Chapter Text
Chapter 1: The Tragedy of Cale, the Wise, also known as Trash (To repeatedly assist saving heroes)
Saving people is kind of like finding just one sock.
You are glad you have found at least one sock, but you also question what the fuck you should do with a singular sock when you have two feet.
It’s the less brutal version of “Let’s throw a child off a mountain because he doesn’t fit my aesthetic standards and I don’t know what else to do with them.”
Of course, as always, Cale just stumbled into the whole ‘saving kids who are also part-time heroes.’
Lounging idly on a chair outside his garden with the soothing explosions of his friends and kids as they sparred as background noises and a lemonade in hand, Cale was content. He enjoyed the rare moment of peace, knowing that he had defeated all the idiots masquerading as wannabe gods and even more annoying Hunters™, who kept trying to mess with him.
Cale enjoyed living in the moment. Worrying about the future can happen later. For now, his greatest hurdle would be getting rid of the lemonade without Ron finding out. The flower pot nearby looked mightily convenient. If he could just dump the beverage-
‘Help.’
Blinking slowly, Cale was almost sure he must have imagined the voice if the pure desperation didn’t make his skin crawl. The voice was young. Far too young to be this desperate. Cale could taste their fear, their anxious yet hopeless prayers, and their slowly dwindling spark of life.
They held on, but for how long?
Cale looked around. He was still in his garden. Flowers to his right, explosions ahead, and some patio tables to his left. No child, no danger, no one speaking to Cale.
‘I don’t want to die. Please, I beg of you. Help me!’
The voice returned, this time louder and more aggressive. Amid the sobbing voice of a boy, Cale could see hazy lines of a place he was definitely not familiar with. His vision was blurry, almost as if he was looking through a waterfall at the happenings. Cale couldn’t make head or tail of it.
Just what was going on? Touching his throat, Cale tried to speak, yet no words came out. He couldn’t reach the boy with his voice or with his hand. Foolishly holding it out, Cale almost expected to touch something. Grasping air and not much else, he let his hand fall again.
‘Please.’
The voice was getting weaker. The metallic taste of blood – one Cale was familiar with – filled his mouth. Cale despaired with the boy. His head was full of pleas and cries. The Ancient Powers resting inside of him were worried as well.
They couldn’t hear the voice.
- Cale, are you alright?
- Don’t die!
-…you aren’t trying to sacrifice yourself, right?
Labeling the boy a hallucination, Cale questioned why he couldn’t help him if he was just a fragment of his imagination. Closing his eyes and keeping his mouth shut, Cale focused on the boy. Something pulled, twisting his stomach and stealing the air out of his lungs.
A part of Cale was whispering something to him, too quiet for Cale to hear. If he had heard the whisper, Cale would have tried stopping his attempt.
He didn’t, and by doing so, he sealed his fate.
The pull got stronger. Cale could feel all the air leave his lungs, yet he had never been more energized. With his hand raised once more, Cale grasped something. His fingers curled around an invisible force, only tangible to him.
A startled gasp – Cale didn’t know if it was the boy or him – signaled his success.
As quickly as the voice appeared, it was gone, and with it the feeling vanished as well. Cale slumped exhausted into his chair. The nearby glass of lemonade rattled on the table. He must have hit it by accident. The glass fell over, draining the lemonade out of the container and onto the table. It dripped down onto the floor.
Cale watched the droplets. His fingers hurt, and even his lungs – now filled again with valuable air – were still aching from the previous strain.
What was going on? As he succumbed to sleep, Cale questioned if he was finally going insane or if he had just accidentally consumed one of Choi Han’s concoctions.
His mind was wiped of the experience, leaving him with no memories of the instance and a worried pile of Ancient Powers, who had even less of an idea of what was happening.
***
Cale didn’t know that this tiny action – fueled by him thinking it was his imagination and not reality – would change the fate of a different world.
A world away, Chiron, the eternal teacher of heroes and instructor of Camp Half-Blood, was facing a crisis. Not a week has passed since the son of Poseidon stumbled into the camp, having lost his mother on the same day.
The Fates showed favoritism and gave him a quest, stopping any actions Chiron could take. He watched the three of them leave – a clueless boy with a destiny too big for his small body, a girl with ambition but none of the patience needed for it, and a satyr, who was determined to save his friend and gain a chance of receiving his license.
Chiron prayed to no god in particular, knowing far too well the ones he knew the names of wouldn’t care.
Absent-mindedly, he rescued a child from being eaten by the lava after they fell off the lava wall, only to hear loud footsteps in the distance. The hooved sounds as well as the loud chatter announced a returning satyr.
Chiron almost hoped it was Grover, who returned to ask for help, yet he wasn’t particularly surprised when another satyr appeared. A child was nestled in his arms, hugged carefully by the older satyr as he made way to the infirmary.
Galloping along, Chiron caught up to the panicked satyr. He recognized him as Alon, a satyr who had helped the camp for over two decades, bringing in children of the gods with a high success rate. He wasn’t well-received amongst his brethren, as Alon decided against searching for Pan once he received his license.
His sole focus was on finding children in need. Chiron enjoyed drinking tea with Alon, and even Mr. D had nothing bad to say about the satyr. A marvel in itself.
“Chiron!” Alon breathed a sigh of relief upon catching sight of him. “I need to speak to you.”
The young boy had been handed over to the in-charge child of Apollo, Lee Fletcher. His back was straight as he attended to the child. There was no doubt in Lee’s mind that he had another of his siblings in front of him. Golden hair, the color of the sun, and eyes a warm blue, the boy looked like a younger version of Lee.
Alon took Chiron away after making sure the kid was sleeping.
“Did you encounter danger?” Chiron asked since Alon had been acting strangely.
“The danger had already passed when I stumbled upon him.” Shaking his head, Alon continued with a shaky voice, “Chiron, he should be dead.”
The satyr’s eyes flickered in all directions as if he were expecting another monster to pop up any second. His nails dug into his skin as he bleated worriedly.
“Was he attacked?”
Shaking his head only to stop mid-action to nod, Alon then shook his head again.
“Maybe? No, almost certainly. I don’t know what attacked him, maybe a pack of hellhounds. I found him in a parking lot, surrounded by three piles of dust. Golden dust.”
He emphasized the ‘golden’ part since the outskirts weren’t known to be clean, and dust piles tended to appear at the most random times. Alon once almost fell into a deep hole – a crack in the sidewalk – because a layer of dust somehow covered the hole.
Golden dust was the result of a monster being slain.
“So, he did defend himself? Are we having a talented warrior in our midst?” Chiron joked.
The joke fell flat since he immediately recalled the previous newest fighting talent, who was currently on a suicide mission, and Chiron was stuck in camp.
Alon shakily grabbed Chiron’s shoulder.
“He was surrounded by a dome of earth. A perfectly round dome, protecting him from danger. Only when the dust fell and I stumbled out of the woods did the wall collapse peacefully. The boy, I don’t know his name, was sleeping calmly as if he didn’t face any danger.”
Chiron closed his eyes. Upon opening them, the lines around his eyes deepened. Gone was the joking instructor, replaced by the Teacher of Heroes, who watched hundreds of not thousands, of them die. Most perished in battle or got ripped apart before they could lift their sword. A pitiful handful managed to live to old age, and even fewer left the world in a peaceful way.
“Are you sure?”
Alon nodded.
“Deadly sure.”
Chiron swore.
There was only one god who controlled the earth. Water, fire, and air were domains that could be shared.
Poseidon controlled the water, yet his children and those of other ocean deities could also shape and control water to some extent. Zeus was the lord of the Skies, yet minor wind deities could create breezes and other marvels. The same for fire.
But the earth was another domain altogether. Mother Earth herself was in control of the ground they were standing on. She alone held the domain and would kill anyone who dared to covet what was hers.
Did this mean that either Gaia was taking actions, rousing from her sleep, or did the child, a boy of not even seven years of age, manage to control the earth? Both options were disastrous.
With Zeus being ready to commit casual murder on any normal day, the Lord of the Skies was angry as his sign of power had been stolen. His brothers were even less inclined to listen first before killing the boy.
Alon and Chiron returned to the infirmary.
Lee had patched the kid up. Half of his body was covered in white bandages, with blue eyes blinking confusedly around the room. He must have woken up while they were having their crisis ten feet to the side. Great.
Collecting his scattered emotions, Chiron advanced toward the boy. He put on a hopefully welcoming smile, which shifted into a genuinely amused one once the boy gasped, his eyes locked onto Chiron’s horse half. It was always fun to watch demigods take in the myths and Chiron’s half-human state – literally half human, a joke that also never got old.
The humor left him as quickly as it came, worry now gnawing on his old bones.
“Hello, I hope you are feeling better now. You took quite a lot of damage.” It wasn’t his best introduction, but Chiron was genuinely too worried he would blurt out, “Hey, how are you? Are you by chance the child of a giant who really doesn’t like us? A champion of hers would also be bad. Bad for you because your life would end before you hit the double digits.”
Instead, he showed another smile with perhaps a bit too many teeth.
The boy was still adorably unaware of his possible fate. He blinked owlishly at Chiron.
“I-“ he tried to speak, only to start coughing extensively. Lee handed him a glass of nectar, which the boy downed in one go. His eyes lit up at the taste, no doubt questioning why the golden liquid didn’t taste like normal stuff. Maracuja, perhaps? Mango would also make sense.
“Thanks,” he replied politely, “I think I am fine?”
Before any of them could find words to shift the conversation to the main focus, the boy did it for them. He looked around, his eyes tracing their forms as well as the materials in the infirmary.
“You aren’t him,” he decided after a minute of silence.
The child naturally didn’t explain, leaving both Alon and Chiron to try and interpret his answer. ‘Him’ involved about half of the planet, but even so, it reassured Chiron a bit since Gaia didn’t like being labeled male. Or spoken about and to in such a casual way.
“I am not,” Chiron agreed, even though he had no idea who the child was speaking about.
“Where is he?”
“Who is he?” Alon interrupted. His brows were furrowed, forming some funny-looking stress lines across his forehead.
The boy – Chiron should have started by asking about his name – eyed Alon curiously.
“My protector and savior.”
So, no Gaia but someone else who could control the earth, yet wasn’t turned into fossil fuel by the enraged giant? Chiron was still not quite sure which answer would stress him less. Both were exhausting and were doing their best to shave off years of his immortal life.
“Your parent?” Alon continued, suspiciously and not covertly at all. Chiron would facepalm if he weren’t just as curious.
It seemed that out of the three standing people, only Lee had manners. He coughed before asking the boy with a calm voice and a slight glare at Alon what his name was. James, as they learned, was six years old, had a mother who would celebrate him going missing instead of searching for him, and he was definitely not a child of any earthly deity.
The space above his head shone brightly. A golden light that only one god called his own was accompanied by Apollo’s symbol. The possessive claim voided any thought Chiron had about the child. James just looked at the sparkling air with a frown.
“It doesn’t feel right,” he muttered.
Apollo must have heard him as well. The symbol stopped shining. It even flickered for a second, no doubt, mirroring the shock the god must be feeling at the disrespect. Not even a minute into claimed fatherhood, and he was met with rebellion.
Chiron would pity his adoptive father, but he was too busy contemplating the conversation.
“What doesn’t feel right?” Chiron interrupted, making sure to direct a friendly expression at James. Alon was standing around, flabbergasted, while Lee looked like he had found his new favorite sibling.
James waved his hands around, trying to explain.
“The one who saved me from the dogs,” he said. Chiron nodded along. Hellhounds, and a pack of them. Hades must be raging as well if he couldn’t keep a tight lock on the underworld.
“He felt warm,” James continued. Warm were a lot of gods. From Apollo with his scorching heart over Hephaistos and his forge fire to Hestia and her hearth. James's next words narrowed down the search to about zero.
“-and comforting. He protected me. When the bad dogs attacked, he laid his hand on my head, and suddenly spears of dirt would grow out of the floor! They looked sharp and turned the dogs into yellow glitter. Boom, and they were gone. I couldn’t see much because he created a super cool looking shield of dirt.”
He huffed exhaustedly before slumping back into his pillow, which Chiron would love to do as well if he weren’t the adult in charge.
“He was really warm. I want another hug from him,” James whispered. He clenched his hands before Lee wrapped his arms around the sobbing child. Tears gathered in his eyes and fell like a waterfall once the first drop descended.
James was just as frustrated as they were, only his body had run out of energy, and the small child succumbed to sleep soon after.
Chiron left the infirmary, deciding not to mention the incident for now since the impending war should a band of twelve-year-olds and a satyr not manage to find the stolen item was a bit more dire. Alon caught up to him, leaving him with one last comment that turned nights into sleepless instances.
“Chiron, I only found him because the overwhelming sense of nature attracted my attention. I have never felt such a strong force before. The place where I found him was cleared of human influences. The air was clean, the ground only had monster dust on it, and even the flowers and greenery near the forest were bursting with health. I really thought I found Lord Pan.”
Alon shook his head, tiredly.
“Only, it could never be him. Where he was described as a gentle guide, the power I was feeling was immense. If I were an enemy or had shown any hostility toward that child, it would have crushed me with its pressure alone.”
This indeed didn’t sound like Pan, the gentle lord of the satyrs.
His worries were soon buried beneath the news that Percy somehow managed to get to the underworld. That and the other news that Percy sent the gods the head of Medusa as a present.
Chiron couldn’t age, but on days like those with kids like them, he was sure his hair was turning gray.
***
Cale’s days were equally bad.
He would wake up with an aching body, his mind a mess, and his memories fuzzy. Record couldn’t restore the instances, which was already alarming enough.
The Super Rock shared worriedly how Cale would act, yet not a single memory would show up. The episodes would get crazier with each passing week. Sometimes, he was safe for a month, and sometimes he would have holes in his memory multiple times a week.
Cale would wake up with his right hand held at an awkward angle, his fingers strained and grasping something he couldn’t see. There was an odd pressure on his fingertips, yet when he moved his hand, it would just slip away.
It didn’t help that the whole continent was still busy making a mess of his peaceful life. The war with the Hunters may be over, but some overzealous nobles were doing their best to slide into his close circle. Cale would just set Alberu on them and lean back, watching the soon-to-be-king make verbal minced meat out of the mouthy nobles.
As much as Cale hoped he was just having bad dreams, with months passing by and his sleep getting worse, Cale had to do something. Eruhaben was at his wits' end, and Ron was all about stuffing Cale full of healthy food – lemons sadly included.
He would jerk, having heard a voice calling out to him, only to turn around and come face to face with someone like Neo Tolz, who would do anything but talk with Cale. It got even stranger and weirder.
Just what was going on?