Millard practically skipped ahead, with Luke following, his gait silent and measured. He kept his hands in the pockets of his overalls, his fingers brushing against the cold bronze of his dagger. As they descended the hill, the scent of the valley hit him fully: woodsmoke, toasted marshmallows, and the sharp, metallic tang of a working forge.
His eyes were scanning Camp Half Blood. As a sanctuary for a perpetually hunted group of godlings it's…..lacking.It really is built like a summer camp.
He saw the strawberry fields, where the plants seemed to grow with an unnatural, aggressive vitality. He saw the lake, the climbing wall that appeared to be dripping a steaming red liquid…. Is that lava? In the distance he could spot children sparring with each other, the faint clang of weaponry striking each other.
Luke couldn't help but compare it Konohagakure. Konohagakure had emerged from the chaos of the Warring States period, as a haven for shinobi who spent every waking moment of their life fighting for their life, not knowing who they could trust. It was built as a place where shinobi could settle and raise their next generation.
At first glance the camp looked peaceful, but to Luke, the lack of visible sentries at the perimeter was a glaring tactical weakness. The magical barrier was a crutch; if it failed, the children inside were sitting ducks.
We didn't have a magic barrier, but to rely on something so totally without any contingency is the heights of foolishness.
"Come on!" Millard urged, his goat-legs practically dancing with relief. He seemed to have gained a boost of energy after entering the safety of the camp. "We have to check in at the Big House. Chiron is usually on the porch this time of day.
His eyes went to the sprawling four-story manor in the distance, painted baby blue with a wrap-around porch building Millard had called the Big House.
Original name, he snorted internally.
As they approached the Big House, two figures became visible on the porch. One was a man in a wheelchair, draped in a thick blanket despite the summer heat. He had thinning brown hair and a scruffy beard. Luke blinked once and focused on the faint shimmer around the wheelchair and the wheelchair was suddenly replaced by a horse's body, seamlessly melded with the upper body of a man.
A Centaur. Half man-half horse. It's one thing to hear about it and it's another to see one in real life. And that's an active application of the Mist to disguise himself. Luke's mind was rapidly analysing the potential applications of this technique.
The ability to create a localised genjutsu to disguise oneself has endless utility. Can demigods learn how to manipulate the mist in a similar fashion?
Beside him sat a portly man in a loud, leopard-print Hawaiian shirt. He was scowling at a pinochle deck as if the cards had personally insulted his mother. He had a flushed, purple face and eyes that held a dangerous, manic spark.
"Chiron!" Millard called out, his voice cracking with excitement. "I'm back! And I brought... well this is Luke."
The centaur looked up, and facing those dark eyes, Luke felt a sudden, familiar pressure in his chest. It was the same feeling he'd gotten when standing before the Third Hokage. The weight of immense, weary wisdom.
"Welcome, Loukas Castellan," the centaur said. His voice was a deep, rumbling baritone. A voice designed to put children at ease. "I am Chiron, the Activities Director. We have been expecting you. Or rather, your father mentioned you might be finding your way to us soon."
Luke stopped at the base of the porch steps. He didn't bow, but he inclined his head in a sharp, professional gesture of respect. "Chiron. I've heard you are a teacher of legends. It is... an honour. And also, it's just Luke, Loukas is too formal."
The man in the Hawaiian shirt snorted, not looking up from his cards. "Another one. Great. Just what we need, another brat to clutter up the place. Why can't demigods be born with better fashion sense? And pull that mask down, boy, you look like you're about to rob a bank."
"This is Mr. D," Millard whispered frantically, nudging Luke. "The Camp Director."
Luke shifted his gaze to the portly man. He could feel the power radiating off him, it was chaotic, smelling of crushed grapes and wine. This was Dionysus. A god. In his previous life, Luke had fought beings who claimed to be gods, but the power radiating from him felt different from Chakra. Dionysus's aura felt concentrated, contained, a fundamental law of nature sitting in a lawn chair.
"The mask stays," Luke said, his voice flat. He didn't provide a reason. He didn't need to.
Next to him Millard paled. "I'm going to die, I'm going to die, I'm going to die, Mr. D's gonna turn me into a grape."
Mr. D finally looked up, his purple eyes flickering with a dark, wine-coloured fire. For a second, Luke felt the edges of his mind fray, as if the god were peeling back the layers of his consciousness. Luke didn't flinch. He tightened his mental barriers, the ones he'd built to resist high level genjutsu, and stared back with deadpan, unimpressed cobalt eyes.
The god blinked, a flicker of genuine surprise crossing his features. "Hmph. Stubborn. You smell like your father, boy. Too clever for your own good and far too fond of shiny things. Go on, get him out of here, Chiron. My head is splitting."
Chiron leaned forward, his expression kind. "Mr. D has a way with words, Luke. Pay him no mind. You've had a long journey. Millard tells me you encountered some resistance on the way?"
"Neutralized," Loukas replied simply. "A hunting party of Laistrygonians and Empousai."
Chiron's eyebrows shot up. He shared a look with Dionysus, who attention quickly returned to his cards. "Neutralized… I see. Well, we shall have much to discuss later. But for now, you need to be settled."
"As you haven't been formally claimed, you'll be staying in Cabin Eleven," Chiron said kindly. "The cabin of Hermes. It's the custom for all unclaimed demigods to lodge their until their respective parent claims them ."
Ah Fuck. Luke felt a sudden, uncharacteristic spike of anxiety.
He'd happily stare down a group of S-rank missing-nin without a tremor, but the prospect of siblings, real blood relatives, was a complete unknown. For his entire life Kakashi had been a solitary hunter, a man who lived in the cracks of society. The idea of being thrust into a room full of people who shared his DNA was... terrifying.
I would give anything for a mission right now. Please. Hermes…dad, give me a sign.
"Millard," Chiron said, "why don't you take Luke to find Matthew West? He's the head counselor for Cabin Eleven this summer. He'll get him sorted."
As they walked away from the Big House, Luke felt the eyes of both the Centaur and the God on his back. He didn't turn around. He was too busy trying to settle his nerves.
"Holy Pan, you don't just talk back to Mr. D like that Luke" Millard furiously whispered, "He's a God with a capital G. People have been turned into grape juice for less" Millard whimpered.
"Maa, its alright Millard, all's well if it ends well" Luke eye-smiled and put his hands behind it's head. "Anyways tell me about the Hermes Cabin.
"Well, Matthew is okay," Millard said, injecting a note of levity into his tone. "He's eighteen. Been here since he was seven. He's a son of Hermes, too. One of the few who stayed to help run the place instead of trying to make it in the mortal world. He's a bit... high-strung, but you'll see why."
They reached the cabin area. Cabin Eleven was easy to spot. It was the most dilapidated of the lot, with paint peeling off the walls and laundry hanging from every available hook.
A tall, lanky teenager with sandy hair and a permanent nervous twitch was currently standing on the porch, trying to negotiate a peace treaty between two twelve-year-olds who were fighting over a stolen digital watch.
"Matthew!" Millard called.
The teen looked up, his eyes wide and frantic. "Millard! Please tell me you didn't bring another one. We're already sleeping three to a bunk, and I think someone is running an illegal gambling ring in the rafters!"
"This is Luke Castellan," Millard said, ignoring the plea. "New recruit. Unclaimed."
Matthew West sighed. He looked down at Luke, at the silver hair, the mask, and the deadpan gaze. "Great. Another one. Welcome to the Madhouse, kid. I'm Matthew, senior counsellor of the Hermes Cabin, I'd offer you a tour, but I'm a little busy as you can see"
He looked around the porch and spotted a Latino boy with dark hair and a mischievous grin who was leaning against a post, watching the chaos with amusement. "Oye! Rodriguez! Get over here. You're on newbie duty. Show Luke the ropes before someone steals his shoes."
The boy about two years older than Luke's physical age came over. "Got it, Matt."
As Luke watched Millard head back toward the woods, leaving him alone with this "Chris."
"Hey," Chris grinned, sticking out a hand. "I'm Chris. Don't mind Matthew; he's just stressed because the Athena cabin threatened to booby-trap our showers again. Come on, I'll show you around the camp.
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Chris sauntered along the dirt path, hands behind his head. Luke followed a pace behind, hands in pockets, gait silent and measured.
"So," Chris said, gesturing toward the twelve cabins. " Those are the cabins. One through twelve. One for each Olympian. Zeus, Hera, Poseidon, Demeter, Aphrodite, Ares, Hephaestus, Hermes, Apollo, Artemis, Dionysus and Athena.
You want to watch out for Cabin Five. Ares kids. A bit like pitbulls. Ready for a scrap at the slightest provocation."
Luke's gaze drifted to the first three cabins in the line. They were massive, white-columned marble structures that radiated a heavy energy. "They're empty," Luke noted.
Chris snorted. "The first two are for Zeus and Hera. King and Queen of the Gods. They're just for show. Nobody lives there because of the Big Three Pact."
"A pact?"
"Yeah. The Big Three, Zeus, Poseidon, and Hades. The eldest sons of Kronos. After World War II, they realized their kids were getting too powerful. Their kids were basically the ones behind all the nukes and the carnage. So they swore an oath on the River Styx, no more demigod children. They're supposed to be off-limits."
Luke's eyes narrowed."An oath on the River Styx...Isn't that supposed to be a river in the Underworld."
"Well...it's not just words". Chris said solemnly. It's the ultimate binding in our world. The Styx is the sacred river that separates the land of the living from the realm of the dead, one of five which run through the Underworld. If a god breaks an oath on the River Styx, there are... consequences. Ancient laws kick in and some sort of punishment is enforced. It's the only thing that actually scares them."
"So it's some sort oath to prevent the birth of S-rank children." Luke thought skeptically. It was a logical move, yet fundamentally flawed. In his experience, the more powerful the individual, the less likely they were to respect a piece of paper, even a divine one. Especially horny gods who've been siring kids since times immemorial
"And you?" Luke asked, looking at Chris. "Are you a son of Hermes?"
Chris's smirk faltered, just for a second. "Nah. Still unclaimed. Been here two years. I just stay in Eleven because it's the rules. Most of us are in the same boat."
"How troublesome," Luke murmured. He reached into his pouch, fingers brushing against his dagger before settling on a small, worn paperback. He pulled it out, flicking it open to a dog-eared page.
Chris squinted at the cover. "Is that... a woman in a bikini riding a dolphin?"
"It's a classic," Luke said without looking up, his eye scanning the prose.
Chris stared at him. "You're nine. Where did you even get a book called The Nymph's Midday Squeeze?"
"Maa, a shinobi never reveals his sources," Luke chirped, closing the book with a soft thwack. "Now, show me the training grounds. I want to see if the rumors of legendary heroes are backed by actual competence."
They moved past the armory, where the metallic sound of bronze filled the air. Luke watched a few campers sparring with dull blades.
His assessment was immediate: High raw power, chunin level speeds among some of the older campers, but zero finesse. Most of them swing their swords like clubs, using their natural genetic advantages instead of true refinement. They are untested, most haven't been exposed to a true life or death situation that hones their instincts.
"That's the climbing wall," Chris pointed to a massive structure that was literally dripping lava. "Builds grip strength. And survival instincts."
"Looks decent" Luke noted, already scanning the footholds. Relatively simple once you get over the lava burning you bit. High Genin level difficulty at most.
They walked toward the mess hall, an open-air pavilion on the hill overlooking the Sound. Luke noted the braziers where campers were scraping portions of their food into the flames.
"Offerings to the gods," Chris explained. "To keep them happy."
"Food tax," Luke noted. Interesting, how would food offerings give any power to these gods. Is it true then, that gods rely on the belief of their followers.
Chris barked a surprised laugh, "That's an original description".
Finally, they stood at the edge of the woods, a dark, dense forest that felt heavy with the scent of pine and something ancient.
"Capture the Flag is held there," Chris said, his eyes gleaming. "No holds barred. Weapons allowed. It's the closest thing we get to a real war."
Luke looked at the treeline. He could see the blind spots, the high-ground advantages, and a dozen places to set tripwires that would leave an entire platoon hanging from their ankles. Home terrain for a Leaf Shinobi.
"Maa, Chris," Luke's eye-smile returning. "I think I'm going to like this game. It reminds me of home."
"You're a weird kid, Castellan," Chris laughed, ruffling Luke's silver hair.
Luke didn't flinch, but his mind was already moving.
For a camp that professes to train demigods against a hostile world out to literally eat them, their training facilities and organizational structure is shockingly lacking.
He flipped his book open again. Chapter Six: The Satyr's Secret Stash. He let out a perverted giggle. Oh no Marisa, how naughty of you.
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