A SANE DEMIGOD WOULD'VE GONE TO BED after dinner that night. Or, if they had too much energy, maybe enjoyed some fellowship at the campfire. But Alex decided to go for a walk. Alone.

He took his sword and a flashlight. Just because they had defeated Kronos's forces in New York didn't mean the woods around Camp Half-Blood were safe. Myrmekes, unusually large rodents, even the occasional angry wind spirit found their way through the trees.

All of these, plus the treacherous landscape and darkness, added up to a NOPE zone for demigods hoping to make it to adulthood. Especially at night.

But Alex had already made eighteen. And if he returned to Cabin 11 he'd never be able to sleep. His chest hurt more now, picking his way through a trail between the trees, than it ever had over the course of the Battle of Manhattan. That physical pain had nothing on the agonizing twisting of fury and despair that had settled over his heart since the funeral pyres.

Between his glowing bronze sword and the flashlight, he could see a good ways around himself. He didn't need more than a few feet. He knew where he was going.

The clearing around Zeus's Fist and Kampê's mound had yet to grow much beyond grass. While the campers had filled in the trenches and holes blown in the earth from the Battle of the Labyrinth, nothing wanted to grow near the rocks. Some campers called the area cursed. Others scoffed at that. But none of them would climb either rocky mound for Capture the Flag.

Alex didn't care.

He needed to see it again.

Careful of twigs and tree roots over the well-worn foot paths, he went as quiet as he could. When Alex put his mind to it, he could sneak past even the best demigods. Or the best myrmekes.

Alex froze when he saw the massive ant monster. He turned off his flashlight. Where one sniffed around, there were probably more. The six armored black insect legs speared through the leaf litter with deadly force. He slowed his breathing.

He'd killed myrmekes before. Didn't mean he wanted to do it again in the middle of a dark forest. If he could stay hidden long enough for the German Shepherd-sized ant to move away, so much the better.

As his eyes adjusted to the darkness, he scanned the trees. Nothing else moved in the shadows. Nothing that he could see anyway. The air smelled musty as he got closer to the ground, trying to hide his glowing blade.

The myrmeke lifted its head up from the leaf litter. Antennae twisted in the air. Alex stopped breathing. His heart pounded against his ribcage so loud, he feared the ant monster would hear it.

Three clicks broke the silence of the night. Alex could barely see the myrmeke's black mandibles rubbing together. Shivers shot down his spine. He tightened his grip around his sword hilt.

Taking a slow, smooth breath, Alex lifted his blade ever so slightly for a better angle. He didn't know how keen a myrmeke's sense of smell was, but with the insect only about twenty feet away, it probably didn't need a particularly strong nose.

Two pupil-less black eyes met Alex's gaze through the underbrush. The mandibles clicked three, four, five times. Antennae flicked in the air.

Alex didn't move when it charged. He counted his heartbeats until the myrmeke raced towards him just a few feet away. He shot up. Grabbing a thick, low branch from the tree beside him, he swung out of reach.

Then the ant threw up at him.

Alex had forgotten about their acid spray. With a kick, he pushed off the tree, acid sizzling where his hands had been. He landed on the ground with a thud.

Gasping to breathe, he had mere seconds to recover. The ant charged again. With a grunt, Alex grabbed a large rock with his left hand. He slammed it into the chittering mandibles closing in near his face. The myrmeke clamped down.

Alex rolled away. With all the strength he could muster, he slammed his sword down between the head and thorax. Sparks flew. The armor buckled, myrmeke releasing a terrible chattering of clicks and cries. Alex spun away from another acid spray. One more hit.

He only needed one more hit. Wounded and angry, the myrmeke hobbled towards him. Its armored body creaked. Alex stared into the pure black insectoid eyes.

With a swing across the already cracked neck joint, the myrmeke exploded into stinking ash. Alex let his sword dangle by his side. He had to catch his breath. And he had to hope that had just been a lone scout. A swarm of myrmekes would be the end of him.

A sane demigod would've turned around after a fight with a myrmeke in the dark forest around Camp Half Blood.

Alex continued on. Each time his leather boots pounded against leaf litter or buried stone, he pushed away his nerves. He had a mission. He wanted to see Zeus's Fist.

He almost swore the trees stepped aside as he broke into the massive clearing around Zeus's Fist and the adjacent burial mound for Kampê. Against the light of the full moon, both boulder formations cast long shadows on the sparse grey-green grass.

The top of Zeus's Fist had been split by Kampê's great draconic claws. Though still standing, the severed half of the top stone lay prone a few feet from the rest, partially buried by weeds and dirt. Where once a fissure had led into the Labyrinth, crumbled ruinous stones plugged the entrance.

Alex took a step closer. A wave of nausea washed over him. He could feel cold steel cut into his skin, burning coals against his back. Shivers ran down his spine. The world spun.

Living with monsters hadn't been easy. Dracaenae snored with a terrible hissing noise. The empousai never stopped talking. Laistrygonian meal time often ended in food fights. But the worst had been sleeping side by side with other demigods who Alex had known could die at any moment.

Chris had made it through the Labyrinth, unbeknownst to them. But looking at Zeus's Fist looming up in the massive clearing, Alex remembered how his chest had burned with fury and fear when Chris had disappeared.

He hadn't been the first to venture inside.

And he wasn't the last.

Jonna, a fifteen year old girl, likely of Apollo's line, had volunteered to try to navigate the maze. Maybe her skill with prophecy would help divine the path.

When she came out two weeks later, Jonna couldn't string together two coherent sentences. She'd grabbed a knife and started drawing symbols on her arms. Alex could still feel her piercing nails in his skin. She'd been hard to restrain. She'd fought, screaming about fate and spiderwebs and owls and a pit as black as the void. Nonsense.

They'd found her body face down in the pool a week later.

Luke had stood there, watching, as Jonna screamed and thrashed in his arms. Eyes hardened, he'd brushed off Alex when he'd begged him to stop sentencing the demigods to death or worse in the Labyrinth.

Frozen, Alex tried to turn from the rock formation. He covered his mouth with a single, shaky palm. Jonna's eyes were open when they pulled her body from the water. He still remembered it.

Brown eyes. Skin tan from hours working under the sun. But she'd been so cold, pale grey as ash, when they'd found her.

Luke had watched. He'd stood there. Alex tried to close his eyes. He didn't want to see the monument. Zeus's Fist mocked him where he stood, a hand prepared to smite the children of gods too proud to be a parent. They abandoned them. They left them vulnerable.

He wanted his brother back. Alex drew his sword, tears blurring his vision until he could make out only the barest outline of the rocks. With a scream, he slammed his celestial bronze blade into the stone, sending sparks and shards flying. His arm ached as the shock shot through him.

He wanted Luke back.

Handholds weren't hard to find. He'd climbed Zeus's Fist many times before. With the skill of the god of athletes and travelers, he scaled the formation without issue until he stood alone at the summit.

A patch of dirt sat in the center. Years of Capture the Flag had worn down the rock until a pole could easily fit between the stones. He remembered the way the banner would flap in the wind, challenging anyone who had guts and glory to try to claim it.

Alex drove his sword into the crack. It shined in the shadows. He couldn't breathe. He couldn't get Luke's stern face from his mind from the last time they'd spoken. He couldn't stop from seeing his body prone after the daughter of Zeus had thrown him from the cliff. Bleeding, broken, scarred.

He crumpled against the top boulder. His eyes stung, dirt and tears blinding him. The world spun. It took all his focus not to tumble from the rocks. He wouldn't give Zeus that satisfaction. Never. He'd fall on his own sword first.

"Alex."

He froze. His blood boiled. Head resting ever so slightly against the blade-post, he tried to focus on the cool metal. Knuckles turning white, it took all Alex's strength not to rip the sword from the earth and hurl it at the invader.

Instead, he opened his eyes. Ten feet from the foot of Zeus's Fist stood a muscular young man, maybe in his thirties, with dark hair speckled grey. Wearing a red hoodie and black joggers, Alex almost wouldn't have recognized him except for his black sneakers with golden, fluttering wings.

Shards of sharp stones dug into his knee and hand as he pushed himself off the ground. It felt good to tower above Hermes. The air around them seemed to crackle, tension and electricity in the air.

Alex grabbed his sword. With one tug, he ripped it from the crevice in the stones. Dirt fell from the blade like the ashes of all the monsters he had banished to Tartarus. Planting his feet firmly on the stones, he didn't descend. He just held his sword at his side and locked eyes with the god so many feet below.

"What do you want," he said.

Hermes didn't say anything. His hand tightened around the phone in his band, two tiny snakes wriggling around the antenna. The wings on his feet beat harder, methodical.

"Come down," he said.

Alex felt his jaw tighten. His knuckles paled as they gripped his sword hilt even tighter. He quite liked his spot on Zeus's Fist. But as he stood shaking atop the rocks by the light of the moon, he tried to channel his anger. How often did he have a chance to confront his father?

He slid down the rock formation with ease, one hand still gripping the shortsword. Standing across from Hermes, he paused. He felt a punch to his gut as he looked into his father's face and for the briefest moment, didn't see the god. He saw Luke.

Alex couldn't breathe. He backed up half a foot, tripping on a stone. His grip on his sword faltered and he felt it slip.

Luke had loved Capture the Flag. A chance to compete against the other cabins? A way to prove they were worthy of quests? But then he'd gotten a quest. He'd sought a golden apple. He'd come back scarred in more ways than one. Because of Hermes.

"Alex-"

"What!" His voice cracked. Biting his cheek, he pushed away the memories of Luke. He buried them. The fair face a few feet away wasn't his brother. It was his father. "Come to lead me to my death?" Alex shook his head. "You're Zeus's errand boy after all!"

He saw Hermes tense. His eyes went cold, a steeliness so reminiscent of Luke. Alex tried to hold his gaze, he tried to face the god. But he couldn't.

He could challenge the king of the gods but cowered before his herald.

"Zeus hasn't decided what to do," Hermes said. Voice strained, he took a deep breath. "If you apologize for your outburst-"

"Apologize?"

A little voice filled his mind. "Please, Alex! Apologize. It's the smart thing to do," Martha said.

"Percy's going to retrieve more of my children," Hermes said. "They'll need help."

"Help you won't offer," Alex said. He clenched his fists, wishing he still held his sword. But it lay glowing in the grass at his feet. "You'll leave it to your kids, to wipe their tears at night as they huddle on the floor of your cabin." He seethed. "Luke tried to help us. Now he's dead."

"Luke," Martha said. "Poor Luke."

"Poor Luke," said George.

The god seemed almost to deflate. His grip on the cellphone loosened ever so slightly. He opened his mouth to speak but Alex cut him off.

"You know what we call your cabin?" he said. "The Reject Cabin. And you would dare blame those kids for fighting for a family when they had none?" He took a few steps forward, coming within feet of his godly father. "You left him scarred In more ways than one. Everyone could see the one on his face. But we felt the one on his heart!"

The forest fell silent. Hermes seemed to grow several feet, though Alex still stood eye to eye with him. A cold wind blew through the clearing as Alex tried to remember Luke before his ill fated quest.

His chest burned. Unable to breathe, Alex stumbled back. He wanted his brother back. He wanted to go back to the days of Capture the Flag and chocolate covered strawberries and pulling pranks on Chiron, or on Lee Fletcher and the Apollo cabin, a cabin far too easy to disrupt. Before that damn quest, the Reject Cabin had been a beloved nickname.

After, it became a curse.

"You left him!" Alex said. The world spun, but he could see his father there, unmoving, shoulders sinking with each moment that passed. "You abandoned us. All of you! Poseidon broke his oath, had a kid, turned him into a hero. But you left a dozen others to sleep on a splintering wooden floor in Cabin 11 wondering why they were so worthless they didn't deserve to know their own parents!"

"I have no control over who claims their children," Hermes said. His voice hardened, eyes narrowing. "I offered a place for all of them. If I hadn't-"

"If you hadn't, they'd be fighting for their lives on their own, like Ophelia!" Alex grabbed the rocky outcropping to steady himself. "She spent years alone, scrounging for food in dumpsters and hiding from monsters while Zeus broke his sacred oath and had a daughter! Sends a guide to protect her, then let's her die!"

Hermes took a step forward. "Zeus saved her from torment in the Underworld."

"He could've saved her! And maybe then Luke would still be alive."

Before Hermes could respond, his cellphone rang. It cut through the air like his sword through the dracaenae. George and Martha muttered and mumbled about bad timing and important caller.

For a moment, Alex though his father might ignore the call. His heart leapt in his throat. The longer it rang, the more Alex felt his fury ebbing away.

But then he answered it. Hermes turned away. Alex stared at the back of his red sweatshirt. He watched as the wings on Hermes's sneakers fluttered lazily. His stomach fell.

What had he expected? That his father would listen to him? What had he wanted? An apology? Acknowledgement? Aid?

He turned away from his father's winged shoes. He grabbed his sword off the ground. The celestial bronze cast a golden glow on the sharp rocks.

His father rubbed his forehead, angrily discussing customer service and shipping errors with someone at Hermes Express. Alex watched him wander away. No surprise there. The gods always turned their backs on their children.

A sane demigod would've left. Why risk the ire of a god? Why wallow in the pain of watching his father dismiss his fury?

Alex didn't leave. He planted his feet firmly on the sparse grass by Zeus's Fist. Kampê's mound reared up not far away, shadows reaching across the entire clearing as the moon began to sink past its zenith.

The call ended. Hermes shook his head with a sigh. Turning back around, he faced Alex with a frown.

"Employee problems?" Alex said.

Hermes groaned. He threw a hand in the air in exasperation. "Like you wouldn't believe. We've got a competitor now-"

"Get out "

Hermes raised an eyebrow. The cold anger that Alex had seen from Luke and every time he had looked in a mirror made him shiver. But he held Hermes's gaze for a second longer than he had managed before.

A muted sound like the crack of a sheet being straightened in the air echoed between the two of them. In a swirling mass of dark shadows appeared a familiar blonde teenage girl in an orange camper tee as bright as a traffic cone and a necklace with a single bead.

"Where the hell have you been!" Ophelia stomped over to him, face scrunched up as if moments away from crying. "We sent over a dozen heroes to Elysium hours ago and you have the nerve to go for a hike in a forest filled with monsters? I've been trying to find you for an hour!"

Alex's throat ran dry. Heat flushed his face, and he immediately sheathed his sword. He had no excuse, no words for his girlfriend. Instead, he looked past her at Hermes.

Ophelia followed his gaze. She froze. Stepping back a half step, she stood against his chest. Alex watched as the wings on his father's sneakers fluttered a bit faster.

"Ophelia, daughter of Hecate, right?" Hermes said. "Hades told us about your stand before Olympus."

She frowned. Alex felt her body tense. But she nodded, offering a sort of half bow attempt. "You're Hermes?"

"What gave it away?" He flashed a small smile. "The shoes?"

"No. You look like Luke," she said. "And Alex."

The world fell silent. After two heartbeats, the small mumblings of Hermes's snakes, echoing "poor Luke" like a broken record filled Alex's mind. Hermes held Ophelia's stare.

The shadows around them darkened. The temperature dropped several degrees. A small crack was heard and Alex, Hermes, and Ophelia turned to Kampê's mound. A rock the size of Alex's fist broke off and tumbled to the ground.

Hermes turned back to them. He opened his mouth as if to speak, but stopped himself. He slumped where he stood, looking more like the jogger he dressed as than a god.

"When we have decided your fate and the fate of the others, I will deliver the news," he said. Hermes stood straighter. "Alex-"

"Go."

He did. In a small cloud of smoke, Hermes disappeared. The buzz of cicadas in the trees and the melody of rustling leaves replaced Hermes and his reptilian assistants.

Ophelia turned around. She didn't speak. Alex tried to memorize every freckle on her cheeks and strand of hair on her head. He wanted to remember her face, not Luke's scars or Hermes's cold eyes.

She placed a cool hand against his chest. His eyes burned as he tried not to cry. But his chest hurt, and Ophelia was here, and he remembered every moment they'd spent with no one but each other. He remembered the way they whispered their childhood dreams to each other deep into the night to drown out monstrous growls and the inane chattering of demigod victims of Daedelus's Labyrinth.

Alex couldn't breathe. He took comfort in the scent of smoke and fire that always radiated from her. Burying his face in her hair, he chose to remember her. Not his father. Not his brother. Not the unseeing eyes of Jonna, the drowned Half-Blood.

He buried himself in Ophelia's shadows.