For one week out of every summer, the demigods who fought in the Battle of Manhattan returned to Camp Half-Blood to visit with their younger kin and catch up with what was going on at Camp. They took off of work or school or crawled out of their hidey-holes and made their way to Half-Blood Hill. They were the only surviving demigods from their generation - and from any generation before them - so they thought that the best thing to do was to be role models - at least for one week - and show the younger demigods that they could live past eighteen.
Though all of the demigods were held in high regard, there was none held in so high regard as the son of the sea god, Percy Jackson. The children of Camp Half-Blood liked to challenge Percy as a show of their own strength. They challenged him to all sorts of events and games - except those to do with water - in the hopes of gaining glory through beating the living legend known as Percy Jackson.
For his part, Percy enjoyed participating in the games and challenges the young demigods set against him. This was a safe way for them to gain status in the Camp and Percy got to yeet children, which was always fun. So of course when the demigods challenged Percy to a game of competitive volleyball, Percy couldn’t say no. Not even when he found out that it was going to be all of the demigods against just him.
Percy wanted to be a beacon of hope, something to strive towards. He knew just how awful it was to watch friends die before they turned eighteen and to know that you could be next at any moment. He desperately wanted the younger demigods to know that if you survived your teen years, your chances of survival went up dramatically. As it was, demigods these days had a better survival rate than when Percy was their age. Instead of losing dozens every year, they only lost a few each year. That was progress and Percy was working toward shrinking that number even more.
By playing volleyball against twenty teenagers.
The game had been going on for a while now, the teens trying every trick and move they could think of to outsmart and outpace Percy. They were really keeping him on his toes. Under the unrelenting heat of the sun, Percy was sweating like mad. He was starting to get tired, panting a little harder than before, and his mouth was dry. Percy held the ball, eyed the teenagers waiting like hyenas for him to serve.
They paced and jostled each other, their shining eyes on Percy, mouths twisted into panting grins. Each one of them was dripping sweat - except for the children of Apollo - and their faces were red with heat. Impatience gleamed in the tension of their muscles and the restlessness of their feet and hands.
Percy tossed the ball into the air.
Every eye followed it up and up.
When it was in range, Percy smacked his fist against the ball. The volleyball went flying, cutting through their air like a torpedo. It flew over the heads of the teenagers, over their outstretched hands, and began to arc downward without losing any speed. Glass shattering broke through the disappointed groans of the teens, silencing them.
For a few heartbeats, everyone was silent as they processed what had happened, all eyes staring at the broken window leading into the Big House basem*nt.
A voice broke the silence, feminine and mocking, “Ooh, Percy, you’re in trouble now!” Annabeth Chase sat on a lawn chair in the shade of a young tree at the edge of the volleyball court. She wore a sundress, her hands resting on her rounded belly. Her eyes were focused on Percy, not a hint of warmth in the mirth that sparkled within their mercury depths.
In an incredible display of restraint and maturity, Percy stuck his tongue out at her.
Everyone laughed. Including Annabeth’s husband and the father of her baby bump, Connor. He stood beside Annabeth’s chair with his head tossed back, cackling at Percy’s inadvertent mischief.
“Percy,” a son of Demeter said, “You broke the window so you have to get the ball.”
There were murmurs of agreement.
“Alright, everyone, hold your horses. I’ll go get the ball.” Percy jogged past the other side of the court and followed the Big House along to the back. There were two ways to get into the basem*nt; one of which was the stairs inside the Big House, the second of which were the storm doors outside of the Big House. He didn’t want to alert Chiron if the old horse didn’t already know what had happened. The storm doors were chained shut, a huge and rusty lock holding them in place. Percy squatted beside the doors, studied the lock for a moment, and then drew groundwater from the earth. He wrapped the water around the lock and pulled it apart.
The chain slithered down the doors and into the grass at Percy’s feet. The lock lay in rusty pieces on the wooden doors. Percy opened first one door and then the other. A set of old wooden stairs that looked to have seen better days led down into the darkness. “I’d better not break my leg going down these,” he muttered to himself as he stepped onto the first stair. It creaked - not encouraging - but held his weight and so Percy stepped down onto the next stair and each one after that until he stood at the bottom with dirt beneath his shoes.
The basem*nt had a strangely similar scent to that of the Big House attic, which immediately set Percy’s nerves on edge. It was hard to forget the scent of things that were once alive but had been dead for a very long time. Little warning bells went off in Percy’s head, years of being a soldier having honed his instinct for when things were not right. Percy stood still, ears straining for the faintest of sounds to indicate that he wasn’t alone down here. He only heard the voices of the Campers outside, somewhat distant and indistinct. His eyes adjusted slowly.
Light slanted in through the shattered window, illuminating a section of floor. The volleyball glowed white beneath the pointed toes of a person. For a split second, Percy thought that the person was a ballet dancer or circus performer doing an act, hovering above the ball like magic. Then he saw the shackles going up toward the ceiling, suspending the person from a rafter by their wrists. Sharp bones stuck out beneath thin skin, which showed blue veins like rivers in a pale landscape. White blond hair hung limply in their face, matted and tangled but still holding its color. Their eyes were open, pale, unfocused. The shape of their face was familiar, but what struck Percy the hardest was the white scar like a tear track from the person’s eye to their jaw. Percy finally heard the soft rasp of a breath inhaled with difficulty.
Percy’s heart stopped beating.
