Lucas woke after a restful sleep and made his way downstairs, where he found his father at the kitchen table, papers spread out before him and a mug of coffee cradled in one hand.
"Dad..."
Steven looked up from his work, catching sight of Lucas. He smiled, offering Lucas some tea and asking if he was hungry. Lucas accepted the offer of tea, but he wasn't in the mood to eat.
Seeing Lucas sit across from him, with inquisitive eyes, Steven sighed softly, offering a wry smirk. While he had expected it after Lucas' return last night, he hoped he was wrong. He'd hoped maybe Lucas hadn't come into contact with that side so soon, but with a single exchange of glances, he knew the truth.
And so did Lucas.
Without a word, Steven poured his son a cup of tea and waited, allowing Lucas to voice his questions freely.
Lucas stared into the steam rising from the mug, then exhaled.
He began from the beginning, how he saw the mist, how it called to him, how he followed.
He tested the waters as he spoke, watching for doubt in Steven's expression. But his father listened quietly, never once questioning what he heard. It emboldened him, knowing what he saw was real, and that some of his ideas may not seem as outlandish as they may have been.
By the time he finished, the sun had risen a little higher, and his tea had gone cold.
Steven leaned back, visibly relieved that nothing dangerous had happened, at least not yet. But he also knew better. This had been the start of something. And like all first steps, it couldn't be undone.
Still, he wouldn't interfere. This was Lucas's path to walk. All he could do was be there when it mattered.
He glanced at his son, who was now staring straight at him, waiting for answers.
"Knowledge is power," Steven said, his voice calm but weighted. "But sometimes, that power draws danger. Are you sure you're ready for this?"
Lucas looked down at his cup, thinking. Then, raising his eyes, he answered with a quiet resolve:
"To be honest… I'm not sure. But if I don't know what I'm about to face… can I ever truly be prepared for it?"
Steven smiled faintly, pride tugging at the corners of his mouth. No fear. No bravado. Just the truth. This was how he raised Lucas, and he was proud of that.
He set the cup down and began.
"The world's bigger than most people care to admit, Lucas. Some things aren't just stories." He paused, letting the weight settle. "Promise me something. No matter how strong you think you are… never lose yourself."
Lucas nodded.
So Steven told him.
About his mother. About the Mist that blurred mortal sight. About how knowing would draw attention to him; how monsters could smell his growing awareness. About Camp Half-Blood. About the Greek gods and the divine law that took Hecate away.
As he spoke, Steven watched Lucas. The boy's expression barely wavered, except for one moment when he mentioned the law that forced his mother to leave. A flicker of something crossed Lucas's eyes.
When he was done, Steven leaned forward, resting his forehead in one hand. A sigh escaped him. Honestly unsure if it was wise to do what he was about to do, he understood it was best to allow Lucas to explore his own path, but it was a struggle over his fatherly instincts to shield his son for as long as he could eventually he decided on allowing Lucas to walk his own path; all he needed to do was be there to catch him should he fall.
"If you're going to walk into this… do it with your eyes open." A pause. Then: "There are books in my study. The ones I always told you not to touch. They were hers. She left them for you."
Lucas stood, silent, and disappeared into the study.
Steven sat there a moment longer, staring at the spot his son had left behind, conflicted on how quickly his son abandoned breakfast with his father to read some books.
...
Beyond the Veil: A Glimpse Into Magic
Written and warded by H. of the Crossroads
That was the first book Lucas picked. Black and purple intertwined to create a cover that shimmered faintly in the light.
Sitting at his father's desk, Lucas turned the cover with eager hands, too eager. In his haste, he missed the warning scrawled just inside the flap in graceful silver ink:
Magic is will - and energy-driven, meaning it responds to the caster's intention, knowledge, and emotional state. Should you attempt casting before understanding all this, the Magic will recoil. The result may be… poetic. Painfully so. - H.
Page 1
Greek magic is ancient, primal, and intimately intertwined with the Mist. The Mist functions as both veil and medium - a divine skin over reality.
Magic is not a tool. It is an extension of will. It reflects you.
The Mist is the canvas. Magic is the paint. You are the brush.
Turning some pages into the book, he soon landed upon an interesting spell, one tied to divination.
Divination is the art of peering into the Weave of Connection - the strands that bind souls, memories, and moments across the mortal coil.
The most potent threads are those tied by blood.
Name: Ostendere Linea - "Reveal the Line"
Effect: Reveals a flash of insight about someone connected to the caster by blood (recent memory, emotion, or location).
Materials:
Mirror or bowl of still water
A drop of blood from the caster
Incantation: "Incantare Ostendere Linea" (whispered, 7 times). Followed by breath blown across the surface.
It looked simple. Lucas smiled. It would be a fun and harmless introduction to magic. He didn't feel the need to read further.
He gathered what he needed and moved upstairs.
In his room, the mirror sat on the floor, surrounded by flickering candles. Moonlight trickled in through the window, brushing across the frame.
Lucas pricked his finger. One drop fell.
He whispered: "Incantare Ostendere Linea."
Once. Twice.
Again.
And again.
Until the seventh time, when he leaned forward and breathed across the mirror, fogging its surface.
At first, nothing.
Then, through the fog, a face emerged.
Not Steven's.
A woman.
Pale skin, dark eyes like polished onyx. Not smiling. Watching. Love flickered in her eyes before transforming into mild amusement.
Before he could process what he saw.
The mirror began to glow. Then hum. Then crack.
Lucas barely had time to flinch.
It shattered. A wave of invisible force hurled him backward. The candles blew out all at once, plunging the room into shadow.
He hit the wall hard, vision spinning.
And then the door burst open.
Steven stormed in, eyes wide.
He took in the shattered mirror. The extinguished candles. And his son slumped against the wall, blood on his hand. And worst of all was the mirror fragments that embedded themselves into Lucas' left side. Luckily, he had flinched and turned; otherwise, the wounds may have been worse.
"Lucas!" he crossed the room in a flash, kneeling beside him. "Lucas, look at me."
The boy groaned, blinking rapidly. The whites of his eyes gleamed in the dark.
Steven helped him sit up slowly, his voice low and steady. "You're alright. You're alright."
Lucas coughed, still dazed as he turned toward his father.
Steven didn't scold him, understanding his son's temperament and knowing it wasn't the child to be blamed, but him as a father.
He just exhaled slowly, the tension easing from his shoulders, and sat beside his son on the floor. He caught sight of the book Lucas had taken and guessed what had happened.
"You didn't read the book, did you? You jumped straight into the magic."
Lucas winced, hearing his father's disappointed voice. "It looked simple."
A short silence. Then:
"You thought you were ready. Not because you were trained. Not because you prepared. But because you've always excelled, you ignored the danger of diving into the unknown."
His voice was calm. Tired.
"That's pride. The dangerous kind. The kind that blinds you."
He nodded toward the shards on the ground.
"What spell was it?"
"A divination… I think I saw my mother."
Steven didn't answer right away.
"Then you were lucky. The Mist could've shown you something far worse. It reflects your thoughts, your emotions. If you approach it with arrogance…"He picked up a shard of glass. "It cuts."
He turned it once in his hand, then set it down gently and reached out, resting a hand on Lucas's head.
"Always hold caution and respect toward knowledge. No matter how strong someone is, there will always be mysteries they cannot grasp. And that's not weakness, it's simply truth."
He paused.
"Knowledge isn't a prize to be stolen. It's a path. One you walk carefully. One question at a time."
Steven looked at him, eyes soft but firm.
"Your mother believed that. That's why she left all this for you with no instructions. Allowing you the choice on how to face everything."
He stood, and with a faint, tired smile, muttering under his breath:
"The crossroads."
Turning attention to the small wounds decorating his son's left side, Steven brought him downstairs and brought out a small first-aid kit, working on removing the fragments and cleaning the wounds before covering them.