Part I: The Styx Arm
By April, the snow melted. The camp turned green again.
I had grown. I was thirteen now, but I looked sixteen. I was six feet tall, 180 pounds of lean muscle. The "Baby Hercules" vibe was gone. Now I just looked like a young Ares.
But the biggest change was my left arm.
The tattoo—the black veins—had settled into a permanent, intricate pattern. It didn't hurt anymore. It just felt... empty.
I was in the arena with Clarisse. Since Luke left, she was the best sparring partner I had. She hated me, but she respected that I didn't hold back.
"Come on, Thunder Boy!" Clarisse yelled, brandishing her new electric spear (Maimer 2.0). "Stop dancing!"
I dodged her thrust. I was faster now. My footwork—the stuff Luke taught me—was ingrained.
I didn't use the hammer. I was practicing hand-to-hand.
I parried her spear with my right hand and lunged to grab her wrist with my left—my Styx arm.
As soon as my fingers touched her bare skin, something happened.
Clarisse screamed.
It wasn't a scream of annoyance. It was pain.
She dropped her spear and scrambled back, clutching her wrist.
"What the hades, Val!" she yelled.
I looked at her wrist. Where I had grabbed her, there was a handprint. The skin wasn't bruised—it was gray. It looked frostbitten.
I looked at my hand. The black veins were pulsing slowly.
"I... I didn't mean to," I stammered.
"It felt like you sucked the heat out of me," Clarisse said, rubbing life back into her arm. She looked at me with genuine fear. "That's not lightning, Val. That's... death."
I clenched my fist. Necrotic Touch.
The River Styx hadn't just marked me. It had turned my left arm into a conduit for the Underworld. If I grabbed an enemy, I could drain their stamina. Maybe even their life force.
"Cool," I whispered, terrified and excited.
"Not cool," Clarisse spat. "Wear a glove. Seriously."
Part II: The Storm Control
I started wearing a black leather glove on my left hand. It became my trademark look.
With the physical side handled, I focused on the lightning.
Zeus had called me a "battery." I wanted to be a generator.
I went to the beach alone at night. I stood in the surf and practiced calling it down.
At first, I could only do big blasts—uncontrolled explosions that left me exhausted.
But over the months, I learned finesse. I learned to wreath Thunderclap in electricity without firing it. I learned to shoot small, precision bolts from my fingertips to zap flies out of the air.
I learned that my anger was the trigger. If I stayed calm, nothing happened. If I got mad—really mad—the sky responded.
Controlled Rage, I wrote in my notebook. That's the secret.
Part III: The Sickness
May arrived. The campers started returning for the summer session.
The Apollo cabin bus arrived. The Hermes kids trickled in.
I was waiting for Percy. I wanted to show him the hammer. I wanted to spar.
But something was wrong at camp.
The magical borders—the invisible walls that kept monsters out—were flickering.
I was on patrol one morning near the hill. I saw a group of satyrs crying near the pine tree. Thalia's Tree.
I walked up the hill.
The massive pine tree, which contained the spirit of my sister Thalia, looked sick. The needles were turning yellow. The bark was peeling. A pile of dead leaves lay at the base.
"What's wrong with it?" I asked a satyr.
"It's dying," he wept. "Someone poisoned it."
I touched the trunk with my right hand. I could feel the sickness vibrating inside the wood. It felt like snake venom. Ancient and potent.
I looked out past the property line.
In the woods, eyes were watching. Glowing red eyes. Without the tree's magic, the scent of the camp was drifting out. Monsters were gathering.
And with me here—a beacon of Big Three power—they were hungry.
I gripped Thunderclap.
"They poisoned my sister," I growled. The sky above the hill darkened instantly. Thunder rumbled, low and angry.
This wasn't a game anymore. This was an invasion.
"Valerius!"
I turned. Argus was running up the hill. He pointed to the farmhouse.
"Chiron needs you. Now. A new camper just arrived."
"Is it Percy?" I asked.
Argus shook his head. "No. It's... a cyclops."
I frowned. A cyclops? Inside the camp?
"And," Argus added, "Percy is right behind him. And they are being chased by Bronze Bulls."
I grinned. The melancholy of winter evaporated. The thrill of the fight rushed back in.
"Finally," I said, cracking my knuckles (and activating the piston on my hammer with a hiss). "Summer is officially here."
I sprinted down the hill toward the sound of screaming.