"Alright, let's see," a bright voice said. Will Solace, head of the Apollo cabin, pulled up a stool. His sunny disposition felt like a personal attack. He unwrapped the bandages from my forearm with practiced efficiency. "The scarring is... significant. But the underlying tissue is knitting well. You're a healer's nightmare, you know that? Your body seems to be fighting itself every step of the way."
I just grunted, not trusting my voice. Every time he touched me, I expected Manny to scream in my head, to shove some more magic into the wounds to keep up the facade. But Manny was quiet. Too quiet.
You still there? I thought, the mental projection feeling clumsy and loud.
Reading, Manny's voice replied, flat and distant. The Lightning Thief. Fascinating stuff. Your boy's hero was a real piece of work. Angry, impulsive... a lot like you, actually. Before you were broken.
What are you doing?
Figuring out the lay of the land, he said. This world... it has rules. Not just physics, but narrative rules. Cause and effect. If we break them, the whole story might unravel.
A cold dread, colder than the ocean water, seeped into my bones. "What happens if you break them?" I whispered, then flinched, realizing I'd spoken aloud.
Will paused, his head tilted. "Break what? The skin? Try not to. It'll set back your recovery by weeks."
I shook my head, forcing a weak smile. "Just... talking to myself."
Will didn't look convinced, but he let it go. "Well, Chiron says you're clear for light duty. You can move to your cabin today. Just... try not to get into any more tsunamis for a bit, okay?"
As soon as he left, I pressed the issue. Manny, what happens?
There was a long silence. I could almost hear the turning of a page in my mind.
Then say goodbye to your son, Manny said, his voice devoid of its usual sarcastic humor. Your son is in a particular version of this fanfic which I was told is highly realistic. If we don't make sure this fanfic is basically true to the Riordanverse, he will be lost to the tide. The story will correct itself. And a mortal father and his mysterious guide don't belong in the corrected version. At least that is how the plot sees us.
The words hung in the air. My freedom of movement came with a shackle of absolute compliance.
An hour later, Percy Jackson appeared at my door. He didn't smile. He just nodded, his sea-green eyes scanning me from head to toe, a gesture that was becoming tiresomely familiar. "Chiron's orders. I'm taking you to your cabin."
Grover was with him, offering a small, sympathetic smile. "We brought you some clothes. Things that should be... more comfortable."
I looked at the folded orange camp t-shirt and pair of jeans in Grover's arms. The shirt felt like a uniform for a team I had tricked my way onto.
Walking was a chore. Every step pulled at the new skin on my legs, a constant, dull ache. Percy matched his pace to mine, which I almost appreciated until I realized he was doing it to watch me, to analyze my limp, to see if I was faking my weakness. I wasn't.
As we walked through the camp, I felt dozens of eyes on me. The new guy. The mystery. The Poseidon kid who fell from the sky. They whispered behind their hands. I kept my head down, focusing on putting one foot in front of the other.
"Here we are," Percy said, his voice flat. He pushed open the door to Cabin #3.
The smell hit me first. Salt. Clean, briny, and powerful, like the air after a storm. The cabin was made of rough, grey stone, polished by the sea. Shells and coral were embedded in the walls. Inside, there were several bunk beds, most of them looking lived-in. A half-finished ship in a bottle sat on one desk. A well-worn surfboard was propped against a wall. Another bed had a stack of marine biology textbooks next to a framed photo of a smiling family on a boat.
These were his brothers. My brothers. The thought was so absurd I almost laughed out loud.
Percy pointed to an empty bunk in the corner. "That one's yours. It's been empty for a while."
I walked toward it, my hand trailing along the rough stone wall. The disgust was a physical thing, rising in my throat like bile. It wasn't the cabin. It was him. Percy Jackson. He stood there, so self-assured, his camp shirt fitting perfectly, his body lean and strong. He looked like he belonged. He looked happy. He looked like everything I wasn't. I was a patchwork monster, a charred and broken thing pretending to be his kin.
And the anger, hot and sharp, lanced through me. I remembered Sonny's voice, high with excitement, telling me about Percy Jackson for the hundredth time. "He fought a Minotaur, Dad! With his bare hands! And Riptide, it's so cool!" My son had loved this boy. Had worshipped the ground he walked on. And now here I was, having to touch the hand of the hero, to accept his charity. Girlfriend Annabeth my ass... The petty thought sparked in the darkness of my mind, a small, bitter fire.
I sat on the bunk, the mattress groaning under my weight. The simple movement sent a wave of exhaustion through me.
Grover stepped forward, placing the folded clothes on my bed. "Listen, Ashton... I know this is a lot. But you're safe here. We just... we need to understand what happened."
Percy leaned against the doorframe, his arms crossed. His posture was defensive, but his voice was less accusatory now. More like a lecturer. "Look, the rules are simple. You don't go into the woods without permission. You don't wander off after curfew. You train with your cabin. You go to your assigned chores."
"And the food is amazing," Grover added, trying to lighten the mood. "The strawberries are the best you'll ever have. And the campfire songs... well, they're an experience."
They weren't interrogating me anymore. They were orienting me. It was a clever tactic. Get me talking about normal things, see if I knew the lingo, see if I'd slip up and reveal I'd never heard of a satyr before a week ago.
"Okay," I said, my voice raspy. "I understand."
Percy's eyes narrowed slightly, as if my simple compliance was more suspicious than any argument would have been. "Mess hall is that way," he said, jerking his thumb over his shoulder. "Dinner's in an hour. Don't be late."
Mess Hall.
"Sure." I said to them to let them get out. All the camp mates would be there. Every single one. In one place. I could see my son. I could see Sonny in the flesh. The thought obliterated everything else—the pain, the fear of getting caught, Manny's rules. It was a roaring in my blood, a primal instinct overriding all logic. He was here. He was real. And he was just a few hundred yards away.
Percy and Grover left, and I didn't even hear the door click shut. I was already moving. I didn't bother with the new clothes. I just ran.
I burst out of the cabin, my bare feet slapping against the grass. The Mess Hall. A large, open-air Greek-style pavilion. I could see the flickering torchlight, hear the low murmur of hundreds of voices. I sprinted toward it, my lungs burning, my scars screaming in protest. I didn't have a plan. I was just going to get there. I was going to stand in the doorway and scan every face until I found his.
Ashton, stop! Manny's voice was a whip crack in my skull. What in Hades are you doing? You'll expose us both!
I have to see him! I thought back, my mental voice ragged.
You'll see him on a slab in the morgue if you run in there like a lunatic! You're supposed to be a traumatized survivor, not a bloodhound! Think!
I skidded to a halt at the edge of the woods, my chest heaving. He was right. I was a headless chicken. I'd be tackled before I got within fifty feet of the pavilion.
Okay, Manny sighed, the sound like static. Okay. New plan. You're lost. Confused. You need a guide. Ask someone to show you around. It makes you look harmless and gives you a legitimate reason to be wandering.
Who? Percy? I thought, the name tasting like ash.
Gods, no, Manny said, sounding genuinely disgusted. He's the last person you want. He's watching you like a hawk. Find someone else. Someone less... important. Someone who won't analyze your every word. Now, move away from the Mess Hall before someone sees you drooling.
I retreated into the shadows, my heart still hammering against my ribs. The desperation cooled, replaced by a cold, focused purpose. I needed a guide. But first, I needed to get my bearings.
I found a spot on a hill overlooking the training grounds, the moonlight casting long shadows across the grass. I watched the camp come alive in the twilight. Down by the archery range, the Apollo kids were letting arrows fly, each one finding its mark with impossible accuracy, their golden hair glowing in the firelight. I could hear the thwack of arrows hitting targets and their cheerful, competitive shouts. Further on, the Ares cabin was a whirlwind of violence. Demigods in red shirts clashed with swords and spears, the clang of metal ringing through the air, their faces fierce with battle lust. In the distance, I could see the glow of the forges and hear the rhythmic pounding of hammers from the Hephaestus cabin.
I scanned every face, every group. I was looking for the Hermes cabin. For the symbol of the caduceus. For a crowd of unclaimed kids, a chaotic mix of energy and uncertainty. That's where he'd be.
My frantic, headless dash had not gone unnoticed. A few younger campers from the Demeter cabin pointed up at me, whispering. A couple of Aphrodite girls gave me curious, appraising looks. I was a spectacle. A scarred, silent figure lurking in the dark. I couldn't stay here. I couldn't talk to anyone. I'd end up starting a plot I couldn't back out of.
I turned to move deeper into the trees, to disappear again, when a voice, calm and resonant, spoke from just behind me.
"It is a beautiful sight, is it not? To see them thrive."
I jolted so hard I nearly fell over. I spun around, my heart in my throat. Chiron.