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Argus was waiting patiently on the curb as they excited (Name)'s apartment. She wasn't sure what people saw when they looked at Argus, but with how Mist had been described to her, she was sure there wasn't a massive problem. Although he was rather tall for a human.

She clambered into the back seat, already dreading the ride home. It wasn't nearly as stuffy as before, but her stomach quivered once they pulled out of the parking bay. Percy sat beside her, flipping his ballpoint pen between his fingers. He was lost in his thoughts again, that much she could tell. He only ever got that look on his face when he was thinking really hard.

She fiddled with her backpack zipper. The conversation with her parents seemed like a horrible fever dream. She'd half hoped they'd refuse and force her to stay home. Maybe hire a couple of security guards to make sure of it. It was extreme, something her father would never agree to, but she never expected them to be so understanding.

It was scary. Had she really committed herself to this life? A life at Camp Half-Blood, slaying monsters and following orders? Her stomach lurched again. Sitting in the minivan with Percy was suddenly nerve-racking. He slew monsters and followed orders. But he didn't seem appalled by the idea, or worried about whether he would live or die. He shouldered his burdens without flinching. It was insane. He was only fourteen, but sometimes he spoke with a mind beyond his years. All that normal teenager childishness was something he could not enjoy. Sure, he had a temper and could be petty at times, but as far as she was concerned, he seemed pretty responsible for his age. Camp Half-Blood had hardened his resolve and changed the way he viewed the world.

Suddenly, her perception was shifting on it's axis. She regarded Percy not as a kidnapper or a child, but as a person. He had a story. He had feelings. Feelings that had somehow become important to her.

She would have been happier sitting with one of the other Camp kids; Beckendorf perhaps, or maybe even Annabeth. That way she could at least tease someone. For some unfathomable reason, she felt like nervous around Percy. Like the second she opened her mouth she'd forget how to talk.

She was being dumb. Percy Jackson was a hero. He had the entire world waiting for him to breathe. And although he wasn't great at talking to girls, she saw the way people looked at him. He was the son of Poseidon after all. He was a broken rule. A wildcard.

(Name) cringed. Her thoughts had never orbited the realm of romance. Her heart had never beat out of her chest by simply sharing a space with someone else. She didn't swoon or stumble over her words. And she absolutely despised the thought of being lovestruck. Her heart stayed puttering inside her ribcage, beating helplessly. She didn't like people. And whether that was a byproduct of her being alone most of the time, or being detached from people her age, she didn't know. But the feeling was wholly unwelcome.

She thought about the people speaking to her in her dreams. She thought about the prophetic spirit of Delphi. She thought about her parents. She thought about Camp Half-Blood. And with a heavy sigh, she thought about her soon-to-be death. No, she didn't have time to like someone. She was a ticking bomb, and it was her responsibility to minimise the fallout once she exploded. These fickle, insecure feelings towards Percy would pass eventually. And everyone would be better off that way.

She looked down at her hands. They were not meant for sword wielding or monster hunting. They were soft and pliable. They'd never been used for anything important.

It all seemed so impossible.

Percy frowned at her grim expression. He knew how she felt. Everything was new and overwhelming and scary. He empathised with how it felt like to be thrown to the wolves. Percy had been given a sword and a prophecy and told if he failed the world would end. The pressure was enormous and there was nothing you could do. You had to hold the burden.

"It's okay to be scared, y'know."

(Name)'s smile was very, very wry. "Are you trying to give me a pep talk?"

"Nah, you'd just chew me out if I did."

"You know me so well."

Percy smiled, scratching his cheek. "Well, we're friends aren't we?"

Her heart leapt into her throat. Friendzoned.

Percy continued, unbothered by her lack of response. "Your parents seem cool. I didn't expect them to be so accepting of everything."

"Neither did I, to be honest."

There was a moment of silence, like Percy was digesting another unintended meaning behind her words.

"Have you...always been with them?"

She raised an eyebrow. "Are you trying to ask me when I was adopted?"

"Errr...kinda, yeah."

She laughed. Sometimes his awkwardness was endearing. "I've been with them since I was born. My aunt says I'm lucky I didn't get bounced around the foster system. She's a social worker, and apparently its hell for young kids."

Percy made a face. "And you...you've never wondered about your um...birth parents?"

She shrugged. "They died in a plane crash."

"And you weren't with them?"

"Obviously not." She said flatly. "Do I look dead to you?"

"N-no!" Percy blurted out, his face going bright red. "I mean...where were you, if you weren't with your parents?"

(Name)'s mind clouded over. No one had ever asked her that question before.

Smart brat, the voice in her head chimed. I wouldn't think too hard into that question if I were you.

Pain shot straight through her like skull like lightning. She choked on whatever smart-ass remark she was about to say and curled in on herself, clutching her forehead. Ow, ow, ow!

Cat and mouse, remember?

"Sorry..." Percy stumbled over his words. He hadn't expected such a visceral reaction. "I didn't mean to bring up anything bad."

"N-no," she gasped. "It's n-not that. It's the v-voices!"

"The voices?"

"He's talking," she gritted her teeth. "It hurts!"

Percy sat up straight. "Who's talking? What is he saying?"

"I don't know!" her head was pounding, she couldn't think straight. "Nothing makes sense."

"Tell it to go away, maybe it's—" Percy lurched in his seat, and suddenly (Name)'s hair started lifting up from her shoulders. There was a rush of momentum. Heat. Wind. Force. A moment stretched out by the millisecond.

BAM!

Something slammed into the side of the van, and the force of it sent them flipping into the air. (Name) hit her head on Argus' headrest and the world went black for a moment.

"(Name)? Are you alright? Can you hear me?"

Percy's voice mixed with the ringing in her ears. She groaned and tried to shake her head, but the suspension of the seatbelt made it hard to move. They'd be flipped over, that was obvious. By what, she didn't know. But if it had the power to toss a minivan across an intersection, she wasn't excited to find out.

Argus was conscious, but trapped beneath the weight of the shattered windscreen. He shifted in the front seat, all one hundred of his eyes blinking sleepily. He popped the drivers seat door open, but the weight of the windscreen was still working against him. (Name) seemed to be in even worse shape. He couldn't tell if she'd broken anything, but blood was trickling from her nose. He popped the lock on her seatbelt and she melted into his arms, groaning softly. There was no agency to her limbs, but she was speaking, so that was good. She was probably half conscious at best, and definitely winded from the crash.

Percy wrapped an arm around her side and turned to slam his heels against the dinted car door. It wouldn't budge. He slammed again, this time harder, and the sliding door burst off its hinges and flew across the street into an electric fence. Percy hoped to gods that was Camp Half-Blood property.

(Name) mumbled something incoherent. Probably a curse. Percy grabbed her duffel bag and tossed it out the door along with her backpack. They landed somewhere on the nature strip. Hopefully whatever was attacking them wasn't fond of expensive clothes and potato chips. He carefully manoeuvred (Name) out of the wreckage and propped her up against the side of the car. Her head was pounding and she could feel the coppery taste of blood starting to fill her mouth. It was disgusting. Tears welled in the corners of her eyes. Her throat felt like a pool of acid. Every bone in her body ached.

Her stomach lurched and she turned to vomit all over the pavement.

Percy went as pale as a ghost. "Oh my gods!"

Her head felt like a balloon. She still couldn't think straight.

"I think I broke my nose."

Percy winced. It was definitely crooked.

Unsteadily, she pulled herself into a sitting position, her head pounding even harder. She squinted out at the field, wondering what the black blur in the distance was. Either an ugly winged creature was flying towards them, or she'd hit her head tens times harder then she thought. Either prospect frightened her.

"Furies." Percy identified.

"What did you say?" She asked. Her ears were ringing again and everything sounded like it was underwater.

"Furies. Y'know? Hades henchmen."

"I can't hear you!" She yelled.

"They're Furies. Fu-ries."

"HUH?"

"FURIES!"

"Fuzzies?"

"Zeus' Beard, it's like I'm talking to an eighty year old."

(Name) stared at him. "I'm going to assume you said something insulting."

Percy rolled his eyes.

Now there were three hideous leathery bird women flying towards them. Or maybe (Name) was so concussed her brain was making stuff up. Logically, she knew that most Greek legends worked in themes of three. Three sons and three daughters of Kronos. Three Fates. Three Gorgons. Three Graces.

Suddenly Percy's yelling made a lot more sense. Alecto, Megaera and Tisiphone. The three goddesses of vengeance. Personifications of retribution. Furies. And they looked it too. Haggard and thin; with bat like wings, claws and angry red eyes. Their faces were brutal and disturbing, but feminine all the same.

"I should probably run." (Name) blurted out.

"Definitely," Percy agreed. The pen he'd been gripping was now...a sword?

No time to think about that! (Name) got on her hands and knees and started crawling away. Blood trickled down her nose, getting sticky in the sun. The pavement burned against her palms, but she didn't have the strength back in her legs yet, so crawling was really her only choice.

The Furies closed in. (Name) couldn't tell the difference between the three of them, but they all looked pretty dangerous to her. Fiery whips, razor-sharp claws, super strength from the way they'd tossed the van.

She crawled faster.

Percy danced around their whips with surprisingly nimble footwork. They lashed at him in two-time increments, which made it a lot harder for him to dodge and attack at the same time. It reminded (Name) of those old fantasy shows were they made the jester dance on flames for entertainment.

Argus was on his feet now, shooing one of the Furies away with a piece of broken minivan door. It wasn't the most effective technique, but it was keeping it at arms length. (Name) struggled to her feet with a woozy head and stumbled over to her backpack. She didn't have a sword or a car door shield, but anything was better then nothing.

Percy deflected a strike that was aiming for his head, but the other bird merely took the opportunity to wrap their whip around his arm and pull. He got quite literally yanked off his feet and hurled across the pavement like a frisbee. (Name) didn't even wanna about the amount of gravel rash Percy just got. Or the concussion for that matter.

The Furies turned the sights on her. Naturally, she panicked. Her backpack was zipped open in a hurry, and she fished around inside, looking for anything that could aid her in shooing away angry demonic birds. Hair-ties, hot chocolate powder, books, headphones, potato chips. Metal drink bottle.

Wait a second.

Metal drink bottle.

She hoisted the weapon into the air, took a wobbly step back, and threw it at the bird-lady. Given the bottom heavy nature of water bottles, she'd half expected it to plummet to the floor, but to her massive relief, she aced the thing right in the Furies face! Lucky she'd been bullied into playing pitch in third grade baseball.

It fell to the ground with a resounding squawk. It's partner—she couldn't tell them apart to dub them appropriate names—screeched in disbelief.

"Good shot!" Percy shouted, ambling to his feet in the middle of the road. He haunched over onto his knees, the ballpoint scrunched into his fist. (Name) spotted a bit of blood trickling from his hairline. Concussion. Definitely a concussion.

"Are you okay?"

"Yeah...yeah," he gave her a thumbs up. "I'm g-good. Just catching my breath!"

"You're an awful liar!"

His thumbs up turned into the bird.

"Wow. That's mature."

"My head hurts!"

"Well so does mine!"

Argus suddenly appeared beside her, pointing at the forest. She stood there for a moment, wondering what he was on about, but then she remembered he was a mute.

"Are you suggesting we run?"

He looked back at the two other Furies, who were watching the scene unfold with bewilderment. The Fury she'd taken out with her drink bottle was half conscious on the sidewalk, muttering in a language she didn't understand.

"I don't have anymore drink bottles, Argus."

He pointed to the forest again.

"Okay—yeah, we should run."

~~~

Chiron was angry. She'd never seen him angry before. It was honestly kinda weird.

He paced the room in awkward strides, trying not to bump into anything, muttering about the Furies using their proper names. (Name) and Percy sat side by side on a giant leather couch with bandages wrapped around their heads, passing each other pieces of Ambrosia. They both had concussions. One from the crash and the other from being thrown around like half-empty balloon.

Dionysus was sitting on the opposite side of the room, donning a purple Hawaiian shirt and plain khakis. They'd had to explain in meticulous detail what had happened to the minivan while being concussed. It was basically two idiots using a lot of hand motions trying not to cut each other off for twenty minutes.

"You've been dealing with Furies a lot, Peter Johnson."

Percy raised an eyebrow. Was that a compliment? (Name) wasn't sure. Getting praise from the wine god was seldom.

"Hades is a jerk," Percy said, "I dunno what he wants with (Name), but it can't be anything good."

Chiron nodded in agreement. "The Underworld rarely gets involved with matters of the living. The only time Hades has ever cared about mortal affairs was when Asclepius learned the art of resurrection."

"And that time Thanatos lost a soul from Asphodel." Dionysus added.

"So what, I'm secretly dead?" (Name) rolled her eyes. "Now that's a plot twist."

Percy pinched her arm.

"Ow!"

"Not dead." He concluded.

(Name) glared at him, rubbing her arm gingerly. "Was that really necessary?"

"Definitely alive," Chiron observed. "Still. It is unlike Hades to be so theatrical. If he wished for an audience, he could simply ask."

"Because a man who sits on a pile of bones and talks to zombies all day isn't theatrical," Dionysus scoffed. "He's a fool who wears a helmet, nothing more."

(Name) sensed an air of resentment around Mr D for the god of the underworld. She'd almost forgotten Dionysus was known for his godly theatrics. Before he got banished to Camp Half-Blood anyway. Sucks to suck!

"It would be wise not to speak ill of one of the big three. Hades still has influence despite his standings with the olympian council."

"He only goes there once a year. Boo-hoo."

Chiron stroked his beard like all old, wise 'father-figures' did. "This matter is getting more pressing then I'd foreseen."

"What does it mean?" (Name) asked. "Hades sent the Furies after me. Do I need punishment or something?"

"I'm not sure, my dear."

"Great!"

"We will speak more on this later. For now, go join the others in sword practice. If the gods are desperate enough to send monsters after you, you need to learn how to defend yourself."

"I think I did just fine!"

"Indeed. Very quick-witted of you. Although I doubt you have another drink bottle tucked away in your pocket."

"You guys are paying for that, by the way."

Chiron shook his head in amusement. "I will see to it that you get another water bottle."

After that uncomfortable encounter, (Name) only had a couple minutes to dump her stuff in Percy's cabin before she was (regrettably) forced to pick a sword from the armoury. The place was still a mess, but with the extra danger of people running around throwing shields and spears at each other she felt like she was running through a war ridden trench. She wormed her way through the fuss of excited demigods and managed to survive a giant celestial bronze axe that fell from a display holder and landed between her feet.

"Sorry about that!" Some Ares kid yelled.

No biggie, almost killed her as all.

Percy told (Name) to pick out a weapon, but only one, and make it good. It wasn't great advice for someone who'd never seen a sword in her life. And there were plenty to choose from. She perused the back shelfs far away from the rest of the crowd. There was little to choose from, just dusty old swords and sealed off containers. The weapons seemed to be catalogued from newest to oldest. She was surprised that a bunch of half-bloods had managed to organise this place while making it looked ransacked.

"Damn," she brushed the dust off a sword. "This could be from the Arthurian age."

It was way to big for someone of her stature, so she put it back and continued browsing. She pulled out one of the sealed containers and rifled through it. Maces, rope-darts, bow and arrows. She doubted any of this stuff was sharp enough to cut butter, let alone straw dummies. They were all old and forgotten.

She was about to pull the lid back on when she noticed something shining at the bottom of the container. She carefully fossicked through it and pulled the sword out. It was long, with a purplish hue to the blade. The hilt was woven from leather and gemstone, and it didn't have any engravings on the guard, which was strange. Every other sword she picked up at a signature or some sort of declaration of craftsmanship. She didn't know a lot about swords, but it seemed like a big deal to leave one blank.

(Name) shrugged. This'll do.

Her sword teacher was some kid from the Hermes cabin, Travis Stoll. He was a tall, skinny dude with curly hair and freckles. He had a brother named Conner and they were very alike. (It was honestly hard to tell the difference). They had the same glint in their eyes; like at any given moment Travis going to do something bad. Like blow up a firecracker or shove a tarantula down someones pants.