The next morning, Chiron moved me to Cabin Three.
I didn't have to share with anybody. Technically, I had plenty of room for all my stuff, though most of it was already tucked away in my Inventory. The only things left on the nightstand were the Minotaur's horn, one set of spare clothes, and a toiletry bag—placeholders more than anything. The rest—dráchma, gear, snacks, odds and ends—floated safe in my pocket dimension, frozen in time until I needed them.
I got to sit at my own dinner table, pick all my own activities, call lights out whenever I felt like it, and not listen to anybody else snoring
.
And I was absolutely miserable.
Just when I'd started to feel accepted, to feel like I had a home in Cabin Eleven—that maybe I was a normal kid, or as normal as you could be when you had a HUD and a stat sheet—I'd been separated out like I had some rare disease.
Nobody mentioned the hellhound, but I could feel the whispers. That attack had sent two messages loud and clear: one, that I was the son of the Sea God; two, that monsters would stop at nothing to kill me. They could even invade Camp Half-Blood, the one place that had always been considered safe.
The other campers steered clear of me as much as possible. Cabin Eleven refused to join sword class with me after what I'd done to the Ares kids in the woods, so my lessons with Luke became one-on-one. He pushed me harder than ever—and didn't care if I ended up black and blue in the process.
The paper crackled in my hands as I forced myself to keep reading.
Percy Jackson is a troubled child who has been kicked out of numerous boarding schools and has expressed violent tendencies in the past. Police would not say whether son Percy is a suspect in his mother's disappearance, but they have not ruled out foul play. Below are recent pictures of Sally Jackson and Percy. Police urge anyone with information to call the following toll-free crime-stoppers hotline.
The words swam, refusing to stay still. Troubled child. Violent tendencies. Suspect. Each one hit like a sword strike that found the gap in my guard.
Then the system chimed in, mercilessly neutral:
[Reputation Updated: Mortal Society -1/10]
[Status: Person of Interest – Missing Persons Case]
[Debuff Applied: Infamy – Mortal Recognition Risk Increased]
Like I needed a reminder.
I wanted to tear the article apart, to burn it, to deny every word. But my fingers just shook. The cheap ink bled onto my skin. The pictures stared back at me—Mom smiling in the faded snapshot, me in a stiff school portrait beside her. For a second we looked like a family. And right above us, the headline screamed we weren't.
The Inventory panel blinked open at the edge of my vision. Rows of supplies, weapons, potions, drachmae—everything I could possibly need to fight gods and monsters. But it didn't matter. There was no slot for my mom. No option to store her safe. No way to bring her back.
The HUD told me this was just another penalty, another debuff. But to me, it felt worse than any monster's claws or blade.
The phone number was circled in thick black marker.
I crushed the paper into a ball and tossed it across the cabin. It bounced pathetically off the wall and landed near the Minotaur horn. I flopped onto my bunk, staring up at the empty rafters.
"Lights out," I muttered. My voice sounded smaller than I liked.
And then I closed my eyes-
[Profile Automatically Switched: 'Percy' → 'Perseus']
—Perseus opened his eyes.
The dream was his from the start.
He stood on a storm-lashed beach. Behind him sprawled a city with wide streets, palm trees, low hills—not New York. The wind clawed at him, but his posture never shifted, unshaken by its fury.
Far down the surf, two giants wrestled in the breakers, blue-trimmed and green-trimmed tunics clinging to their bodies. Each grapple made the sky split with lightning, the sea churn with rage.
Their voices thundered across the waves:
"Give it back!"
"No—you give it back!"
Petty. Inefficient.
Perseus' lip curled. "Two immortals with eternity at their disposal, reduced to squabbling like children. Just swear on the Styx, you scoundrels, resolve it, and be done."
The storm pressed harder. The sand shifted beneath his feet. He adjusted effortlessly, combat stance fluid. . His gaze swept for threats, calculations running behind his eyes like code.
And then came the laughter. Low, rumbling, spreading from the earth itself.
Come down, little hero… come down.
The ground yawned open, a black maw splitting the sand. Perseus did not stumble. He did not scream. He simply allowed the descent, muscles coiled, every motion measured for survival.
The abyss swallowed him whole—
[Profile Automatically Switched: 'Perseus'→ 'Percy']
—then Percy woke up, tangled in sheets, heart racing.
I woke up, sure I was falling.
I was still in bed in cabin three, sheets twisted around me like a net. For a moment, I lay there, breath shallow, waiting for the darkness to open up beneath me again.
And then I felt it.
The storm.
Not just the rumble of thunder outside, but the pressure, heavy and electric, crawling across my skin. My chest tightened like I was underwater before a wave broke. The clouds were rolling in, and I didn't need to see them to know. My father's domain was awake and angry.
When I finally sat up, the cabin was dark, though my gut told me it was morning. Thunder cracked across the hills a second later, confirming what I already knew: a storm was brewing, and it wasn't natural.
A clopping sound came from the door, the sharp knock of a hoof on the threshold.
"Come in?" I croaked.
Grover trotted inside, looking nervous, rain-scent clinging to him like he'd tracked the weather indoors.
"Mr. D wants to see you."
"Why?"
"He wants to kill— I mean, I'd better let him tell you."
I dragged myself out of bed, still feeling the charge of the storm humming in my veins. If this was connected to me—and it usually was—I was in trouble.
Grover and I walked up to the front porch of the Big House. Dionysus sat at the pinochle table in his tiger-striped Hawaiian shirt with his Diet Coke, just as he had on my first day. Chiron sat across the table in his fake wheelchair. They were playing against invisible opponents—two sets of cards hovering in the air.
"Well, well," Mr. D said without looking up. "Our little celebrity."
I waited.
"Come closer," Mr. D said. "And don't expect me to kowtow to you, mortal, just because old Barnacle-Beard is your father."
A net of lightning flashed across the clouds. Thunder shook the windows of the house.
"Blah, blah, blah," Dionysus said.
Chiron feigned interest in his pinochle cards. Grover cowered by the railing, his hooves clopping back and forth.
"If I had my way," Dionysus said, "I would cause your molecules to erupt in flames. We'd sweep up the ashes and be done with a lot of trouble. But Chiron seems to feel this would be against my mission at this cursed camp: to keep you little brats safe from harm."
"Spontaneous combustion is a form of harm, Mr. D," Chiron put in.
"Nonsense," Dionysus said. "Boy wouldn't feel a thing. Nevertheless, I've agreed to restrain myself. I'm thinking of turning you into a dolphin instead, sending you back to your father."
"Give it your best shot," I muttered before I could stop myself.
Dionysus didn't even glance at me. He just continued, voice smooth and dismissive, as if I hadn't spoken at all.
"Mr. D—" Chiron warned.
"Oh, all right," Dionysus relented. "There's one more option. But it's deadly foolishness." Dionysus rose, and the invisible players' cards dropped to the table. "I'm off to Olympus for the emergency meeting. If the boy is still here when I get back, I'll turn him into an Atlantic bottlenose. Do you understand? And Perseus Jackson, if you're at all smart, you'll see that's a much more sensible choice than what Chiron feels you must do."
Dionysus picked up a playing card, twisted it, and it became a plastic rectangle. A credit card? No. A security pass.
He snapped his fingers.
The air seemed to fold and bend around him. He became a hologram, then a wind, then he was gone, leaving only the smell of fresh-pressed grapes lingering behind.
Chiron smiled at me, but he looked tired and strained.
"Sit, Percy, please. And Grover."
We did.
Chiron finally laid his cards on the table, a winning hand he hadn't gotten to use.
"Tell me, Percy," he said. "What did you make of the hellhound?"
Just hearing about those mutts made my skin crawl. A part of me wanted to conjure an ice lance right then and skewer the memory out of existence.
Chiron probably expected me to puff out my chest and say something cocky—Heck, it was nothing. I eat hellhounds for breakfast. Which, to be fair, is still exactly the kind of thing I'd say.
"You'll meet worse, Percy. Far worse, before you're done."
"Done… with what?
"
"Your quest, of course. Will you accept it?"
I glanced at Grover, who was crossing his fingers so hard I thought he'd cut off circulation.
"Um, sir," I said. "You haven't actually told me what it is yet."
Chiron grimaced, like he'd rather be chewing gravel. "Well, that's the hard part—the details."
Thunder rumbled across the valley. The storm clouds had crawled down to the edge of the beach. The sky and sea were boiling together, furious, like they wanted to tear each other apart.
"Poseidon and Zeus," I said slowly. "They're fighting over something valuable… something that was stolen. Aren't they?"
Chiron and Grover exchanged a look.
Chiron leaned forward in his wheelchair, his gaze sharp. "How did you know that?
I should keep my mouth but that would be extremely suspicious. "The weather's been messed up since Christmas, like the sea and the sky are brawling. Annabeth overheard something about a theft. And… I've also been having these dreams." I mean, technically I wasn't lying.
"I knew it," Grover said, almost bouncing.
"Hush, satyr," Chiron ordered.
But Grover's eyes were glowing with excitement. "It must be!"
"Only the Oracle can determine," Chiron muttered, stroking his bristly beard. Then he looked at me, steady and grim. "Nevertheless, Percy, you are correct. Your father and Zeus are having their worst quarrel in centuries."
"They're fighting over something valuable that was stolen," Chiron said. His voice went low, serious. "To be precise: a lightning bolt."
I laughed. I couldn't help it. "You've got to be kidding me."
"Do not take this lightly," Chiron warned, his eyes flashing. "I'm not talking about some tinfoil-covered zigzag you'd see in a second-grade play. I'm talking about a two-foot-long cylinder of celestial bronze, capped on both ends with god-level explosives."
I raised my eyebrows. "Oh. That's… cool."
"Zeus's master bolt," Chiron said, and now he was worked up, pacing the words like they were heavier than the storm outside. "The symbol of his power, from which all other lightning bolts are patterned. The first weapon forged by the Cyclopes for the war against the Titans. The bolt that sheared the top off Mount Etna and hurled Kronos from his throne. The master bolt — which carries enough power to make mortal hydrogen bombs look like firecrackers."
I sighed. "How the hell do you lose a weapon like that?"
"Stolen," Chiron said flatly.
"By who?"
"By whom," Chiron corrected automatically. Once a teacher, always a teacher. Then he let the word drop like a guillotine: "By you."
I signed for the 60th time. "Of course."
"At least—" Chiron raised a hand before I could explode—"that is what Zeus thinks."
The storm boomed louder, like Zeus himself was eavesdropping.
"During the winter solstice, at the last council of the gods, Zeus and Poseidon quarreled. The usual nonsense: 'Mother Rhea always liked you best,' 'Air disasters are more spectacular than sea disasters,' and so on. Afterward, Zeus realized his master bolt was missing—taken from the throne room, right under his nose."
"He immediately blamed Poseidon," Chiron went on. "Now, a god cannot usurp another god's symbol of power directly—that is forbidden by the most ancient of divine laws. But Zeus believes your father convinced a human hero to take it."
I threw my hands up. "This dumbass."
"Patience and listen, child," Chiron said firmly. "Zeus has good reason to be suspicious. The forges of the Cyclopes are under the ocean. That gives Poseidon influence over the makers of his brother's weapon. Zeus believes Poseidon has taken the master bolt and is now secretly having the Cyclopes build an arsenal of illegal copies—enough to topple him from his throne. The only missing piece was the identity of the hero. And now…" His gaze sharpened. "Poseidon has claimed you. You were in New York over the holidays. You could easily have slipped into Olympus. In Zeus's mind, the case is closed."
My jaw clenched. "But I've never even been to Olympus! Zeus is crazy!"
Chiron and Grover both twitched, eyes darting to the storm above. The clouds weren't breaking anymore—they were pressing down, heavy and suffocating, rolling across the valley like a coffin lid.
"Uh, Percy…" Grover whispered. "We don't use the c-word to describe the Lord of the Sky."
"Perhaps… paranoid," Chiron suggested delicately. Then he raised a brow. "Though, to be fair, Poseidon has tried to unseat Zeus before. I believe that was question thirty-eight on your final exam…" He actually looked at me, expectant, like I'd have the answer ready.
Of course, I had gotten a perfect score on that test. Not that I planned on helping him make his point.
"The golden net incident?" I guessed. "Poseidon, Hera, and a few other gods trapped Zeus and wouldn't let him out until he promised to be a better ruler."
"Correct," Chiron said. "And Zeus has never trusted Poseidon since. Of course, Poseidon denies stealing the master bolt. He took great offense at the accusation. The two have been arguing back and forth for months, threatening war. And now you've arrived—the proverbial last straw."
"But they had a reason!" I protested.
"Percy," Grover interrupted, ears twitching nervously, "if you were Zeus, and you already thought your brother was plotting to overthrow you, and then your brother suddenly admits he broke the sacred oath after World War II—fathering a mortal hero who could be used as a weapon against you—wouldn't that twist your toga?"
"I didn't do anything! I couldn't even get onto Olympus if I tried. Security systems, CCTV—come on." I was lying, of course. I could sneak past nearly anything unless Poseidon or Hecate were watching in.
Chiron sighed, running a hand over his bristly beard. "Most thinking observers would agree that thievery is not Poseidon's style. But he is too proud to convince Zeus otherwise. Zeus has demanded the master bolt returned by the summer solstice—June twenty-first, ten days from now. Poseidon wants an apology for the accusation by the same date. I had hoped diplomacy might prevail—Hera, Demeter, Hestia could intervene—but your arrival has inflamed Zeus's temper. Now neither god will back down. Unless someone finds the bolt and returns it before the solstice, there will be war. And do you know what a full-scale war between the gods looks like, Percy?"
"Tuesday?" I guessed.
Chiron pinched the bridge of his nose. "A war between the sky and the sea would shake the foundations of the world. Gods would choose sides. Monsters would be unleashed. Mortals would die by the millions."
"Still sounds like a Tuesday in New York," I muttered.
Grover bleated nervously. "Percy, this isn't funny. The last great war between the brothers nearly destroyed Western civilization. If it happens again—"
"It won't be a clean, divine spat," Chiron interrupted, tone grim. "The Olympians fight through their children. Their heroes. You."
"Wait, wait, wait. Time out." I made a "T" with my hands. "I just got here. I'm still trying to figure out how and why the Ancient Greek grading system works—why in Hades is this my problem?"
"Because," Chiron said heavily, "whether you wish it or not, you are Poseidon's son. That makes you a piece on board. Perhaps the most important one."
Grover's eyes went wide. "You don't understand, Percy. The gods don't fight fair. They use us. And if Zeus decides you're guilty, then no matter what you say…"
"You, Percy Jackson, would be the first to feel Zeus's wrath."
The first drops of rain hit Half-Blood Hill. Volleyball players froze mid-swing, staring at the darkening sky.
Great. I'd brought the storm here. Zeus was punishing the whole camp because of me. I clenched my fists, trying not to scream at the clouds.
"So I have to find the stupid bolt," I said, voice tight. "And return it to Zeus."
"What better peace offering," Chiron said, "than having the son of Poseidon return Zeus's property?"
"If Poseidon doesn't have it, where is the thing?"
"I believe I know." Chiron's expression grew grim. "Part of a prophecy I received years ago… well, some of the lines make sense now. But before I can explain more, you must officially take up the quest. You must seek the counsel of the Oracle."
"Why can't you just tell me where the bolt is?"
"Because," Chiron said firmly, "if I did, you'd be too afraid to accept the challenge."
"Stupid reason."
"You agree, then?"
I glanced at Grover. He nodded encouragingly, like it was all sunshine and rainbows for him. Easy for him—I was the one Zeus wanted to fry first.
"All right," I said. "Better than being turned into a dolphin."
"Then it's time you consulted the Oracle," Chiron said. "Go upstairs, Percy Jackson, to the attic. When you come back down—assuming you're still sane—we'll talk more."
Four flights up, the stairs ended under a green trapdoor. I pulled the cord, and the door swung open, a wooden ladder clattering into place.
The warm air from above smelled like mildew, rotten wood, and… something else. Reptiles. Snakes. I held my breath and climbed.
The attic was a museum of Greek hero junk: armor stands draped in cobwebs, shields pitted with rust, and old leather trunks plastered with stickers: ITHAKA, CIRCE'S ISLE, and LAND OF THE AMAZONS.
A long table was stacked with glass jars containing pickled things—severed hairy claws, huge yellow eyes, various monster parts. On the wall hung a dusty mounted trophy: a snake's head with horns and a full set of shark teeth. The plaque read: HYDRA HEAD #1, WOODSTOCK, N.Y., 1969.
I looked around the attic and had one thought: this place could really use a good dusting.
Cobwebs hung from the rafters like some kind of bad Halloween decoration. Every surface was coated in a layer of grime thick enough to write your name in. I coughed. A lot.
The armor stands looked like they'd been forgotten since the Trojan War. Rust crunched under my fingers when I poked one of the shields, and a leather chest popped open, revealing… more dust. And bones. Definitely bones.
I backed away from a jar filled with what I hoped was a monster's eyeball. My brain tried to convince me that I was seeing it wrong. It didn't work.
"This place," I muttered to myself, "is a health code nightmare. And someone's going to die if they actually try to clean it."
The hydra head on the wall glared at me. Its shark teeth looked like they could chew through armor, and I swear it twitched. I gave it a wide berth.
Somehow, amidst the clutter, there was a sense that everything in this attic had a story—and probably a very bad attitude toward anyone who tried to touch it.
By the window, sitting on a wooden tripod stool, was the most gruesome memento of all: a mummy. Not the wrapped-in-cloth kind, but a human female body shriveled to a husk. She wore a tie-dyed sundress, lots of beaded necklaces, and a headband over long black hair. Her face was thin and leathery over the skull, and her eyes were glassy white slits, like marbles had been jammed in. She had been dead a long, long time.
Looking at her sent chills up my back. And that was before she sat up on her stool and opened her mouth.
A green mist poured from it, coiling over the floor in thick tendrils, hissing like twenty thousand snakes. I stumbled back, fumbling for the trapdoor—but it slammed shut.
Inside my head, a voice slithered in, coiling around my brain: I am the spirit of Delphi, speaker of the prophecies of Phoebus Apollo, slayer of the mighty Python. Approach, seeker, and ask.
I wanted to say, No thanks, wrong door, just looking for the bathroom. Instead, I took a deep breath, trying to focus.
Well… I could at least see what I was dealing with. [Thread of Destinies], now or never. I tried to thread it around her, to see possible futures—like her next prophecy, the dangers, maybe even hint.
[Skill Failed]
Great.
The thread slid through the green mist like water through my fingers. My vision blurred with potential futures, but all of them twisted into static, snaking paths I couldn't read. The Oracle didn't just resist my power—she ignored it, like trying to look through a closed door.
I clenched my teeth. "Okay, fine. Rude. Super rude."
The mummy—or whatever part of Delphi she had become—tilted her head. The green mist writhed but made no aggressive move. It wasn't evil. It wasn't hostile. It was… indifferent. Like some ancient librarian who'd had to repeat herself for thousands of years to thousands of heroes who never listened.
Still, I felt the full weight of it. This wasn't a monster to fight. This was a force older than me, older than any god I'd met. I'd have to do this the old-fashioned way: listen, ask the right questions, and hope I didn't trip over the prophecy before it had a chance to choke me.
I finally asked the million-dollar question. "What is my destiny?"
The green mist swirled thicker, curling around the table with the pickled monster-part jars. Then, out of the haze, four men appeared, sitting at the table and playing cards. Their faces sharpened into view. Smelly Gabe and his buddies.
My fists clenched, even though I knew this poker party couldn't be real. It was an illusion, spun from the mist.
Gabe turned toward me, speaking in the rasping voice of the Oracle: You shall go west, and face the god who has turned.
The guy on his right added, You shall find what was stolen, and see it safely returned.
The man on the left tossed in two poker chips, chiming, You shall be betrayed by one who calls you a friend.
Finally, Eddie—our building super—delivered the worst line of all: And you shall fail to save what matters most, in the end.
The figures began to dissolve. I froze, stunned. The mist coiled tighter, forming a massive green serpent that slithered back into the mummy's mouth.
"Say hi to the Fates for me," I muttered, mostly to keep my voice from shaking.
The tail disappeared, the mummy reclining against the wall, mouth sealed as if it hadn't opened in a hundred years. The attic was silent again, abandoned, nothing but dust, cobwebs, and old hero junk.
I got the sinking feeling I could stand there forever, cobwebs forming in my hair, and still wouldn't learn anything more.
My audience with the Oracle was over.
"Well?" Chiron asked.
I slumped into a chair at the pinochle table. "She said I'd retrieve what was stolen."
Grover leaned forward, chewing the jagged edge of a Diet Coke can like it was a victory cigar. "That's great!"
Chiron, however, pressed. "What did the Oracle say exactly? This is important."
My ears were still ringing from that reptilian, slithering voice. I shivered. "She said I'd go west and face a god who has turned. I'd retrieve what was stolen and see it safely returned."
"I knew it," Grover said, eyes bright.
Chiron didn't look satisfied. "Anything else?"
I hesitated. What friend would betray me? I didn't exactly have a ton of allies at camp besides Grover. And if he tried anything…
And the last line—I would fail to save what mattered most. What kind of Oracle sends you on a quest and casually drops that bomb? How was I supposed to confess that without sounding like a complete whiner—or worse, doomed?
"No," I said finally. "That's about it."
Chiron studied my face. "Very well, Percy. But know this: the Oracle's words often have double meanings. Don't dwell on them too much. The truth is not always clear until events come to pass."
I got the feeling he knew I was holding back something terrible, and he was trying to make me feel better anyway.
"Okay," I said, eager to switch gears. "So… where do I go? Who's this god in the west?"
"Ah, think, Percy," Chiron said. "If Zeus and Poseidon weaken each other in a war, who stands to gain?"
I tapped my chin. "Somebody else who wants to take over?"
"Exactly. Someone who harbors a grudge, who has been unhappy with his lot since the world was divided eons ago, whose kingdom would grow powerful with the deaths of millions. Someone who hates his brothers for forcing him into an oath to have no more children, an oath that both of them have now broken."
I closed my eyes and ran through the Greek pantheon in my head, trying to think like a strategist. "Okay… Hades, obviously. He's the god of the Underworld, hates being second fiddle, probably loves the idea of Zeus and Poseidon chopping each other up. Ares, maybe? He's all about war and bloodshed, would get a kick out of a divine fight. Dionysus… not so much the fighting, but chaos is his playground. Hera? She could manipulate it somehow if she wanted to punish Zeus for, I don't know, everything. And Ares… I think I said that one."
Chiron nodded slowly. "The Lord of the Dead is certainly the most dangerous opportunist in this situation. He could tip the scales completely if left unchecked."
A scrap of aluminum clinked out of Grover's mouth.
"Whoa, wait. Wh-what?"
Chiron raised a finger. "A Fury came after Percy," he reminded. "She watched him until she was sure of his identity, then tried to kill him. Furies obey only one lord: Hades."
Grover's ears twitched nervously. "Yes, but—but Hades hates all heroes. Especially if he's realized Percy is a son of Poseidon…"
Chiron leaned back, gaze sharp. "A hellhound got into the forest. Those can only be summoned from the Fields of Punishment. Someone inside the camp had to command it. Hades must have a spy here. He suspects Poseidon intends to use Percy to clear his name. Hades would very much like to eliminate this half-blood before he even sets foot on his quest."
I muttered under my breath, trying to picture it all. "So basically… if Zeus and Poseidon tear each other apart, every god with a grudge or appetite for chaos suddenly becomes a kingmaker. Or worse… a king-eater."
Chiron's eyes glimmered. "Precisely. That is why your quest is not just important—it is essential. The balance of the Olympian order itself rests on it."
I slumped back in my chair. "Great. So, while I'm figuring out the Ancient Greek grading system, the fate of the world is on my shoulders.(Get it, the Backpack?) Awesome."
Grover groaned. "Percy, this isn't a joke. They're serious."
"Hi, serious I'm percy." I said.
A strange fire burned in my stomach. Not fear. Not doubt. Anticipation. Precision. Revenge.
Hades had tried to kill me three times already—with the Fury, the Minotaur, and the hellhound. Each failure had only sharpened my resolve. Each attempt was a data point, a pattern I could exploit. He was responsible for my mother's disappearance, vanishing her in a flash of light
.
And if my mother was in the Underworld… well, that simply made the target more valuable.
[Data from Profile 'Perseus' is temporarily Used]
Time to show that clown what despair really meant—for daring to touch what was mine.
(Going to be a short chapter tomorrow)