ON THIS SPRING DAY
━━━━━ chapter two
━━━━━ PERCY FELT LIKE he was being set up to fail. Being forced to read a prophecy that foretold something horrible ( and probably your death )? That was a kid with ADHD and dyslexia's worst nightmare.
Annabeth handed him the parchment. It felt dry and old, and his fingers fumbled with the string. He uncurled the paper, trying not to rip it, and began to read: "A half-blood of the eldest dogs ..."
From where she stood beside him, Violet cleared her throat. "Percy," she leaned over, her chin practically resting on his shoulder so her eyes could scan the paper, "that says gods, not, um, dogs."
"Oh. Right." He winced and shook his head. He really was being set up to fail—dyslexic was a trademark for demigods, so Percy wasn't weird for having it, but sometimes ( most times ) he really hated it. Whenever he was nervous, which was anytime he was forced to read aloud, the worse the dyslexia became.
"A half-blood of the eldest gods/Shall reach sixteen against all odds ..." Percy hesitated, his breath getting caught in his chest like a rock. He had no idea breathing like that could hurt, but it did. Violet's brown eyes flickered over to him and the paper; she was reading the lines before him. A cold feeling settled on the pads of Percy's fingers, and he rightened them against the scroll. "And see the world in endless sleep/The hero's soul, cursed blade shall reap."
It happened—Riptide seemed heavier in his pocket. It was only a ballpoint pen, but it felt like Percy was lugging a whole dictionary in his pocket. A cursed blade? Chiron once told him Riptide had brought many people sorrow. Was it possible his own sword—the sword that saved his life so many times—could get him killed? And how could the world fall into endless sleep, unless that meant death?
"Percy," Chiron urged, his expression pinched. "Read the rest."
His mouth felt like it was full of sand, but he struggled through the last two lines. "A single choice shall ... shall end his days." No one mentioned how his voice wavered, and Percy wasn't going to do anything about it either. "Olympus to per—pursue—"
"Preserve," Annabeth said gently. "It means 'to save'."
"I hope that's a good thing ..." Violet muttered only her breath, quite enough only Annabeth and Percy could hear her.
"I know what it means, Annabeth," the son of Poseidon grumbled, sending the blonde a nasty look. He took a deep breath, reciting the line; "Olympus to preserve or raze."
The room was silent. Finally, Connor Stoll spread his hands and announced, "Raise is good, isn't it?"
"Not raise, Connor." Violet frowned. "Percy said raze. R-A-Z-E—means 'to destroy'."
From across the table, Michael Yew scoffed. "I'm surprised you know what that word is ..."
"I can be smart!" Violet sounded indignant, sending the counselor for Cabin Seven nasty looks. "I'll have you know, Yew, just because you—"
"Violet." Chiron raised his hands. "This is not the time for spats."
The daughter of Eros brushed a braid out of her face, grumbling, "Michael started it ..."
Percy swallowed the lump in his throat. To destroy, or raze, or however you wanted to put it wasn't a good thing, even if it did sound good—like a word like raise. Everybody was looking at him again—with concern, or pity, or maybe a little fear. He hated it—hated being in the spotlight, hated being the kid of the prophecy, hated being the kid people looked to for help. He liked being able to blend in with the crowd; that's why he liked New York City so much, everyone was just another face in the crowd. No one cared who you were, they were all too busy trying to get through their own day to give any part of it to you. Here, at Camp Half-Blood, being the son of Poseidon, people automatically assumed Percy would be the hero of the age. There were many days Percy wished he could be a faceless camper at Camp Half-Blood.
Chiron closed his eyes as if he were saying a prayer. In horse form, his head almost brushed the lights in the rec room. It really looked like he was praying as he bowed his head so as to not hit it. "You see now, Percy, why we thought it best not to tell you the whole prophecy. You've had enough on your shoulders—"
"Without realizing I was going to die in the end anyway?" Percy snapped. "Yeah, I get it."
Chiron's eyes were sad as he watched the camper. The guy was three thousand years old. He'd seen hundreds of heroes die. He might not like it, but he was used to it. He probably knew better than to try reassuring Percy.
"Percy," Annabeth started. "You know prophecies always have double meanings. It might not literally mean you die."
"Sure." He swallowed the bile in his throat, which was gathering worse and worse by the second. "A single choice shall end his days. That has tons of meanings, right?"
Without saying a word, Violet pulled out the empty chair beside Silena. The daughter of Aphrodite didn't stir, but Connor and Travis both jumped. A lot of counselors watched as Violet sat down hard, bracing her arms on the ping-pong table.
Jake Mason, Son of Hephaestus, spoke up, grabbing Percy's attention from Violet; "Maybe we can stop it. The hero's soul, cursed blade shall reap. Maybe we could find this cursed blade and destroy it. Sounds like Kronos's scythe, right? That's what it sounds like to me."
Percy considered it for a moment. He had never thought about it that way, but it didn't matter if the cursed blade was Riptide or Kronos's scythe. Either way, he doubted they could stop the prophecy—a blade was supposed to reap my soul. As a general rule, Percy preferred not to have his soul reaped.
"Perhaps we should let Percy think about these lines," Chiron said. "He needs time—"
"No, I don't need time." Defiantly, Percy folded up the prophecy and shoved it in his pocket. It seemed like something simple, but that dirty paper held the prophecy that was foretold many years ago, and a prophecy that foretold the end of his life. By crumpling it, Percy like he was shoving it to the Fates, who had dealt him a shitty hand. "If I die, I die. I can't worry about that, right?"
Violet's head angeled to the point he couldn't see her face anymore. Connor and Travis both kept glancing over.
Percy waited to see if she would look. When she didn't, he sighed and looked back to Chiron. "Um, let's move on. We've got other problems. We've got a spy."
Michael Yew scowled and sat up in his seat ( but that didn't help with his lack of height ). "A spy?"
Percy told everyone listening the story of what happened on the Princess Andromeda—how Kronos had known he and Beckendorf were coming, how the Titan had shown Percy the silver scythe pendant he'd used to communicate with someone at Camp.
Silena started to cry again, and Violet and Connor both sat up to try and help. Percy tasted something nasty in his mouth, finishing his story.
"Well," Connor said uncomfortably, glancing at Percy, "we've suspected there might be a spy for years, right? Somebody kept passing information to Luke—like the location of the Golden Fleece a couple of years ago. It must be somebody who knew him well."
He glanced at Annabeth. She'd known Luke better than anyone, of course, but Connor looked away quickly. "Um, I mean, it could be anybody."
Violet looked over Silena's ducked head at the son of Hermes. She gave him a shocked look. "You can't seriously be thinking—she," she looked at Annabeth, "would be the spy?"
"I—I didn't say that!"
"No, but you implied it," countered the black-haired girl.
"I think Connor has a point," Katie Gardner spoke up, giving them nasty looks. She'd disliked them ever since they'd decorated the grass roof of the Demeter cabin with chocolate Easter bunnies. "About the spy being close to Luke before, you know, he ran away."
Both Travis and Connor whipped their heads to look at the daughter of Demeter. "You're not suggesting what I think you're suggesting," the older brother said, just a bit too calmly as his jaw started to tick.
The brunette shrugged. "I don't know, Travis. Anyone could be the spy."
"You think it's me or one of my siblings," he insisted, leaning across the table to glare at her.
"It might be!"
"None of my siblings would do that to us!" snapped Travis, digging his fingers into the table. "None of them would spy for that fucking asshole!"
"Then what about someone else from Cabin Eleven?" Katie bristled. For a split second, her eyes flickered over to Violet.
Her expression flashed. She scoffed, asking, "Me? Just 'cause I stayed in Cabin Eleven for a couple of months while Luke was still here doesn't mean I would spy for him."
"No, Katie has a point," sniffed Michael, picking at the dirt under his nails. His stare was withering as he watched Violet bristle in anger. "Everyone knows you don't like the Olympians—"
"I don't dislike the Olympians, I dislike you, Michael," corrected Violet, her expression flashing. "I dislike you, and every other asshole who mocks me and my father. That's who I dislike. You just so happen to be a fucking snob—"
"Call me that again!" Michael stood up quickly.
Violet copied him, and comically towered over him with his short height. "I'll call you a lot worse, you short-ass stupid fucking—"
There was a bang, and Silena yelled; "Stop!" The table rattled so hard that her mug of hot chocolate spilled. She took a shaky breath, looking at everyone. "Charlie's dead and ... and you're all arguing like little kids!" She put her head down and began to sob.
Hot chocolate trickled off the ping-pong table. Both Michael and Violet glared at each other like the other had been the one to cause the daughter of Aphrodite's sobbing fit. Quietly, Percy tried to pull Violet back into her seat, but she smacked his hand away and sat down hard.
"... She's right," Pollux said at last, looking between the room. "Accusing each other doesn't help. We need to keep our eyes open for a silver necklace with a scythe charm. If Kronos had one, the spy probably does too."
Michael Yew grunted, sitting back down and leaning back. "We need to find this spy before we plan our next operation. Blowing up the Princess Andromeda won't stop Kronos forever."
"No, indeed," Chiron agreed grimly. "In fact, his next assault is already on the way."
Percy scowled. "You mean the 'bigger threat' Poseidon mentioned?"
The teacher and Annabeth looked at each other again, It's time the look read. ( Percy hated when they would do that. He always felt out of the loop. )
"Percy," Chiron started carefully, "we didn't want to tell you until you returned to Camp. You needed a break with your ... mortal friends."
Violet made a derisive noise from the back of her throat. Her arms crossed over her chest and she leaned back in her chair. Annabeth, Connor, and Travis looked at her while Percy pursed his lips. Violet knew, and he just suddenly realized that she knew; she knew that he had been spending time with Rachel. Percy didn't mean to keep the information away from her, it just ... never came up the few times they spoke over the months. He also didn't want her to know, it just felt ... weird to tell Violet he liked spending time with Rachel. But he didn't have to tell Violet anything. Percy could have friends outside of Camp Half-Blood. Besides, Violet had her own friends outside of Percy. That was basically the same thing.
"Tell me what's happened," Percy said, looking at Chiron.
The centaur picked up a bronze goblet from the snack table. He tossed water onto the hot plate where they usually melted nacho cheese. Steam billowed up, making a rainbow in the fluorescent lights. Chiron fished a golden drachma out of his pouch, tossed it through the mist, and muttered, "'O Iris, Goddess of the Rainbow, show us the threat."
The mist shimmered. Percy saw the familiar image of a smoldering volcano—Mount St. Helens. As he watched, the side of the mountain exploded. Fire, ash, and lava rolled out. A newscaster's voice was saying: "—even larger than last year's eruption, and geologists warn that the mountain may not be done."
Percy knew all about last year's eruption. Of course he would—he caused it, after all. But this explosion was much worse. The mountain tore itself apart, collapsing inward, and an enormous form rose out of the smoke and lava like it was emerging from a manhole cover. She hoped the Mist would keep the humans from seeing it clearly, because what he saw would've caused panic and riots across the entire United States ( if they could even start to process what they were seeing ). The giant was bigger than anything Percy had ever encountered. Even his demigod eyes couldn't make out its exact form through the ash and fire, but it was vaguely humanoid and so huge it could've used the Chrysler Building as a baseball bat. The mountain shook with a horrible rumbling, as if the monster were laughing.
"It's him ..." the son of Poseidon murmured, a churning feeling rolling over in his stomach. "Typhon."
He looked at his teacher, hoping the centaur would say something like, No, that's our huge friend Leroy! He's going to help us! But no such luck. He simply nodded. "The most horrible monster of all, the biggest single threat the gods ever faced. He has been freed from under the mountain at last. But this scene is from two days ago. Here is what is happening today."
Chiron waved his hand and the image changed. Percy saw a bank of storm clouds rolling across the Midwest plains. Lightning flickered. Lines of tornadoes destroyed everything in their path—ripping up houses and trailers, tossing cars around like Matchbox toys.
"Monumental floods," an announcer was saying. "Five states declared disaster areas as the freak storm system sweeps east, continuing its path of destruction." The cameras zoomed in on a column of storm bearing down on some Midwest city. Inside the storm, Percy could see the giant—just small glimpses of his true form: a smoky arm, a dark clawed hand the size of a city block. His angry roar rolled across the plains like a nuclear blast. Other smaller forms darted through the clouds, circling the monster. He saw flashes of light, and realized the giant was trying to swat them. He squinted and thought he saw a golden chariot flying into the blackness. Then some kind of huge bird—a monstrous owl—dived in to attack the giant.
"The gods, Percy," said Violet, answering his question without him having to say anything. "They've been fighting Typhon for days now. Trying to slow him down. But ... he keeps marching on—heading for New York. For Olympus."
"How d'you know all this?"
She shrugged, barely looking over to where Michael sat. "Eros. He is one of the messenger gods."
Percy could tell by the look on her face that he didn't, and shouldn't, ask any more questions. Violet always became uncomfortable talking about her dad in front of the children of the Olympians—especially in front of anyone from Cabin Seven. He took a deep breath, saying, "Then, how long until he gets here?"
"Unless the gods can stop him?" Chiron came with his own question. "Perhaps five days. Most of the Olympians are there ... except your father, who has a war of his own to fight."
"But then who's guarding Olympus?"
Connor shook his head. "If Typhon gets to New York, it won't matter who's guarding Olympus."
Percy thought about Kronos's words on the ship: I would love to see the terror in your eyes when you realize how I will destroy Olympus. Was this what the Titan was talking about—an attack by Typhon? It sure was terrifying enough. But Kronos was always fooling them, misdirecting their attention. This seemed too obvious for him. And in Percy's dream, the golden Titan had talked about several more challenges to come, like Typhon was only the first.
"It's a trick," he decided, suddenly sure. "We have to warn the gods. Something else is going to happen."
Chiron looked gravely ill. "Something worse than Typhon? I hope not."
"We have to defend Olympus," he insisted, leaning forward. "Kronos has another attack planned."
"He did," Travis reminded Percy. "But you sank his ship."
Everyone was looking at Percy, and he shifted. They wanted good news; they wanted to believe that Percy had some hope to share—in honesty, he didn't have good news nor any hope to spare. Silently, Violet and Annabeth exchanged looks, and he knew they were thinking the same thing as him: What if the Princess Andromeda was a ploy? What if Kronos let that ship sink hoping Camp Half-Blood would lower their guard? But Percy wasn't going to say that aloud, not in front of Silena, whose boyfriend had sacrificed his life to sink that cruise ship.
"Maybe you're right," Percy said, nodding to Travis. But he didn't believe a word he said.
He tried to imagine how things could get much worse—the gods were in the Midwest fighting a huge monster that had almost defeated them once before. Poseidon was under siege and losing a war against the sea Titan Oceanus. Kronos was still out there somewhere. Olympus was virtually undefended. The demigods of Camp Half-Blood were on their own with a spy in their midst. Oh, and according to the ancient prophecy, Percy was going to die when he turned sixteen—which happened to be in five days, the exact same time Typhon was supposed to hit New York. Almost forgot that.
"Well." Chiron clapped his hands together, and the sound rebounded throughout the silent room. "I think that's enough for one night."
He waved his hand and the steam dissipated. The stormy battle between Typhon and the gods disappeared.
"That's an understatement," Percy muttered under his breath.
Without saying anything, Violet glanced at him and stood up. She looped her arm through with Silena's and left the room—and the war council adjourned.
🌷
It's bad enough to finally admit the fact the guy you like is probably going to die by his sixteenth birthday ( what a shitty birthday gift, by the way ), which is only in five days. But it's even worse to be stuck with your crying aunt ( godly families were always weird, don't pay much attention to it ) as she went to her dead boyfriend's old cabin for comfort.
It was the least Violet could do. Especially after Silena tried to help Violet with her "tinnitus". It was easy to say that Violet wasn't a good liar, and everyone knew it too. Even Silena. Especially Silena. If she hadn't been so shocked by Beckendorf's death, she probably would've been grilling Violet about what happened on patrol.
Of course it was horrible Beckendorf's death was affecting Silena so much. But Violet didn't know if she had it in her to create more lies ( that would probably only come to bite her in the ass sooner or later ). She knew it would be bad to spill everything to Silena—her legacy, the Labyrinth, her powers, Nico, Minos. Sure, it seemed awesome to grow pretty flowers, but Violet could also bend her body to darkness. That wasn't as pretty.
Besides, it seemed cruel to only burst Silena's bubble even more.
Cabin Nine—tucked firmly between Cabin Eleven and Cabin Seven—was a cabin made of bricks with a smokestack sticking out on top. To Violet, it looked like a tiny factory plopped in the middle of this ring of cabins. She and Silena made their way over, other campers going about their day. From one of the windows to Cabin Seven, a white curtain shifted and a pointy face appeared in the window. Before she could think, Violet rolled her eyes. It was Michael Yew, and to no one's surprise, he somehow knew Violet was within ten feet of the cabin.
"Stupid Michael ..." she grumbled.
Silena glanced up. "I'm sorry?"
"S'nothing," assured the daughter of Eros. "Just Michael being ... Michael, I guess."
"Oh ..." Silena looked to Cabin Seven. Her eyebrows raised when she spotted Michael glaring out of the squeaky clean window to his father's cabin. "He really doesn't like you, huh?"
"Understatement of the century," agreed Violet. "He acts like I curse the ground he walks on. And that I'm personally out to ruin his day."
"Well, you did just call him a 'fucking snob', and ... a short-ass. Whatever that means."
"And am I wrong?" countered Violet, shrugging. "Exactly."
Silena pursed her lips. "Maybe if you were just nicer to him and his siblings—"
"And let them walk all over me?" Violet rolled her eyes. "As if. The day I'm nice to Michael, is the day that asshole gets the stick out of his ass."
Before Silena could try and convince Violet to play peacekeeper with the children of Apollo, she pulled the handle to Cabin Nine. The entrance to the Hephaestus Cabin was like a vault door—circular and made of thick metal. It opened with a hiss! and lots of gears turning and smoke pouring out. The two stepped back as heads poked out from places inside.
"Silena? Violet?" Jake Mason frowned, standing up from a messy workbench. "What are you doing here?"
Violet glanced at the girl beside her. How could she say they stopped by to look through their dead brother's stuff? "Um ..."
"Jake," Silena stepped inside, "just want to ... look at some of Charlie's stuff."
"Oh." The newly-appointed head counselor glanced at his siblings. "Um, right. We haven't touched any of it. We just ... can't."
Violet placed a hand on Jake's arm. "You don't mind if we look through it, right?"
"No, not at all." He scratched the back of his neck, motioning over to an empty bunk. "That's—was—Beck's bunk. Um, look through it."
She gave him a tight-lipped smile. "Thanks, Jake. It means a lot. For Silena."
She had said the last bit quieter because if there was one thing Violet knew about the children of Aphrodite, it was that they didn't like being babied. But her efforts didn't matter because Silena had already started her trek over to the empty bunk. Jake nodded to Violet in understanding, and she trailed after the girl.
There weren't many in Cabin Nine—only about five after Beckendorf's death now—Violet didn't know if that was because Hephaestus just didn't have as many children as the other Olympians, or if it was because he simply didn't claim the children he didn't have. ( Unfortunately, the last option was highly possible. The gods were very "hands-off" parents. ) Even with their low numbers, Violet knew which empty bunk was Beckendorf's.
His bunk looked relatively made—the sheets were a dull burgundy color and were messily tucked over a couple of white pillows. At the foot of the bunk were scraps of metal, probably metal Beckendorf played with as he sketched for his next projects. Violet's heart ached when the magnitude of death washed over her all over again. People never intend to die, they always think they have another day, even demigods.
Cabin Nine was high-tech compared to the other cabins, besides maybe Cabin Six with all its digital boards for architecture planning. The cabin had a firepole that went down to some sort of basement, along with a staircase that led to the same underground room. All bunks are folded against the walls and have digital control panels with LED lights, glowing gems, and interlocking gears. But each bunk with a camper had their own little touches, all added by the camper of course. Violet supposes it made sense—their father could create magnificent things ( if you ignore that defective Talos that killed Bianca ), so that trait would be passed onto his children. It was the same as Violet being a skilled archer because of her father, Eros, or the same as Annabeth being creative to create many, many building sketches because of her mother, Athena.
But Beckendorf's bunk seemed the most "geeked-out". He had put in a game station at the footboard, a stereo system in the headboard ( something Violet often hijacked when she needed space from Cabin Eleven ), and a glass door refrigerator in the base of his bunk. Violet was stoked when he installed that—she often would hide away candy and other snacks she got the Stoll brothers to sneak in. Control panels ran down the side of the bunk, probably a bunch of controls for a heated mattress or a cooling mattress, or something else stupidly high-tech. There were times Violet thought she would lie and pretend she was a daughter of Hephaestus to get to stay inside the cabin rather than Cabin Eleven.
From a cabinet beside the glass-door refrigerator, Silena pulled out an old box. It looked like a shoebox for hiking boots. Violet frowned as she opened and revealed a bunch of stuff she never knew about. There were little trinkets—there were small wood carvings of birds, foxes, and other wild animals, small animal pelts, and glittering crystals and rocks. Violet even thought she saw a small pair of circular goggles, so small they looked like they would be for a child.
Silena gingerly reached for this pair of goggles. Tears pricked in her eyes as she showed them to Violet. "He told me about these." Her voice wavered but the tears didn't fall. "They were his first pair from his mom, Jayden. He said she always encouraged him when it came to metalwork."
The back of Violet's throat burned. "That's really sweet, Lena. Did you meet Beckendorf's mom?"
"No." Silena's eyebrows pinched. "No, she didn't like Iris Messaging. Thought it was too Greek for her. Beckendorf really just sent letters back home."
From underneath the trinkets, Violet saw a small stack of letters. She didn't wait for Silena's lead to pick them up. There were two different stacks, like from two different senders. She flipped through the stack in the right corner, finding on the envelopes extremely slanted handwriting. The pen written with was a pretty blue and all the ink connected with the flowy handwriting. The handwriting was killer for a kid with dyslexia, but the letters had curled edges like someone had spent a lot of time thumbing them. That was a thing Beckendorf did—whenever he was concentrating, he would twirl things around his fingers. Maybe it was something to do with ADHD, or maybe it was just Beckendorf. On one of the oldest letters, it ended with Love, Your Mama. These were all from his mom.
"He spent a lot of time re-reading these," Violet noticed, a lump in her throat forming. If he really had, she fully understood. She had spent a lot of time re-reading the letters Dahlia sent her, even after their big fight from last summer. It was comforting to have something from your mother. It was a reminder that she was out there.
"Violet." Silena flipped through the second stack, picking up the letter on top. "Read this."
The writing this time was boxy and large, typically that was common handwriting for kids with ADHD. Violet knew; she would spend too much time making sure her handwriting was readable. She uncurled the letter from its three-way fold. Two photos fluttered out and landed on Beckendorf's bunk; one was a recent Polaroid and the other was an older picture. Gently, she sat down beside the two photos.
Dear Charlie,
You best quit with allat camp nonsense while you're still ahead. I told you once, Charlie—I ain't going to that stupid camp. It's a place where kids fight for the attention of parents that don't give a damn. It's pathetic, and I think every one of those kids is fixin' for a world full of hurt. Half of them sound dumber than a coal bucket.
It ain't home, and I like home. I know home like the back of my hand, and that camp is like a minefield—I dunno who or what will be there. Not a nary one. Besides you, I suppose. Though, you never seem to chew your cabbage twice. Do me a favor, Charlie; go ahead and give it a rest. I'm not going to that place. I'd rather be in hell with my back broke.
I think you need to come back anyway. Things are changing, and you need to know—my father's dead. Something wicked up in the scald got to him. It was brutal, left into pieces for some jasper to find. I reckon it was that jarfly critter we saw last summer. My father didn't stand a chance. You know how he is. The old man wasn't wired right. The funeral is this Sunday. I'd like you to be there.
Your mama was promoted to Sheriff recently. I got the honor of handing her my father's old badge. As for the rest of your kin, the siblings are navigating the woods better nowadays. They've stopped following me like little ducks. I reckon they're catching up to you. I almost miss those days, but not too much. Little Jane still acts mader than a wet hen whenever we're off trail. Since you've been gone so long, I reckon you've forgotten how to get around these parts. Bald up there in New York ain't nothing like they are down here. Here, things are alive. Don't know how you manage in that airish guam. Heard the haints down there ain't as lively either. Damn shame that must be.
By the way, don't ever do that weird mist-call thing you did earlier this week. I don't know what you called it, but don't do it again.
(P.S., stop ending your letters with "Love, Beckendorf". Your name's Charlie. Ain't no jasper changing that.)
Stop telling me to attend that blood-blighted camp. We both know that dog won't hunt.
Love, Rain.
Violet frowned as she looked the paper over. "This writer sounds ... different. Rain, is it? You know anyone named Rain?"
"No, not anyone named Rain," replied Silena, taking the letter from Violet's hands. She flipped it over and traced the indentations of the words. "I mean, Charlie didn't talk about his old home a lot. He sounded almost ashamed of it when he did."
"Where'd he use to live?" asked Violet, looking at the girl from between her lashes.
"Appalachia."
"That ..." It suddenly made sense to Violet. She had arrived at Camp Half-Blood after Beckendorf by years, but there were times when it felt like he was trying to speak a foreign language. He'd talk slower and softly, like he was thinking out everything he wanted to say before he said it. But in the few moments where the words would just roll off the tongue, he sounded different than whenever Violet would hear him otherwise. There would even be times when he would use odd phrases she had never heard before.
He was hiding his accent; an Appalachian accent, apparently. Violet knew what it was like to suppress an accent. She did it when moving to the United States from France. For the first years of her life, Violet learned English in France, meaning she didn't have an American accent. Eventually, when she moved to the United States, her classmates enjoyed poking fun at the way she would say things. Violet learned to suppress the French accent and speak like the people she went to school with. It was an embarrassment to not speak like other people, and they only made it worse by pointing out the fact that she didn't speak like them.
"I had no idea he was from Appalachia," she admitted.
"Charlie didn't talk about it," repeated Silena. "He did really seem embarrassed. When he first came to Camp, he didn't talk often. I thought he was just shy, but he admitted to me at some point that he was afraid people would make fun of him." Her smile was watery. "I thought it was cute. No one cared that Charlie had an accent. I thought the way he said things was cute."
"This girl—Rain," said Violet, taking the letter back. "She sounds, well, angry. And that she knows about Camp and the gods. I mean, she knew to send the letter here. So she even knew where Camp is at."
"Maybe she can see through the Mist." Silena shrugged. "My dad sends my baked goods here sometimes. Your mom sends letters occasionally, doesn't she?"
"I mean, sure." Violet shook her head. "But who is this girl?"
Silena poked out her bottom lip and grabbed the two photos beside Violet's thigh. She looked at the Polaroid first, her lips parting. "This is Charlie's family! I mean ..." She glanced around Cabin Nine, the campers were going about their business, horribly pretending they were eavesdropping. "Charlie's mortal family."
"Let me see." Violet reached out and snatched the Polaroid. She flipped it over, spotting three people in the frame. A woman and two young girls. Even without knowing they were Beckendorf's family, Violet would know they were related. The woman and Beckendorf had the same smile, and their eyes crinkled the same. The young girls even had traits from their older brother. On the back, written in the same flowy handwriting were the names Jayden, Jane, & Emily.
Violet tucked the Polaroid together with the letter from Rain. She looked back up at Silena, who was frowning at the rectangular picture. "Who's in that picture?" she asked.
"Charlie and ..." Silena frowned. "I don't know these two."
She passed the photo over and Violet took a good look. Beckendorf was certainly in the photo, just a young Beckendorf. Maybe when he was eight or nine, she couldn't tell exactly. The other two—they certainly looked related. The girl was a bit younger than Beckendorf by some years with bright blonde hair and hazel eyes. This time, there was no writing on the back. Even after Violet checked two more times.
"That must be this Rain girl," decided Silena, taking the photo from Violet and tucking it back in the box. "She's pretty."
Violet fought the urge to roll her eyes. "'Course you would notice that."
Silena gave a half-smile. "Not notice it, just the person brave enough to say it."
Violet tucked the Polaroid in between the folds of the letter from Rain. She placed it back inside the box, placing the lid on top. She didn't know what to say. Silena still looked tired, with her shoulders hunched and bags under her eyes. But at least she wasn't crying. That had to count for something.
"So ..." she started, glancing up. "Do you feel better?"
"I don't know if there is feeling better," replied the daughter of Aphrodite. She rubbed her wrist, frowning at the box. "But I feel less of an urge to start sobbing."
"I guess that's something." Violet smiled.
🌷 JAN. 8TH, 2024 / i didn't mean for this chapter to take so long (actually - kinda did, i've been trying to focus on olden crown), but i didn't mean for it to take a whole month :crying: - and i feel like this chapter lowkey sucks for it taking a month
it wasn't supposed to be in percy's pov originally, but i thought it'd be fun so i wrote it this way! i feel like know i'm a lot more comfortable writing with canon characters (please tell me what i'm trying to say makes sense) - like i feel like i'm able to capture their characters better instead of making them OOC and have their behaviors feel out of the left field - so now i feel like that's why i've been starting to write percy's pov more and more in my fics (and eventually annabeth for ... reasons i can't say <3)
but first update for 2024!! it's kinda funny bc i posted this fic on jan. 1st, 2023 so it's full circle this is my first update for 2024
one last thing i promise!! if you've noticed, there's a character named rain (lorraine croce) mentioned - this is not random i promised, and there is a point behind her! lorraine is from ivy's "the hand that feeds". ivy and i have decided to combine our stories! totally go check out "the hand that feeds"!
anyways, thoughts?? opinions??
(not edited nor proofread)