✩ ━━━ winter of 1997, camp half-blood. ❝If I ceaselessly run towards the end of the tunnel, what else would there be?❞

HIROKI HELD THE FOLDED ORANGE SHIRT CLOSE TO HIS CHEST. His wings folded themselves over him as he gazed across the meadow, keeping out the falling snowflakes away from his wandering eyes. The white marble structures resembled ice castles in the winter, the countless valleys that made up Camp Half-Blood buried in layers of snow, not a single greenery untouched by frost. When his eyes met a camper's heavy gaze, Hiroki looked away. He studied the way his father's large thumb swept the entirety of his hand instead, then the way Chiron's lower half is coarse white fur of a stallion camouflaging with the unpolluted snow on the ground; anything is preferable to the dozens of eyes scrutinizing him.

At least his father seemed just as nervous as him. "Are you ready, little one?" Hypnos asked, resting his hand on Hiroki's head. His golden eyes overflowed with concern. "Did you practice your introduction?"

He nodded, repeating what his mother taught him with a polite tone. "Hello, I'm Hiroki Matsuoka, the son of Hypnos; I am seven-years-old, and I like reading. I'm very happy to meet you."

Hypnos looked at Chiron for advice. The wings around his temple fluttered. "Is that too much? His mother and I didn't quite know how to prepare."

Hiroki looked down with shame. He's not Naoki who charmed people with his chaotic energy, so his mother didn't quite know what to do. They agreed since his appearance won't be an issue here—unlike with the mortals who felt instinctively unsettled by the Mist altering how they viewed him to hide his eyes and wings—his biggest issue would be communicating. So, they practiced until Hiroki could introduce himself without a stutter or a second of hesitation.

After listening patiently, Chiron smiled with ease. The seven-year-old studied the Centaur's kind brown eyes. Once, when his family took him to the New York Public Library in the Stephen A. Schwarzman Building, Naoki read to him myths of old Greek figures like Chiron; in front of him stood the wisest and justest of all the centaurs, smiling at him the same way he smiled at Heracles, Achilles, Jason, and Asclepius.

He liked his eyes, Hiroki decided.

"It's very rare indeed to see children of chthonic gods, but I do not think the campers will react negatively to your mention, Lord Hypnos." The Centaur leaned down to Hiroki's level, calmness softening his features as he extended a hand to the young child. "That's a very nice introduction, Hiroki. I have no doubt you'll find many friends here. Since you enjoy reading, I'm sure we will spend a lot of time together in the library as well. Come now, Hiroki, I'll show you to your bedroom."

Looking up, outwards to the mass of half-bloods pretending to not be staring at them, Hiroki resisted the urge to blush at the sincere words; he shook his hand with a bowed head, embarrassed. "Thank you, Mr. Chiron."

His father smiled at him with pride, accepting Chiron's approval as an invitation to gush about his accomplishment—"He managed to manipulate the Mist at the of two! Coincidentally, by the very same age, he was entirely potty-trained, or so we thought!"—as they made their way inside of the red-painted farmhouse, where Hiroki will be staying. At first, Hiroki complained and insisted he could stay close to the heart of the camp if he settled in Hypnos' cabin but his father's expression pitched when he was told there is no cabin in his honor; unlike Hiroki, who felt like a crushing weight dragged his spirit to the Tartarus, Hypnos isn't easily troubled, so he laughed it off. He politely refused to send his son to another god's cabin, however. Hiroki didn't want to further the topic; his father's expression reminded him of a confused acceptance, like passing a hand over an old wound and wondering when it had healed without his notice.

Despite his good-nature, Hypnos looked thwarted as he examined the small room with a single-window and a sloping ceiling; Hiroki squeezed his father's hand in an attempt to comfort. He did not mind. He can endure, but if it eased his father, he will make it—his room, the camp itself if need—better. He hoped Hypnos understood the spoken promise it meant. It's temporary, after all. He'll build his father the best cabin in camp, along with the best temple for the thousands of followers he will gather after he becomes famous.

Leaving him in a barren room, away from home with tear-filled eyes and a wobbly smile, Hypnos never looked more mortal. "My little prince," The god spoke with a warm voice. "Be well, be good."

"I love you," Hiroki mumbled against his father's ribcage, his strong arms holding him so tight Hiroki had the impression his father wished he could hide him underneath his skin forever. "I won't be sad anymore, okay?" Hiroki told him. "So, you're not allowed to worry about me."

Hypnos pressed a kiss to the crown of his head and laughed lightly. "I love you, Hiroki." He didn't acknowledge the rest of what his son said, but Hiroki didn't expect a reply. His father was never one to lie, anyways.

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HIS UNCLE THANATOS ONCE SAID DEATH AND SLEEP ARE SO ALIKE BECAUSE EACH LIBERATE THE SOUL FROM GRIEFS AND SUFFERINGS. Despite not understanding the concept of souls or suffering to such an extreme extent, the god said it so solemnly Hiroki felt his chest chill just remembering. Ever since then, the son of Hypnos had a complicated relationship with the Oneiroi. The Oneiroi feel like his father and his older half-siblings, exuding such a calming aura Hiroki always felt heavy-eyed and sluggish around them, but at the same time, they are pieces of one's soul. Embodied dreams, nightmares, passing daydreams—the most private things in the world, all exposed to him. The Oneiroi aren't his to keep around. Others may not be able to decipher what they represent, and the words they whisper, but someone like Hiroki can. He wondered, is it right to know so much of one person?

He side-glanced at the Oneiroi. The ever-shifting appearance of the winged creatures remained a featureless blur as they floated around the bedroom, half of them swathed in a shimmering gold mist, the rest in pinch black; Here, in a place filled with children, they thrived off their dreams and nightmares. Flying around, jumping as high as they could, chasing each other until the sun rose, only settling as the camp roused. Hiroki, who had a hard time falling asleep and spend the night modifying his camp shirts to accommodate his wings, never felt more energized before.

It's early morning in Camp Half-blood, meaning the start of Hiroki's first day as a camper.

"Do I look nice?" He asked the closest Oneiros, a nightmare of a plane crash with two horns protruding from its head; mummers filled his head as he brushed his hair and continued to groom his wings properly, brushing out those that were dead or damaged ensure the new delicate blood feathers— heavier to keep him warm during the cold season—grew appropriately. He nodded with understanding. "Thank you. You look nice as well,"

The little nightmare raised a little stump. "I'll be going, then," Hiroki told them. "I know you're supposed to follow me all the time, but I'm just going to ask if we have a recycling center. Did you know there's million tons of fabric discarded every year? It's bad for the environment. My mom told me that!"

The dream of a deceased renewable energy engineer gasped and pretended to faint.

With one last laugh, Hiroki bundled the extra fabric and rushed down the steps, gliding a few steps with impatience; his mother would've scolded him by now—no using his wings inside the house, running is not acceptable, always use safety railings—but she isn't here. As sad as it made him, it did not lessen his eagerness to get to the dining area. In the early sun, the thick blanket of snow across the field was nearly blinding to Hiroki's sensitive sight.

He searched for Chiron or Dionysus, breathing in the numbing winter air. Then a husky voice yelled, "Well! A newbie!"

Hiroki flinched when a large hand settled on his head, tousling his hair. A muscular camper with a sharp sneer and close-cropped hair cut looked down at him, the two boys who followed him surrounding him as well. "What's a little kid like you doing here, huh?" The first camper asked.

Another boy reached to touch Hiroki's wing, making the son of Hypnos step back; the hand holding his head tightened, holding him in place. "I've never seen someone so young here! Weaklings like you usually die off before making it here," the camper tsked. "What are these, anyway?"

Hiroki stuttered, careful not to drop the fabric in his shaking hands. Mind blank, he repeated dutifully. "I'm Hiroki Matsuoka—I am seven—"

"Say that in English this time. We don't speak Chinese here," The boy with the close-cropped hair scolded, grabbing Hiroki's jaw to force his eyes towards him. The boy grimaced, twisting his head back down. "What's up with your eyes, huh? They're disgusting."

The third boy, the quietest of the three but with a smirk just as vicious as the others, spoke up. "Shut up and let's get this over with," he told the others. He grabbed Hiroki's wing mercilessly, tugging on them old despite his pleads to stop. "Sorry, kid. It's a tradition. We usually don't do this to campers so young, but like my brother said, children like you usually don't make it so far. You'll be fine—probably."

Hiroki thrashed, crying out when a handful of ink-black feathers were plucked. Tears filled his eyes at the razor-sharp pain, blood feathers, and irritated skin from molting exposed to the dry winter air. The camper looked at feathers with disgust, wiping off hands like he had touched something disgusting. "Seriously? What are you, half chicken?"

The older boy reached for his wings again. Hiroki kicked out his legs, struggling to run on the slippery snow; Another boy grabbed by the neck, seizing his movement. He smirked at Hiroki. "Do you know what they do to chickens after they get slaughter? They get their feathers plucked!"

"Stop it, stop it! Not my wings, not wings!" Hiroki cried, unable to breathe properly despite the erratic way his chest heaved for air; in his shaking hands, he gripped the orange fabric with a white-knuckled grip.

"Someone shut him up before he wakes up Chiron," The boy with the close-cropped hair ordered. He ripped the fabric from Hiroki's small hands and said, "Let's take him to the bathroom first then you can do whatever, bro."

They took the seven-year-old toward a cinder-block building, the son of Hypnos unable to scream with a bundled of fabric in his stuffed inside his mouth. One of the three boys kicked open a stall, revealing a grimy toilet overflowing with water.

"He's so tiny," One the guys laughed. "You think he'll drown?"

Hiroki's heart froze, a sob caught in his throat at the mention of drowning. "If he does," The quiet boy said, "We'll just dump him in the forest and hope a monster eats his body or something. Tell Chiron he wondered off—It's not like his parents will care."

Tremors took a hold of Hiroki's body, a wail of terror ripping from his throat; the boy with the close-cropped hair kicked his back, forcing the seven-year-old over the toilet bowl. Hiroki struggled, tears scorching their way down his cheeks; it would be a blessing to get his wings mutilated in comparison. He refused to drown the way Yangyang did.

"We're just kidding, relax." The boy said, grabbing another handful of Hiroki's wings and tugging harshly; the son of Hypnos jerked violent, vision fading from the agony as he gagged on the fabric. "Or maybe we're not!"

"In you go, kiddo," teased the boy with the close-cropped hair, seizing hold of Hiroki's head, directing to the toilet. "Let's see how long you can hold in your breath!"

Unable to endure it any longer, Hiroki forced his eyes shut.

The hand on his hair slackened, soon followed by the thud of a heavy body crashing on the floor; followed by another, and another—this time, along with a stomach-turning crack similar to a dish shattering.

Slowly, when a heavy scent fouled the air and hollow coughs drove the seven-year-old spit out the spit-soaked cloth from his mouth, Hiroki dared to look.

Blood pooled on the ground, streaming steadily from the unconscious boy in front of him. Hiroki did not make a sound, scrawling backward from the sight in front of him until his back collided with the stall. He must've hit his head on the toilet when he collapsed. It's why his mother doesn't let Hiroki use his powers unless Hypnos is around. It's why Hiroki is scary, because he is powerful but in a quiet way, and he is not allowed to use his powers recklessly. Falling asleep is not the danger—it's what follows after, Hisa always told him, it's the falling and the crashing that hurt.

Hiroki tried to stand, stumbling back to the ground helpless the same way a newborn would; crying louder, he wished his mother would appear and tell him what to do.

Crawling to his knees, Hiroki approached the injured boy, trembling hands hovering unsurely. "I'm—I'm sorry!" He told him, heaving sobs tearing from his throat. "Are you okay? I didn't mean to, I didn't—Are you okay?"

No one replied, and his mother didn't appear.

For the first time since learning she's the goddess of violent deaths, Hiroki wished Keres had taken him instead of Yangyang.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

HIROKI REFUSED TO LOOK UP EVEN AS DIONYSUS SNAPPED IN FRONT OF HIS FACE, TRYING TO GAIN HIS ATTENTION. Instead, he stared at his shoes as they hanged over the edge of the chair, shoelaces undone and pooling on the ground of Chiron's office. This morning, they had been white, but now, they've rusted to a dark red as the blood oxidized. His lips trembled. He would not look up.

Across from him, on the other side of the desk, sat the furious god of wine. "Are you understanding what I'm telling you, young man?" Dionysus grumbled. "You could've killed our best swordsman over a little prank! How do you think Ares will react if he finds out three of his sons are going to be unconscious for weeks because Hypnos' spawn decided to act up?"

Hiroki's shoulders heaved; his throat started to tighten. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to," he whispered helplessly.

"Blah, blah, blah! Just like your dear ol' dad, always making excuses! Let's see how well those hold up against Ares and his wrath!" Dionysus scoffed. "You'll be lucky if you don't become an orphan within the hour! What will your dad do, run to his mommy again, huh?"

A small whimper escaped his lips; Hiroki brought his hands to his face, hoping if he hid nobody would speak again. Chiron set a hand on Hiroki's shoulder to soothe him, but the seven-year-old flinched. The centaur sighed, "Mr. D, that's enough." To the son of Hypnos, Chiron spoke with a soft, tired voice. "Hiroki, it would be best if you did not...Inform your father of what occurred today, to avoid creating any tension with Ares. There's no reason to needlessly worry him if you're okay, child."

Hiroki wiped away a stray tear from bloodshot eyes, reaching for the necklace hidden underneath his scarf. He grabbed its chain and asked, "Mr. Ares won't hurt my dad if I don't tell him?"

"That's Lord Ares to you," Dionysus scolded. "And if you don't tell your wimp of a dad, he won't find out."

Weakly, Hiroki protested. "My father isn't a wimp,"

The god scoffed, asking the seven-year-old in a mocking voice. "What else do you call a god who 'fights' by making his enemy sleep then proceeds to run into his mother's arms to hide when it's time to battle?"

Hiroki just stared helplessly, unable to form a reply.

Dionysus laughed.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

By dinner time, word had spread of what Hiroki had done to the Ares campers. Nobody dared to look in his direction. Whispers followed him like a second shadow, some accusing him of being half-monster, others betting how long it'll take for the Ares campers to get rid of him. Meals are eaten alone, because he is not allowed to sit with others, and the rest of the activities are spent still, as if the son of Hypnos lived in another realm, cursed to look from a one-way mirror without being seen in return.

Isolation is something Hiroki learned years ago; each day spent alone hidden underneath a slide as others played in the school's playground, quieting whenever Hiroki approached them no matter how much he bared his heart to them, refined what true loneliness is.

Camp Half-Blood is no different.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

HIS SPARRING PARTNER DID NOT STOP HIS BLADE ON TIME. Hiroki cried out as the head of the wooden sword grazed his cheek, the roughness of the old sword breaking through the skin. His partner apologized but did not offer any help, walking away hastily with mumbled excuses when Hiroki looked at her. When he touched his cheek, it came off tinged with red; Hiroki fisted his hand and dropped his weapon, leaving the training area with a simmering feeling in his stomach. He had forbidden himself the freedom to crying, but the emotions he felt tenth fold did not disappear. The blistering feeling drove him to seek out what comforted him the most—Darkness.

Underneath the canopy of the North Woods, the woods of Camp Half-Blood seemed endless. For the first time since leaving home, Hiroki felt all the resentment—the hurt, the disillusions, the need to strike back at others because he is obedient, he's been a good child his entire life, but that hasn't earned him anything but miserable parents drowning in worry and a brother who feels the need to protect him or hide him away—it all faded away. Here, where there's no sun to pain his eyes and only wood spirits as his company, Hiroki did not have to force himself to be wordless.

The snow-covered path beneath his feet drags him gently, coursing him forward among the giants of root and bare branches spiked into the sky. Near an ice-covered freshwater pond, Hiroki saw her for the first time.

The goddess dressed plainly in an ivory-colored stola, the overlapping peplos made of a light woolen garment of the same color, held by gold-plated shoulder clasps. Her brown skin gleamed an ochre color, the reddish tint of her cheeks and her lustrous hazel eyes basking her in warmth, unlike anything Hiroki had never seen before.

"Young hero," the goddess greeted. "Are you lost?" Hiroki shook his head, falling into a bow. He could find his way out of the maze of forestry if he wanted. He simply did not want to return yet.

She laughed unreservedly, standing from her place beside the frozen river to lift his head. "No need for formalities, I'm just a minor god."

"That's not a reason to dishonor you, Miss Lady," Hiroki told the goddess; his grandmother taught him the rights of reverence, ceremony, and respect—all those important things in the life of a demigod—in one of her few letters. Hiroki will spend his entire mortal life surrounded by gods and immortal creatures—in Nyx's own words, the best way to avoid bring shame upon the family is to educate Hiroki herself.

The goddess laughed again. "Miss Lady? So cute, young hero! Do you know who I am?"

Hiroki nodded hesitantly. "Aceso, goddess of the healing process."

"Precise, young hero." Aceso smiled; her eyes were the softest brown, tinged with greens similar to blossoms of a new spring. "May I ask, how did you know? I'm not quite popular, you see. It is very rare for a hero hailing from Camp Half-Blood to recognize me."

Hiroki did not want to share, but the goddess looked so please, it felt heartless to not tell her. "I had—a dream, of a camper. A daughter of Hephaestus. She followed a Dryad into the forest; when she couldn't return to camp, she waited to be rescued but nobody came. You found her after a monster wounded her. You healed her and guided her out of the forest." He didn't want to upset the goddess by telling her the daughter of Hephaestus died in a quest a few days later, assigned to her under the assumption she would be okay if she managed to escape the forest unharmed. It'll be one less sorrow for Aceso to know.

"I spend a lot of my time here searching for lost half-bloods," Aceso admitted, removing the winter cloak from her figure; she wrapped it around the seven-year-old, smiling at him with a radiance unknown in the winter. "Through the ages, Camp Half-Blood has moved with the gods and the core of Western Civilization. Where the heroes go, I follow. May I tell you an old story, young hero? In Ancient Greece, at the foot of Mount Olympus, dozens of demigods trained and lived in what one day would become one of the only sanctuaries for Half-Bloods. Even my father, Asclepius, was a student before ascending. Regardless of creed, culture gender, skill, or lack of thereof—the core of Camp Half-Blood is kinship. To be part of a place like this is unfathomable to the gods."

Hiroki looked away from the goddess' earnest gaze. She continued her tale, obvious to his discomfort. "One day, however, it was all threatened. One night, in a time when the camp did not have any form of protection for the demigods but themselves, an army of monsters stormed the camp. Hundreds died, and the was almost wiped from history that day. The next morning, the gods granted Camp Half-Blood magical borders, but it had been too late by then."

Hiroki wanted to tell her; I don't think the gods care anymore—I don't think kinship matters. If it does matter, then it does not include me. Instead, he dug the tip of his shoes in the snow.

"The borders faded. Each night, we have to stand guard near the borders of the camp to make sure the monsters stay away," Hiroki told the goddess, biting down his bitterness. "I—I'm good at using the weapons from the armory, so Lord Dionysius said I'll be added to the schedule soon. Because I—I hurt the boys who used to protect us, and I put us in danger." In a lower voice, he admitted. "I'm scared of monsters, so I'm really nervous."

Aceso nodded with understanding. "It is natural for mortals to fear, but to achieve your potential, you need to face those fears with bravery. Remember, young hero; your family will fight alongside you, even if there's disagreements or misunderstandings. Endure and be patient—Wounds do not heal in a day, after all."

Hiroki pressed his hand to the cheek that once bled. It had congealed, but the skin remained aflame and raised.

"Endure?" the seven-year-old asked her. "Won't that take long?"

"Until it no longer aches," She smiled, sweet like the nectar of a flower. "You are hurt. Would you like me to cure it?"

Hiroki shook his head, lowering his hand. "It's okay, I heal quickly."

"There' no reason to prolong your pain." Aceso knelt in front of him, brushing the tip of her finger across the scratch. Hiroki felt the magic in her touch, weaving its way through him like cool vines; dead feathers dropped like snowflakes from his injured wings, some red in color as blood feathers broke from their shelve, others damaged from the cruelty the seven-year-old met. His body that never felt an ache or discomfort under the care of his parents relaxed for the first time since arriving. The cut in his cheek disappeared.

Hiroki, with tears brimming in his eyes, whispered. "Thank you, Lady Aceso."

The goddess of the healing pinched the tip of his nose with a teasing smile. Aceso asked, "Are you ready to return now, young hero?"

Hiroki nodded, accepting her the outstretched hand.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄 ! ! !
the worst thing about taking a break before publishing is not remembering what i wanted to talk about in the notes lol

Aseco just wanted to give some advice but. not the advice a kid filled with self loath and no regard for his own health needed.

also a blood/pin feather is a developing feather on a bird! they're really delicate bc they have a constant blood supply flowing through it :0 so if they break its basically a straw pouring out blood!! it won't stop bleeding until a new feather grows to replace it.
it's really dangerous and birds die. hiroki is basically a bird soooooo....to the ares camper who tore out hiroki's blood feathers ur going straight to tartarus idc. 

spoiler for next chapter  nothing gets  better for lil buds hiroki

Please comment and vote! Until next time!