¹On This Spring Day.

010.

               "Who?" he croaked.

               "Shh, brave one," she said. "Rest and heal. No harm will come to you here. I am Calypso."

🌷

The next thing Percy knew was that he was dreaming of a girl.

               In the darkness, she looked menacing. But with the silver glow of the moon and the golden gleam of a bow slung across her back, he could see the girl's face just enough—

               It was Violet. And she looked more troubled than Percy had ever seen her. She didn't look desperate, not the way she had when Bianca died. She didn't look determined, not the way she had when she took the sky. And she didn't look heartbroken, not the way she had as they watched Zoë Nightshade take her last breaths.

               Here, she just looked tired. Troubled. Upset. Maybe even scared. It was unusual, and it really irked Percy—a lot more than he ever cared to admit ( or knew how to express ). Last winter, he admitted when first meeting her in Cabin Eleven ( which had been super embarrassing ): when he tripped in line to the dining pavilion on his first night at Camp where she helped him up and showed him the ropes to dining for the gods.

               To twelve-year-old Percy, Violet was some kind of beacon. She hadn't been like Annabeth, who sneered at him back then because he didn't miraculously have all the answers ( especially when he didn't understand what the hell was going on ). And he didn't have any guilty feelings towards her, not the way he did for Grover when he nearly got the satyr's searcher's license revoked. And it wasn't the teacher/student relationship the way it had been for Luke.

               Violet was just another half-blood. And it was nice. She didn't ask about his past, and he didn't ask about hers. She probably didn't have to ask considering the rate gossip goes around Camp, but it was still nice she didn't pry. For a short moment, he could pretend all the gloomy things weren't hanging over his head, ready to pounce at any moment.

               Naïvely ( and stupidly ), Percy thought she was a daughter of Apollo just ... staying in the wrong cabin. Cut him some slack; he really didn't understand how things worked back then. And, in his brain, it made sense. Apollo, God of the Sun, so wouldn't his children be sunny? Violet was sunny, she was bubbly, cracked jokes, and smiled all the time. It all made sense in Percy's mind, even more so when she beat everyone's ass the next day in archery practice. It solidified even more in Percy's mind, then. Luckily, he hadn't said anything to her about it before Luke corrected Percy.

               ( "Percy, she's a daughter of Eros," he said, giving the boy an odd look.

               "What?" Percy asked. "But she's good at archery!"

               The blond stared. "What is Eros's weapon?"

               Percy stared back. "Do you really think I know that?" )

               It was a good thing Luke corrected Percy. ( It was the only good thing Luke ever did. ) But stupidly, Percy admitted to Violet last winter what he originally thought of her. It was a miracle she hadn't strangled him considering Eros and Apollo's animosity for each other. But maybe he only escaped with his life for the fact Violet was more worried about Annabeth being in danger than what he had to think of her.

               Anyways, here Violette looked tired. She looked at a dark sword in her hands, frowning heavily. The weapon was bent in half like someone stepped on it like it was a twig. Where she got that, Percy didn't know. But he finally got a clear image of where she stood—the front porch of the Big House. Larkspur gleamed brightly against the outside walls, painting Violet and a smaller, thinner figure in gold.