Lucas dressed himself before the mirror, the light charms he had personally inscribed on its frame allowing it to be used even now, at midnight. He slipped on his dress shoes, which were shined black. His pants were similarly black, slim-cut, and a high-collared white dress shirt accompanied by a formal black vest and finished with a deep black jacket with golden embroidery. He also decided to add the cufflinks he had made, a deep-sea blue that stood out from the black of the jacket.
This suit was his most precious, refined, giving an aristocratic feel yet still holding a distinct occult elegance, this was a suit Hecate had personally requested after visiting Elysium, in the underworld, made by Penelope, the wife of Odysseus, it was a birthday present but with him being in Rome on a quest he had little time to care for such matters as birthdays, so the present was only given recently.
As a suit held little offer of protection, he had spent the recent days adding a multitude of charms, ensuring the charms wouldn't be seen by others using a special technique Hecate had taught him. For his shoes, he had added charms to have the comfort of slippers but the integrity and build of work boots. For the shirt, he added temperature-controlling charms, enabling him to stay at room temperature unless the conditions were extreme. He also included a moisture absorption charm and a smell inhibitor. Of course, to ensure the suit was available for use in combat, he layered a multitude of defensive and strengthening charms, one even to regenerate missing parts should the suit be damaged. Perfect for formal wear or combat attire.
Looking in the mirror as he tugged his jacket to straighten the folds, Lucas gave a wry smile as he saw the slight shake in his hands, and then that smile morphed into a chuckle before turning into laughter, though whether at himself or what was to come was uncertain. Lucas stopped laughing, but the smile lingered as he studied his suit. This was a suit meant for greatness, and yet he would first wear it to a funeral; it was as amusing as it was dark, a fitting thought for a child of Hecate, almost causing him to chuckle again.
The reason was that when he fell asleep, instead of being dragged into the usual space with his mother and sibling, where he was meant to study magic, he once again received a prophetic dream, similar to the one he had on Clarisse's steamship returning from Rome.
The dream began as fragments, like shattered glass, shifting in an invisible tornado, only allowing Lucas brief glimpses of what was to come: One shard held flashes of light; another, the sharp crack of gunfire. A third had his own blood, staining the ground covered in golden dust. And the last was his father's bloody smile.
He had woken in a startle, breath caught in his throat. Sweat running down his face and down the back of his neck, a small shred of fear grew within. He was only fifteen years old, and the idea of dying, no matter how mature he acted at times, was dreadful to him.
For a moment, he lay, staring at the ceiling beams of the Hecate Cabin, trying to will the images to fade. But they didn't. Perfect memory refused to let go. The dream replayed like a curse. But the moment had allowed him to recover from his fear and smile.
He had learnt early on his path of the Fool that when facing the inevitable, when fear gripped you, a true Fool wouldn't be held back because of this; they would face it with a smile and challenge it, even if the outcome is nothing but an illusion. He had forgotten this truth during his travels, but now, faced with the possibility of his own death, he began to truly understand the perspective of the Fool. That was why he had dressed himself in his finest suit; if one was to perform on stage, they must look ready for the part, especially if there would be an audience.
With his suit on, Lucas started packing to leave. Unlike the first prophetic dream, which was more like a warning of what was to come, this one felt like an invitation, calling him home. So Lucas quickly packed. He collected his Knives, separating them into two different piles to ensure he knew which ones held the cursed blades and which ones the cursed handle. He placed them in separate jacket pockets, which had been enlarged to hold a larger space, making them perfect for surprises.
Next were some beads filled with magical smoke, designed to linger in the area longer than normal smoke, so natural winds couldn't ruin the effect. He pocketed them alongside a few bronze orbs filled with poison of his own making. And lastly, he equipped two sheaths to his forearms, hidden beneath his jacket, and sheathed his two daggers inside them.
With everything prepared, he equipped a satchel containing some medical supplies, a random assortment of cash, both mortal and divine, and some products he hadn't quite tested but felt he should bring. He wanted to leave not only to return home to quickly meet up with his father so they had time to prepare for what was to come, but also because he worried that if anyone caught wind of what he was leaving to, they would attempt to follow, and while Lucas could accept his own death, he couldn't accept bringing others to be killed.
However, this wish wouldn't be fulfilled, for when Lucas opened the door, standing before his cabin was Annabeth, holding her dagger and equipped for combat, eyes filled with guilt and determination.