The Gaze of Gods
Miraak saw Percy enter with Grover, who followed him in confusion, while he remained with his arms crossed, staring straight ahead, directly through the trees. That was when another gaze fell upon him.
Miraak's battle instinct began to rise slowly, like a current growing into a tidal wave capable of shaking the trees around him.
But at the same time, a battle instinct of equal strength emanated from the other side of the camp. An excited smile formed on Miraak's lips; his eyes shifted, not like human eyes, but like those of a dragon—vertical, green, and able to pierce through every trunk and leaf.
There he saw him. A chubby man, wearing a wrinkled Hawaiian shirt, shorts, and holding a can of Diet Coke in his hand. His careless appearance contrasted with the deadly look he held toward Miraak, as if the two were staring directly at each other. For any camper, this would have been impossible to believe: their careless and annoying director was showing a strange face, serious, almost threatening.
Around the camp, the vines began to move on their own, preparing to raise a defensive barrier.
"You know… although I doubt you could lose against him, it's not as if you could win either. Not easily. Killing him is impossible. The only thing you'd accomplish is destroying everything around you and putting those demigods in danger. And he will have to protect them, so I suppose you don't want to harm your own student either."
The calm voice came from behind Miraak.
The Dragonborn moved one of his spectral blades slightly, as if he already knew who was speaking. He didn't turn around, keeping his gaze fixed on the man across from him.
"What do you want?" he asked, recognizing the man with the eyepatch—the same one who had given him information about the gods, the demigods, and about this strange world, so different from his own and crowded with deities.
"Well… I thought you might be interested in accepting a mission from a friend of mine." The calm smile never left his face.
"I'm not interested." Miraak's response was immediate.
"Oh, really?" The man raised an eyebrow and sighed. "What a shame. I suppose I'll have to find someone else to deal with those dragons…"
Miraak's killing intent stopped pressing toward the camp, shifting slowly toward the man instead. He said nothing, but his stare was fixed.
The man smiled calmly.
"I'm not asking you to join any pantheon. This benefits us both: you clean up our problems little by little, and in return, you gain more power. That's how you see the world, isn't it? After all, you still carry all those dragon souls inside you."
Miraak narrowed his eyes. "And what do you gain?" he asked with distrust. After all, he didn't want things to end like last time.
"Me?" The man seemed to think for a moment, lifting his gaze to the stars before returning it to Miraak. "You are not bound to any destiny, and that alters the threads of those connected to you. Like that boy you accepted as a disciple. That's why even Zeus hesitates to attack you: he doesn't know what would happen if he did. And there's something else you still don't fully understand."
A torrent of battle instinct erupted from him, so overwhelming that even Miraak—who had never known defeat except at the hands of Vahlok and that young Dragonborn—felt cornered. His pride, forged through centuries of victories and study in Apocrypha, trembled for the first time in a long while. And yet, he didn't lower his guard.
Two spectral swords appeared in his hands. A dozen spells cloaked his body instantly: defenses, reinforcements, enhancements of damage. And then…
"MUL QAH DIIV."
The murmur echoed through every corner of the forest like thunder. His body transformed: black wings like the night spread from his back, scales covered his arms, sharp claws and fangs gleamed in the dim light. His green eyes, bright and intense like a dragon's, shone as his body surged with strength.
On the other side, the god protecting the camp opened his eyes in seriousness. Signals spread immediately: reinforced barriers, the ground shaking with roots, magic swirling around each cabin. The demigods felt as if the weight of the world had fallen on them and fled in terror to their shelters.
Percy, who was following Grover to a small wooden cabin with an old fan, stopped. He felt the pressure crash onto his shoulders and frowned.
"Master…" he murmured uneasily.
Grover was trembling. "Percy, we have to hide. Mr. D will protect us."
Percy clenched his teeth, worried, but kept moving.
Meanwhile, Miraak stood before the man with the eyepatch. Not even with his transformation and all his enhancements had he managed to surpass that presence.
"Fascinating…" said the man. "You have no divinity within you, and yet your power far exceeds that of a minor god. You could even rival some Olympians. Killing them, of course, is another matter. And much less could you face Zeus… or me."
A golden spear appeared in his hand. The power surged suddenly, suffocating… and then vanished as if nothing had happened.
"Many dragons in this world carry divinities stronger than several gods. I like your style, Miraak. You remind me of my son—a fool who keeps fighting even knowing he's going to lose."
He turned his back, as if he had no fear of being attacked.
Then Miraak felt gazes. Not faces or names, only presences—dozens of them. Most were empty, as if watching a stone by the river. Only a few carried true emotion:
One, furious, filled with rancor, like a storm that wanted to destroy him, but defensive at the same time.
Another, sharp and cold, like an eye that examined everything, with a faint spark of interest.
A third, warm, almost grateful.
And then it came—
A gaze that devoured the others, possessive, as if unwilling to share him with anyone else, as if the very instant it saw him it had already declared him its own.
And as that gaze appeared, all the others vanished quickly. One by one.
Miraak's body began to return to normal while his brow remained furrowed. The very air trembled until that last presence disappeared.
The man with the eyepatch looked at him again, his chin resting on one hand. "Just as I thought…" he murmured seriously.
"You want to be above everyone and beneath no one, don't you? Then accept these missions. You'll help certain gods with their problems, and in return, you'll gain power from those dragons. Nothing to lose—and everyone wins."
He paused and smiled. "Oh, I almost forgot. I didn't introduce myself. My fault—I tend to forget since I don't usually need to… everyone recognizes me the moment I appear, even if they don't belong to my pantheon. I am Odin, father of all. It's a pleasure, Miraak, Dragonborn, champion of Akatosh." Odin spoke with a welcoming smile.
Miraak looked at him seriously. To say he wasn't surprised that Odin had recognized the Dragon God would have been a lie. After all, this plane didn't even seem to have the slightest connection to his own.
Miraak stared at Odin for a moment before speaking.
"I still want to fight you."
Odin smiled. "How about this? Fight my son. He controls lightning and is known as the god of war. I'm sure you'll enjoy it."
"Fine."
Miraak lowered his gaze toward the camp, protected by vines and a glowing barrier. Magic vibrated in the air, traps deployed with precision as if waiting for a signal to activate. A small golden sphere left his hand, floating silently before turning into a letter that flew in the direction where Percy had disappeared.
After all, he had said he would begin the second part of the training, but now it seemed he would be absent for a couple of days. Even so, he made sure to leave him clear instructions on how to proceed without his supervision, along with a subtle threat: if, by the time he returned, Percy hadn't reached the level he expected, he'd better be prepared to suffer.
With that done, he turned around and followed Odin.
…
Meanwhile, Percy had reached the interior of the camp, which remained in a defensive state. He looked around cautiously: some cabins were lit with torches that lined the stone paths, and hardly anyone was outside. Most had taken shelter in silence, convinced that someone was about to attack.
By his side walked Grover and a young girl who had stepped out of the cabin earlier: Annabeth. She didn't take her eyes off Percy, watching him with an almost obsessive interest, while he tried to avoid her gaze, too worried about his master's absence.
Suddenly, a letter of light descended slowly and landed in his hands.
"What's that, Percy?" Grover asked nervously. He knew better than anyone that Percy had no family or acquaintances capable of sending him magical messages… or at least that's what he thought. The truth was, he knew nothing of reality: Percy's master was a Nord over four thousand years old, who had been training him for more than a month—ever since that day Mrs. Dodds had attacked him.
Percy didn't respond. He had seen Miraak use magic a couple of times, though he always told him he had to master the sword first before learning anything else. Still, Percy was sure the letter could only have come from him. He opened it cautiously, though the fear in his chest grew with every second. And when he read the words, he froze, wishing he had never read them.
"What is it?" Annabeth asked, refusing to leave his side.
Percy folded the letter carefully and slipped it into his pocket as if nothing had happened, ignoring the questions from his friend and the girl he had just met. Instead, he smiled and pretended to be calm, looking at the camp with forced cheer.
"Looks like a good place for a summer camp. I wonder if it'll be fun," he said with a forced smile, while around him people hurried about, setting up barricades and reinforcing defenses as if preparing for a war. Percy, however, seemed determined to ignore reality with all his strength.