The Son Of Asclepius, Demi-god Doctor

Meeting Gods

About 100 feet in, they had lost any sense of direction. The tunnel was like a sewer, constructed of red brick with iron barred portholes every ten feet. (Y/N) knew that Elara would be a much better navigator than Annabeth due to natural talent, but he knew it was her quest, her glory to achieve.

"If we keep one hand on the left wall and follow it," she said, "we should be able to find our way out again by reversing course."

Unfortunately, as soon as she said that, the left wall disappeared. The group found themselves in the middle of a circular chamber with eight tunnels leading out, and no idea how they'd gotten there.

"Um, which way did we come in?" Grover said nervously.

"Just turn around," Annabeth said.

They all turned toward a different tunnel. It was ridiculous. No one could decide which way led back to camp.

"Left walls are mean," Tyson said. "Which way now?" 

Annabeth swept her flashlight beam over the arches of the eight tunnels.

"That way," she said.

"How do you know?" Percy asked.

"Deductive reasoning."

"So...you're guessing."

"Just come on," she said.

If they were going to argue the whole way, the two would definitely come out mad.

The tunnel she'd chosen narrowed quickly. The walls turned to grey cement, and the ceiling got so low that pretty soon they were hunching over. Tyson was forced to crawl. Grover's hyperventilating was the loudest noise in the maze.

"I can't stand it anymore," he whispered. "Are we there yet?"

"We've been down here maybe five minutes," Annabeth told him.

"It's been longer than that," Grover insisted. "And why would Pan be down here? This is the opposite of the wild!"

They kept shuffling forward. (Y/N) was definitely jealous of Elara's ability to slither across surfaces with such ease. Soon enough, the tunnel opened up into a huge room, a chamber of sorts. Tapping his staff on the floor, it lit up like a light bulb, illuminating the room.

"Whoa," said (Y/N).

The whole room was covered in mosaic tiles. The pictures were grimy and faded, but he could still make out the colours—red, blue, green, gold, purple, white. The frieze showed the Olympian gods at a feast. There was Poseidon, with his trident, holding out grapes for Dionysus to turn into wine. Zeus was partying with satyrs, and Hermes was flying through the air on his winged sandals. The pictures were beautiful, but they weren't very accurate. He assumed they had been made by mortals. In the middle of the room was a three-tiered fountain. It looked like it hadn't held water in a long time.

"What is this place?" Percy muttered. "It looks—"

"Roman," Annabeth said. "Those mosaics are about two thousand years old."

Roman. (Y/N) couldn't tell if they were already in Rome, but a thought struck him like a slap. If Camp Half-Blood had an entrance to the labyrinth at Zeus' fist, did Camp Jupiter have a similar one? He had to warn the praetors.

"But how can they be Roman?"

"The Labyrinth is a patchwork," Annabeth said. "I told you, it's always expanding, adding pieces. It's the only work of architecture that grows by itself."

"You make it sound like it's alive." A groaning noise echoed from the tunnel in front.

"Let's not talk about it being alive," Grover whimpered. "Please?"