepped inside, and the familiar scent of Mum's cooking wrapped around me. Roasted garlic, oregano, simmering tomatoes – the comforting aroma of home. She was at the stove, humming softly as she stirred a pot of something that smelled delicious. Dad was at the dining table, grading papers, while he bounced my baby sister, Lily, on his knee.

For a moment, I just stood there, frozen, letting the normalcy of it all wash over me. It wasn't peaceful, though. Not really. My heart hammered against my ribs, a frantic drumbeat against the quiet. It felt like I'd stepped from one nightmare into another, the adrenaline still coursing through my veins. I should have been shaking with fear, but all I could do was breathe. Short, shallow breaths, like I was already preparing to run.

"Mum, Dad," I said, my voice a little shaky. "We need to talk."

Mum didn't look up from the pot. "Mm-hmm? What is it, sweetie?"

Dad glanced up from his papers, his eyes narrowing slightly as he took in my bloodstained clothes and Silas's torn hoodie. His posture stiffened, a flicker of concern crossing his face before it was quickly masked.

"Everything okay?"

I swallowed hard, the words catching in my throat. "Uh, well," I stammered, "I kinda got attacked by a Cyclops today… and apparently, I'm some kind of demigod?"

A heavy silence descended, thick and suffocating.

Mum's hand froze on the spoon, her knuckles whitening. When she finally turned, her eyes met mine, unnervingly calm. She didn't flinch, didn't shout, didn't even ask if I was okay. Her expression was a carefully constructed mask of composure, but I saw something in her eyes – a flicker of recognition, a hint of… knowing.

Dad, on the other hand, let out a long, weary sigh and rubbed his forehead. "Well, that took less time than expected," he muttered under his breath. His voice was strangely tired, like this was all old news to him.

He set his pen down with a deliberate click and shifted Lily into her highchair. "Your brother's ahead of schedule," he said, his tone light, almost teasing, but the words felt hollow. He forced a smile for Lily's benefit, but when he looked at me, there was something else there. A quiet understanding, a grim acceptance of what was to come.

Lily's giggle cut through the tension, a stark contrast to the dread coiling in my gut. I couldn't focus on her innocence, on her tiny hands smacking the highchair tray. All I could think about was the chilling certainty that this was just the beginning.

"About time, to be honest," Mum said, turning back to the stove with an unnerving calmness.

"Sera…" Dad's voice held a warning note.

"Oh, come on, Damian," she replied, a dry humour lacing her tone that felt utterly out of place. "Even you were getting a little restless waiting." She flicked the wooden spoon at him, a playful yet pointed gesture. "Don't even try to deny it."

Dad wiped a stray drop of sauce from his cheek with a strained grin and leaned over to kiss Mum's cheek. Their eyes met for a long moment, a silent exchange that sent a shiver down my spine. They shared a secret, a history I wasn't privy to, and the weight of that unknown pressed down on me.

"I'll go get the emergency bag," Dad said, his tone casual, but the underlying tension was palpable. "You all good in here, hon?"

Mum nodded. "Mm-hmm."

He disappeared down the hallway, and the silence that followed felt heavy, suffocating. I glanced at Mum, the unease churning in my stomach. For a fleeting moment, her eyes met mine, and I saw it again – a flash of something beneath the surface of her calm façade. A glimmer of gold in her irises, a hint of something ancient and powerful. It vanished as quickly as it appeared, leaving me with a growing sense of disquiet.

"Is it just me," I blurted out, my voice shaking slightly, "Or do you guys know something I don't?" My frustration, my fear, bubbled to the surface. "I'm not angry," I added quickly, the words tumbling out, "I just… I need answers. I can't take the silence anymore."

Mum's gaze softened, just a fraction. Her lips twitched, as if she were weighing her words carefully.

"You think this is something new for us?" she finally said, a quiet edge creeping into her voice. "Oh, Theo, it's cute that you think a Cyclops is the worst we've dealt with. You have no idea what's really out there, honey. This is just the beginning."

Her words hung in the air, heavy with unspoken meaning. I didn't know how to respond, so I just nodded dumbly, my gaze drifting around the kitchen. That's when I noticed it – a faint shimmer along the edges of the windows, almost imperceptible in the dim light. It was subtle, like a heat haze, but it was there.

THUD! CLANG! CRASH!

My attention was drawn away as Dad reappeared, a massive duffel bag slung over his shoulder. He didn't break stride as he tossed the bag onto the dining table, the impact making the floor creak. His eyes met mine briefly, and I saw a flicker of caution. But it was gone as quickly as it appeared, replaced by a mask of grim determination.

"Everything's ready," he said, his voice controlled, steady. "Theo, take Lily."

Before I could react, my baby sister was in my arms, her small weight a comforting presence amidst the growing chaos. She babbled happily, oblivious to the tension crackling in the air.

Dad reached for the wall. His hand moved like he knew exactly where to go, and then a panel slid open with a faint click. My breath caught in my throat as I saw him pull out a sword.

It wasn't just any sword. This one gleamed in the dim light, with small symbols glowing faintly across the blade, its edges sharp enough to cut through metal. It was the kind of weapon that seemed almost... alive. I didn't even have to ask what it was. The power radiating from it made my skin prickle.

I watched as Dad turned the sword over in his hands, and for a fleeting moment, I thought I saw something – no, felt something – a flash of a memory that wasn't mine. A battlefield. A figure in the distance. A glint of the same metal. My stomach twisted. The sword felt like an echo of something deep inside me, but I had no idea what.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Silas freeze. His entire body went taut, like prey sensing a predator, and his nostrils flared as if he was sniffing the air for danger.

Then, without warning, he spun around, slamming the door shut with a force that made the walls tremble. "Shit," he muttered under his breath, his voice low but thick with tension.

Silas's eyes locked onto mine, sharp as daggers. He didn't waste a second before snapping, "What did I say?" His voice was tight with controlled urgency, but beneath it, I could hear the strain – he was holding something back, something worse than just a Cyclops. "Make it quick. Get out. What the hell are we not doing?"

Before I could answer, he took a deliberate step back, his ears twitching as he scanned the space around us. His posture had shifted, like a battle-ready animal about to pounce. "We've got company," he snapped, his tone cold, clipped, and deadly serious. "And I don't mean the friendly kind. We've got maybe a minute before-"

The words had barely left his mouth when the air around us crackled. A low hum vibrated through the walls, and a deep, guttural boom shook the house. The shimmer I'd noticed around the windows before now flared like lightning, and thin lines of golden runes appeared across the walls, floor, and ceiling, pulsing like a heartbeat.

"What the-?" I started, but then the whole house shuddered. The scent of ozone filled my nose.

Mum let out a sharp breath. "They're early."

The house shook again. This time, something cracked – a deep, unsettling sound that seemed to emanate from the very foundations of the building.

"Move!" Dad barked, already heading for the door.

The door burst open, and we stumbled out into the night. The air was thick with the stench of ozone and something… rotten. The ground trembled beneath my feet, and the golden runes flickered wildly across the house's surface, barely holding together.

Silas shoved me forward, his eyes darting around nervously. "Backseat. Now."

Clutching Lily tight, I bolted for the family car, my pulse pounding in my ears. Lily gurgled, completely unfazed by the increasingly apocalyptic atmosphere.

I yanked open the car door. Just before I climbed in, I glanced past the driveway. My blood ran cold.

The street beyond our property looked like a scene out of my worst nightmares.

A dozen grotesque figures prowled the perimeter, their eyes glowing in the darkness.

Some had leathery wings, their clawed hands flexing as they paced restlessly. Others slithered forward, their torsos vaguely human but melting into scaled, serpentine bodies – dracaenae, if my limited mythological knowledge was correct. Among them, I spotted a pair of women with mismatched legs – one human, one donkey – their sharp fangs glinting in the moonlight as they grinned.

And then there was the big one.

It was hard to comprehend its entire form at once. It stood on all fours, but its hunched, grotesque body looked half-wolf, half-… something much worse. Fur bristled along its back, but its head was a skeletal horror – elongated, like a horse's skull stripped of flesh, with glowing embers burning where its eyes should have been.

"Oh," I muttered faintly. "That's not good."

Behind me, Silas let out a long, low curse. I turned to see him frozen in place, his face a mask of disbelief. He wasn't staring at the monsters.

He was staring at what was left of his truck.

Or, more accurately, the smoking wreckage of his truck. The front half was crushed inward, steam hissing from the mangled engine. Deep claw marks shredded the doors, and something – I suspected the wolf-thing was the culprit – had taken a sizable bite out of the back bumper.

For a heartbeat, Silas just stood there, fists clenched. Then, very quietly, he climbed into the backseat with me and Lily, muttering, "I hate this job."

I didn't get a chance to offer any words of comfort. The earth shook again, the air splitting with an ear-splitting CRACK. All around us, the golden glow of the barrier fractured like glass.

From the porch, Dad swore under his breath. "Sera."

Mum closed her eyes for a brief moment, taking a deep breath. Then, her skin flushed from warm brown to a deep crimson. Her eyes snapped open, revealing golden irises burning with an inhuman rage, her pupils slitting like a serpent's. Black, curved horns sprouted from her head, her long hair lifting slightly as if caught in an unseen wind. Her fingernails lengthened into wicked talons, and when she turned towards the monsters outside the shattered barrier, her lips peeled back in a sharp-toothed grin.

Silas went very still. "Oh," he said faintly. "That's… new."

I couldn't move. Couldn't speak. I could only gape at the creature that had once been my mother, my mind screaming that this… thing couldn't be real. The air reeked of sulphur, jolting me back to the horrifying reality of the situation.

What. The. Actual. FUCK?!

Dad raised his sword, his expression grim.

The remnants of the barrier gave one last agonising shudder, then shattered with a deafening BOOM.

All hell broke loose.

The winged creatures dove, talons outstretched, shrieking as they hurtled toward us. Dad moved with a speed I'd never seen before. His sword flashed, a blur of silver, slicing through the first monster's chest. It exploded into golden dust before it even hit the ground.

Another creature swooped in, but Dad flicked his wrist, sending a ripple of power through the blade. A thin arc of energy lanced out, bisecting the monster mid-flight. It vanished in a puff of golden particles.

A dracaena slithered toward the car, twin swords flashing. It was fast, but Mum was faster. She intercepted its strike, her clawed hand closing around its wrist with bone-crushing force. The monster's eyes widened in terror as she wrenched its arm clean off. It shrieked, but the sound was cut short as Mum shoved her hand through its chest, crushing whatever passed for its heart. The creature crumbled into dust, the particles clinging to her talons as she turned to face the next threat.

The mismatched-legged vampire women – empousai, Silas supplied helpfully from the backseat – closed in, their movements a disturbing blend of grace and predatory hunger. Their eyes glowed like embers, and their fangs gleamed in the moonlight.

One lunged. Mum met her in mid-air, a brutal headbutt cracking the monster's face. Stunned, the empousa barely had time to react before Mum grabbed her by the hair, wrenched her head back, and tore her throat out with her teeth.

The creature convulsed, then dissolved into dust. Mum spat to the side, her lips curled in disgust.

A shadow loomed behind Dad – another dracaena, its blades raised to strike. Silas sucked in a breath, about to shout a warning, but Dad didn't even turn. With a flick of his wrist, a word of power hissed from his lips.

A black sigil burned into the pavement beneath the dracaena's feet. The monster froze, its body locking up as if held by invisible chains. Then, slowly, grotesquely, its body began to twist. Not just its spine – its entire form. Scales split open, revealing raw flesh beneath, as its screams turned guttural and inhuman. The pavement cracked as its lower half crumbled into dust, its upper body spiralling into itself, folding and contorting until–

It was gone. Only a smear of golden ichor and a faint, echoing whisper remained.

Then the wolf-thing charged.

It was a hulking monstrosity, its skull-like face twisted in a silent snarl. It barrelled toward the car, its ember-eyes fixated on us. Dad threw out a hand, and a series of runes blazed to life beneath the creature's feet. The moment it stepped into the trap, golden chains erupted from the ground, snapping around its limbs. It thrashed violently, its claws gouging deep furrows in the dirt.

Mum was already moving. With a single, fluid motion, she leaped onto the monster's back, grabbed its skull, and twisted.

"STAY. AWAY. FROM. MY. KIDS!"

A sickening crack echoed through the night. Then the beast dissolved, the chains falling slack as its remains scattered in the wind.

Silence descended, broken only by the rustling of leaves and the faint whisper of the wind. The street was empty, save for the swirling remnants of golden dust. Dad lowered his sword, his face grim. Mum exhaled, rolling her shoulders as she wiped a smear of blood from her cheek.

I turned to check on Silas. He was slumped in the backseat, staring at my mum with wide, glassy eyes. His mouth opened and closed like a fish out of water.

Then he fainted.

I blinked, the world tilting slightly.

Mum scoffed, tossing her hair over her shoulder. "Lightweight."

I barely heard her. My eyes were fixed on the remnants of the monsters, the golden dust swirling in the air like macabre confetti. I swallowed hard, my stomach churning.

My parents had… done that. They'd slaughtered those… things. Without hesitation. Without mercy. To protect me.

They climbed into the front seats, their faces impassive, their hands steady as they started the car. They acted as if they hadn't just participated in a brutal, otherworldly massacre.

But I had seen it. And I was shaking.

I didn't even know what to say. My chest ached, the words caught in my throat.

Then everything went black.

AUTHOR NOTE: Well, how was that? Hope that wasn't too long, but I wanted to get started with a bang and it didn't feel right splitting this up. I promise chapters will be slightly shorter going forward. I'm going to try to aim for a fortnightly update (a chapter every two weeks). If for any reason, I know it'll take longer, I will let you all know in the author notes.

Please feel free to leave any feedback with my Department of Criticisms (or as you know them, the reviews section). I love to improve my writing, so tell me what you liked, what you think I can improve - anything.

I am also looking for a beta reader. If anyone's interested, send me a PM and I'll see if we can work something out.

Also, FYI, the story image is my OC, Theo. I'd love to hear your thoughts and guesses as to who you think his godly parent is. I'll give you a hint: it might not be as obvious, nor as simple, as you might think.

Next Chapter: Theo's arrival at Camp Half-Blood and the first interactions with canon characters. And, of course, some tough goodbyes. I'm looking forward to this. Muahahahaha!