The steamship cut through the Atlantic Ocean like a blade, and with the speed of the boat, it was expected to take a week to travel from Rome to New York. To mortal eyes, it was a modern luxury yacht, so the current speed of the boat may draw an eye, but it wouldn't be surprising for a modern boat to be so fast; however, the boat was in fact an old Steam troopship. Such speed interested Lucas, thinking he may be able to copy the magic that allowed such speed and use it for his future travels. Still, he couldn't find anything special with his veil sight, so he confronted Clarisse about it, but she shrugged, claiming she had no idea why it was so fast, only that the reason could be attributed to Ares.
With that unfortunate outcome, Lucas decided to stop investigating the boat, having already spent a few days exploring it. Now, he relaxed and embraced the isolation, with no need to be on guard or do anything; he had space to sort out his thoughts.
And he wasn't the only one taking advantage of the quietness to do such a thing.
...
Clarisse used the time in her own way.
Most mornings started with her pounding on Ethan's door, dragging him above deck before he'd even had breakfast. She used her backup spear, this one without the ability to unleash electricity, but sturdy enough to last under her relentless offence.
She claimed the sparring was to help him train, believing he lacked experience fighting, which he admitted he did, but that didn't mean he wanted to fight with Clarisse all day, especially when she went to extremes.
Her sparring sessions were punishing, ruthless, and relentless. She fought until sweat darkened her shirt and her knuckles ached, fighting in the morning and lasting till night, only stopping to eat and drink, no resting allowed. Each match ended the same way: Clarisse walking away, shoulders tight, jaw clenched, while Ethan lay collapsed on the floor, exhausted and bruised, thankful just to be alive.
By the fourth day, Ethan stopped complaining. He understood enough to know this was less about sparring and more about Clarisse releasing her pent-up emotions in a way she felt comfortable with, all the anger and guilt that had been simmering during the time in Rome was finally allowed to be released so while he was inwardly cursing why she couldnt just talk about her emotions, outwardly he toughed it out, trying to gain as much experience as he could out of his missery.
...
Below deck, Selena kept close to Annabeth.
They would sit at the small table in Selena's cabin, sometimes talking, sometimes just listening to the hum of the ship. It had been days since Rome, but the weight of Malcolm's death was still fresh in her mind. Whenever she slept, she could see his face, the blood on her hands. Although they never interacted in camp, they had sailed together to Rome, camped together, and were companions; the death hit her hard.
Annabeth didn't tell her it would get easier or offer false comforts and sweet lies; she knew situations like this were common in their world, and may happen again in the future. She knew it was better to face the dread and pain rather than cover it up, so she just embraced Selena, looking out for her.
Selena was smart enough to realise this too, so she didn't blame Annabeth for the lack of comforting words, but what brought her out of her depression was when Annabeth brought her to the deck and saw Clarisse fighting with Ethan. She feared losing her friends and siblings in the future, which is why seeing the battle sparked an idea in her mind. If she could become stronger, she could better protect those she cared for, and she would be able to do something next time someone was in danger, not just sit there and watch as they died. This inspiration led to her overcoming her depressive state and joining Clarisse and Ethan in sparring. Although she had a foundation thanks to her time at camp, it was nothing compared to the level of the others. Nevertheless, with newfound determination, she pushed through the beatings and studied under them.
...
Lucas found his quiet at the railing on the front deck, allowing the winds to block the sounds of weapons clashing and allowing him to use the silence to focus his thoughts.
He let the steady pull of the ocean carry his thoughts back through every fight he had.
A pattern emerged, one he hadn't noticed before. He'd been fighting like a warrior. Yes, he may have been more cunning in his style, mixing in distractions and magic, making him seem different to those around him, but in the end, the core was no different from other demigods.
It was the divine world's influence. Everything up here was built around warriors, and somewhere along the way, he'd absorbed that instinct without realizing it. He had even lost his sense of magic, using it to aid in his close-combat; only differing if he needed to fight at range.
But his powers weren't meant for that. The Fool's path didn't demand he meet blade for blade. His tools were for control, for misdirection, for defeating an enemy before they even realized the fight had begun.
Thinking of how he first confronted Elizabeth about her identity as an Empousa, knowing nothing of combat nor anything of depth in magic, he set a simple trap that immobilized her, allowing him to defeat her with no trouble or conflict. It was also the cunning traps that allowed him to face an invulnerable enemy in Rome, forcing them to acknowledge his danger and retreat.
From now on, that's who he would be: cunning, cautious, and if needed, shameless. He would become the kind of opponent who never gave you a fair fight because you'd already lost before you touched a weapon.
He planned to delve deeper into magic, possibly spending time studying under Tekto to learn how to forge his own equipment and combine it with his abilities and magic to create something that would aid him.
When this thought went through his mind, he felt the sequence five potion inside him shift. He had digested some of the potion, but not all. It seemed he had discovered the path to completing the sequence and understanding its truth.