The arrow thunks into the permeable flesh of the target, buried up to an inch. The feathers quiver slightly, the shock of impact still resonating up the length of the shaft.

I close my eyes a moment, letting the bow dip towards the ground, held loosely in both hands.

The shaking's finally stopped, at least.

Images flicker on the inside of my eyelids, moving faster than a film reel, too fast for me to make out. But I know them by heart. My reoccurring nightmare that's woken me up in a cold sweat too many times to count in the past few months.

Ah, I shouldn't be worrying about this right now. I came to the range to forget; what I'm doing now is counterproductive in some way, I'm sure.

Taking in a deep breath, I raise the bow again, flip an arrow from the quiver on my back nock it in one fluid motion. The tension in the string, the curve of the bow beneath my timid fingers, pressure of my thumb at the corner of my mouth. All familiar, all soothing to nerves frayed from a morbid dreamscape.

I pull the string taut, hold it for a breath, a heartbeat, then let it fly.

Another bulls-eye.

I'm reaching for a third arrow when I hear, "Lyra!"

While instinct calls for a sharp turnaround and a lethal arrow sent spiralling through the air, I push aside the temptation and cast a look over my shoulder, my mouth twitching up into a smile when I see the familiar blonde curls peeking out from around Cabin 7, a pair of stormy gray eyes narrowed in irritation shadowed beneath them. His blonde brows are furrowed, knit tighter together than a grandmother's unwanted Christmas sweater.

It's an expression I am all too used to.

"Hey, Jasper, what's up?" I nock another arrow while waiting for him to saunter over from the cabin, hitting somewhere just above the bulls-eye before he reaches me, his childish scowl unchanged, brows still super-glued together.

"What's up" - he places his hands on his hips, stepping directly into my line of fire so that I'm forced to drop the bow if I don't wish to scewer him - "is that you're going to be late for dinner if you don't hurry it up."

I cock a brow. "It's that late already?" Ah, so it is. I shade my eyes, looking past the treetops of the darkened forest to the flaming sky beyond them. The sun's well on its way to setting; just how long have I been out here? "Well, alright. But just let me get changed first; I'm all sweaty from practice."

"I don't exactly see why you need to practice," Jasper huffs, trailing behind me as I collect my fallen arrows and shuffle around to the front of my glittering cabin. "Apollo's kids are naturally gifted; I've never once seen any of you miss."

"Exactly" - I abruptly spin around to pointedly jab my finger into his chest, causing him to unexpectedly stumble backwards - "because that is a result from all our practice. You're just never around to see it, Mr. Unreasonably Intelligent Trousers."

I can practically hear the eye-roll in his voice when he says, "You're fifteen and this is the best insult you can come up with?" but I ignore it as I slip inside the cabin, dodging my bustling brothers and sisters until I'm able to kneel beside my bunk. I snatch a set of clean clothes, fight my way into our disasterously too-small bathroom, then practically fall out the door, only to have Jasper "heroically" catch me before I end up with a mouthful of worms for dinner.

"Oh, before I forget, you're still performing at the bonfire tonight, right?"

I shove my hands into my shorts pockets, my eyes lifted to watch the last fiery remnants of the sun, though I'm sure Jasper's aware I'm still paying due attention to him. He would whine if it were otherwise, despite being the oh-so-wise son of Athena. "Mm," I hum my agreement, swallowing back my chirpy excitement. The bonfire. Is there anything more wonderful in this demigod world of ours? It isn't just that the Apollo kids dominate the mood-fire; it's that it's an unrivaled chance for me to let loose with the one thing I love more than archery.

Music.

It's natural, I suppose, for Apollo's daughter to find beauty in music, in lyrics, in tempo, in counted beats and whispered melodies. And it's a given that we're geniuses with instruments, able to tune them to perfection and play them without missing a precious beat, but still, I'm in love with music, and I doubt it'd be any different even if I were a daughter of Hades.

An involuntary shiver rolls down my spine at the thought. Such a taboo subject to bring up, especially on an empty stomach. Though it's not as though it's unheard of for a child of Hades to exist. Even so, it's something we tend not to speak of at camp.

"Alright, dinner here we come! I want a hamburger tonight!"

"Can't you be a little more refined, Lyra?"

"Don't you get preachy on me, Jasper, I saw you attacking that New York hotdog the other day. You looked like a starving gopher."

"....Gophers wouldn't eat hotdogs."

"Mr. Unreasonably Intelligent Tr--"

"I beg of you, don't finish that sentence...."

_________________

"C'mon Lyra, get up there!"

I'm shoved jokingly into the center of the clearing, the cheers and snickers of my cabinmates in my wake. Someone - probably Will, seeing as how it's always him - tosses me a guitar with a beat-up neck and loose strings.

I can't help but sigh. Couldn't they give me something a little less... used?

The other demigods (of various parentage) settle in their seats, a hush falling over them as I expertly tune the orphan guitar, plopping down into my own seat graciously provided by a Hermes boy. I smile, just a little, and brush my fingers down the strings, rousing a subtle, sleepy sound that trickles through the air with sluggish desire. Seems the poor thing hasn't quite woken up yet.

Soon there's a cliche demigod campfire song rolling off my tongue, the accompanying cheery strumming rippling just under the surface. As soon as I've started to sing, my fellow siblings join in, adding a sinuous harmony that the other cabins try their best to outmatch (a hopeless endeavor, as we all know). Amid the uproar, I'm glancing around, trying to spot some familiar faces. I know nearly every demigod here, but some tend to stick out a bit more than others.

There's Percy and Annabeth, sitting so close together they're practically joined at the hip, the skulking form of Clarisse leering behind them. Will is tending to a fallen camper, humming a hymn to heal what looks to be a twisted ankle. Jasper's huddled among his siblings, some blueprint spread out between them; he calls over a Hephaestus girl when his brows nearly fuse together from the frustration coloring his cheeks.

(I'm killing myself slowly from suffocation while I try not to laugh at his somehow stoic adorableness, and, consequently, there's a sudden lull in the song that my siblings are quick to murder as they belt out another round of somewhat naive lyrics)

And then there's him.

The only boy in camp who's yet to be claimed.

It isn't as though there's anything to worry about; we haven't had an unclaimed camper since Percy made a deal with the gods back on Mount Olympus. But it's a nagging concern for certain individuals such as myself. The boy's been here nearly a week and yet he's been stuck in the Hermes' cabin all this time.

Although, I'm beginning to think his godly parent might just be too embarrassed to claim him at this point.

It's just.... he refuses to wear anything but a Greek-style tunic (always in a fluttering white) and I'm fairly certain he hasn't got anything on under it. Not to mention the fact that he's more hyperactive than both the Stoll brothers combined. Just because we've all got ADHD doesn't mean we have to take a flying leap from the top of Cabin Five just because we're dared to.

(It wasn't even a proper jump; his tunic snagged on the barbed wire piled up around their roof and he was left dangling there for a good two hours, painstakingly tortured by the Ares kids prodding him with blunted spears, until I convinced Will to shoot him down)

Isaiah Argus, I think his name is.

And right now, he's staring straight up above him, his eyes fixed on the small, shimmering rainbow that's materialized out of thin air.

I strike an accidentally harsh note, the guitar falling limp in my hands as heads begrudgingly snap around to join me in staring at Isaiah's personal rainbow.

"Heh, it's pretty~!" he chirps, grinning too wide for his cheeks to seemingly allow. Silence seizes our usually rowdy bonfire gathering, growing deeper and more brittle as it stretches on, no one quite sure how to react.

What a random time to claim your kid, Iris.

And what's weirder is that, not two seconds after the arc of color fades away, Rachel Dare's eyes blaze a brilliantly poisonous green and she collapses onto a three-legged stool hastily prepared by some quick-thinking campers.

Well, tonight just got interesting...
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Hey everybody just to re-verify if you skipped the first part, this chapter and the next few were written by Arctic_Sky and the story and majority of plot belong to her.