Adrasteia

Everything Has Officially Gone to Shit

"Luke, why the hell am I second in command?!" I demanded again. Luke sighed. "I am absolutely the least qualified for the job!"

"Adrasteia," he said firmly, turning around and placing his hands on my shoulders. He has only used my full name twice in the whole time that I've known him; once was when I first told him my full name, and the second time was when I was in the infirmary at camp for three months and nearly died. "Adrasteia, you have been fighting gods and monsters longer than any of us, longer even than me."

I rolled my eyes. "Luke, you're older than me, that's ridiculous."

"I started after you, and you know it. I don't know why, but it happened, okay? You have plenty of experience, you're an excellent military planner, you've won more capture the flag battles than I can count- Don't," he said, when I opened my mouth to argue. "I've told you what's going on, and you know all the events, motives, and people. So, what's the real problem here?"

I pursed my lips, opened my mouth, and closed it again. "I haven't been here with you guys long enough. I don't know everyone, or their habits, their strengths and weaknesses-"

"Yes you do. You know almost everybody."

"Almost being the operative word. One miscalculation could jeopardize an entire mission, a whole plan. People could die."

"Ads. That's not the problem you have, and you know it."

I scowled, and we were silent for a few minutes. Then I sighed. "I know, I know," I whispered. "I just..."

"Dras, for once, you need to think about yourself as well, okay? They haven't seen sense, and you're helping them, not hurting them. You're doing this for everyone, Ads." When I didn't reply, he said, "A little rebellion every now and then is a good thing, as our good friend Thomas Jefferson said." Luke gave me a nervous smile.

I was silent again before I sighed in resignation. Luke opened his arms, and I melted into them. "Yeah, I guess you're right."

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I was back in that barren cave, the ceiling heavy and low above me. Annabeth was kneeling under the weight of a dark mass that looked like a pile of boulders. She was too tired even to cry out. Her legs trembled. Any second, I knew she would run out of strength and the cavern ceiling would collapse on top of her.

"How is our mortal guest?" a male voice boomed.

It wasn't Kronos. Kronos's voice was raspy and metallic, like a knife scraped across stone. I'd heard it taunting me many times before in my dreams. But this voice was deeper and lower, like a bass guitar. Its force made the ground vibrate.

Luke emerged from the shadows. He ran to Annabeth, knelt beside her, then looked back at the unseen man. "She's fading. We must hurry."

The hypocrite. Like he really cared what happened to her.

The deep voice chuckled. It belonged to someone in the shadows, at the edge of my dream. Then a meaty hand thrust someone forward into the light—Artemis—her hands and feet bound in celestial bronze chains.

I gasped. Her silvery dress was torn and tattered. Her face and arms were cut in several places, and she was bleeding ichor, the golden blood of the gods.

"Luke," I heard someone whisper shakily. A girl's voice. There was a flash of long, wavy black hair in the shadows. 

Luke turned, stepped back, and put his arm out to comfort and quiet the other girl.