Category: Stories

by Emery Pugh

Chapter 11

Percy

The serpent disappeared as soon as I set my eyes upon it. I blinked to make sure I wasn’t hallucinating. Time returned to normal speed.

Everyone rushed out of the meeting room and scrambled to assemble themselves into a fighting formation. I continued to stare at the spot where the serpent was. No one else appeared to see it. It must have been an illusion.

Across the Little Tiber, a massive siege tower was surrounded by a horde of hundreds of monsters. On top of the siege tower was another weapon – a snake made from Imperial gold, hissing and spitting out a green liquid, presumably venom. The tower could cause no end of trouble for us.

I had no time to dwell on the serpent issue.

I felt someone touch my shoulder. It was Annabeth.

“Are you going to fight?” she asked me.

I turned to face her and looked her in the eyes. “I thought this… was all over. I thought we were finally going to live a normal life together. As much as I want to avoid the chaos of demigod life, I can’t not fight for this camp. This is my home, just as much as Camp Half-Blood.”

She nodded and remained silent. I knew what her decision was without even asking her. That determined look said it all.

We both bolted for our rooms, which was where our weapons were. I uncovered my sword, in pen form, in a pocket of a spare set of jeans.

Outside, I found the legion fully assembled. I located the Fifth Cohort, the cohort I was once in, and positioned myself at the left flank.

The monsters across the Little Tiber gathered in clusters to cross the river into camp. The legion separated into its five cohorts, heading off to defend different weak points in Camp Jupiter’s defenses.

Dozens of massive, dark masses – hellhounds – jumped into the river and made a mad dash to our side. Water was my specialty – it was my job to stop them.

I concentrated and closed my eyes. Whirlpools swirled around the monsters, slowly sucking them down. They panicked and thrashed, but to no avail. A pit slowly formed in my gut – I willed a tidal wave to rise two stories into the air. The hellhounds were thrown into the air with the wave, yelping and waving their paws. (Their yelps, though, were like cannon blasts. Hellhounds are nothing like little puppies.) The wave/hellhound gang slammed into the siege tower, but to my disappointment, the tower was unshaken.

Ballistae cannons fired from the inner camp onto the siege tower and the monsters. I watched the cannonballs reach its apex and arc down, but they hit an invisible barrier and exploded midair.

Annabeth was studying the architecture of the siege tower – looking for weak points. “Percy, target the spot right above the doorway arch.”

I nodded with determination and focused all my energy on the water. These monsters were attacking the camp – my home. I would not let them do this. The pulling sensation in my gut increased, but I hardly noticed it. These monsters were after my friends and I – something I would not tolerate.

All my rage exploded from the river and crashed with tremendous force into the siege tower, right on the weak spot. I let out a primal scream, mostly from the pain in my gut. You try controlling a whole river, and you’ll be able to empathize with me.

The tower shook dangerously, swaying from side to side. The monsters tittered nervously and backed away.

And of course that’s when the venom-spitting snake started going nuts.

Did I mention that I have an intense hatred towards snakes? I’ve seen way too many – normal ones, snakes with 7 heads, massive serpents, and now a metal venom-spitting figurehead atop a tower.

Venom droplets sprayed everywhere. Campers crouched behind cover, but it did little – the venom melted even the Imperial gold shields and swords like butter in a hot pan. They had to get more distance to be safe.

“Get back!” I yelled. “Get behind cover, and get as far away as possible!”

“Everyone, follow me!” Frank held up his half-melted shield in front of his face.

An intense pain jolted up my right arm. I felt like it was being slowly sawed off at a point somewhere between my shoulder and elbow.

Only one word can describe than pain: a pure feeling of ow.

I looked in horror at my arm, which was now turning a green-ish purple. A venom droplet had struck me.

Within a few seconds, I probably cursed more than in the rest of my life. Hey, I couldn’t help it.

I uttered another primal scream, but this one was from pain. Then everything went black.

Chapter 12

Hector

I was, naturally, a little stunned. The son of Zeus (what was his name again?) just randomly selected me for the quest. I barely even knew what a quest was, and I didn’t know the guy.

The camp was silent. Chiron trotted over to me and put a hand on my shoulder.

“Congrats, Hector,” Chiron said, trying to have an encouraging tone. But it sounded like he was leading me to my grave. “Going on a quest is an honor.”

I gave a weak attempt at a timid smile. “Um, thanks.”

Walking back to my seat, I felt the eyes of the entire camp on me. I strained to not stare back at them and yell, What? Stop staring!

“Choose two more quest partners, Godric,” Chiron beckoned to him to continue.

Sanderson raised his hand. “I’ll be going.” He whispered something in Godric’s ear, who nodded.

Can I choose the other quest member? It echoed around the dining pavilion, but nobody else seemed to notice.

Suddenly, I realized why – at school, I’d even sometimes hear whispers across a noisy cafeteria. It was one of my powers as a demigod. Honestly, I didn’t know how extra good hearing could help much, but okay.

Sanderson’s gaze drifted over to a girl at the Iris table – who I presumed was his girlfriend. The girl smiled and stood up.

“I’ll go with Sanderson,” she said, putting an arm around him.

Chiron cleared his throat. “Alright, Andromeda. We have our quest team assembled. Get ready to depart next morning.”

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Chiron called me to come over to the Big House that evening.

If you don’t know, the Big House is just a house that Chiron and some of the other camp leaders live in, and where stuff is stored.

I walked across the camp and climbed the stairs to the porch, where Chiron (in wheelchair form with his centaur lower body magically compacted) was sipping a lemonade. He gestured for me to take a seat.

“Hector… I need to tell you a few things about your quest.” Chiron drooped his head.

I held my breath, waiting.

“Quests…” Chiron took a deep breath. “Are very, very dangerous. I must stress the perils you will face. Hades chose to claim you at that moment because he wants you on the quest, and I won’t dispute that, but I feel guilty if I don’t give you a chance to back out.”

I swallowed. I barely even knew what was going on, or even what being a son of Hades meant – I’d never even met the guy. Garret and Hedge the mad whacker did their best to explain everything, but little made any sense.

A thousand and one questions ran through my mind. Would the camp make fun of me for chickening out? Would I die on this quest? Why are strawberries red?

Despite being new, the camp already felt like home. The Hades cabin wasn’t all that comfortable, and the last son of Hades who lived in there was off on a different dangerous quest. I made up my mind.

“I… I don’t know,” I admitted. “I barely know what’s going on. But I’m sure this camp is and was a home to many, and I’m willing to defend it.”

Chiron nodded gravely and made an attempt at a smile. “That’s the spirit of a hero. Good luck out there, Hector, and may the gods be with you.”

“Thanks,” I said weakly as I stood up to leave.

“Oh, and one more thing.” Chiron interrupted. “Usually at least one satyr accompanies the quest team… how would you like your old friend to go along?”

My heart leapt. “You mean… Garret?” Chiron nodded.

I grinned. Maybe this quest wouldn’t be so lonely after all.

by Harper Smith

Content warning for animal death and blood. 

The morning is cold. 

She creeps along quietly, soft paws pattering along the surface of the ice, slick with the same salt water that stains the air. 

She smells something, among the sharp biting wind and tang of the sea spray. Something warm, something sweet, something alive.

There are prints in the fine dusting on snow beneath her paws, small and stick-thin.
Bird.

That’ll do.

The fox runs. 

Wind ruffles her white fur as she speeds across the ice, turning her head this way and that. Searching. 

She has left her litter behind, on the dryer land where they will not run off. They are young, a week old, and they demand food. She will not deny them. They need their strength. 

The day is young, but so are they. A bird may be enough, it may not.
She will have to see. 

The ice is solid beneath her, but she can see, when she lifts her head, that some is not. Grease ice, little flakes of white, drifts along the surface of the ocean, watery and barely formed. Bigger chunks float past that, worn and smooth, liquid dripping off their sides. Melting. 

A lot has been melting, recently. 

The fox wonders what she’ll do if this one slips away as well, disappearing back into the sea water like it’d never been there at all. She can already see it starting, the rounded edges getting smoother and smaller with each passing day. She hopes it stays.
It has to stay. 

She keeps running. 

The ice she’s on is very thick, upturned a little. It doesn’t crack when she moves, but the clinking sounds of her claws echo. 

The bird is closer now. 

She slows.

It’s an arctic tern, back again from its long journey. It moves around the ice, pecking with its thin beak to find some sort of sustenance for its flight. 

It will never have the chance. 

She crouches, low, flattening her ears against her skull. Readying herself.

She pounces.
Feathers fly. 

She catches it with her teeth, first, sinking into the tern’s soft neck. It struggles–they always struggle–twisting this way and that beneath her small, strong form. 

She wins, eventually, blood staining her jaw and teeth as she carries the creature’s corpse back across the plains of sea ice, oceans spray flying around her, wind rushing. 

The fox thinks this will be enough. At least for the strong ones to eat. The strong ones will always eat. 

She holds her head high as she prances back to her litter, infused with the thrill of a successful hunt. 

I win. 

Her paws skate across the slick ice, and it doesn’t crack once. 

by Aleena Haimor

300 Years Ago:

My throat burns. 

It burns like fire. 

Slender tendrils of ruthless black smoke curl around my neck, slowly, softly, yet so powerful all the same. Surely they are taking my life. The tendrils grasp like long fingers, tighter and tighter still, until I can barely take a breath.

I try to scream, but cannot. I cannot move, cannot breathe. It seems I can do nothing but wait and hope for the sweet relief of death. 

But one thought tortures my mind. My daughter. Who shall watch over her? I hope that my child, my newborn daughter, will live to bore young of her own, who in turn will bear children. I know that they shall all suffer the same fate as me, but there must be a way. And I remember the spell. So long ago I heard it, yet it is fresh in my mind. I chant the spell to remove the curse from one girl, who will destroy the wretched one who cursed us, hundreds of years from now.

“Save my blood from the curse of death. Save her life, oh holy one, let her live.”

I feel peace. I have always been the one who was afraid of everything.

Yet death does not scare me as the world becomes dark.

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Present Day:

I run, run, run, as fast as my legs will carry me. My chest cramps and the air is getting thinner the higher up I go, yet still, I run. Away from my would-be grave, the only home I’ve ever known. A blood curse, in my family and village for generations, a slow but inevident poison spreading through my people. They died quietly, one after another, like dominoes falling over. I am the only one in my village who wasn’t affected, who didn’t have the curse, the only one left alive, but I need to get away. I don’t want to be alone in the remains of my village, among all the graves. But I know that the images of my family on their deathbeds will forever haunt my memories. 

I have always been the girl who fended for herself. My father was crippled and my mother died when I was an infant, so I had to learn to cope.

My vision blurs from the tears that came from the memories of my family. Our kind does not cry, we refuse to, and I dash around the trees, chanting a spell as I do. 

“Be gone,  dreadful sorrow, do not block my sight, be gone, not forgotten, let me see light,” I whisper. The words are almost second nature to me, as I have always had trouble with my emotions and couldn’t let anyone see me cry. My vision clears as the tears evaporate into thin air. I feel a bit happier as the spell seeps into my skin, touching my heart, bones, brain, making me stronger. Sadness and anger are—or were—seen as weaknesses to my people. But now I don’t know if I can fight my feelings for any longer. I’m more troubled than ever before.

I slow to a stop, my legs burning, and take a moment to look at the scenery surrounding me at the top of the hill. I breathe in the fresh air, crisp and sweet with the scent of jasmine flowers and salt water from the ocean on the other side of the mountain. I look behind me and see a vast blue mirror, calm, smooth, beautiful, stretching ahead of me. It is breathtaking.

I am the first in my family to see this ocean.

Again, the tears fall. But this time, I do not bother to wipe them away or clear them with a spell; it isn’t worth it where no one can see me.

I call to the great spirits of air, fire, water and earth, to help me with my grief. But the wind moans and the trees creak, the waves crash and the fire stays dormant. I seem to not possess the gift of voice, the ability to call the elements to my will. My father did. My mother did. My brother did. I seem to be the only one in my family who does not, other than my sister, who passed as a baby. Maybe it is because I am the one who was saved from death. I know that my mother left much too early, being only twenty when she died.

My mother. I do not know much about her, other than the fact that she was kind, selfless and beautiful. Father told me so many stories about her, how she always held me with care, singing lullabies even though the curse was slowly draining her life away. How she would always be the one to calm the crying of me and my twin sister, Alana. How the last words she spoke were our names, even though Alana had been taken a month before, as the curse had spread through my mother’s womb when she was pregnant with us, narrowly avoiding me. But Alana absorbed all of it, leading to her death. Mother seemed wonderful. I wish I remembered her.

Suddenly, a violent breeze rips through my hair, whipping it around my face. I am startled for a moment before I realize that I did it. I called the wind. And once I feel it touch my skin, I am filled with power. But a moment later, it feels like a tornado swirls in my mind, stripping all my happy memories away. I scream. 

And then I feel nothing.

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I wake up in a ring of fire and slowly lift my weary head. I see a dark figure standing before me, her features barely visible. A hood conceals most of her face, and she takes a step towards me.  

“Hello, young one,” she whispers, her voice a deadly purring drawl.

She lifts her hood to reveal a beautiful woman underneath, with eyes black as coal and skin unnaturally pale and smooth, not even the slightest hint of wrinkles, although she is thousands of years old. I know this because this woman is the woman from our village legend, the woman who cursed us. My hands ball into fists of hatred.

“You!” I screech, jumping to my feet, suddenly feeling…alive again. “You murderer!”

“Now child, we must not throw around assumptions, should we?” she smiles at me, a malicious glint in her eye. She reaches her right hand into the fire and seems to take out a ball of flame. She twines the flames around her fingers and all of a sudden hurls the ball at me. I duck just before it hits a tree, making it explode. 

“Tricky one, yes? I seem to remember very well, taking your mother’s life with my bare hands. She tasted so delicious, so sweet, I could not resist,” she says softly, reaching a skeletal hand out to me. As I back away, the woman transforms into a hideous demon, with horns of smoke and teeth sharp as daggers. She lets out a guttural roar that sends me flying back. 

“Your village was insignificant, your people were animals that needed to be slaughtered. Your ancestor saved you in the hope that you would save your village. It is too late now.” The monster growls deeply, making me shiver. I get up again and close my eyes. I feel four different currents pulling me in different directions and realize that I did it. The elements have come to help me. Finally. I can feel myself rising, my hair flying, droplets of water touching my skin. 

I open my eyes and use my newfound powers to attack the demon. Her body crackles with the illusion of fire. I wrap strands of water around her, constricting her. She growls, roars as I wrap them tighter and hurl boulders at her.

She stares at me with hate before she explodes. 

 I have one moment to rejoice before I realize that all that is left is fire. It seems that the demon will get what it wished: my death. 

I don’t have the energy to put out the flames, so I let the world burn. 

by Emery Pugh

It was all fun and games playing poker with my fellow pilots until the alarms blared and I heard, “General Quarters! All hands to battle stations! Pilots, be ready to take off at a moment’s notice.” loud and clear on the speakers. I bolted from the pilots’ ready room onto the deck as the poker chips clattered to the floor.

It’s a perfectly clear day on February 5th, 1945, in the rolling Pacific, near the Solomon Islands. It seemed like just an ordinary day, but in war, anything could happen.

Guns blazed away at the sky. I squinted and followed the line of tracers (bullets) and sighted four objects dart between the clouds. I raised my eyebrows in surprise and my heart skipped a beat. Four Japanese kamikazes were headed straight towards our ship, the aircraft carrier USS Liberty Belle. The Japanese fighters were Mitsubishi Zeroes – fast, maneuverable, and deadly. However, the maneuverability of the Zero fighter had a caveat – its armor was little better than paper against the American F4U Corsairs, and the hundreds of pounds of bombs the Japanese planes were carrying nullified the advantage it had in maneuverability. The kamikazes intended to slam right into the ship, which would likely send the Liberty Belle to its watery grave.

However, the USS Liberty Belle was not an easy aircraft carrier to take down. At 850 feet long and 150 feet wide, it was a beast so large that it was sometimes mistaken as part of the skyline. The massive boilers and engine powered the bronze propellers, which had a diameter of an NBA basketball hoop, to push its gargantuan displacement of 25,000 tons of seawater. The massive aircraft carrier contained a variety of supplies (like fuel), weapons (bombs, torpedoes, and ammunition), personnel (over 2,500 total pilots, officers, and other crew), and planes (around 100) to function optimally.

One Japanese aircraft was hit by a bullet from a 5-inch turret, the largest gun of them all on the Liberty Belle with the farthest range. The doomed kamikaze spiraled into the sea, leaving a trail of smoke behind it. The Rising Sun on its left wing was the last thing to come to my eyes.

I quickly ascended the ladder to board my Corsair and slid the canopy closed above my head, strapped myself into the seat, and tuned the radio. I anxiously watched the enemy fighters hurtling towards the ship as the gunners put up a wall of lead bullets.

My plane, an F4U Corsair, is a sturdy propeller powered fighter-bomber with 6 wrathful machine guns (3 on each wing), capable of tearing through the armor of a Zero like butter. The Corsair was often recognized by its iconic wings – the inverted gull shape. It was almost like someone had smashed the wings with a long blade – the wing was bent downwards at halfway between the midway point of the wing and the fuselage (main body of the aircraft).

The radio crackled to life. I awaited orders.

“Attention, Corsair pilots. The enemy kamikazes are coming in hot, but the gunners should be able to take care of them. More bogeys [unidentified contacts on the radar] have been detected. Be ready to take off at a moment’s notice to intercept.”

A colossal explosion shook the sky. Shrapnel from the decimated enemy rained down and splashed into the ocean. Two down, two to go.

The remaining Japanese fighters started their ascent in preparation for a steep dive. The 40 mm cannons on the USS Liberty Belle started banging away. Another Zero was hit by a shell and exploded in midair.

“212, 213, 214, 215, launch now.” My number, 212, was abruptly called by the radio. “Five more confirmed enemies 30 miles distant, bearing 280 [horizontal direction: 0 is due north, 90 is due east, etc.].”

“Roger. Launching now.” I called into the speaker.

The catapults on the runway sprung forward, thrusting the wheels of my Corsair with tremendous force. My plane flew so fast that I was blind for a few moments after liftoff – all my blood had flowed to the back of my head. I experienced tons of G-forces, almost enough to render me unconscious. As soon as my vision was restored, I gently eased the control stick backwards (the control stick, often called just the “stick”, controls the aircraft’s tilt (up-down) and bank (right-left)). The plane turned slightly upward and I gained altitude alongside the other three Corsairs that had taken off with me.

Craning my neck to look behind me, I glimpsed the final kamikaze, ablaze like a bonfire, crash into the sea. I smiled, proud of the celebrating gunners on the ship.

Another command came through the radio. “Gain 10,000 feet of altitude as soon as possible. Engage at will.”

After cruising for a few minutes at around 200 miles an hour, I sighted an enemy Japanese kamikaze dart through the thin, gray clouds to my front-left. Immediately, I radioed back to command: “One kamikaze sighted.” The response was simple: “Copy that. Keep us updated.”

Soon after the first Zero, four more whizzed by. For a moment, everything seemed to fly in slow motion. We were flying parallel and in opposite directions, within two city blocks of each other. I could even see details like wear marks, bullet holes, and stains on the Zero.

Time resumed its normal pace. We raced past each other at breakneck speed.

I maneuvered behind the enemies and fired a burst of bullets from my machine guns. It was a hit – my target burst into flames and dived towards the ocean below. The pilot ejected and the parachute blossomed.

There were still four more kamikazes in front of me. I picked another target and squeezed the trigger, the machine guns roaring to life. To my frustration, I missed slightly high.

The enemy attempted to scramble away, but I fired again just in time. Several bullets struck the fuselage of the plane and went clean through. The Zero, however, continued to fly on. The pilot maneuvered sharply to the right, desperately trying to evade my shots, but I stayed on his tail through every twist and turn, continually firing a stream of .50 caliber bullets. One scored a lucky hit and exploded against one of his bombs, tearing the plane into shreds. I pulled backward on the stick hard, just enough to evade the shrapnel of the wrecked Zero.

It was my second victory today, but there was no time to celebrate. Bullets streamed right over my canopy – an enemy was on my tail.

I yanked the stick all the way to the left and held it there, causing my aircraft to barrel roll a full 360 degrees. The Zero’s inexperienced pilot dived downward, wrongly guessing my next move. Instead, my aircraft continued to veer to the left and climb at a slight angle, losing speed. The Japanese pilot realized his mistake and attempted to loop back around onto my tail, but he had overshot me and I had turned the tables– I was now on his tail. I pressed the trigger and more deadly rounds fired from my machine guns, several scoring hits. The pilot was forced to eject as his plane erupted into flames, spiraling down into the ocean.

The excitement was over – all five enemies had been destroyed by either myself or my comrades. I took the time to radio back to base: “Five confirmed kills total. I shot down three.”

“Good work. But be on the lookout, several more bogeys have been detected 50 miles out, 20 miles from your location.”

“Copy that. Low on ammo, but I will engage with all I’ve got.” I responded.

“Turn to heading [aka bearing] 350.” was the instruction. “We’re scrambling additional fighters to assist.”

“Roger, turning to 350.” I adjusted the radio and conversed with my wingmen: “Everyone, turn 350. More bogeys coming our way.”

In what felt like seconds, three Japanese enemies came into view in the distance to my left. Like last time, I maneuvered behind them and started peppering the planes with bullets. They immediately jerked into evasive maneuvers, but my aim was impeccable – one had been hit in the engine and the propeller had stopped spinning. The doomed fighter plummeted through the clouds into the sea.

My fellow Corsairs flew to my left and immediately started targeting the Zero on the left. The other kamikaze desperately attempted to escape by banking hard to the right, but I was one step ahead of him. I cut off his path and fired a burst of bullets that slammed into the tail rudder of the plane, shredding it and crippling the aircraft’s ability to swiftly swing side to side. Now, he was an easy target. I fired the rest of my ammunition at him as he slewed back and forth with his tattered rudder. I took the plane down with several shots to the fuselage, transforming it into a wreath of flames.

Out of the corner of my eye, I sighted the final Japanese kamikaze tumble uncontrollably towards the earth. Grinning with pride, I radioed back to the USS Liberty Belle: “All eight enemies destroyed… I’ve killed five. My wingmen took down the other three.”

“Congrats, you’re an ace now. Excellent work.”

As I turned back to the USS Liberty Belle, I suddenly began to feel exhausted as the adrenaline began to wear off. I realized what I had just done. In one battle, I had become an ace (5 enemy kills are required to earn the status of an ace).

I landed without trouble back onto the aircraft carrier. After later inspection, I found out that my plane had received no damage in that battle – not even one shot!

by Aleena Haimor

*For ages 10-18, for brief mentions of a kiss, and also death.

When I finally, finally muster the courage to even try to remember the past few days, I immediately regret the action as it hits me. No one is coming. I’m no more than a thin, sallow girl dying alone in the cold. How hard it was already, to survive with the raw ache of loneliness after he died, like a tender wound bleeding in my heart. And now, I have the deadly arctic snow and gale to bear through, the storm that rips and tears at my bare limbs like a blade. I have no will to live.

I’m nothing.

I never lead a happy life. Well, before, at least. I was left alone as a newborn, abandoned in a rickety structure near the sea. My powerful mind was too strange, and wrong, for my people. Although, I shouldn’t call them my people when they deserted me as they did.

Anyway, difference was not accepted. Even my family agreed, giving me over willingly to the elders, who then left me to die. Even though I never really knew those ruthless people, I somehow comprehended what my name was, only after hearing it a few times as an infant. It was Amara, and it means “grace.” Why did my family give me a name with such a meaning when they threw me away days later? They didn’t want me alive. I don’t even know how a helpless baby survived the wrath of nature. Yet, I did survive.

I grew up learning how to fend for myself. I watched the lions and rattlesnakes hunting. I remember thinking about how graceful they looked, catching their prey with ease. It was magical to me. I imitated their movements, killing with a spear instead of claws, with nightshade berries instead of venom. I killed my first buck at the age of ten, months, years, after living off plants. At the age of twelve, I already had the mind strength of an adult. 

Nevertheless, although I had powerful hunting skills and defense, and I had been alone all my life, I wanted someone to hold me. Someone to keep this lonely girl safe as she slept in peace for the night.

I was thirteen when I met the one person who had ever made me happy. It was a warm spring day and I had decided to take a break from my scavenging. The warm sun beat down on my face as I lay in an open field of violets, inhaling their fragrant scent. My eyes slowly closed as my tense body relaxed.

“Who are you?” an angry voice said.

I opened my eyes again. A boy in tattered shorts and no shirt on, maybe two years older than I was at the time, stood over me. He was glaring, with a dead doe slung over his shoulder. The first thing I noticed was how perfect he was. He was strong and well built, with a tan darkening his body slightly. I stared at his flawless form, shocked.

I was speechless for a moment before he repeated his question.

“Who are you?”

I mentally scolded myself and broke out of the trance. I answered in a soft voice.

“Amara.”

“Amara who?”

I closed my mouth and tried to ignore the pain in my heart. I didn’t have a family, least of all a family name.

“Just Amara.”

The boy, or should I say man, shook his head and rolled his eyes. He lay the doe on the ground and held the tip of his spear to my chest.

“What are you doing on my grounds?”

I put my hands above my head and sat up.

“Sorry, but I need to eat too. And I had no idea that these were your grounds. What did you think? I’m all alone,” I said sarcastically, quickly getting annoyed with the tall boy I had just met. He threw the spear on the ground and held a hand out.

“Sorry. I’m Emmett,” he said, his voice taking on a softer tone. “I’m alone too.”

“It’s fine,” I said, taking his hand. He pulled me up. I noticed how beautiful his deep blue eyes were and my breath caught in my throat.

         “So…um…?”

“Wanna hunt?” he asked uncertainly. Well, that was quick, I thought.

“Sure?”

Emmett nodded and motioned for me to follow him. He lay the slain doe from earlier in a small hut he had built. Then we set off. He showed me all his best hiding spots, the places he would conceal himself from the animals, so they didn’t see that he was there.

         From then on, as we grew to know each other better, Emmett and I quickly became best friends. We relied on each other to survive and even thrive. I still remember how we used to laugh by the riverbank as we fished. He knew all the best jokes and for once, I was happy.

I didn’t think that life could get any better, but it did.

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The snowstorm had just begun.  It wasn’t as brutal of a winter as it is right now, but it was close. 

Emmett and I huddled together in our cave shelter, trying to stay warm. I was fifteen by then. Emmett and I had known each other for two years, and we were just like siblings. Or so I thought.

He looked at me and I turned up to look back at him from his arms. Something switched between us, and I found him leaning in. His perfect face came closer and closer to mine. Before I knew it, his lips were on my own and his arms were wrapped around me. I blinked, then kissed him back. It was blissful oblivion for God-knows-how-long, just me and him, kissing. I never knew about kissing before he did it to me, but it felt so natural. So peaceful. That was the best moment of my life. 

Of course, because everything good in the world will end one day, my luck had to stop. A few months later, we were out hunting. A mountain lion prowled around us as we held our spears. Quickly, it cornered us against the mountain and pounced, aiming for me. Emmett yelled and jumped in front of me before I could be killed, losing his life in the process. As I watched his lifeblood spill onto the ground, anger overtook me and I stabbed the lion with my spear. After it was dead, I ran over to Emmett’s limp form and took his head into my lap. I held his hand as he made an effort to speak.

“Amara…”

His hand slipped from mine and I knew he was gone. 

I could not bring myself to get up for hours after. Fierce sobs wracked my body and made breathing almost impossible. But I knew after I had mourned for some time that I had to bury him.

I laid him to rest where we had first met, in the violet field. The grave was messy, but it had to do. I couldn’t let his body be ravaged by nature. I had to give him a proper goodbye. So I brought his body to the grave and said a prayer for his soul.

Oddly, I feel peace. And I realize why.

The pain is going away. I can feel myself slipping in the present, and my consciousness is dimming rapidly. I am ready. Nevertheless, I want to remember one thing before I die. One memory. Well, two, I guess. That blissful kiss, and my Emmett himself.

I close my eyes and fall.

by Camden S.

I wake up on a normal morning, the rays of sun shining through the windows, birds chirping after returning from migrating south for the winter. It’s a Saturday morning after a long week at school. I love sleeping in on Saturday mornings, my eyelids still heavy after a long night of dreaming. As I lay in bed peacefully, my Dad calls my name. “Henry, start packing, we’re leaving in an hour!” And then my peacefulness ends as I remember we have a camping trip lasting the whole weekend. It’s not that I don’t like camping, in fact, I love it. But I was looking forward to a nice calm weekend instead of hiking until my legs feel like they’re going to fall off.

I drag myself out of bed and head to the bathroom to brush my teeth. As I exit my bedroom my little brother Gregory (we usually call him Greg) comes running up to me. “Henry, I’m so excited! Do you think we’ll find any animals?!” He says jumping up and down. Can’t you go bother someone else? I say to him, not in the mood to start a long conversation. “But Dad’s busy packing, so there is no one else to talk to.” He says, sounding disappointed. I push past him ignoring his questions and go brush my teeth.

After I brush my teeth, I head downstairs to have some breakfast. My Dad sees me and asks, “Are you excited for the trip, son?”. Sure am, Dad, I say trying not to sound like I don’t really want to go. I feel bad for my Dad. It’s been hard ever since my mom passed away a couple years ago. He’s been trying to comfort us by taking us on many adventures, but it can sometimes be a little bit tiring.

I finish packing and get in the car, ready to go. My dad comes out of the house looking like he’s carrying a whole convenience store’s worth of goods and loads it into the back of the car. Greg comes out of the house, excited to go and begins running in circles.

It takes us about 4 hours to reach our camping location. It’s a really beautiful place; the sound of water flowing down the lush green hills and squirrels leaping from one tree to another. When we arrive at our spot, we begin unloading the car. I grab the tent with my Dad and start assembling it, while trying to figure out where the heck this one pole goes. After that, I grab a book and sit underneath a tree to read.

As dusk approaches, we all head into the one cramped tent that we all share. Our particular tent has a little clear plastic window at the top so you can see the stars. I lay there looking at constellations while I drift asleep.

The next morning, we wake up bright and early, Greg is the first one, wanting to head outside the tent while I was still trying to sleep. “Calm down Greg, I’m trying to sleep,” I say. “How can I calm down!? I want to head outside!” I love Greg but he doesn’t really understand the concept of relaxation. All this commotion wakes my Dad up and he takes Greg outside.

When I head outside the tent, I find them cooking some sausages. I walk up to my Dad, and he hands me a plate. I breathe in and smell the wood burning in the fire and the scent of the trees and flowers all around me. It smells amazing. I sit down on a seat near the fire and begin devouring my sausages.

Once we’re finished eating, we get ready to go on a hike. I grab my boots and favorite hat. My dad steps out of the tent and asks us if we’re ready to go. As ready as I’ll ever be, I say still half asleep. As we start trekking through the forest, I look all around me and see many beautiful things, from the little bugs on the ground fauna to the giant eagles flying above the treetops.

Around noon, and an hour into our hike, we hear rustling in a bush off on the side of the path. As we go to investigate, we see a deer snacking on some leaves. I see Greg the most excited I think I’ve ever seen him. The deer notices us and starts to run away but when Greg sees this, he runs after the deer. Greg! I yell as I run after him. My dad did the same and we run through the forest in an attempt to stop him. I eventually catch up with him and I grab his wrist. “What were you doing Greg? It’s not safe to run out into the woods like that.” I look around to see where my dad is, but I can’t find him. I call out for him but hear no response, we must have gotten separated while chasing Greg. I have no idea where I am, and the trail is nowhere to be seen.

Greg starts crying and says, “I’m so sorry, I shouldn’t have run off like that. I just wanted to say hi to the deer.” It’s ok Greg. Do you remember the way back to the trail? “I don’t. Are we lost?” he asks between sobs. I don’t know, but we should try to find our way back before it gets dark. I think we went this way. Holding Greg’s hand, we start to find our way back to camp.

It’s quite scary being in a forest all alone. I hear noises echoing in the tall trees above my head. I see a squirrel running away, afraid, just like how we feel as we are trying to find the way back to camp.

After a while of walking, I notice the sun starting to set. I realize that we will not be able to find our way back today, and we’ll be stuck out here for the night. Just thinking about being stuck out here in the cold scares me. Just Greg and I alone. What happens if a bear comes? I can’t think about this now, I need to focus on finding somewhere to sleep for the night. After about 10 minutes I spot a cave. Looks like we’ll be spending the night here, Greg. “What! We are sleeping here!? What about camp and Dad!?” he yells. We’re going to have to continue looking tomorrow, but we need rest right now, I say, exhausted.

The cave is pretty big, and it seems safe as I walk into it. I call over Greg, saying to follow me into the cave. My voice echoes off the cave walls creating an eerie effect. I gather some leaves to make a bed, so we don’t have to sleep on the bare rock. As the sun sets, we lay in the cave as the forest starts to fall asleep. Something I never would’ve expected about being in the woods alone was how, after your fear fades, you notice how peaceful it is. The only sound is the light breeze and swaying trees.

Greg and I wake the next morning to a sound outside the cave. A slight bristling in the leaves as something moves through them. We lay in silence, fear creeping in as I wonder if it is a bear. Every second feels like an hour, the suspense unbearable as it gets closer to the cave. And suddenly, I see my father. I feel Happiness, joy and relief all at the same time as I run to my father to give him a big hug with Greg close behind me. As I hug my father, I think to myself how Greg and I just survived a night in the woods, and how this will be the best story I will tell in my life.

The End

by Olive Pea

It was August in a small English town, and the melancholy gray sky over the trees had ceased its weeping for just a moment. Four children pleaded to be let outside and their mothers finally shooed them through the doors to play for a while, but not without the usual warnings, “be safe, don’t ruin your clothes, and do not go near the woods”. Within minutes, the four young boys convened at the northern edge of town, gaping up at the wall of trees that seemed to erupt from the ground like knives.

The foolish four knew of the beast in the woods. The teachers and parents warned, the townsfolk whispered, and recently the paper brought news of three missing young men found dead in the woods. But never mind all that. Today these four children were, according to Adam, to become heroes, monster hunters, the stuff of legends. Adam, of course, was the leader, as always. He had gathered the other three around him, forming a sort of square.

“I shall defend you all, as your leader, with my mighty sword!” Adam declared, hoisting his fantastic sword, an old stick, to the gray sky, tossing back his hazel-brown hair with a flourish. Bertie looked up at him in awe, just as he always did. Bertie was Adam’s best friend, 10 years old like Adam but stalkier with fair hair. They were both best friends since before they could remember and spent every day after school at each other’s houses. 

The other two boys were younger. Connor and Sean Wallace were 9 and 5 respectively. The brothers had flaming red hair and sparkling blue eyes. They had moved to the town in January from Ireland after their father died. They were mostly quiet, but when they did speak their voices rang with the melodious tones of their homeland.

“I don’t reckon you’re plannin’ on goin’ in there,” Connor said, his bright blue eyes nervously flitting across the forest line. “That’s where the beast is.”

Adam shot him an irritated glance. “That is the plan, we are monster hunters after all. We’re going to find that beast and kill it!”

“But–but they told us not to. It’s dangerous! We could get hurt—”

“Shut up. We’re monster hunters, don’t listen to the old people, they’re looney!!”

“I will go in,” Bertie said loyally.

“Alright then, in we go!” Adam declared.

So, in they went. Three excitedly skipping through the first trees, while one cautiously crept. With Adam leading, sword raised, they stormed through the forest like titans. Past a boulder. Around a pond. Over a fallen tree. Dusk had begun to seize the sky when they finally found the perfect cave. The walls dripped with moisture, leafless vines covered the entrance, and a decrepit tree stood on either side, bent and shriveled with death. Little Sean danced around in a circle and giggled, while Bertie looked at the cave with glee. Connor kept glancing over his shoulder; Adam had a stealed look painted on his face. He held up his mighty sword. Then the sky began to weep again, and they pulled their hoods over their heads.

“What is that?” Connor pointed at a muddy mark on the ground. It looked like a footprint. There were more, leading into the cave. 

Adam investigated and announced, “Monster tracks. We’re going in my crew, heave ho!”

Conner did not like this, looked at Adam with a furrowed brow, and said with concern, “if we really have found monster tracks, then I say we should tell the grownups. It’s too dangerous. We could die Adam, we could die!”

Adam laughed. He laughed some more. Then Bertie joined in. Even Sean, aloof, began to giggle. When Adam had finally gained control over his outbursts, he shouted, “we are going in! We are monster hunters, and I shall kill the monster with my sword and rid these lands of this beast!!”

Conner didn’t look so sure of that and said warily, “I’m staying out here.”

“That’s right, you’ll be our guard’” Adam proclaimed. He then turned toward the cave and under his breath muttered, “looney.”

Bertie copied Adam and whispered stupidly, “looney.”

So in they went, except Connor who was stationed just outside the mouth of the cave. All flashlights clicked on at the same time, as was Adam’s orders.

Dark and brooding stood the thing. Its ghastly sunken face loomed 5 feet above their heads, suspended from an unnaturally tall and twisted body like a rotting tree. The thing opened its mouth, revealing a cavern of rows and rows of sharp teeth, and it inhaled with a raspy gurgling sound, sucking out the light of their flashlights. The shadow neared them, and footsteps thundered off of the cave walls. Then the noise abruptly stopped, the tall shadow right before them. Adam screamed and jumped forward, swinging his sword wildly in all directions. Then a piercing shriek came from Bertie, beside him. The monster growled and its footsteps boomed out of the cave. Sean started to cry as moans of agony came from Bertie’s hunched shadow. Adam rushed towards him and dragged him out of the cave, ordering Sean to follow.

Now he could see Bertie’s face; a slash ran across his left eye from his forehead to his left cheek. Adam looked at his mighty sword. Its tip was red with blood, and Adam smiled giddily.

“Look Bertie, I wounded the beast! I sliced at him like a true monster hunter, and scared him away. Now he shall have a great scar to remember me by. Hah!”

Bertie moaned, clutching his ruined eye with both hands.

Connor then rushed from his hiding spot in the bushes towards the three, a look of horror on his pale face.

“It’s comin’ back!! It’s comin’ back, run!!!”  

They heard the crashing footsteps quickly nearing them once again. Adam grabbed Bertie’s arm and pulled him while Connor swooped up his little brother into his arms.

Then they became like all things hunted, running breathlessly and numbly; deer leaping over logs, hares bounding amongst the ferns, mice scurrying through the grass. But the thing was fast. 

Tears in their eyes, hearts pounding vigorously, legs aching, the boys ran, Adam still pulling Bertie along and Conner carrying Sean. Their clothes tore as the branches and bushes snatched at them like gnarled hands and fingers; the rocks tripped them, making them stumble into muddy puddles that filled their boots; even the wind seemed to be fighting against them as it pelted raindrops in their faces at a slant; nevertheless, they sprinted as fast as they could. Over the fallen tree. Around the pond. Past the boulder. The footsteps subsided, but their fear had not and so they mindlessly continued to flee in panic.

The rain fell like arrows shot from heaven, the inky stain of death from the fallen sun had bled through all remaining daylight, making it difficult to see, but still they stumbled on.

The four finally reached the town. Though lamps were lit the streets were bare. They struggled toward the first house, and pounded on its vivid red door. Exhausted, panting, Adam released Bertie and Connor set Sean on the sheltered porch. The door opened and an elderly man, back bent with age, looked down upon the ragged boys. “You hunted it, didn’t you? Come in you fools! You should have heeded the warnings. You could have lost more than an eye!”

The End

by Emery Pugh

SPOILER ALERT: The following content may reveal parts of the plot of the Percy Jackson book series. There may also be spoilers about the Heroes of Olympus book series, which is a five-book sequel to the Percy Jackson series. The Trials of Apollo series, the sequel to Heroes of Olympus, will be mentioned. It is highly recommended that you read at least the Percy Jackson series AND the first book of the Heroes of Olympus series. If you don’t mind the spoilers, then read on. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.

Chapter 10

Godric

         It could not have been me! There must have been another son of Zeus in the room! Right? This must be the one time I get lucky.

         Unfortunately, no. Everyone in the room was staring at me.

         “You have a few days to prepare before the Roman campers arrive,” Chiron said. “The quest will be announced to the rest of the camp tomorrow. Meeting adjourned.”

         Everyone else filed out of the room. I stood there in silence, staring at the surface of the Ping-Pong table.

Chiron wheeled over to me. We were alone.

He put a hand on my shoulder. “I’ve seen many heroes go through the same challenges as you, but fate chose you – for a reason.”

“What reason?” I asked, still staring at the Ping-Pong table.

“Because you can do it.” Chiron smiled and started to wheel himself out the door. “Oh,and one more thing, Godric.”

I looked at him. “Yeah?”

“Trust the one who seems most unlikely.”

“Okay,” I said slowly. “But… who is the one who seems most unlikely?”

“It’s what they always ask,” sighed Chiron. “That’s for you to figure out. Now go get some sleep. You’ll need it.”

I didn’t sleep. I didn’t even go to my cabin. For the next few hours, I stood there, staring at the Ping-Pong table. Once that got boring, I roamed around camp, hardly knowing (or caring, for that matter) where I was going.

The sun finally rose from the east. I stopped walking and snapped to attention. I found myself at the edge of the camp woods.

A howl came from the trees. It was surprisingly close by. I reached for my sword, but it wasn’t there. I cursed and remembered that I had left it in my cabin before the camp counselor meeting. So naturally, I ran.

I caught a glimpse of a wolf flashing between the trees. I was pretty sure it was one of the same pack of wolves in the Labyrinth during capture the flag.

The conch horn sounded. It was time for breakfast.

Before going to the dining pavilion, I rushed to my cabin and grabbed my sword and set off on a run. I almost knocked over Sanderson on the way out.

“Ow!” Sanderson gasped. “My ribs!”

“Sorry,” I said sheepishly.

“Where were you last night?” demanded Sanderson. “I came to your cabin to tell you something.”

I thought for a moment. “Honestly, I didn’t even know where I was going for most of the night. So… what were you trying to tell me?”

“I wanted to tell you that I’m in on the quest.”

That comment made my day. He actually volunteered to sign his death warrant by going on this quest with me.

“Thanks, man. Now we can both die together.”

Sanderson grinned. “Yup. C’mon, let’s go to breakfast.”

I sat down to breakfast with absolutely no appetite. Time seemed to whizz by like a flash. I had just sat down and stared at my food for a little bit when Chiron pounded his hoof on the marble floor.

“Announcements!” he called, as the diving pavilion quieted down. “A quest has been made. The Romans have discovered what has been causing these monster attacks. A team of seven will be organized, of both Romans and Greeks, led by Godric. He is yet to choose his quest partners.”

Murmuring rippled across the room. I could tell I was receiving many glances and stares.

Chiron opened his mouth to say something, but froze and slowly sat down. The muttering came to an abrupt halt. I looked around wildly, thinking that I suddenly went deaf. Then I realized what actually happened. They were all staring at the new camper, Hector, who was sitting at the Hermes table, as is custom for unclaimed demigods.

Shadows were swirling around Hector. A dark skull flashed for a moment over his head. Some of the other campers screamed.

Hector looked confused. “What? Why are you all staring at me like that?”

Chiron stood up. “Welcome to Camp Half-Blood, Hector, son of Hades.”

I abruptly stood up and pointed at Hector. There was a reason why Hades chose to claim his son at this moment. It was a sign.

“You’re going with me on this quest,” I said.

by Emery Pugh

SPOILER ALERT: The following content may reveal parts of the plot of the Percy Jackson book series. There may also be spoilers about the Heroes of Olympus book series, which is a five-book sequel to the Percy Jackson series. The Trials of Apollo series, the sequel to Heroes of Olympus, will be mentioned. It is highly recommended that you read at least the Percy Jackson series AND the first book of the Heroes of Olympus series. If you don’t mind the spoilers, then read on. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.

Chapter 8

Percy

Going through the sewer the first time was bad enough. The second time was much worse. I was super jittery and I constantly looked backwards, expecting a giant serpent to come slithering towards us any moment.

Finally, Annabeth and I emerged from the sewer. Mysteriously, the muck that we gained from tramping around in there had vanished as we rose to the surface in Camp Jupiter.

The campers had killed the drakon while we were gone. The carcass was spread across a blood-covered field with several javelins stuck in its mouth and one in each eye socket.

Frank and Hazel, the praetors of the camp and long time friends of mine, were assessing the damage done by the drakon.

“Frank, Hazel,” Annabeth rushed up to them. “Bad news.”

Frank’s face darkened. “Is it about the tunnel?”

“Yes.”

Annabeth related our encounter with the serpent in detail. Count on her to include the details.

“That can’t be good,” Hazel muttered.

“If the serpent shows up some day, we’re cooked,” I said. “It’s as thick as a dozen subway trains.”

Annabeth frowned. “More than that. Maybe fifteen of them?”

I sighed. “Isn’t a dozen subway trains depressing enough already?”

“But we need the exact details, Seaweed Brain.”

“Okay, Wise Girl,” I retorted. I wished I had a better retort than ‘Wise Girl.’

“Anyways,” Annabeth continued. “I don’t know what the serpent is doing, but it’s probably coming this way.”

“Does the serpent have any weaknesses?” Frank asked thoughtfully. “Does it fight poorly on land compared to at sea?”

I snorted. “No.”

Hazel pursed her lips. “Based on your description, this monster is more powerful than anything else we’ve faced, perhaps even the Titans or Giants. At least, it’s a lot larger.”

A haunting memory returned to me. I was back in the pit of Tartarus. The Titans Hyperion and Krios had just been sucked into the vortex of the god Tartarus. I doubted the Midgard Serpent was more powerful than Tartarus, who could permanently kill mortals and immortals alike.

Okay, let me clarify something. The pit Tartarus and the god Tartarus are two same yet also different things. The pit is the physical thing, and the god is the embodiment of the pit. Kinda like the difference between Zeus and the sky. Zeus is not the sky itself, and the same with the god Tartarus – the god Tartarus is not the pit itself. I hope that clears things up rather than making you more confused.

Almost forgot to mention: Tartarus has one little (actually very big and very creepy) difference in that analogy. Perhaps I’ll explain that another time.

“Hopefully not,” I replied after my momentary flashback. “But of course, things hardly go our way as demigods.”

“I’m going to call a Senate meeting tomorrow morning.” Frank decided. “Percy and Annabeth, you’ll have to attend as guests to explain the serpent stuff. Go get some sleep, everyone.”

At least I had a good night’s sleep before the meeting, right? It would be fair to let me have one night free of nightmares and visions predicting horrible fates of myself and the world.

Nope.

In my dream, I was falling. Total darkness surrounded me. The only thing I could perceive was the air rushing through my ears and my hand holding something. With a start, I realized this was a replay of a moment in my life: my fall to Tartarus. I was holding Annabeth’s hand.

The dream shifted. I was in Tartarus again – on solid ground this time. I could see the goddess of misery, Akhlys, running away into the distance. I realized again that this was a part of my past. This was the time when Akhlys shrouded Annabeth and me in Death Mist to hide us from the army of monsters at the Doors of Death (it might sound like she was trying to be helpful, but she betrayed us and attempted to kill us).

Annabeth and I were standing at the edge of a cliff, exactly as in my past. From the abyss below, a dark shadow arose – the goddess of Night, Nyx. I expected her to say what she said last time, but instead, she whispered, You and your demigod friends have won in the past, but you will not this time. Our forces are too strong, and even the gods are completely oblivious to our plans. The serpent is only a stepping stone to the destruction of Olympus.

The scene shifted again.

I was back at the beach with Annabeth where the serpent had emerged. The Midgard Serpent slowly rose from the sea. Suddenly, Annabeth vanished. Storm clouds covered the blue sky within seconds. The tropical forest behind me became barren. Acid rain began to fall.

Come to me. Your precious little camp cannot keep you safe, The serpent whispered.

Sunlight seeped through the hills. I looked outside the window, half expecting to see a monstrous serpent. A chill went up my spine.

The whisper unnerved me. Not just what he said – the power in the serpent’s voice. It was not unlike the effect Kronos’ voice had when he spoke – like the blade of a knife scraping up your spine.

A knock on my door snapped me to the present.

“Percy,” Annabeth called. “It’s time for the meeting.”

I sighed and threw off the covers, proceeding to change clothes as slowly as possible.

There was one thing I didn’t have to worry about, now that Annabeth and I didn’t live outside the city limits of New Rome (if you didn’t know, New Rome is a miniature replica of the actual Ancient Rome in Italy). I didn’t have to go through Terminus, the OCD border god, who guarded the Pomerian Line, which was the boundary between the city and the rest of the camp. I (and many others) call him OCD because… well actually, I don’t even have to explain. Just keep reading.

Oh, and another note about Terminus: his statue doesn’t have arms. Only imaginary ones – or perhaps he does mental pat downs. Never ask him about that, or he’ll probably make you measure every blade of grass in the entire valley.

I opened the door and confronted a frowning Annabeth, brows knitted together and a line of Romans was waiting to be evaluated by Terminus to my left.

“Frank, praetor, good,” Terminus was saying. “Hazel, praetor, pass. Wait. Can one of you move that brick? It’s an eighth of an inch out of line. Yes, that one. Thank you. Next. Come here. I’ll need to pat you down.”

“Uh, but you don’t have any… um…” the next person in line faltered.

“Never mind about that,” Terminus snapped.

Annabeth still seemed to be absorbed in thought. I touched her shoulder gently. “Hey. You’re thinking about a plan, right?”

“How did you know?” she asked.

“You ask me this question a lot. I know you.”

Annabeth sighed and took my hand. “Didn’t we come to New Rome to get away from all the demigod chaos? Well, now it looks like we might have to save the world again.”

I shook my head. “Our time is past. It’s time for some other demigods. We’re going to stay at camp. Together.” I squeezed her hand.

“Hey!” Terminus’s yell startled me. “Aren’t you supposed to be at that meeting?” He took on an expression of horror. “Percy, your underwear! They’re not centered!”

“What?” I looked down. “Wait. How can you see my underwear?”

“Just go on.” Terminus said miserably.

Annabeth and I smiled at each other. I took her hand. Together, we walked through New Rome into the Senate House.

We were the last ones to the meeting. Two guest seats were reserved for us.

Frank coughed. “Okay. Let’s begin. Centurions, anything to report? You know, other than the monster attacks and stuff.”

The centurion of the first cohort stood up immediately. “All of the first cohort’s barracks are covered in bubble gum wrappers.”

A ripple of laughter passed over the crowd. I noticed the fifth cohort members whispering to each other, which probably meant they were the ones who did it.

Frank paused and looked at Hazel expectantly.

“Okay. I know that recently, it’s been bad news after bad news, but we have some more bad news,” Hazel said. “Percy and Annabeth, you’re probably the ones who should explain.”

I really didn’t want to repeat my experience with the serpent, but I got out of my seat anyway and walked to the front of the audience with Annabeth.

Annabeth did most of the retelling. The only things I said were trying to defend myself from looking stupid.

After Annabeth finished, the Senate House was silent as a grave. Nobody jumped out of their seats and shouted, Great! We get to fight a massive serpent!

Frank cleared his throat. “So… we’re pretty sure that this serpent is causing the monster attacks. They’re getting more frequent and more deadly, which is what always happens with monster attacks. We’re dealing with enough already, so I didn’t tell you that one of our scouts spotted an army of monsters about twenty miles from the camp yesterday. They’re estimated to arrive tomorrow.”

The campers groaned. In the last few years, Camp Jupiter had endured dozens of attacks. Camp Jupiter was clinging on because of pure determination. I didn’t know how many more we could take.

A camper suddenly rushed in, out of breath. “Uh, sorry to interrupt your meeting, but… there’s a bunch of monsters outside.”

Campers stood up. Some of the Lares disappeared. Others screamed and still others jumped out of their chairs and ran around like mad.

A cannon shot echoed through the valley – perhaps from a siege tower. The building shook. Rubble rained on us. I bolted for the door.

Time seemed to have slowed down. The debris from the ceiling fell in slow motion. I was pretty sure that my muscles were running at full speed, but suddenly I felt like I was moving through syrup. A deep whisper echoed throughout camp: Come to me. Your precious little camp cannot keep you safe.

I hated that line. As I looked out the door, I saw the Midgard Serpent towering over Camp Jupiter.

Chapter 9

Godric

Time unfroze after the whisper. Wolves and campers clashed like nothing happened. I stood there, still frozen in shock.

A wolf snarled at me, jolting me back to the present. I slashed the wolf into many tiny pieces.

I hacked through several large groups of enemies, slashing left and right, smacking heads with the flat of my sword, making wolves go cross-eyed, and creating massive heaps of fur. The wolves were apparently slow learners, since they kept attacking me, hence growing the mounds of fur around me. All that fur could probably make a dozen coats.

Finally, the remaining dozen or so wolves apparently either got some sense in their head, or they got scared of the five-foot tall wall of fur surrounding me. They shuffled off down the tunnel, growling back at us.

Luckily, no camper was heavily injured. The worst anyone had were several scratches on their arms. But in a capture the flag game, there is no time no waste tending to wounds. The opposing team’s flag was within sight.

“Come on, everyone!” I yelled, pointing to the flag beyond the staircase. “The flag is right there!”

I bounded up the stairs two at a time and emerged next to Zeus’s fist.

“There they are!” an Ares camper shrieked. “Get ‘em!”

I lunged for the flag, using the wind to aid me. With the trap disabled, I didn’t have to worry about shards of metal being impaled in my back.

“Go!” I yelled to my team. I jumped to the ground and tore through the forest full speed. All I had to do was cross the boundary line, which was the creek.

Fifty feet away from the creek, I saw Clarisse about the same distance away from the boundary with our team’s flag.

“Get him!” Clarisse screamed. “Don’t let him get across!”

Clarisse obviously had no energy left. She tried to run the rest of the distance but tripped on a rock. I held back the urge to laugh.

I used the last of my strength to propel me over the creek. Clarisse had just gotten up, but it was too late. We had finally won. (I was too exhausted to put an exclamation point at the end of that sentence.)

I collapsed onto the ground. My teammates picked me up and carried me back to camp, chanting my name.

“Hold up!” I protested. “Hey, let me down!” Unfortunately, my voice was drowned out.

“Congrats, Godric.” Chiron smiled at me. “Your losing streak has come to an end.”

When the others finally let me down, I immediately found Sanderson and told him about the wolves and the serpent’s whisper in the Labyrinth.

“That,” Sanderson said. “Is not good.

I sighed. “When is it ever good?”

The conch horn sounded. It was time for dinner.

I thought I was the hungriest person at camp today until I looked at the Demeter table. However fast I ate, they ate faster.

Everyone lined up at the bronze brazier to offer a sacrifice to the gods, as we do every meal – the juiciest slice of beef, the ripest of the fruits. Unfortunately for me, the juiciest slice of beef and the ripest fruit are my first targets when eating. A few times, I accidentally ate the best parts of my meal. Maybe that’s why I’ve had such rotten luck.

After eating, Chiron pounded his hoof on the marble floor. The dining pavilion quieted down.

“Announcements!” Chiron called. “First, I congratulate the winning team in the capture the flag game.” I received several glares and perhaps silent vows of revenge from the Ares cabin. “Secondly, we will have to increase our border patrol at night. Monster attacks are getting more and more frequent and more and more deadly. Finally, we have found out that the Roman camp shares a similar problem about the monsters. They have figured out that a powerful serpent is controlling these monsters. However, we do not know –”

A party of around a dozen satyrs dashed out of the woods. A few satyrs were on stretchers, and a bloody, beat-up demigod (at least, I assumed he was a demigod) was in the middle of the group. Just a regular entrance for a new camper.

Everyone was staring at the new demigod. Most of them were probably wondering who his godly parent was.

Several Apollo campers immediately jumped up and took the satyrs on the stretchers to the infirmary. Chiron was talking to a satyr with a baseball bat on his shoulder, who was looking around as if he wanted to hit someone with his Louisville Slugger. I knew him as Gleeson Hedge AKA Coach Hedge AKA Coach.

“…then a pack of wolves attacked us,” Gleeson was saying to Chiron. “Well, you know what happened? I clobbered them all on the head and finished them off with a Chuck Norris roundhouse kick! The rest were so scared they fled!” He roundhouse kicked the air and swung his baseball bat, nearly hitting Chiron, as if reenacting the battle. Based on what I knew about him, he was definitely making up at least 99% of that story.

“Yeah, anyways, we got a new camper here.” Gleeson pointed at the new demigod. “His name is Hector. For now, his parentage is unknown.”

Chiron nodded and smiled grimly to Hector. “Hello, Hector. Come into the Big House. You’ll need to watch the, ah, orientation video.”

I spent the rest of the day in my cabin after dinner with the statue of hippie Zeus staring at me. The one time I didn’t have guard duty at night, I couldn’t go to sleep. Not that I minded much. Dreams for demigods were just horrible nightmares and visions predicting the fall of the world or a horrible death. (I say that a lot.)

The sun was about to dip below the hills when I heard a knock on my door. Sanderson’s head poked in.

“Hey, Godric,” Sanderson said. “Camp counselor meeting.”

I was glad for the excuse to avoid sleeping. I quickly changed clothes and slipped out the door.

“What’s up?” I asked. “Anything urgent?”

Sanderson shrugged. “Not necessarily urgent, but definitely important.” He looked at me. “We’ve been expecting this for a while.”

My heart sank. I already knew what was coming.

“Can you tell everyone that I need a moment alone?” I asked.

Sanderson nodded. He understood. I lagged behind.

I looked longingly at the hills where the sun was setting. I wondered whether this would be my last normal moment in my short life that was very likely about to end.

Everyone else was already around the Ping-Pong table. The Cheez Whiz crackers that were present at every meeting were set out.

Yeah, that’s right. We did our serious, depressing camp counselor meetings in the rec room.

Chiron looked utterly crestfallen when I came in. He looked at me sadly, but he tried to hide it. That only confirmed my suspicions.

“Ahem.” Chiron cleared his throat. “Camp Jupiter has discovered something about these monster attacks. A serpent is controlling the monsters. The attacks will only get worse. Scouts have seen a large assembly of monsters a few dozen miles from here.”

Connor Stoll, the head counselor for the Hermes cabin, leaned forward. “Okay. So what serpent, exactly? The Hydra?”

Chiron looked like the picture of sadness. “No. Something far worse.” The morale of the room was instantly decimated.

Nobody asked what “something far worse” meant. The topic was depressing enough. With more campers, new and old, coming to camp for the summer, we didn’t want to start with bad news. Camp Half-Blood was meant to be a safe haven for demigods, not a worry haven.

After a moment of silence, Chiron continued. “We’ll need a quest. Camp Jupiter reported that a prophecy asked for 7 campers in total, like the previous quest to defeat the giants. I hope that is a good omen. They will send 3 campers here.”

I already predicted the next line Chiron was going to say. I felt like I was being handed my death sentence.

“The prophecy mentioned something else,” Chiron said. He looked at me. “A son of Zeus must lead the quest.”