Packing isn't a bothersome chore, as I don't have much I'm bothering to bring. Just a few sets of clothes, several zippy bags of ambrosia (Jasper's bringing the thermos of nectar) and a quiver-full of arrows stored conveniently in a zipped-up cylindrical case slung across my back (I'm pretty sure this is the same case people use to store maps in - like the one Nick Cage uses in National Treasure!).

My bow (along with the rest of my supplies) is stored in a magical messenger bag given to me as a birthday present from the Stoll brothers. I was wary to use it at first, thinking it might spray me with harpy feathers (they itch like hell), but desperate times called for desperate measures - and I was pleasantly surprised. It's like a bottomless pit: whatever goes in disappears to seemingly another dimension, returning when called upon by the owner.

They were oddly thoughtful when choosing it. I should probably be worried about the Apocalypse happening sometime soon.

An electric tingle pricks at the back of my neck as I'm zipping up my bag. Feels like I'm being watched. I attempt to shrug it off, but when the feeling persists, nagging at me like a 1960's housewife, I roll my eyes and indulge in my curiosity by spinning sharply on my heel - only to be greeted by a rather misty version of Isaiah's perpetually smiling face.

"Holy Poseidon, man!" I gasp, stumbling backwards into the edge of my bunk, managing to knock my head against the broad side of the wood. Ow, ow, ow--! "What the hell are you doing Iris Messaging me right now?! I could have been changing!"

"Huh."

"Don't huh me! Have a little decorum!"

"I'm sorry, Lyra." Chiron butts his way into the picture, nudging a bemused Isaiah off to the side. He smiles warmly, just a hint of yesterday's turmoil visible in the deeply-etched lines invading his immortal face. "I was just showing Isaiah how an Iris Message works. It's amazing really; he doesn't even need to use an offering to contact Iris. That will certainly be an asset on your quest."

I'll say. We can keep the drachma for any nasty surprises. My lips curl upwards in a contented grin. "That's great, Isaiah! I'm glad you're settling in with your Son of Iris identity."

The bubbly brunette looks ready to explode from ecstasy but is subdued by Chiron, who pats his head in a calm down, don't die sort of way, before addressing me once again. "Lyra" - I can tell from his tone of voice what he plans to say and already know I don't need it - "you know you don't have to--"

"Ah, what's that, Chiron? You're breaking up. Try calling again when we have better reception."

"Lyra, don't--"

"Bye-bye!" I wave my hand through the image, breaking it into a million little rainbow prisms that dissipate quickly in the humid summer air. Trying to talk me out of this is a waste of everyone's time. They needed an Archer; I fit the bill. End of story.

Still, that dream keeps coming back at the worst moments. That burial shroud was too indistinct for me to make out any details, though... I'd recognize Apollo's anywhere.

Our cabin's seen enough death over the years.

A staccato drumbeat has replaced the usual thumping of my heart, the same rhythm slowly making its way to my fried brain. Headache. Gods, I can't catch a break today.

I finish up with my packing, then head out the door to start towards the camp entrance where Thalia's pine tree sits proudly in its honorable place, a bed of thick purple cords wrapped around it securely: Peleus is doing his best, as per usual.

I avert my eyes from the various stares I receive as I pass by, my hands buried pitifully in my sunken pockets. My cheeks'll be forever tinted this inglorious red if I don't get out of the public eye soon. I don't like attention - not nearly as much as Percy seems to, anyway - so I'm not fond of the excessive amount of looks I'm getting as a result of taking on this latest quest of ours.

If they really felt bad for me, someone'd offer to take my place.

Both Isaiah and Jasper are waiting for me at the entrance, just within the camp's boundaries, Chiron trotting a bit nervously at their side. It's only when I see Jasper fretting over the reflective-ness of his sword that I realize I've been neglecting one crucial detail.

We've left Isaiah completely defenseless.

I frantically pat my pockets, searching, hoping for something I can give to him that even remotely resembles a worthy weapon. What do you give to someone like Isaiah anyway? A sling-shot? He seems like he'd enjoy that. He's already ruled out a bow, and the way he's marvelling at Jasper's ability to lift his slim sword one-handed makes me think that's a no-go as well for the lanky demigod.

What else could he use....?

I'm startled from my thoughts as Isaiah's face appears just two inches away from mine, a broad grin pasted cleanly onto his olive-skinned face. I lean away, unsure of what he wants; but I pause in my retreat when I catch sight of the Celestial Bronze glinting in his hand. A knife. A perfectly serrated blade fitted with a black-leather handle that has already molded to Isaiah's unusually strong grip.

I raise my brows at Chiron, who takes a brief break from his pacing to smile at me reassuringly. "I would never allow a hero to leave here unarmed," he assures me.

And just like that, I feel a little better about this trip.

"So, where are we going, exactly?" Jasper asks. He crosses his arms, finished fiddling with his sword that he's left unattended at his hip (apparently the Mist makes it look like some sort of psychedelic key-chain to mortals), appraising us with an incredulous gaze. "The prophecy was fairly vague with the destination. Our only real clue is that we have to travel to the longing sea."

"Well, if it's longing for us, maybe it's on the opposite coast? I doubt what we're looking for is local," I suggest offhandedly, shrugging.

"Perhaps you're right," Chiron murmurs. "And if you're going to be confronted with Death, the opposite coast is certainly a good place to start. Only, be wary of the possible interpretations; going needlessly to Hades' realm would be unfortunate."

"Hey, Percy made it outta there alive a few times; give us more credit, Chiron!"

"I actually have to agree. And Hades has been considerably less hostile since the war with the Titans. It shouldn't be as insurmountable a task as it would have been years ago to visit the Underworld."

"See? Even Mr. Unreasonably Intelligent Trousers is backing me up!"

"...Is it too late to replace her on this quest?"

"Yes."

Chiron's silent laughter doesn't escape either of our notices, despite us being totally engrossed in our pointless argument. But Isaiah, for all his innate cheerfulness, is pulling a blank face, completely and utterly lost in terms of our current topic. As odd as it is to think about, it's only natural he wouldn't understand. To the majority of us residing at Camp Half-Blood, the Titan War is a permanent scar that haunts us with a fierce consistency; to him, it's a collection of war stories that seem too surreal to be real.

It's only now that it dawns on me.

We're taking a complete newbie demigod out on an ungodly journey of possibly-mythical proportions, a ditsy brunette with absolutely no experience and a desire to prove himself by leaping head-first into dangerous situations.

Jasper's words from last night are haunting me, a constant whisper in near-forgotten corners of my mind, the place where monsters lurk.

Someone's going to die on this quest.

I've had enough of monsters these past few years. Like Zeus. The world can never just be stable for a few months, can it? Always, always, there's going to be terrible things lingering in the shadows, nasty plots brewing among enemies no one's seen for a thousand years. Demigods will always be instruments of war - not mortal enough to escape the battle through ignorance, not godly enough to keep the winning streak going for an eternity.

I sigh; this is too much to be thinking about so early in the morning. I need a distraction, just for a bit, just until we properly leave the camp behind - and I get one in the form of a haggard-looking Will Solace catching me by the arm before I can hop over the boundary and follow after Jasper and Isaiah, who've already said their goodbyes to Chiron and are waiting semi-patiently for me to join them.

"Lyra." The way he says my name is annoying, like an older brother about to give me meaningless worldly advice that only pertains to his personal issues. And there's a crease in his brow that makes my lips twitch into a natural scowl all of us children of Apollo seem to have when we feel someone's undermining us.

"Will," I say, crisp and clear and decisive.

"Be careful. With a prophecy like that..."

"Yeah. I get it. Try not to die." I tap two fingers to my forehead in a mock-salute that never fails to piss him off. "I'll do my best to make it back to Camp Half-Blood in one piece."

This satisfies him, if the slumping of his slim shoulders is anything to go by. And with Will, little quirks, tiny reactions speak volumes. "Alright. Then I'll wish you and the others luck." He looks past me, past the boundary, to where my "comrades" are waiting, a stiff hand raised in a half-assed send-off. I don't turn around to see Jasper's inevitable eye-roll or Isaiah's too-broad smile.

These are already facts of life for me, and do not need to be confirmed with all five senses for me to acknowledge them.

I don't say goodbye to Will, as the act of saying goodbye serves no real purpose. For anyone. So I just turn around and walk across the boundary, no different for the experience when I step out on the other side.

Argus is standing with the camp van in the distance, his many eyes on our surroundings, two expecially pointed towards us, signalling we should hurry up. The three of us - two bundles of nerves and one hyperactive puppy - quicken our pace.

"Will," Jasper says pointedly as we're loading our things into the back of the van.

"Will," I say, rolling my hand for him to keep going, because obviously there's a train of thought behind this abrupt mentioning of Cabin Seven's counselor; if there isn't I'm going to yank at Jasper's curls until his hair is straighter than Apollo himself (with his many children to attest to the fact).

"I wouldn't have pegged him as the caring type."

Oh. Neither would I. "It's pretty simple, actually." I shrug. "I'm next in line to be counselor of Cabin Seven." A small, wry smile fights its way onto my face despite the genuine surprise clouding Jasper's bright gray eyes. "No one really knows about that, but Will's sorta protective of me because of it. It'd suck for him if I died out here and he had to pick a runner-up."

"You're a little too laid-back about this."

"Death is death, Jasper. As much as I don't want to admit it, it happens, and for demigods, it happens often. Trust me; I'm basically trying not to have a mental breakdown over this quest."

"That's the smartest thing I've ever heard you say."

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This chapter was written by Arctic_Sky