The frost of the late autumn morning cracked under Luke's sandals as he made his way toward the Big House. Two years. It had been two years since he had begun training the occupants of Cabin Eleven and other young kids of other cabins, and they had gradually transformed from a pile of chaotic puppies into a group whom he secretly called his beloved genins.
They moved with a collective intent, their eyes sharp. Their wild, unfocused energy had been honed into something deadly. The unclaimed had found a new sense of belonging, with the training bringing them closer to claimed campers, who they would otherwise remain estranged from.
More importantly, they were ready for more than just wooden dummies and obstacle courses.
Chiron was in his wheelchair by the fire, a cup of herbal tea steaming in his weathered hands. He looked up as Luke entered, the boy's slouch particularly pronounced today
"Yo, Chiron," Luke drawled, leaning his hip against the heavy oak table. "The kids are starting to get twitchy. If I make them do one more lap of the obstacle course I think they might actually try to assassinate me in my sleep. It's time for something new. I like to call them D-ranks. A little bit of monster exposure.
Chiron lowered his tea, his brow furrowing. "D-ranks? I assume you mean field excursions, Luke. Actual monster hunting."
"Controlled environments only," Luke clarified. We'll keep it to the woods, but I won't prepare them. It'll be a surprise. "A few isolated nests of stray dracaenae, maybe a cyclops if we want something a little difficult, or a low-level hellhound for something a bit more furry, but nothing that a senior counsellor couldn't handle easily if things get dicey. They need to feel what fighting a monster feels like."
Chiron stared into the fire, his silence stretching long.
"It is... unconventional," Chiron finally said. "Usually, we wait for a quest. We wait for a sign."
"Waiting for a sign is a great way to end up as a snack," Luke countered, his voice losing its lazy lilt for a fraction of a second. "They need to understand that the world is out to get them. Would be happy to eat them alive. They need to kill something before something tries to kill them for real. Three-man cells. Three kids, shadowed by a pair of more experienced campers who will stay out of sight unless things get really nasty.
Chiron studied the boy. "The safety of the campers is paramount, Luke, letting monster willingly enter the camp is against every instinct of self preservation." Chiron said, slowly. "But I see the logic. Practical experience is a teacher I cannot replicate here on the porch."
He sighed, nodding slowly. "Very well. Three at a time. I'll inspect the monsters myself and will vet your countermeasures to ensure they are adequate. But Luke... if one of them so much as sprains an ankle because you were too busy reading your... literature..."
Luke's eye crinkled into a crescent. " Don't worry, Chiron. I'll be watching from the shadows. Think of me as their guardian angel."
He pushed off the table, the silver hair flopping over his mask.
"I'll go round up the senior campers. Oh, and Chiron, tell Argus we're going to need him to drive something bigger. We're going to need his services to transport some monstrous cargo."
The next morning Luke made his way toward the strawberry fields, where Argus was usually found keeping a hundred-eyed watch over the harvest. The giant stood nearly seven feet tall, his blue-tinted skin covered in eyes that blinked in a disjointed, undulating rhythm, on his arms, his chest, and even the backs of his hands. It was a sight that usually sent younger campers scurrying, but Luke just gave a casual two-finger wave.
"Hey, Argus," Luke drawled, not looking up from his book. "Chiron's given the green light. We're heading into the city. Hope you've got the keys to the big van. the one that doesn't smell like pegasi dung. We've got some cargo to pick up.
Argus offered no reply, for he had no mouth to speak with, but a dozen eyes on the backs of his hands blinked in what Luke took for a weary sigh of agreement.
An hour later, the elite vanguard stood assembled by the camp's boundary line. Jake Mason stood adjusting the pneumatic pressure on a set of bronze-mesh launchers. Beside him, stood Fay Swift; she was checking her reflection in the flat of her celestial bronze blade, her iridescent eyes sharp and devoid of their usual bored condescension. Jackson Cole, a sixteen year old son of Athena s stood a few paces apart from the rest, a heavy book clutched in his hands.
"Alright," said Luke, his eyes crinkling with a hidden grin behind his mask. "We are going to catch a couple of monsters for the camp babies to fight. I'll explain the finer points of the kidnapping on the way. Get in."
He gestured toward the white van with a thumb, his gaze radiating a mischief that usually preceded a long and dangerous day. Argus pulled the vehicle to the curb, the engine idling with a low, rhythmic thrum. The giant shifted in the driver's seat, the eyes on his left arm blinking in synchronized annoyance as Luke climbed inside.
"Easy there Argus, don't look at me like that," Luke said lazily, sliding into the passenger seat and immediately reopening his book. "It's for the sake of their education. Experience is the best teacher, and a slightly traumatized camper is better than a dead one."
"Wait," Jake Mason said, He hoisted a heavy crate of pneumatic canisters toward the open door, his brow furrowed in thought.. "We're actually bringing them back alive? Do you have any idea how hard it is to build a cage that a dracaena can't melt with acidic spit or a hellhound can't shadow-travel out of?"
"That's why you're here, Jake," Luke noted, his silver hair flopping over his forehead as he turned a page. And Fay, try not to look so horrified.
Fay Swift stepped into the vehicle with the effortless grace she had always carried. At eighteen, she moved with a new confidence, though she pointedly used a silk handkerchief to wipe the seat before sitting. "New York," said Fay. She looked toward the window. "I hope these monsters are worth the trip. I should hate to get my outfit dusty for anything less than a Cyclops."
"And the logistics of this, Luke? How do we transport live monsters through Manhattan without Argus getting pulled over or, more importantly, the monsters waking up?" asked Jackson. He leaned against the van's sliding door, a skeptical brow raised.
Luke didn't even look up from his book as he reached out and snapped his fingers. A ripple of distorted air, shimmered across the white exterior of the van. The Mist surged, thick and oily, rewriting the visual the mortal world would receive.
" Don't worry about the police, Malcolm," Luke said, his eye-smile crinkling behind his mask. "To any mortal cop or nosy pedestrian, this van is now a local poultry delivery service. We're just a few humble farmhands transporting a couple of very noisy chickens."
He finally looked up, his silver hair flopping over his forehead as he pointed a finger at the senior counsellors.
"Jake, we're going to need you to use those pneumatic web-launchers to keep the cargo contained. If a Dracaena starts feeling fidgety, I want her wrapped in enough bronze-mesh to tight enough that she can't move a muscle."
Jake nodded, checking the pressure gauges on his wrist-mounted canisters. "I've reinforced the tensile strength. Unless we're bagging a juvenile Drakon, nothing's getting out."
"Fay," Luke continued, "we're going to need your charmspeak to keep them in a dreamlike state."
Fay Swift rolled her eyes, her eyes flashing with a mix of pride and annoyance. "Convincing a monster to nap? How glamorous. Is that all, Castellan?"
"Not quite," Luke eye-smiled, pulling a small brownpouch from his tactical vest. "I'll supplement your singing with some potent sleeping drugs Helen was nice enough to gift me with."
"You mean you stole it from the infirmary," Fay said, her voice dry and exasperated. "I saw Helen looking for her sedative stash this morning. She looked like she wanted to turn someone into a shrub."
"Gift, theft, it's a matter of perspective, Fay. I call it resource reallocation," Luke chirped, sliding the door shut with a resounding thwack. "Now, get in. We have a schedule to keep.
Argus put the van in gear, several eyes on the back of his neck blinking in rhythm with the engine's roar. As they pulled out of the camp, the white van flickered once, briefly taking on the appearance of a Sunny-Side Poultry delivery truck before disappearing down the Long Island Expressway.
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Leaving the magical borders of Half-Blood Hill felt unusual. The Mist immediately felt thicker. The air colder. Behind them lay the safety of the valley; before them lay the skyscrapers of New York City.
Fay Swift stared out the van window, her blue eyes furrowing as the Long Island Expressway blurred into a streak of gray and green. Her thoughts drifted back two years, to the day a silver-haired kid with a deadpan stare and a navy-blue mask first invaded her personal space.
Initially, her frustration with Luke Castellan had been visceral. He was an nine-year-old kid who had resisted her Charmspeak without blinking an eye. A feat she'd previously thought impossible. She had viewed him as just another dirty, arrogant little boy playing soldier in the valley.
Yet, something had shifted over time. The Aphrodite cabin had always been one of the most populous in camp, for their mother's exuberant sexual drive ensured that. For years, they were perceived as soft, beauty pageant winners who lounged in silk chitons and obsessed over skincare while the real warriors fought in the dirt. But Luke had seen through the perfume and jasmine to a lesser-known domain of their mother: war. He understood the primal, volatile power of desire and the devastation it could wreak on the battlefield. Under his direction, the cabin had transformed; he demanded that they learn how to weaponize their nature.
The results were tangible and impressive. Their mastery of their divine gifts had become deliberate instead of purely instinctive. They had learned they were naturals at manipulating the Mist, and creating complex illusions had become second nature to them. Their natural understanding of body language, originally rooted in manipulation and seduction, translated perfectly into combat where they had become highly respected.
Over the last two years, Fay had moved from a state of indignant annoyance into a gradual, grudging acceptance, and even a strange fondness, for the kid. Under his brutal regime, she had mastered her gifts in ways she could never have imagined.
The training regime resulting in me being toned like a bikini model's wet dreams helped as well.
Fay glanced toward the passenger seat where Luke sat with his nose buried in that scandalous orange-backed book.
She caught herself wondering, not for the first time, what he would be like if he were only a few years older.
Being eleven years old makes him way out of my strike range unfortunately. I like older men anyways.
The things I would do for love…. I'd probably go crazy trying to seduce him if I was around his age.
Though, with Luke, that was always easier said than done; the boy was an anomaly who treated her most potent charmspeak like it meant nothing.
Her eyes drifted to the navy-blue mask that covered seventy-five percent of his face.
It was the eternal obsession of Cabin Ten. Being children of Aphrodite, they were hyper-attuned to aesthetics, to the subtle geometry of a jawline.
Every fiber of her being screamed that Luke Castellan was a gorgeous child, a diamond hidden behind cheap fabric and silver hair. Yet those features remained frustratingly eluded, tucked away behind the mask. She knew she was not alone in her curiosity.
She knew she wasn't alone in her curiosity. Half the girls in camp under the age of thirteen had a simmering crush on Luke Castellan, even if they'd sooner jump into the lava wall than admit it. He was their polarizing North Star, sadistic, perverted in his reading habits, and yet, undeniably the strongest demigod they had ever seen.
Fay's gaze remained fixed on the passing luxury storefronts of the Upper East Side, her reflection in the glass a ghost over the displays of diamonds and designer silk. She was no stranger to such things. She had arrived at Camp Half-Blood at the age of eleven, trailing behind her a life defined by cold marble floors and the hollow comfort of high-end boutiques in Boston. She been found by a satyr, and after a short discussion with her father, he had hurriedly had her flown to New York due to the danger she possessed.
Her father had been a distant figure, a man who viewed his daughter as a beautiful ornament. He had found a new wife quickly enough, a woman who brought with her a new family and a desire for normal children. Fay had not returned home in three years, and in the quiet moments of the night, she suspected her father had likely not thought of her once.
Fay breathed softly, her fingers tracing the sharp edge of the celestial bronze blade at her side. Usually, demigods of her years were occupied with the mortal trajectory, thinking of graduation and the nervous application to colleges. But of late, the senior counselors had been whispering of a different future. Though Luke hadn't said anything overtly, he had talked quietly to them about wanting to build something lasting, something beyond a seasonal summer camp.
Whether it was loyalty to the boy or a deep-seated fear of the mortal world, the idea of staying on permanently had taken root in Fay's mind. She did not wish to return to being a normal girl, suppressing her nature and hiding her power. She wanted this. She wanted the feeling of being part of something larger. This shift was not hers alone; it had begun to manifest in their very actions. Patrols led by senior campers now pushed beyond the campus borders to secure the perimeter, and plans were in motion to supplement the satyrs with demigod backup for retrievals.
Her gaze shifted to the back of the van where the emergency kits were stashed. These weren't the standard camp survival bags filled with ambrosia and a spare t-shirt. Under Luke's quiet direction, any demigod leaving the camp borders for a weekend or a school semester was now immediately issued an emergency pouch containing consecrated drachmae, two vial of Chrysos Krasis, and strictly instructed on the new Iris-messaging protocols.
They were taught to report in at set intervals, to help create a network of intelligence that spanned the city. Currently, the plan was in its nascency, overseen by Malcolm West, who had recently passed his duties as Head Counselor of the Hermes Cabin to Luke, and Leanne Stepford, a seventeen-year-old daughter of Athena.
Talks had already begun among the Head Counselors during their Senior Meetings concerning the establishment of a dedicated demigod outpost in the heart of New York. It was to be a safe house, secured by high-grade wards and Mist-shrouds to serve as a forward operating base. The goal was simple: to increase the success rate of demigod retrievals and to provide a sanctuary for those who were not yet ready to make the long trek to Long Island. Even the Pegasi stables were being integrated into the design, with the winged horses staffed as emergency travel options for rapid retrieval teams.
As Argus maneuvered the van onto the streets of Manhattan, Fay watched the mortals on the sidewalk. They seemed so fragile to her, so oblivious to the war being waged in the seams of their world.
Fay sighed, her breath fogging the glass. As she watched Luke flip another page of his literature with that infuriatingly calm eye-smile, she couldn't help but feel a twinge of anticipation. If this mission was anything like his training sessions, the monsters of New York were about to have a very bad day.
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Monster catching time!
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