Luke decided to make a trip over to the Hephaestus cabin. In Camp Half-Blood, every blade, every gear, every mechanism that kept the valley humming, flowed through the smoke-choked forge of Cabin Nine.
As he sauntered into the workshop, the heat hit him like a physical weight, a shimmering wall of air that tasted of molten bronze and ancient soot. Through the rhythmic haze of steam and sparks, a behemothic figure began to take shape. He was silhouetted against a furnace, pounding a piece of glowing metal with a hammer the size of a man's head.
Clang. Clang. Clang.
The figure moved with a machine-like economy, his posture as steady as a mountain. In his past life Kakashi had seen master smiths in the Land of Iron, ancient men whose strikes were empowered by chakra, shaping steel with impossible skill and finesse. This figure matched them. As Luke moved closer, he noticed the man wasn't using tongs; he was holding the white-hot bronze in his bare hands, his fingers calloused enough to treat the liquid metal like clay.
Luke stood in silent respect. One never disturbs a master in the midst of their craft. Especially especially when they're about to ask for a favor.
The mountain of muscle was James Mason, an eighteen year old, six-foot-ten African American teenager who looked like he could bench-press a minivan with one hand. As the Senior Counselor of the Hephaestus cabin, James was the gatekeeper of the Hephaestus Cabin.
After fifteen minutes, James finished the piece and plunged it into a quenching vat. The hiss of steam filled the room, and only then did the smith look up. His brown eyes settled on Luke with an unsettling, heavy intensity.
"What do you want, kid?" James grunted, his voice like grinding stones.
"Yo, James. I'm looking for a little help with a project," Luke chirped, closing his orange-covered book with a soft snap, and looking up with a relaxed, two-eyed crinkle.
James wiped a smear of grease across his forehead, nodding stoically toward a nearby workbench. "Let's see what you've got. Nice prank on the Athena kids, by the way. Any chance you're finally looking for a sword that actually fits your height?"
"Actually," Luke said, his eye-smile sharpening as he tucked the book into his back pocket. "I'm looking for something a bit more… exotic. Tools for a specialist. I have the schematics right here."
He unrolled a series of drawings across the soot-stained workbench. They weren't swords or shields..
James leaned in, his interest piqued despite himself. "Senbon, kunai, and shuriken made of celestial bronze. Very… very Japanese of you. You're really leaning into the ninja aesthetic, aren't you?" He tapped a finger against one drawing. "And these ultra-thin wire spools? You want high-tensile celestial bronze wire? That's dangerous, kid. One wrong move and you'll slice your own fingers off."
"I'm very good with my hands," Luke murmured, his tone light but devoid of humor.
James stared at the schematics for a long moment, his fingers twitching as if his brain were already calculating the carbon content and tempering heat for the bronze. He finally looked up. "It'll take time. I've never forged Eastern-style weaponry before, so I'll need to play around with the balance. But yeah, I can do it. For a price."
Luke tilted his head. "What's the price?"
"I've heard you've taken a couple of campers under your wing. Unclaimed kids. I have a few in my cabin who are… technically talented, but they lack a certain edge in a fight. I want them included in your training. I've seen you move, kid. You're something else entirely."
"Done," Luke said immediately. "But it'll be tough. I don't want any complaints or intervention once I start teaching them."
"If it helps them kill monsters more efficiently, I couldn't care less," James grunted.
Luke scanned the forge for a moment before his gaze drifted toward the window. "Speaking of modifications, I had a couple of other suggestions. The climbing wall… it's a bit of a bore, isn't it? Just lava and moving rocks? It's too predictable."
James snorted. "Predictable? Most kids end up in the infirmary after their first lap."
"Because they're looking at the lava, not the rhythm," Luke said, tapping his chin. "If you really want to train them, you need variables. Hidden pressure plates that trigger horizontal swinging logs. Blind spots where the steam obscures the holds. And if you really want to be creative… add a few weighted nets that drop from the top.
A dangerous, creative fire lit up in James's eyes. "Logs? Weighted nets? You're trying to turn a climbing exercise into a deathtrap."
"The best lessons are the ones that leave a bruise," Luke corrected easily. "I actually have a different idea. I'm planning on creating a new kind of exercise. An obstacle course. I have the concepts right here."
James paused. "You actually have it mapped out?"
"Maa, since you're asking." Luke pulled a second, much larger roll of parchment from his pocket and spread it over the weapon designs.
James's eyes widened as he scanned the complex, interlocking traps and sensory-overload zones.
"Are you fucking crazy?" he gawked, uncharacteristically losing his stoicism.
"Maa, doesn't it look fun?" Luke's eyes glimmered with a dark, playful mirth.
James stared at the blueprint for a long, silent minute. Then, he burst out laughing, a booming, resonant sound that vibrated through Luke's very bones.
"You've got some insane concepts, Castellan. But I can't deny that I'm interested in seeing if I can actually build it. Come back to me in a week. I'll start with your personal toys first."
"Thanks, James," Luke said sincerely, turning to walk away. He paused at the door, looking back over his shoulder. "Oh, and one more thing… don't tell the kids you've put them under my supervision. I'd like to surprise them a little when the time comes."
_______________________
It was 5.30 am the next day. A dryad could be heard softly humming a tune in the distance. Eight-year old Charles Beckendorf was having a particularly enjoyable dream where he had created an automaton.
Suddenly he was woken up with a splash of ice-cold water. He shouted in shock, and beside him, he could hear the shouts and screams of three of his other siblings, Lucas, Stephanie and Robert. Ten, Nine and Eight respectively.
He struggled to move and realised he was tied to a tree. Before him sat a silver haired boy with a mask, reading an orange covered book.
Luke Castellan. Son of Hermes. Rising legend in Camp Half-Blood.
Behind him, he could see around 40 kids of various sizes doing various exercise.
He shouted in fury. "OYE CASTELLAN. LET US GO!!!"
The boy in question looked up. His eyes wide as if seeing them for the first time.
"Maa Charles, why so loud in the morning". His gaze returned back to his book.
"YOU TIED US TO A TREE AND DUMPED ICE WATER ON US!" Charles roared, his small chest heaving as he strained against the hemp ropes. Beside him, Robert was shivering so hard his teeth sounded like a rhythmic clicking in the quiet morning air.
Luke didn't even look up from the page where a particularly descriptive scene involving a dryad and a silk scarf was unfolding. His eyes tracing the text with relaxed focus.
"Maa, Charles. In a world of monsters, a splash of water is a luxury," Luke murmured, his voice lazy and rhythmic. "You could have woken up to a Hellhound's hot breath, or the sting of a Dracaena's spear. Instead, you woke up hydrated. You should be thanking me."
"Thanking you?" Stephanie shrieked, her nine-year-old face turning a bright shade of red. "I'm going to tell James! He'll flatten you!"
Luke finally closed the book with a soft thud. He stood up, the silver hair falling over his forehead as he slouched toward them. Behind him, his gremlins, the forty kids didn't stop their drills. They were currently in the middle of balance exercises, standing on the edges of wobbling wooden poles while balancing bowls of water on their heads.
"James knows," Luke said, leaning in until he was inches from Charles's face. The boy flinched, seeing for the first time the cold, analytical depth in Luke's gaze. "In fact, James is the one who suggested I start with you four. He wants you to be more than just blacksmiths. He wants you to be survivors."
He reached into his pouch and pulled out a small, celestial bronze knife. With a flick of his wrist that was too fast for the children to follow, he severed the ropes. The four Hephaestus kids tumbled into the damp grass in a heap of tangled limbs and wet pajamas.
"Ten minutes," Luke chirped, checking a small hourglass he had hanging from his belt. "That's how long it took you to realize you were captured. In that time, a Harpy could have picked its teeth with your ribcages."
He pointed toward the line of poles where the other kids were training.
"Go. Join the line. If you drop the bowl, you do ten laps of the lava wall. If you complain, I'll let the dryads use you as target practice for their peach-pit throwing drills."
Lucas, the eldest at ten, scrambled to his feet, looking at Luke with a mixture of terror and budding respect. "Are you really going to teach us how to fight like you?"
Luke's eye-smile returned, though it felt more like a predator's grin than a friendly gesture. He reopened his book, already settling back into his slouch.
"I'm going to teach you how to not die, Lucas." He glanced over the top of the orange cover. "Twenty seconds left. If you aren't on those poles by the time the sand runs out, I'm bringing back the ice water. And this time, I'll add salt."
The four Hephaestus siblings didn't wait. They bolted toward the training line, their fear of the silver-haired boy far outweighing their desire for further arguments.
Luke watched them go, his internal monologue cheery. "Hephaestus blood. High heat resistance, innate understanding of mechanics. If they're willing to learn, they'll be the best trap-specialists this camp has ever seen."
___________________________
Luke's next stop was the Demeter cabin. To the casual observer, it was a place of flowers and wheat, but Luke knew better.
As he sauntered toward the grass-roofed structure, the air changed. The scent changed to a cloying, heavy sweetness, the smell of damp earth, nightshade, and wild wisteria. The cabin was a riot of green, with vines that seemed to move when you weren't looking.
Sitting on the porch, surrounded by a group of younger campers was the Senior Counselor, Helen Wisteria.
She was twenty years old, with hair the color of sun-bleached hay and eyes as sharp and green as a fresh briar. She was currently grinding a pile of dried, purple berries into a fine paste with a stone mortar and pestle.
"You're standing on the peppermint, Luke," Helen said without looking up. Her voice was soft and melodic. "Move six inches to the left or I'll have the roots of that oak tree trip you into the compost pile."
"Maa, Helen. Always so welcoming," Luke chirped, shifting his weight. He didn't look down at the plants, but he felt the subtle shift in the soil beneath his sandals. These kids didn't just grow plants; they had a low-level telepathic link with the flora.
"I'm looking for something specific. Not the usual medicinal herbs for the infirmary. I need the... specialized stock."
Helen finally stopped grinding. She looked at him, her gaze traveling from his silver hair down to the slouch of his shoulders. "Specialized stock. You want the poisons, don't you? The paralyzers, the irritants, maybe a little Belladonna extract for a peaceful sleep?"
"You catch on fast," Luke said, his eye-smile appearing. "I need a steady supply. Specifically, concentrated Hemlock, Monkshood, and any other interesting plant you may have on hand. I'm starting a new curriculum for the gremlins."
Helen stood up, wiping her stained hands on her apron. She was short, only a head taller than Luke, but possessed a lithe, wiry build. "Those aren't mere supplies, Luke. Those are dangerous poisons. One drop of the Hemlock oil in the wrong place and Chiron will have my head on a platter. Why should I give you the keys to my toxin cabinet?"
"Because," Luke murmured, his tone dropping the lazy lilt for a second, "monsters don't fight fair, Helen. They use venom, toxins , and even environment, and these kids need to learn to use every weapon available."
Helen leaned against a porch pillar, a slow, predatory smirk spreading across her face. "I like the sound of that. But I'm not a charity."
"James already gave me his price," Luke said, anticipating the move. "What's yours?"
"Caleb and Silas," Helen said, gesturing to the two boys who were now watching the exchange with rapt attention. "And three others. I want you to teach them the same thing you're teaching to other kids under you."
Kakashi's eyes narrowed.
"Strange…James asked for the exact same thing".
"Oh did he?" "Maybe we just think alike." She smirked knowingly.
Ahh, they've been anticipating me coming to them for something for quite some time.
Luke's eyes crinkled. It was a fair trade. I'm happy to teach any kid. Anything that increases their survival rate. I'm just glad that the counsellors seem to be on board.
"Done," Luke said. "But be warned, I don't go easy on them just because they like flowers. They'll be doing the same drills as the Hephaestus kids. "
"Don't think being a child of Demeter makes us soft." Helen countered. She reached into a hidden pocket of her apron and tossing him a small, wax-sealed vial. "A sample of the Monkshood oil. Don't lick it. I'll have the rest of the crates ready by the end of the week."
Luke caught the vial in a blur of motion, tucking it away. "Thanks, Helen I'll make sure your kids learn how to be vicious ankle biters."
A couple more cabins to go.
_________________________________________
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