His Return

26. Jenny's Song

And then there was Annabeth Chase.

This girl that he wanted nothing more than to hate, but somehow couldn't. Dislike and hate are two different feelings.

While he felt like she was not worthy of his respect, that definitely didn't mean that he hated her. He wanted to, but he didn't. In fact, Annabeth was right. Some part of him still loved her, and that shouldn't be. It was playing with his and Nyx's relationship. But of course, Nyx would never ask him to hate the mother of his children. She was a kind woman. People that say otherwise just don't know her. However, she wasn't aware of his and Annabeth's situation. He was certain that his wife would NOT approve of it. In fact, she just might kill him.

"Perseus." Artemis fell back to match his pace as they marched. "We should stop for now. We are deep enough in the forest where no one should bother us, and the campers grow tired."

He nodded, saying nothing.

Artemis went to her hunters, who immediately began setting up a camp with the little resources they had, which was harder than it usually would be given that the forest was a bit damp, implying that there must have been rain earlier.

The firewood wouldn't light, and it didn't take long before Thalia began spurring out profanities like a drunken sailor.

Perseus locked eyes with Hestia, asking her to help them, but she only held up a finger, telling him to wait. She seemed amused by the Hunters' inability to catch a spark.

After minutes had passed by, bringing no progress, only then did Hestia decide to help. All she did was clap her hands once and a fire began to blaze.

"Set up your tents and go get some sleep." He commanded, dusting some mud off his pants. "You'll need it."

He sat on a log right by the fireside and looked into the flame; the way it jumped and danced. He'd seen it a million times before but it was something he could never get tired of. He found it truly beautiful.

Minutes passed with him sitting stagnant in this one spot, doing nothing but staring.

Somewhere along the lines, someone sat next to him. He didn't care to find out who it was, keeping his gaze front. Everything was silent for a moment, the only sounds being the cackling of the flame and the howling winds.

"I can't imagine how hard it must be." A familiar male voice said. He looked to his left, finding a skinny man with long, black hair sitting beside him. His olive skin was pale and he wore dark coloured clothing, a black iron sword strapped to his waist. Perseus recognised this person as Nico Di Angelo. "To be responsible for the lives of so many people. Constantly under pressure. No room for mistakes. Having so many people turning to you for orders."

Perseus stayed quiet, the fire's light reflecting on his face. At his feet were a bunch of strong sticks and some stones. He picked a stick up and started carving and sharpening it with a black knife. "I have been doing this since I was twelve years old." He finally spoke. "What makes this time different?"

"It is different because the soldiers respected you when you were a child. They would fight and knew that if they lost their lives it was for a good cause. Now they are afraid of you. They are uncomfortable around you. Believe me I know what it feels like, I'm the son of the death god. They are fighting because the have to. Not because they're scared of the threat coming, but because if they don't give their lives to the fight then you will take it away from them." Nico said. "You need to find a way to make them feel secure around you."

"It's not my problem whether they feel safe or not." Perseus said, deathly serious.

Nico shook his head. "The Pit certainly does leave its stain on people." He said. "I understand."