Birthdays had never gone well for Christopher.
Trapped in the wooden confines of an underground tunnel, he stifled a sigh, adding anxiety to the already heavy weight on his chest. A ray of morning light seeped through a cracked rock ceiling, reminding him of the incessant ticking in his head.
November 7. Today was his birthday.
It wasn't exactly the ideal way to celebrate a birthday—stuck behind a locked cell that reeked of blood. But in Christopher's life, this had become the norm. Last year, he nearly lost his life to a hydra on his birthday, and the pattern of misery seemed to follow him each year.
It didn't take long for him to conclude that this day was especially cursed.
Above him, the sounds of chaos filtered down the tunnel. Yells, cheers, and the clanging of metal echoed through the air—evidence of a fight taking place above. He had figured out by now that he was beneath a coliseum. After his third day in captivity, the pieces had fallen into place. Originally, he and his party had been sent under cover for a quest: rescue the demigod child held captive here and bring her back to the academy.
But Apollo must have made a mistake by including him in the party. Christopher had never been the quiet type, and when he got the chance, he spun tales of his escapades, proclaiming himself the son of Hermes.
Not exactly the kind of main character anyone would want, right?
His stories had earned him just enough notoriety to get kidnapped. What he hadn't known was that Morath, the town where their quest had started, had a keen interest in demigods.
Demigods were exceptional beings, mortals descended from gods. If a clever monster wanted one, it was likely to recruit allies or, perhaps, serve it up for dinner.
Seven days had passed, and Christopher knew that he was too far gone to be a tasty meal. His dark hair hung in ragged strands, and his skin clung to his bones. Where bright green eyes had once sparkled, pale and sullen ones now stared back at him.
So, were the monsters planning to use him as an ally? It made sense; intelligent monsters often had grand schemes to overthrow the gods. Turning their own children against them was a classic strategy.
"Are they going to try and turn me against Hermes?" he pondered, staring blankly into the dark corner of his cell.
"So, you still assume you're a demigod?" A jailer banged on his door, cutting through his thoughts.
Christopher recognized the ruffled grey mustache and menacing grin from last night's humiliation. The jailer had pressured him to prove his divine lineage.
"Create a realm portal that lets you out this door," the old man had mocked. "If Hermes is really your father, as you claim, then he would give you his blessing."
What a blessing it had been. Despite his efforts, the only response he got from Hermes felt like a cosmic joke. No portals appeared, just laughter that echoed in his mind.
Glaring at the jailer, the moments of his humiliation replayed in his head.
"What do you want?" His voice came out with a growl.
"My boss has finally decided to give you a chance," the jailer replied, pulling out a black key from his coat pocket. He inserted it into the lock and twisted it open. "If you really are a demigod, as you say, this will be your moment to prove it."
"What?" Christopher stared at him in confusion. "What the hell are you talking about?"
"Come out," the jailer ordered. "You're up next."
* * *
Christopher stepped out into the harsh morning light, squinting as the brightness nearly blinded him. The air buzzed with the chaotic sounds of a crowd, shouting for action, demanding blood.
"Use this." The old man threw a dagger at him, the blade still glistening in the sunlight despite the dried blood caked on it.
He caught the dagger, examining it closely. It was a far cry from his own black plasma blade, forged by the academy's finest blacksmith. Compared to that masterpiece, this worn-out knife was nothing special.
If Richard found out he lost his blade on this mission, Christopher could only imagine the trouble he'd be in. The son of Hephaestus was way too protective of his creations.
But he had bigger problems right now. He was about to be thrown into the arena—an offering for this bloodthirsty crowd. After a week of captivity without any real proof of his divine heritage, they were putting him to the test.
The monsters believed he'd reveal his true powers under pressure. But Christopher had another problem: he lacked Hermes' swift abilities. He was slow, clever in a different way, and utterly lacking in instincts for danger. Yet, he had always shared a room with other unclaimed demigods in the Hermes dorm. For that reason, he was convinced Hermes was his father.
"In case you don't make it out of this," the old jailer said with a smirk, "I just want you to know I'll miss your terrible sense of humor."
With that, Christopher felt a shove. He stumbled onto the sandy arena floor, gripping the dagger tightly as he approached the center. The crowd roared, their excitement palpable in the air. It was easy to see how people reveled in the thrill of danger, especially when they were safe in their seats.
"Reveal the opponent!" a booming voice commanded from above. With a grinding sound, a massive hatch at the far end of the coliseum began to rise.
Christopher braced himself, trying to anticipate what would come charging through that door. Maybe a hellhound or a Minotaur would burst out, eager to crush him.
But then—
"Ladies, gentlemen, and monsters," the announcer continued, "I present to you our latest, most intriguing specimen— a direct descendant of the gods themselves!"
The crowd erupted in wild cheers. Footsteps echoed as a figure emerged from the shadows. It was a girl, her reddish-brown hair fiery against her heavy armor. In her grasp was a three-foot-long celestial bronze sword. As she stepped into the light, Christopher felt a jolt of recognition.
He'd found their target, and suddenly, his first crush.