"I... I was just getting some air."
The lie felt thin, brittle. Chiron's gaze didn't waver. He didn't move closer, but his presence seemed to expand, filling the space between us with the weight of millennia. He wasn't looking at the training grounds or the campers anymore. His ancient eyes were fixed on me, dissecting me with a patience that was far more terrifying than Annabeth's sharp, impatient interrogation.
"Air is plentiful," he agreed, his voice calm and resonant. "Yet you seem to be searching for something more than just a breath. You look like a man who has lost something vital." His eyes dropped, not with pity, but with a clinical, assessing curiosity, to the angry pink scars that crawled up my arms and neck, disappearing under the infirmary gown. "Those are the marks of a great trial. Monster? Or flame?"
The question was a scalpel, precise and designed to cut to the heart of my story. I pulled the thin fabric tighter around myself, a useless, reflexive gesture. "Both," I rasped, which wasn't entirely a lie.
"Both," he repeated, stroking his beard thoughtfully. "A rare combination. Most mortals do not survive one, let alone both. And most demigods know better than to tempt fate by traveling in the sky." He let the statement hang in the air, an unspoken accusation. "You carry yourself like a man who knows more than he lets on, Ashton Mendel. What stories were you told before you arrived here?"
My mind raced. Stories. He wasn't asking if I knew about the gods; he was asking how I knew. He could see it in my posture, in my eyes—the knowledge of a world I shouldn't have been privy to. Manny's frantic roleplaying sessions, my deep dive into the lore my son loved—it was all written on my soul, and Chiron was an expert reader.
"I... my mom talked about it," I stammered, falling back on the flimsy lie I'd told Annabeth. "Said my father was... important."
"Important," Chiron mused, his expression unreadable. "A vague word for a divine parent. Most are more specific." He fell silent, his gaze shifting slightly, looking past me. I felt a prickle on the back of my neck and turned my head slightly.
Juniper was still there, standing under the tree, a silent, colorful sentinel. She hadn't moved a muscle.
Chiron noticed my glance. A flicker of something—interest, perhaps even concern—crossed his features. "It seems you have already attracted a guide," he said, his voice lower now. "The daughters of Iris do not choose their charges lightly. They are drawn to messages, to connections, to the flow of information between people."
He looked back at me, his eyes piercing. "Tell me, Ashton. What message do you think you carry that would draw her eye?"
The question was a riddle, a test. I had no answer. I was just a man trying to find his son. Was that the message? Desperation?
He knows, Manny's voice whispered in my head, a rare note of caution. He doesn't know what, but he knows you're a catalyst. Be careful.
"I don't know," I said honestly, my voice barely a whisper.
Chiron studied me for a long moment, the silence stretching between us. "Perhaps," he said finally, "that is the most honest answer you have given me." He turned his wheelchair slightly, preparing to leave. "The Fates weave strange tapestries, Ashton. It is my job to ensure the threads do not become tangled. See that you do not become a snag in the design."
As Chiron's wheelchair receded into the night, Juniper stepped from the shadows, her movements as silent as a falling leaf. The silent assignment had been given, and she was now my keeper. I fell into step beside her. We walked past the archery range, now empty, the targets bristling with arrows. We passed the arena, where the clang of swords had finally ceased. The camp was winding down for the night. She led me along the edge of the cabins, and my breath caught in my throat.
There it was. Cabin #11. The caduceus symbol was carved over the door, a serpent-entwined staff that seemed to writhe in the flickering torchlight. Light spilled from the windows, and a cacophony of voices drifted out—a mix of shouts, laughter, and the frantic shuffling of cards. My son was in there. My son was in that building, just a few dozen yards away.
My feet stopped. I was frozen, staring at the door, my entire being focused on that single point of light. It wasn't just a sound; it was a pull. A low, resonant hum that vibrated in my bones, a siren song only I could hear, promising an end to the search.
Juniper stopped too. She didn't ask what was wrong. She just watched me, her lavender eyes patient and knowing. She could feel the frantic energy rolling off me in waves.
Ashton, don't,Manny's voice was a razor-sharp warning in my skull. That's not just noise. It's a narrative hook. It's calling for you.
I have to go in, I thought back, my mental voice a desperate plea. He's right there.
No, he's not! Manny snapped, his frustration a palpable current. Listen to me. We haven't ensured full canon-ness yet. The layout isn't stable. If you go through that door right now, I can't promise you'll find him. The story might not be ready. You could walk into an empty room, or a completely different scene. If you're impatient, you'll lose your son like a dumbass, swallowed by a plot hole of your own making!
The pull from the cabin intensified. My hand started to rise of its own accord, reaching for the door handle. I was a moth drawn to a flame that could either reveal my son or incinerate my entire mission.
I took a half-step forward.
The door handle rattled violently under my invisible grip, but it wouldn't turn. It was as if it had been welded shut. The sounds from within—the laughter, the cards—suddenly became muffled, distant, as if a thick pane of soundproof glass had materialized between me and the cabin. Manny was keeping me out.
Stop fighting me! Manny commanded. You should have just waited for the mess hall. Use Juniper as a default marker. A plot device, as a waypoint. That way, I can fulfill all the layout preparations for when you meet your kid! Do you understand? You are not the protagonist of this story yet. You are a side quest I'm trying to install.
Plot device? That's why she wasn't speaking much.
My hand dropped, the magical pull receding, leaving me breathless and trembling. My eyes remained fixed on the cabin. For a moment, a face appeared in the window, a boy with dark hair falling into his eyes, laughing. My heart stopped. It was him. It was Sonny.
But then the face shifted, the features blurring and rearranging themselves into the unfamiliar countenance of a stranger. The image flickered and died.
The disappointment was rushed into my chest and I sagged. Juniper was suddenly at my side. She didn't say a word. She just reached into her pocket and pulled out a small, hard candy. It was a simple lollipop, but the crystal surface shimmered with a dozen different colors, like a trapped rainbow. She held it out to me.
I stared at the offering, then at her. It was such a simple, childlike gesture of comfort. It was absurd. It was exactly what I needed. I took it, my fingers brushing against hers.
"Thank you," I whispered, the first words I'd spoken to her directly.
She gave a small, almost imperceptible nod, a faint smile touching her lips for the first time. It transformed her face from strange and ethereal to something genuinely kind.
As we walked away from the cabins, back toward the relative safety of the Poseidon cabin, I could feel Manny's presence in my mind, simmering with a cold, logical fury.
That was too close, he said, his voice low and dangerous. You almost blew everything over a case of mistaken identity. From now on, you stick to the plan. You stay in the open. You let the waypoint do her job. And you do not, under any circumstances, go anywhere near the Hermes cabin alone. Do you understand me? Your impatience is a liability to this story.
I looked at the rainbow lollipop in my hand, then at the silent, strange girl walking beside me. I was a puppet on a string, danced by a mysterious entity who was rewriting the world around me, and watched by a camp full of heroes who wanted to dissect my lie. And my son was just a cabin away, completely oblivious, trapped in a story I wasn't allowed to read yet.
I understood Manny perfectly. I just didn't know how long I could last before I tried to rip the book out of his hands.