Somewhere in the Olympic national park, Washington - August 5th, 2015

Orion Wiggins stood perfectly still, his breathing steady, his posture so straight he could've been mistaken for one of the towering fir trees around him. His shiny white hair was muddied to prevent detection. He slowly drew his bow, the string pulling taut as he aimed.

"Eyes on the target," Velora whispered, crouching behind him. Her voice was calm, but there was a hint of pride. The kid had come a long way.

Orion's silver-gray eyes shone like the moon that had begun it's ascent above them and were locked onto the deer grazing peacefully a few yards ahead, blissfully unaware it was about to become dinner. He took a deep breath, held it, and released the arrow.

The bowstring twanged, the arrow sliced through the air, and—thwack!—embedded itself in the deer, right behind its front leg, where the heart should be. The deer bolted, crashing through the underbrush, but Velora knew it wouldn't get far.

"Bullseye," Velora said, ruffling his muddy hair like he was a Labrador retriever who'd fetched a stick.

Orion slung his bow over his shoulder and grinned. "That makes ten direct hits, how does it feel to lose to a thirteen year old?"

Velora laughed as they stood. "The next monster dumb enough to wander into our camp is all yours, kiddo."

Orion beamed like someone had just handed him a PlayStation. The two began tracking the deer at a leisurely pace, Velora keeping an eye on their surroundings. She had spent thirteen years protecting Orion and moving him from place to place, always keeping him off the Olympian radar. Not an easy job when the kid practically screamed danger magnet.

Orion wasn't your average demigod. No, that would've been too simple. Lady Artemis had been very clear: the boy was special, and his existence had to remain a secret. From the moment Velora held him as a baby, she'd felt it—a strange, otherworldly aura that made the hair on the back of her neck stand up. The monsters felt it, too. The children of Echidna had practically lined up to take a shot at him when he was little. Velora had spent those early years fighting off enough monsters to fill an encyclopedia of things-that-want-to-eat-you.

Now, at thirteen, Orion was a different story. He wasn't just surviving. He was thriving. The kid could track a target through the densest forest, hit a bullseye from fifty yards, and gut a deer faster than a seasoned hunter. And that was just the daytime stuff. At a night such as this, when the moonlight hit him? Oh boy.

Velora had seen him conjure glowing blades and shields out of moonlight, though he hadn't quite mastered it yet. During a full moon, his aura flared so brightly you'd swear he was a minor god. That's when the monsters came sniffing around, drawn to his power like moths to a flame. Velora had always been there to protect him, but sometimes she wondered who was protecting whom. Though he's no stranger to monster attacks, being a child of Artemis demands that he learn to treat natural predators as his prey.

They found the deer lying in the grass, still and silent. Orion knelt beside it, pulled out the arrow, and muttered a quiet prayer to Artemis. Velora watched him, a small smile tugging at her lips. The kid might be a force of nature, but he has a good heart.

He took out his hunting knife and got to work on the deer. Velora wiped her brow and glanced at the nearly full moon. It was sundown but the moon had already risen quite high. Velora had been dreading this night for months now.

First they'll have dinner, and then, the real hunt begins.

????????

Percy was standing in the middle of a barren, sun-scorched desert, which was weird because last he checked, deserts weren't his thing. He was more of an ocean guy. The ground beneath him was cracked and glowing faintly, like someone had trapped a bunch of fireflies under a layer of glass. Overhead, the sky was dark—unnaturally dark--as if Apollo had taken a vacation and left his B-team in charge of the sun.

In the center of the desert, something caught his eye. A massive golden disk lay half-buried in the dirt, shimmering like a giant coin from Olympus' mint. It was beautiful—engraved with intricate sun designs and surrounded by swirling celestial patterns. It was also way too hot to be normal. Percy took a step toward it, and immediately, the heat hit him like a slap to the face. By step three, he was pretty sure he was about to become the world's first demigod barbecue.

Still, something about the disk called to him. It wasn't just the shiny "ooh, treasure!" vibe. It felt... ancient. Powerful. Like Apollo's sun chariot on steroids, except Percy instinctively knew this thing made Apollo's ride look like a training tricycle.

Against all logic, Percy reached out toward the disk. He figured that if he was about to incinerate himself, at least it'd be quick. As his fingers brushed the edge, the disk began to glow brighter. It lifted off the ground, and then—crack. Percy froze.

"Uh, I didn't do that," he muttered, though no one was around to hear him.

The glowing cracks spread across the disk's surface until it looked like a giant, golden egg about to hatch. Then, it shattered. Percy threw his arms over his face as a supernova of light exploded outward. He braced himself to be vaporized, but... nope. He was still standing, though his eyes felt like they'd just been flashbanged by a celestial SWAT team.

Before he could process what had just happened, laughter echoed around him. Not the nice kind of laughter, like when Grover accidentally trips over his own hooves. This was the kind of laughter that made your skin crawl—cold, sharp, and way too pleased with itself.

The desert began to change. Darkness poured in like floodwater, swallowing everything in its path. The golden glow vanished, leaving Percy floating inside an endless void. It wasn't just dark—it was the kind of darkness that made you forget what light even was. It pressed down on him, cold and suffocating, until he felt like he was sinking into nothingness.

Then came the voice.

It didn't sound like something that belonged in the world, though it did sound familiar. It rumbled through the darkness, deep and ancient, like the Earth itself was speaking -which was Minotaur crap since they practically nuked Gaea like two years ago. The sound vibrated in Percy's bones, made his teeth chatter, and left him wishing he'd brought a spare pair of pants.

"Your world quakes on the edge of oblivion," the voice growled. "The light will falter. The gods will kneel. And you, Perseus Jackson... you will watch your world become mine."

The darkness pulsed, and Percy saw something—or at least, he thought he did. A massive figure loomed in the void, made of shadows and black fire. Its eyes were twin voids that seemed to suck in everything, including Percy's ability to think straight. He stumbled back, trying to keep his knees from giving out.

"Uh..." Percy's mouth worked, but the only sound that came out was something between a squeak and a gasp. So much for heroic defiance.

The figure laughed—a sound like shattering glass and distant screams—and lunged at him. Percy flinched, expecting to be crushed like a bug, but instead, he felt like he was being yanked backward by a giant rubber band. The void melted away, and suddenly, he wasn't in the darkness anymore.

He was in his mom's apartment.

Or at least, it looked like his mom's apartment. The kitchen was exactly how he remembered it: blue tile countertops, a bowl of fruit no one ever ate, and the faint smell of cookies lingering in the air. But something felt... off. The apartment was too quiet. No Sally Jackson bustling around. No Paul Blofis grading essays at the kitchen table.

Percy turned, and there, lounging on his old beanbag chair, was the weirdest guy Percy had ever seen—and that was saying something.

The man looked like he'd just rolled out of bed. His pale gold hair stuck up in every direction, like he'd been electrocuted. His half-lidded eyes radiated chill vibes only, and he was dressed in a pair of flannel pajamas with tiny sheep patterns. Under one arm, he clutched a pillow, and in his other hand, he held a small golden poppy, twirling it absentmindedly.

"Beware the shadow that breathes, child of the sea," the man said, his voice soft and soothing, like a lullaby. "It knows your name."

Percy blinked. "Uh, what—?"

Before he could finish the sentence, the apartment dissolved into mist. Percy shot upright in his bed, his heart pounding like he'd just fought a hydra. His cabin was dark, but the faint sound of waves crashing on the shore reminded him where he was: Camp Half-Blood.

He ran a hand through his sweat-drenched hair and groaned. He'd passed out at six-thirty the night before after helping haul about a dozen terrified demigods across the border while dodging Keres. Now it was probably the middle of the night, and instead of feeling rested, he felt like he'd been hit by a celestial freight train.

He swung his legs over the side of the bed, grabbing his ballpoint pen from the nightstand. He had a feeling sleep wasn't happening again anytime soon. And somehow, he knew this wasn't just a random bad dream. His life was about to get a whole lot harder.

Camp Half-blood, Long Island - 20th July 2021

Morning had come and gone, and Percy was still sitting at the bottom of the canoe lake, trying not to lose his mind. Anyone would think that after surviving multiple world-ending crises—Titans, giants, Gaea, and the rest—he'd be allowed a break. A normal year. No monsters, no prophecies, just college, naps, and occasional blue pancakes.

But no. Because the Fates clearly hated him.

Above him, sunlight rippled like liquid gold through the water. Somewhere out there, another threat was brewing. He could feel it in his bones, the same way one senses the air shift before a storm. As much as he didn't want to admit it, this one felt worse than anything he'd faced before. Maybe even worse than Tartarus. Okay, definitely not worse than Tartarus—Annabeth would kill him for saying that—but still bad.

Chiron had once told him that primordial forces, the big bads of the universe, couldn't enter their world. They'd been locked away long before the gods were born. But something in Percy's dream—a vast, glowing desert, an ominous golden disk, and a shadowy figure—made him think otherwise.

He sighed, the sound bubbling out of him underwater. This was supposed to be his year. No quests. No apocalyptic doom. He'd graduated high school (barely), gotten into New Rome University (also barely), and finally had a chance to live a semi-normal life with Annabeth. But here he was, brooding at the bottom of a lake like some emo Poseidon version of the Little Mermaid.

A soft touch brushed against his cheek, and Percy flinched. His eyes snapped open to find a naiad staring at him. She squeaked and darted away, her friends giggling behind her. Great. Naiads: nature's paparazzi. Judging by their snickering, they'd been watching long enough to make him want to crawl under a rock.

One of them pointed upward. Percy followed her gaze and saw Annabeth sitting on the dock, her blonde hair shining like molten gold. She was grinning down at him, and just like that, his mood lightened.

He pushed off the lake floor, swam up, and climbed onto the dock. Annabeth sat with her legs dangling in the water, kicking idly.

"Figured you could use some company, Seaweed Brain," she said, plucking a kelp leaf out of his hair and flicking it back into the lake.

"Is Mr. D back yet?" Percy asked. Zeus had called an emergency meeting a few days ago, summoning every god—major, minor, and probably a few he'd never even heard of. Mr. D hadn't returned since, and things at camp were…tense. Apparently, Camp Jupiter was also under siege by Keres, shadowy death spirits, and even mortals were disappearing. It was bad enough to make their usual summer disasters look like field day.

"Not yet," Annabeth said, her tone grim. "Chiron's hoping he'll bring news when he does. Rachel hasn't had a prophecy yet, and the Grove of Dodona is just…well, whispering nonsense." She scowled at the water, her legs still swinging back and forth. Percy noticed he was unconsciously mimicking her, his feet splashing in rhythm.

"You're thinking about something," Annabeth said, glancing at him sideways. "Spill."

Annabeth was impossible to fool, and Percy knew it. He told her about his dream—everything from the desert to the weird shadowy guy who'd appeared in his mom's apartment. As he spoke, her hand found his, her thumb tracing small, calming circles against his palm.

"That must've been Hypnos," she said thoughtfully. "The god of sleep and dreams. He can manipulate dreams, invade them…" She trailed off, her stormy gray eyes narrowing like she was piecing together a puzzle. "But why you? And what's with the golden disk?"

"Beats me," Percy said. "But he said something about the dark knowing my name. That's...not ominous or anything."

Before Annabeth could respond, the conch horn blasted, echoing through camp. Another demigod was on their way. Lately, demigods outside camp had been warned to stay put unless they had no other choice. The Keres were relentless, and getting through the borders was like trying to run a marathon while dodging a swarm of murder hornets.

"Guess it's time for another round of Keres extermination," Percy said, standing and offering Annabeth his hand.

"Lucky me," she muttered, taking it and pulling herself up. "Let's go."

They headed back toward camp, and as much as Percy didn't want to admit it, he couldn't shake the feeling that this wasn't just another routine monster attack. Whatever was coming, it was big. And once again, the universe seemed ready to make him its favorite chew toy.

Orion stared at the deer roasting over the fire, the meat sizzling and popping. The rich, smoky aroma hit him like a freight train, and his stomach growled so loudly it probably scared off a few squirrels. He hadn't realized just how hungry he was until now. Still, his thoughts weren't on food—they were somewhere out in the dark woods, tangled up in things far more dangerous than dinner.

Velora had left him in charge of the fire while she went to collect more wood. She did that a lot—left him alone to "brood," as she called it, like brooding was some kind of sacred demigod ritual. Not that Orion minded. He liked the quiet. Besides, Velora always came back with enough wood to fuel a small volcano. She swore she didn't have a secret nymph-powered dimension full of firewood, but he wasn't convinced.

He poked the fire with a stick, watching the flames dance and crackle. Tonight was a big deal—Velora had finally agreed to let him come along on one of her hunts. That was rare. Usually, she handled the monster problems herself, patrolling the Olympic National Forest like some kind of vigilante ranger. She'd clear the area of hellhounds, empousai, and other riffraff so they didn't wander too close to the camp.

But this wasn't some random patrol. Orion had his sights set on something much worse, and Velora knew it. She hadn't wanted him to tag along at first, but he'd worn her down. He wasn't a regular demigod, after all. He was the son of Artemis. The wilderness was basically his birthright. And he would be damned if he let monsters inhabit his mother's sacred temple.

It wasn't just any temple, either. This one had been relocated from Greece when the gods moved west. Apparently, magical temples were the carry-ons of Olympus. This particular one had been kicking around the Pacific Northwest for centuries, complete with ancient relics, guardian nymphs, and probably a Wi-Fi signal older than Apollo's haikus.

Unfortunately, the temple had a squatter problem. A big one. Lycaon had taken over the place, and calling it a "monster" was like calling a hurricane a mild inconvenience. It was massive, cunning, and way too dangerous for Velora on her own. She had already tried to take it down once and had barely survived. She'd come back looking like she'd gone ten rounds with a blender.

Orion wasn't worried, though. He had to do this. It wasn't just about proving himself—it was about protecting something that mattered. The idea of some ancient werewolf desecrating his mother's temple made his blood boil. He wasn't going to let that stand.

A twig snapped in the distance. He could hear Velora's footsteps before she came into view, the soft crunch of pine needles under her boots. He could smell the faint hint of cedarwood and the familiar earthy scent that always clung to her, like she'd rolled around in a nymph's perfume stash. He was always like that after sundown—like someone had flipped his "night mode" switch. Being the son of Artemis came with perks, and nighttime power-ups were definitely part of the package.

She emerged from the trees a moment later, dragging an absurdly large bundle of firewood behind her. She dropped it with a thud and dusted off her hands, then plopped down next to him like she'd just finished bench-pressing a mountain.

"Penny for your thoughts, broody boy?" she asked, smirking as she ruffled his hair.

Orion scowled and ducked out of reach. "I'm not brooding."

"Sure, you're not." Velora gave him a look that practically screamed you totally are. "So? You ready for this? Or are we calling it a night after dinner?"

"Born ready," Orion said, trying to sound confident. He wasn't sure he pulled it off.

Velora raised an eyebrow. "Uh-huh. Just so you know, Lycaon isn't like those baby monsters you've been chasing. This thing is a demigod-killer. It's older than your mom, meaner than Ares on a bad day, and it's got teeth that—"

"Velora," Orion interrupted, smirking. "Can't kill what you can't catch, remember?"

Velora snorted. "That only works when you're running. Which, by the way, might not be the worst idea tonight." She slung an arm around his shoulder and pulled him close, her teasing tone softening. "Just… do exactly as i say. I'll do my very best to make sure you walk away without a scratch, but i'd appreciate a little help."

Orion stared into the fire, the flickering flames reflecting in his silver-gray eyes. He hadn't missed the implication in her statement, she wouldn't care less what happens to her, as long as he's safe. The warmth of Velora's arm was a small comfort, but he knew it wouldn't last. Out there, in the depths of the rainforest, something was waiting for them. And it wasn't going to play fair.

"Don't worry," he said quietly. "I've got this."

He just hoped he believed it as much as he sounded like he did.

Velora methodically tied the celestial bronze arrowheads to their shafts, her fingers moving with practiced efficiency. These arrows were her insurance, the only ones they had. She wasn't about to lose them in the chaos of a fight. Monsters might be willing to take a lot of things, but she was determined they wouldn't take her arrows. That meant retrieval was a must—and, unfortunately, monsters didn't always cooperate on that front.

Across the small treehouse, Orion sat, sharpening his celestial bronze hunting knife. It had been with him since he was six—another gift from Artemis. Or rather, the knife had just shown up one morning, tied in a neat bow at the base of their treehouse, as though Artemis was saying, "Here, kid. Don't go stabbing yourself. Love, Mom."

Velora couldn't help but roll her eyes at the thought. She'd seen the knife enough times to know it was less sentimental and more about keeping Orion in one piece. She just hoped it would be enough.

A heavy sigh left her lips, the kind that screamed, "This is a terrible idea, but it's happening anyway." She looked over at Orion, who was already brimming with that familiar mix of arrogance and unwarranted confidence. They were about to march straight into Lycaon's territory—that Lycaon. The original werewolf. The first guy to think it was a good idea to serve Zeus a meal of his own son. He was ancient, ruthless, and basically the embodiment of everything that made monsters bad news.

She'd tangled with him once. Spoiler alert: It had almost been her last fight. And yet here was Orion, eager to get in on the action. Why? Because he was 13, and 13-year-olds, especially ones with superpowers, always think they can take on the world. It didn't help that he was right about one thing: Lycaon couldn't keep terrorizing the temple of Artemis forever. It needed to be cleansed, and the local wildlife deserved a break from constant fear. Still, Velora's gut twisted at the thought of facing him again.

She finished tying the last arrow into her quiver and gave a sharp glance toward Orion. "Ready?" Her voice was steadier than she felt, but that was the goal.

Orion didn't even look up, still focused on his knife. "Born ready."

Velora's lips twitched, the frustration bubbling up again. "If you use that line one more time, I'll let Lycaon eat you for breakfast. With a side of 'idiot.'"

He finally looked up, grinning. He sheathed his celestial bronze knife and adjusted the plain steel dagger at his waist. Not all monsters were mythical, and not all weapons were made of celestial bronze. Velora always had to remind herself that they weren't just hunting gods and monsters in the traditional sense; sometimes, the woods were full of much more mundane, but just as dangerous, threats.

They left the treehouse in silence. It had been their home for the past thirteen years, nestled high in the ancient trees. Velora had always appreciated the solitude, the sense of safety it gave them, but tonight, it felt different. She wasn't sure why, but the feeling gnawed at her, telling her they might not be coming back.

The moon hung just shy of full. Usually, that would have been a relief—Orion's powers thrived in the moonlight. But Velora knew the full moon had a downside. Orion's aura would flare up like a neon sign, drawing the attention of every monster within miles. That was why, on full moons, they stayed put—barricaded and hidden. But tonight, there was no choice. This was their best bet and they'd take it.

They moved through the forest with practiced stealth, their steps light and quiet. But Velora's nerves only grew with every snap of twigs underfoot. Orion, as usual, didn't seem to notice. His calm was almost maddening. Of course, why would he worry? He had moonlight powers, and if he got into trouble, he'd just punch his way out of it with a smile on his face.

When they reached the edge of Lycaon's territory, Velora gave Orion one last, withering look. "Don't do anything stupid."

"Define 'stupid,'" he replied, flashing that grin of his.

Velora sighed, resigned. She'd told herself she wouldn't let this get to her, but damn if this wasn't going to be a disaster.

Velora moved through the trees, her imperial gold daggers glinting under the eerie moonlight. She knew Orion's senses were sharper than hers at night—especially under a full moon—but that didn't stop her from stretching out her own hearing, scanning the forest for threats just like Artemis had taught her. And, of course, just like she had taught Orion.

She wished, not for the first time, that she had her fellow Hunters at her side. If she had a full hunting party, not even a being as powerful as Lycaon would stand a chance. But only Artemis herself knew where Velora was and what she was doing. As far as the other Hunters were concerned, she might as well be dead.

That thought should have made her sad. Instead, she glanced at Orion, who was walking beside her with his usual lazy confidence, his white hair streaked with mud to make him less visible. His silver eyes still shone in a way that made Velora's skin prickle—an unmistakable reminder of his mother.

Velora had spent centuries among the Hunters. But the thirteen years she'd spent raising Orion? Those had been the happiest of her life. She had cared for him, trained him, treated him when he was sick. She had bathed him, fed him, watched him grow. She had loved him.

She wanted more than anything to see him grow into the man she knew he would be. To watch him fall in love, start a family, find peace in a world that rarely allowed heroes that kind of luxury.

But she knew the odds.

The gods would never allow Orion's existence to stand once they found out about him. Artemis wouldn't be able to protect him. Maybe they'd kill him outright. Maybe they'd just unleash every monster in existence to hunt him down. Either way, she knew how the stories ended for Greek heroes. And she knew that one day, Orion might become another tragic name in history.

She would do anything to stop that from happening.

Velora's thoughts were interrupted by a very annoying voice.

"Now look who's brooding," Orion said.

Velora blinked, realizing she'd been scowling at the ground. Orion was walking beside her with a cocky grin, his stance almost too relaxed for someone about to march into the lair of the most dangerous werewolf in history.

"Keep your guard up," she hissed.

"Relax," Orion said. "There's no monster around for miles."

Velora resisted the urge to whack him upside the head. "The Mist can obscure your senses, you know that."

"Sight and hearing, yeah. But not my sense of smell." Orion wrinkled his nose. "And right now, all I'm smelling is trees, animal fur, and that absolutely disgusting cologne you're wearing."

Velora grinned. "Oh? You like it? It's a mix of crushed mint, garlic, and some wildflowers I picked up. Wolves hate it."

Orion gagged. "Yeah, well, so do demigods with a working nose."

Velora's grin widened. "Then it's working. I still have some left if you want."

"Yeah… no."

They walked in silence for another hour before Velora felt it.

The change.

The air turned unnaturally cold. Not normal night-chill cold—unnatural, wrong, like something was draining the life out of the forest.

The sky was now overcast, but somehow, the moonlight still found a way through, casting everything in an eerie silver glow.

The terrain had changed, too. The trees were no longer just trees. They were twisted, skeletal things, their bark peeling away like rotting flesh. Orion touched one of the trunks, and black sap oozed out like blood.

"Gross." Orion yelped wiping his hand on his pants.

"I've seen worse," Velora muttered.

They kept moving, stepping over carcasses—some decades old, half-buried in the earth, others frozen mid-decay, as if time itself had abandoned them.

Lycaon had been in the Pacific Northwest for a long, long time. His presence was so powerful, it had warped the land itself.

Velora hadn't realized how bad it was when she last came to challenge the ancient wolf. But back then, it had been daylight, and the Mist had done its job, keeping most of this horror hidden.

Now?

Now the truth was laid bare in the moonlight. And it was worse than she had ever imagined.

The smell was unbearable. Rotting meat. Damp fur. Every breath felt like inhaling the aftermath of a monster buffet.

And then, Velora caught another scent. Something sweet, almost like honey.

She stopped.

"Do you smell that?" she asked Orion.

He sniffed the air, frowning. "Yeah."

"Do you know what it is?"

Orion shook his head. "No. And that's what worries me."

Velora knew they were about to have the worst night of their lives.

The forest had gone wrong. Like, really wrong. The crisp scent of pine and damp earth had been replaced by something sweeter—too sweet. Like someone had dumped an entire bottle of expired cologne on a pile of rotting meat. Yeah. Not a great sign.

Orion adjusted his grip on his dagger, his knuckles white. The blade shimmered under the moonlight, which was struggling to get through the warped branches above them. Velora exhaled slowly, sheathing her twin blades and reaching for her bow. She nocked an arrow, her sharp eyes scanning the dark.

Then, the howl came.

It wasn't the "oh no, I lost my pack" kind of howl. It wasn't even the "hey, I found a rabbit" kind. No, this was worse. This howl promised pain. It promised nightmares. It promised this was the last mistake you'd ever make, buddy.

"He knows we're here," Velora muttered.

Orion didn't answer. He didn't need to. The forest itself was shifting—branches twisting unnaturally, casting shadows that didn't match their shapes. The mist thickened, swirling around their legs. Velora blinked, and for a split second, the entire forest seemed to change. The corpses littering the ground were gone. The air was clearer. The trees looked… normal.

Then the vision was gone, and the stink of death slammed back into her nose.

Something rustled. Too close.

"Where is he?" Velora asked.

Orion tensed. Not good. If he wasn't sure, they were in serious trouble.

"The mist is too thick. I can only smell him if he gets too close," he admitted. He shifted slightly so they stood back to back, just like she'd taught him.

Then came the voice. Low, rasping, and way too smug.

"You reek of demigod stench."

Velora's jaw tightened. The shadows moved again. Leaves rustled—left, right, everywhere.

"Tell me, son of the gods… do they still cower on Olympus while you wander in the dark?"

Velora spun toward the sound, bow raised. Nothing.

The voice slid through the mist, now from Orion's right.

"Do you think they watch over you? Hear your prayers?"

A deep, guttural chuckle. Orion's eye twitched.

"You gonna talk all night, or are you actually gonna show your ugly mug?" he shot back.

A sharp snap behind them.

They turned just as something flickered through the mist—fast, too fast. Velora's instincts screamed danger.

"It was foolish to bring the boy, hunter," the voice purred, shifting direction again. This time, it was talking to her. "There are no gods here. Only me."

Orion stiffened. That was all the warning they got.

The shadows exploded.

Lycaon burst from the darkness—a nightmare in motion. His eyes glowed like burning coals. His body was a blur of fur, muscle, and malice. His claws lashed out—Orion barely twisted away in time. The air whistled as those razor-sharp talons sliced through the space his chest had been a second ago.

Velora loosed an arrow on instinct. It sailed through empty air.

Then, suddenly—bam.

Lycaon wasn't in front of her anymore. He was to her right.

A flash of fangs. A gleam of claws.

Velora barely had time to think one final, deeply unhelpful thought:

Oh, great. We're so dead.

She had approximately one second to register the massive, snarling wolf lunging for her throat before she ducked, rolling to the side just as Lycaon's jaws snapped shut where her head had been. The sound alone sent a chill down her spine—like steel traps closing. She scrambled to her feet, her fingers itching for another arrow, but she knew that wouldn't help her at close range.

That was fine. Orion had her back.

The thirteen-year-old demigod had somehow leaped onto Lycaon's back, his hands gripping the wolf's enormous muzzle. His fingers were encased in shimmering gauntlets made of solid moonlight, glowing silver against the beast's dark fur. Lycaon bucked and twisted, trying to shake him off, but Orion held tight, forcing the monster's mouth open.

Velora took aim, an arrow nocked and ready. Lycaon was moving too erratically for a clean shot at his eyes, but she fired anyway, hoping for a lucky hit. The arrow embedded itself in his flank. Lycaon snarled—more annoyed than injured. For another, weaker monster, that shot would've been lethal. For Lycaon? Barely a mosquito bite.

With a furious roar, the Wolf King finally managed to throw Orion off. The boy hit the ground hard, rolling once before Lycaon pounced. Orion barely had time to react before the monster was on him, snapping at his face.

Orion's fingers curled, and another pulse of moonlight surged across his arms. His gauntlets extended, forming armguards that held Lycaon's jaws at bay. Even so, the pressure was enormous. Lycaon's dagger-like teeth were inches from Orion's face, dripping saliva onto his cheek.

Velora didn't hesitate. She loosed another arrow—this one aimed for the beast's throat. It hit, but Lycaon barely flinched.

"Not even a thank you?" she muttered.

Orion kicked up with both legs, planting his feet against the wolf's chest. Then, with an explosion of force that would make Ares proud, he launched Lycaon backward. The wolf flew through the air, slamming into the ground several meters away.

Orion sprang to his feet, a fresh dagger in one hand, while his left shimmered with silver light. A new blade appeared in his grip—longer, glowing faintly in the darkness. Unlike celestial bronze or imperial gold, it was crafted purely from moonlight, capable of cutting through even the strongest of monsters.

Velora pulled back another arrow. "Remind me to get one of those moon swords."

"Only if you remind me to stop letting giant wolves bite me," Orion shot back.

Lycaon was already up, his hulking form lunging forward. Orion met him head-on.

Velora kept firing, her arrows slicing through the air as Orion and the Wolf King clashed. Orion rolled between the monster's legs, slashing at his underbelly, but Lycaon twisted unnaturally fast, dodging at the last second. Velora's arrows struck home—a hit to the flank, the shoulder, the ribs—but Lycaon barely seemed to notice.

The Wolf King was getting tired of the game.

Velora saw it too late—the shift in his stance, the way his muscles coiled. One second, Orion was dodging, the next, Lycaon's massive jaws snapped shut around his shoulder. Luckily, he'd managed to form armor around seconds before.

Orion let out a strangled yell as the beast lifted him like a chew toy, shaking him viciously before hurling him through the air.

Velora barely had time to curse before Orion crashed into her.

"That—" Orion wheezed, wincing as he pressed a hand to his shoulder, "—was unpleasant."

Velora got up beside him, keeping her bow raised. Lycaon had dissapeared into the trees again. Orion's jacket was torn, blood seeping through the fabric. She knew his healing factor would kick in, but he was in pain. And worse—he was afraid.

"Are you okay?" she asked.

Orion forced a weak grin. "Never better."

"That's a lie," Velora muttered, helping him to his feet.

A low chuckle echoed through the trees.

Velora felt every hair on her arms rise.

"Quite the power you have there, boy," Lycaon mused, his voice slithering from all directions. "If not for that little armor of yours, you'd have lost an arm."

"Yeah, thanks for the play-by-play, Cujo," Orion muttered.

Velora tightened her grip on her bow. She had two arrows left. If she was going to take him down, it had to be a headshot.

"Show yourself, coward," she demanded. "Let's end this."

Lycaon chuckled again. "I am no mindless beast, hunter. My cunning has kept me alive for centuries while lesser monsters are slain again and again. Do you know why?"

Orion crossed his arms. "Because you run away like a little puppy?"

A growl rumbled through the clearing.

"Insolent child," Lycaon snarled. "I have hunted demigods for centuries. I have feasted upon their bones. What makes you any different?"

Orion glanced at Velora, their backs pressed together. "We got a plan?"

Velora exhaled slowly. She couldn't make the shot, not while Lycaon was moving like a shadow. But Orion could.

"Orion, you take the shot," she whispered. "I'll distract him."

Orion hesitated. "Are you sure—?"

She shoved her quiver and bow into his hands, drawing her daggers instead. "Just don't miss."

Lycaon's growl turned amused. "So that is your name—Orion. Fitting. Named after the fool who tried to woo the hunter goddess. Is that why you're here? Are you hoping Artemis will notice you?"

Orion's fingers tightened around the bow. Velora could see it—his anger flickering just beneath the surface.

"A monster like you doesn't deserve to sully one of her temples," she spat. "For that alone, you owe us your life."

Lycaon's laughter rang through the forest. "Brave words. But what I do not understand is why the boy is here. Artemis has never taken a male among her hunters, unless…"

Velora's stomach twisted as Lycaon's laughter grew louder.

"I'm going to enjoy ripping him apart," the wolf purred. "His bones will make a fine trophy. And you, hunter—you will be my meal."

Velora was about to reply when Lycaon moved.

One second, he was in the trees. The next, he was lunging straight at Orion.

Orion fired. The arrow streaked through the air—but Lycaon ducked.

Velora didn't think. She shoved Orion aside just as Lycaon's jaws clamped down—on her.

The pain was instant. Fire tore through her right arm as the beast dragged her across the clearing.

Orion shouted her name. Another thwack—an arrow striking Lycaon's hide—but it only enraged him further. Velora gasped as the wolf's teeth crushed down, ready to snap her neck.

Then, suddenly, Lycaon stopped.

A silver spear had appeared—impaling the beast clean through the mouth.

Lycaon let out a strangled whimper before his body collapsed, turning to dust.

Above her, Orion stood, his silver eyes glowing like twin moons.

That was the last thing Velora saw before everything went dark.

Hey guys. It's been a while. Hope you enjoy and don't forget to tell me what you think. You'll also notice i've made some changes with the dates of my previous chapters, but otherwise, the story remains the same. I'll try updating the next chapter before Valentines day. Also, feel free to check out my other stories.