DAWN WAS FINE ON THE BOAT UNTIL THE FACE IN THE SAND SHOWED UP. Even though she was technically still being held hostage, it hadn't been a bad few months - it had been good, she might even say. Chrysaor wasn't a bad uncle when it came down to it. Not anywhere near Percy (by far, her favourite uncle), but he was surprisingly funny and prone to fits of melodrama that were always entertaining. And the dolphin crew were barely even half-heartedly guarding her now. She could've escaped at least a few times if she'd set her mind to it, but she'd grown to like the boar. The gentle swaying as she went to sleep, the breeze on her face during the day, the spring-turning-summer sun warming her all the way through. It was almost like home; surrounded by sea creatures and a relative, she didn't feel the same fish-out-of-water feeling that had become so familiar to her in her year above ground. She'd even taken it upon herself to redecorate, moving some of the precious jewels from below deck into some of the rooms to add a pop of colour. Chrysaor didn't mind, and he was more than happy to provide her with dramatic retellings of how he'd acquired them. She'd laugh along pleasantly, and the few times she had spotted a ship in the distance, she'd manage to convince Chrysaor to turn the other way under the guise of a nearby island or an oncoming storm. And she'd started to get the feeling that Chrysaor wasn't nearly as evil as he pretended to be (she wasn't sure anyone who tried to enthusiastically teach his dolphin-crew to waltz could be really so evil at heart). So, yeah: not a bad few months.

That was, until the face. She'd managed to convince Chrysaor to stop at an island. The summer had just begun and the Atlantic heat was getting to her. They must've been by the coast of Africa by now, sailing near - but not past - the pillars that Hercules guarded. Even Chrysaor didn't want to sail into the Mediterranean just yet.

She wasn't sure if the island was magical or not, but the sand was warm beneath her feet and she was content ducking under the crystal blue waves that lapped against the shore. The massive warship looked out of place, docked next to this tiny tropical island, and she pointed the juxtaposition out to Chrysaor, who went into a tangent about how grand and beautiful his ship was. She was just about ready to come in from the cool, blue, water when she saw the face.

Emerging from the sand of the island was the face of a woman. She seemed to be made of sand; constantly shifting and sliding, falling and reforming. Dawn frowned. For some reason, a deep-rooted feeling of fear had begun to creep its way inside of her chest, a cold shiver, the feeling of eyes boring into her from afar. She sank deeper into the water, wanting to feel its cool embrace as a sort of shield from the uncanny feeling. It lapped against her chest, but it did little to soothe her. The sand underneath her feet seemed almost menacing, slowly beginning to crawl up her legs only to fall down a little again. Dawn shivered, furrowed her brow, eyes locked on the face. She didn't know if it could see her - could sand-face-ladies see? - but she wasn't taking any chances, ducking down further into the water until she was fully submerged. She opened her eyes and took a deep breath, returning to the feeling of familiarity and rejuvenation the water gave her - the feeling of home. Even that sense of playfulness that Dawn loved; that might have been her favourite thing about the water, Dawn thought. The way that when you were submerged - fully enveloped into that new world of colour and weightlessness - you could almost forget what was happening on the surface.

She stayed under for as long as she could but, in the end, curiosity won over and she slowly resurfaced, trying not to make any sudden movements. The face lady was still there, re-filling her with that overwhelming sense of dread. It was like getting out of the water for the first time, when you'd forgotten how to properly walk on land and gravity was dragging you down to make you slow and clunky. She saw Chrysaor in the distance, walking towards the face. She wanted to cry out, to stop him, but something in her made her stay quiet. He got closer to the face and when he spoke, it wasn't with the exotic lilting tone she had come to know over the months. He sounded deep, dark, gravelly. Nefarious.

She could barely hear their conversation, but that evening when they reboarded the boat, he wasn't the same. He was distant and cold, leaving her to eat with a couple of his dolphin crewmen and retreating off to some unknown place aboard. She'd huffed a little, but settled in nicely with the dolphin-men. Kas and Al were pleasant company (Kasdaye and Alecto, properly, but they'd reassured her they were at a stage in their friendship where nicknames were fine). They used to be the most feared pickpocket duo in Greece but they now had a taste for reality television, to which Dawn could relate.

"You know, I really have mixed feelings about Jamie," Dawn sighed, shaking her head, "I'm just not sure if she's after the Bachelor's love or his fame."

Al chittered, which Dawn loosely interpreted as a wise-cracking comment about how he personally would be after both plus some, and Dawn giggled. "Right you are, Al."

Kas chimed in to wonder if Louise would get a rose on her second date, and that conversation carried them through the rest of their meal (Al thought yes, Kas thought no, and Dawn thought yes but the Bachelor would regret it when Amy found out).

Either way, the conversation was good and even though the food was a little tasteless, Dawn found herself enjoying it. She wasn't a difficult person to keep happy, she reflected.

"Well, thanks for the meal," She stood up after finishing laughing at a particularly raunchy joke that Al had made, grabbing all their plates to bring to what served as a kitchen. The dolphin-men chittered their thanks, and she winked at them. It wasn't a perfect wink, by any means, but Dawn liked winking.

She hummed as she was washing up, one of those catchy earworms that she'd heard while she was in Camp and that she'd never really seemed to be able to get out of her head. And, of course, that had to be paired with a dance, so soon enough Dawn was dancing around the kitchen like she was a pop star, singing obnoxiously loud. When her song/impromptu performance ended she made sure to do a little bow and curtsey, even though no one was watching. Dawn giggled.

She was good at making her own fun. Always had been. Dawn supposed she had a sheltered childhood. Growing up in Atlantis was - for lack of a better word - magical. When she had met all of the demigods from Camp Half-Blood during the war, she'd realised just how truly lucky she was. The life of a demigod on the surface was never easy, and the number of heartbreaking stories she'd heard from the campers had made her selfishly glad that her father had chosen to keep her under the sea for the majority of her life. She'd never really seen loss in the same way some of the others had. During the war there were losses, yes, and it was horrible, but Dawn didn't personally know any of the people who had died. She'd grown up a loving - if, somewhat distant - father and a kingdom full of underwater friends. She smiled at the thought, trying to ignore the dreadful ache of homesickness. Although she enjoyed living on the boat, she wondered how they were faring at home. A while ago, she'd leaned into the water and asked some of the fish that had emerged to pass on the message to her family that she was safe, but fish could be such gossipers and sometimes things got lost in translation, like a giant, oceanic game of Chinese whispers. 

She wondered if it was time to be getting home. It was almost summer, and she was sure that she'd had some kind of positive impact in her time on the boat. She chewed on the bottom of her lip, debating her situation. Chrysaor wasn't nearly as terrifying as he initially made out to be - the mask still admittedly creeped her out, though - and she really thought that he'd softened to her. He was her Uncle, after all. She decided to make her way to his cabin and ask if she'd be good to go back to Atlantis. A smile on her face at finally coming to a decision, she made her way to his cabin (still humming that obnoxious song, because of course it still hadn't left her brain). She stopped outside of his door, fully ready to barge in, but something stopped her. A voice, coming from inside his cabin. She frowned. The voice was female and smooth, and something about it made her heart drop.

"They will be coming soon," The voice spoke. Dawn pressed her ear up against the door, hoping to hear more. "I have big plans for them and they are slowly coming to fruition. They are preparing to sail, and, when they do, you must begin."

"Of course," Chrysaor's voice sounded different, Dawn thought. She shivered.

a/n Chrysaor is literally just that song from legally blonde ('gay or european'). also another thing to keep in mind; this story is gonna kind of emulate the vibe of the o.g. series in that the tone will be quite light for at least these first few chapters, but by the time she's met up with the seven for a few chapters it'll match the tone of the heroes of olympus books rather than the o.g. percy jackson books. just some food for thought :)