LUKE CASTELLAN didn't want to be a half-blood.

Who in their right mind would want to be one? Being a half-blood practically meant suicide.

Luke Castellan is a demigod, or in other terms, a half-blood, meaning half god, half human. If you think that sounds cool, think again. Those Greek myths? They're real.

Luke had learned from a young age that he could never live a quiet and peaceful life. Why, you may ask? It's because people like him aren't safe in the world. Demigods are practically monster magnets, and those terrifying creatures can sense half-bloods even from miles away. If you think that's bad enough, being chased by at every turn, wait 'til you hear about Luke's grandfather of sorts. 

Luke was nine when he ran away from home. His home life wasn't exactly ideal. For as long as he could remember, he knew his mother wasn't normal.

At the young age of four, Luke became conscious of his mother's fits. At first, he didn't understand it—or maybe his mother just managed to hide it from him so well, to avoid scaring him as a baby. Until one day, on the day after his fourth birthday, Luke witnessed what his mother was hiding from him.

He had woken up from a terrible nightmare, and desperately wanted his mother in fear that the monster would come back and eat him whole. Gripping his favorite blanket in one hand and his favorite teddy bear in the other, Luke crept out of his room in the deep of the night, the floorboards creaking with every little step he took.

The second his hand fell onto the brass door knob, a loud blood-curdling scream echoed through the house, scaring him. Thinking that someone or something was attacking his mother, Luke didn't think twice before opening the door. Grave mistake. 

May Castellan was kneeling in the middle of her room, her eyes were a bright glowing green and only then did Luke realize that she was screaming Danger! Terrible fate! in a deep, far away voice. As if there was something haunting or maybe possessing his mother.

Luke tried his best to help his mother, he tried calling out to her, tugging on her arm, and begging her to stop, but to no avail. He just stood in front of his mother with tears in his innocent chocolate brown eyes as he begged again and again for his mommy to stop, that she was scaring him. After what felt like an eternity, the glow faded, and Luke was finally staring back into the identical warm brown eyes of his mother—which widened at the realization that he had seen everything.

Despite the fear he felt, Luke immediately wrapped his arms around his mother, seeking comfort for both nightmares he'd gone through the night. May has never failed to show how much she loved her son, hugging him tightly as he clung to her, remembering that little vow she made on the day Luke was born—to keep him safe from the terrors of this wretched world.

Life was good, even though it was only just the two of them. May tried her best to at least give Luke a taste of a normal childhood. Before Luke even understood the concept of love and affection, May made sure his life was filled with love and happiness, despite that lingering fear of what should be.

His mother's love was as sweet as the homemade strawberry jelly in his favorite peanut butter and jelly sandwich, her hugs and kisses as warm and comforting as the freshly baked chocolate chip cookies she always bakes. Whenever in the kitchen, May would often let Luke help around, her little sous chef—with a little taste test here and there. 

On the refrigerator was a corkboard with Luke's drawings and paintings that his mother would proudly pin-up like a little hall of fame. One of his favorites was this drawing of a heart, painted red like his favorite Kool-Aid flavor and below were wonky stick figures of what he told his mother was them being the happiest in the world.

Even though their house wasn't in the greatest condition, May's love for her only child made it home. Oh, how she wishes to keep it that way forever, to keep her baby boy safe and loved in her arms until her last breath. 

But not everyone gets what they want.

If happily ever after did exist, Luke would've been a happy little boy living his best life with his loving mother. But this is the real world, and happily ever after doesn’t exist here. There will always be more to the story that everyone dreads.

After that first fit, Luke thought—hoped, really—that there wouldn't be a next. But boy was he wrong, absolutely wrong. It kept on happening again and again, frequently throughout the day to the point that his mother's state progressively got worse, ultimately terrifying him.

Every time his mother would have an episode, Luke would hide in the furthest corner of his closet, covering his ears while his mother's screams echoed down the hallway—with each time it got louder and louder—tears streaming down his face. He felt so weak and helpless that he couldn't do anything for his mother. Luke has tried praying, he prayed hard and was desperate for someone, anyone to come and save him and his mother, but no one ever came.

Not even his father.

Luke had already known who his father was since the third time his mother had one of her fits. She had muttered his name, and something about it just clicked in his mind. He was a child, but he was definitely not stupid.

After that, he made it his mission to snoop in his mother's bedroom one day when she went to get groceries. Luke then stumbled upon a box, tucked away in the corner of his mother's closet and when he opened it, the first thing he saw was a photo on top of a pile of other random items.

It was a photo of a happy couple standing in front of their house—the only difference was that the house looked new, and somehow a lot more cozy than what he was used to—with a squirming baby in the arms of what looked to be a younger, less tired and worn out version of his mother. And on the back of it was Luke's first birthday! written in neat cursive. Looking at the other photos and random items, he had confirmed his suspicions.

Luke was a son of Hermes, the god of messengers, travelers, and thieves, or as Luke calls him, the divine bastard who left him and his mother. 

From then on, Luke would often wonder why his father abandoned him and his mother if they were this perfect little family back then? He had a lot of questions he desperately wanted—no, needed—answers to, which led him to start praying to his father.

As time went on, Luke started to resent his father. All the effort he'd put into praying was all in vain, as he never got the answers he so desperately craved. So, he then blamed Hermes for everything. If it wasn't for him leaving maybe his mother wouldn't have these terrible fits, if it wasn't for him his mother's state wouldn't have slowly deteriorated over the years, leading to the neglect he was finally facing at eight years old.

The house was no longer kept. The food his mother made was now always burnt, lacking that love she usually put into her cooking. The dishes kept piling over the sink, the house got extremely dusty with cobwebs littering almost every corner, the hamper filled to the brim with dirty clothes, the garbage bin overflowing with trash, and it was all left for Luke to handle—as his mother was no longer capable of doing so. It was like all of the warmth Luke had grown up with was slowly sucked out, leaving him and his mother so devoid of color. 

As his life continued, Luke started to get extremely jealous of children with loving parents—the life he was now deprived of—he would watch as mothers tended to their children in his neighborhood, and he would watch fathers play with their children, while all he had now was a broken mother and a deadbeat immortal father.

On the day he turned nine years old, Luke couldn’t take it anymore. He was so full of anger, pain, and resentment that he decided to pack up and leave. Though, as he took one final glance at his mother before completely walking out of the door—for school as he told her—Luke felt so guilty. The fact that his mother would be alone for the days to come was eating him alive, pulling at his heartstrings, begging him to stay. But his anger got the best of him. He’s already come to understand that no one will ever rescue him, he has to take his fate into his own hands now. It was for the best. 

Living alone on the streets at the age of nine was harder than it looked.

At first, Luke thought it would all be a great adventure, just like in the stories he heard before, but he eventually realized that living in that house—if you could even call that a house—even with his possessed mother, is safer than fending for himself. The minute he stepped out of his mother’s house, he made himself a target—a meal—for hundreds, if not, thousands of monsters. 

Luke hadn’t even brought a weapon with him when he left, not even one of those knives from the kitchen that had never been used and was only rusting in the kitchen drawer. It was stupid of him, clearly. His carelessness had nearly killed him more than once, and he was not about to make the same mistake again. With his trusty crowbar that he had swiped from a house he passed by, he finally left Westport, Connecticut. Luke didn’t really know where he’d go, he hadn’t figured that out prior to leaving home. He only knew the streets of Westport, but after that, he was all on his own.

After an experience he had with a Cyclops, Luke never stayed in one place for long. He was always on the move with hardly enough time to steal a few hours—even a wink, at most—of sleep using his backpack as a pillow. Sometimes, he’d resort to diving through dumpsters to try to disguise his scent, hoping that no monster could trace him. 

By the second month, Luke nearly admitted defeat. At this point, he was willing to sell his soul to some dark god or something for a good night's sleep and a hot meal. He was exhausted, filthy, penniless and constantly on the run from monsters and, well, mortals alike. His backpack felt far heavier than it should with every step that he took, often leaving himself running out of breath every time. His clothes, which had once been bordering on too small thanks to a recent growth spurt, now hung off of his thin frame, the cuffs frayed and stained beyond recognition. In all honesty, Luke thought he looked like a walking skunk. Aside from the intense smell from practically bathing in garbage, his hair was overgrown and covering his eyes, which led him to tie it back with a piece of his shirt he’d ripped off.

Luke imagined all of the normal families living in those cozy houses he’s passed by over the course of his journey. He wondered what it would be like to have a home again—a proper home—to know where his next meal was coming from, to have a comfortable bed to sleep in, and not have to worry about getting eaten by monsters every day. He barely remembered what it was to be cared for, because for half of his life, he’d been practically raising himself. Luke was tired of fending for his life, but eventually, he managed to get the hang of living day to day with a promise to himself that he would never be like his father—an absolute jerk.

He traveled on foot, state by state, lonely and miserable. 

Once, when he had stopped by a town for a while, Luke tried to befriend a mortal boy his age. But when he told him the truth about his identity, he didn't understand. He had confessed that he was the son of Hermes, the immortal messenger dude with winged sandals and shit. He tried to explain that monsters and Greek gods were real and very much alive in the modern world. His mortal friend just grinned, thinking that Luke was joking. “That is so cool! I wish I was a demigod!” As if it was some sort of game, which led Luke to leave and forgo his dream of having a friend.

For five long years, Luke fought hard to survive. He shoplifted food and supplies from convenience stores, stealing practically anything that was useful, and tried to fight off monsters with a pocket knife he had stolen from a family having a picnic at a park he once passed (don’t ask about his once so trusty crowbar, please). Even though he'd never met his father and didn't really want to, he shared some of his talents. 

Along with being the messenger of the gods, his father is also the god of merchants—which explains why he was good with money—and travelers, which explains why the so-called divine jerk left him and his mother without ever looking back at the family he supposedly built, oh and it also explains why he navigates so well on the road. Aside from that, Hermes is also the god of thieves, hence—well, duh—the shoplifting and stealing. Hermes’ stolen things like—oh, Apollo’s cattle, women, good ideas, wallets, his mom’s sanity, and his chance at a decent life. Sorry, did that sound bitter? Moving on. 

It wasn't an ideal life for a child. Luke was barely living, but eventually, he simply learned to make do with the life the gods cursed him to have. Who else is going to save him, if not himself?

A little while before Luke’s fourteenth birthday, he met Thalia Grace. The daughter of the king of the gods himself, Zeus, or if we’re going on technical terms, Luke’s grandfather. Sucks, right?

The meeting had been an accident (it wasn't). Luke was running for his life because a stupid cyclops (he was really starting to hate this particular breed) was chasing him and a pocket knife wasn’t really a match for the big ugly one-eyed monster. He managed to outrun the Cyclops, by running head-first into a cave, literally slamming into a girl with dark hair and electric blue eyes. 

Long story short, Luke and Thalia teamed up to stay alive, subsequently traveling across the country while fending for themselves. At first, he was skeptical of trusting her. Why wouldn’t he be? No one in his life has ever understood him, so why would she? Luke had already accepted the fact that he would be a freak for the rest of his life at this point. 

But unlike him, Thalia had it worse. Way worse. 

She was a forbidden kid. A child born out of a pact sworn on the River Styx. The big dumb king of the gods just couldn’t keep it in his pants, condemning a child—his child—to a terrible fate. Nice parenting, isn’t it? Maybe he wrote a book about it, that his own father stupidly read for tips on how to raise—abandon—your child. Way to go, grandpa! 

Eventually, Luke learned to trust Thalia. Spending time with her made him feel less lonely, he finally had a friend. A friend who understood the struggles that come with being a half-blood. Suddenly, life wasn’t as scary anymore. 

At some point, they arrived at Richmond, Virginia, where Thalia followed a goat called Amaltheia. Luke didn't understand why they were following a goat. Why were they following a goat? He didn't know.

Thalia eventually explained that it was Amaltheia who led her to him, that their meeting wasn't by accident because she decided to follow her thinking that Amaltheia was sent by her father. Luke wanted to argue with her, following a freaking goat into the unknown was honestly so stupid of her, his feet were practically melting into his shoes from all the walking at this point and he wasn’t really in the mood to chase around a barnyard animal. 

Thalia dragged Luke out from where they were hiding, pulling him across the street as if he was a little boy and she was his mother. He didn’t protest. When Thalia gets an idea in her head, you just have to go with it. She always gets her way. If Thalia wanted to chase a magical glowing goat, then they would do just that, even though Luke had a bad feeling about it. 

Thalia knelt next to the goat, its eyes meeting hers. The goat glanced at Luke, she looked a little miffed like he was intruding on a private conversation. Rolling his eyes, he took a step back, resisting the urge to grab his weapon. Oh, by the way, his weapon is a golf club. Yeah, yeah, feel free to laugh. He used to have a sword made of Celestial bronze, which is super deadly to monsters. Unfortunately, the sword got melted in acid (long story, please don’t ask). Now all he had was a nine-iron that he carried. Not exactly amazing, but it does the trick somehow.

Amaltheia pointed the two to an old mansion, which Luke thought was eerily creepy. But what was new? Luke has been in the presence of more monsters than he could count, creepy stuff isn’t something he’s a stranger to at this point.  

Once inside—thanks to Luke's skills (which he isn't proud of)—they realized that the mansion was a trap, a deadly one at that. The gods leading unknowing demigods to their deaths, a normal occurrence, right? 

As they were trying everything to escape the mansion of doom as Luke called it, they met Halcyon Green. A demigod son of Apollo who was cursed by his own father for saving a girl's life with his ability to see into the future. He had been imprisoned in his own childhood home with his voice stripped as a reminder of his faults. A part of Halcyon’s curse was to lure demigods into their demise, by getting eaten by three leucrota—a terrifying monster that cannot be defeated by man nor god. 

Luke already knew the gods could be cruel. His own father was a prime example of it, having ignored him for fourteen years. But Halcyon Green's curse was just plain wrong. It was evil. Hal only wanted to help, but what did he get? A lifelong terrible curse that the gods rub in his face every damn day. 

Luke desperately wanted to find a way to rescue Hal, Thalia, and himself from this hellhole they call a mansion. But Hal told them that every demigod that had come across this wretched place thought that they could escape but soon realized it wasn't possible. This curse—Hal’s curse—was meticulously planned, to the point of no error. All because Hal wanted to be a good person. 

Thalia was able to claim Aegis—a bracelet that transforms into a replica of her father's shield—a blessing from Zeus, as Thalia insisted it was (all that trouble for a damn bracelet?). After what felt like endless hours of searching, they discovered that the only way they were going to escape the leucrotae was by making Greek fire, which is one of the most dangerous magical substances in the world.

In the end, Hal decided that he would sacrifice himself to give them time to escape. But before he did, Hal had predicted Thalia and Luke's futures, but left him vague answers about his own, unlike what he had given Thalia. A sacrifice in your future. A choice. But also a betrayal. which left Luke utterly confused.

Hal later pulled Luke aside, giving him his personal diary, insisting that he continue the diary. You have an important future. Your choices will change the world. You can learn from my mistakes. It might help you with your decisions. Luke tried to argue, but Hal still persisted. Just promise me you’ll keep up with the diary. If I’d started recording my thoughts earlier in my life, I might have avoided some stupid mistakes. Luke still didn’t want to, as he wanted Hal to get out with them because he honestly deserved it after being captive for so long. But the cursed man just shook his head and reached for his dagger, placing it in Luke’s hands. That blade was a gift from the girl I saved. She promised me it would always protect its owner.

I’ll feel better knowing you have it.

Luke and Thalia managed to successfully escape, shaken, but nonetheless unscathed. Together, the two stood and watched the mansion burn. Bricks crumbling, black draperies bursting into sheets of red fire, the roof finally collapsed and smoke billowed into the sky. Luke gripped his backpack close to his chest, the diary and the celestial bronze dagger—the only remnants of Halcyon Green's life. 

He’d criticized Hal for being a coward, but in the end, he’d been brave—probably the bravest he’d seen anyone be. The gods had cursed him, he had spent most of his life imprisoned with monsters. It would’ve been easy for him to let him and Thalia die like all the other demigods before them. Yet he’d chosen to go out a hero, as he should have been. 

The two ran away from the incoming sirens, through the streets of Richmond until they found a small park where they cleaned themselves the best they could. The two decided to lay low until dark, not even bothering to talk about what had happened while they wandered through neighborhoods and industrial areas. 

I promise, Hal, Luke thought as he kept on going. I'll learn from your mistakes. If the gods ever treat me that badly, I'll fight back. Luke wouldn't let Hal down like the gods damned them to be.

Luke and Thalia had no plan, and sure as hell no more glowing goat to follow anymore. They were bone tired, but neither of them felt like sleeping or stopping. Luke wanted to get as far as possible from that flame-engulfed mansion, desperate to get the thought of Hal burning to death out of his mind. It wasn't the first time they'd barely escaped alive, but never at the expense of another demigod's life. 

Thalia suggested heading to their old camp on the James River as they shivered in the dead cold of the night. It would take at least a day to get there, but it was better than nothing. The two demigods stopped for rest near an old warehouse and split a ham sandwich in silence. The food tasted like cardboard, but they really didn't have a choice. After the last bite, Luke heard a faint metal ping from a nearby alley. 

Something or someone was nearby. 

Luke got up, pulling out the dagger Hal gave him as Thalia had her spear and shield at the ready. The two crept along the wall of the warehouse, turning into a dark alleyway that dead-ended at a loading dock piled with old scrap metal.

Just then, there was a loud clang, a sheet of corrugated tin quivered on the dock. Something—someone—was underneath. Luke crept toward the loading bay until we stood over the pile of metal, Thalia following closely behind. He gestured for her to hold back as he reached for the piece of corrugated metal and mouthed, One, two, three! As soon as he lifted the sheet of tin, something flew at him—a blur of flannel and dark hair, and a hammer hurtling straight at his face.

Things could've gone very wrong.

Fortunately, Luke's reflexes were good from years of fighting stupid brainless monsters. He managed to dodge the hammer, thankfully, before grabbing the little girl's wrist. The hammer went skidding across the pavement. The little girl struggled in his grasp, and couldn't be more than seven or eight years old.

“No more monsters!” she screamed, kicking Luke in the legs. "Go away!"

“Jesus Christ-” Luke dodged one of her kicks, his grip still on her wrist, albeit not as tight. “It's okay!” He tried his best to hold her, but it was like holding a wildcat with how much she kept squirming. Thalia looked too stunned to move, she still had her spear and shield ready as if the little girl was an enemy force. 

“Thalia,” Luke managed to say. “Put your weapons away! You're scaring her!”

Thalia snapped back to reality, acting quickly. The shield shrank back into a bracelet, simultaneously, the spear back into its mace can form. “Hey, uh-little girl,” she smiled, her tone was soft and gentle, which was new for Luke, as he’d never heard her speak like that before. “It's all right, we're not going to hurt you. I'm Thalia, and this is Luke.” 

“Monsters!” The little girl wailed, tears staining her face as she struggled to breathe through sobs.  

“Hey, hey, hey,” Luke rubbed circles on her back, just like how his mother used to do when he was crying. The poor thing wasn't fighting as hard anymore but she was shivering, terrified of them and probably of everything. “There aren’t any monsters right now, you’re safe.”

Luke held her, more to comfort than restraint now. Eventually, she stopped kicking and her cries reduced to soft sniffles. She felt so cold, her ribs were bony under her flannel pajamas. He wondered how long this little girl had gone without eating or drinking. She was even younger than Luke had been when he ran away, which made his heart ache inside his chest. Despite her fear, she looked at him with large eyes—startlingly gray, beautiful and intelligent. A demigod, no doubt about that. Luke got the feeling she was powerful or would be if she survived.

“You're…you’re like me?” She asked, still suspicious, but she sounded a little hopeful, too.

“Yeah,” Luke nodded, smiling at her softly. “We're…” he hesitated, not sure if she understood what she was, or if she'd ever heard the word demigod before. Luke didn't want to scare her even worse. “Well, it's hard to explain. But yeah, we fight those ugly monsters.”

Thalia chuckled, moving a bit closer to them. “So, where’s your family, kiddo?”

The little girl's expression changed, turning sad and angry both at the same time, her lower lip trembling. “My family hates me! They don't want me! I ran away….”

Luke's heart felt like it was cracking into a million pieces. She had so much pain in her eyes and voice—a familiar pain he knew all too well. Luke looked at Thalia, and the two made a silent decision right there and then that they would take care of this kid, adopt her if need be. 

Thalia knelt next to him, practically pushing Luke aside as she placed her hand on the little girl's shoulder. “What's your name then, kiddo?”

“Annabeth.”

“Nice name,” Luke smiled, feeling a little proud of this little girl. He'd never heard that name before, but it was pretty, and it seemed to fit her nicely. “I’ll tell you what, Annabeth. You look pretty fierce, we could use a fighter like you.”

Annabeth’s eyes widened almost comically. “You could?”

“Oh, yeah,” Luke said earnestly, looking at Thalia for confirmation. “Right, Thalia?”

Thalia grinned, nodding her head. “Definitely, hundred percent.”

Then a sudden thought struck Luke. He reached for Hal's dagger. It will protect its owner, Hal had said, he had gotten it from the little girl he had saved. Now fate has given them the chance to save another little girl.

“How'd you like a real monster-slaying weapon?” Luke asked her with a huge grin, holding the dagger right in front of her. “This is Celestial bronze. Works a lot better than a hammer.”

Annabeth took the dagger and studied it in awe. She was seven or eight years old at most. What was he thinking, giving her a dangerous weapon like that? Well, because she’s a demigod, like them, duh. They have to defend themselves from monsters and gods alike. Hercules was only a baby when he strangled two snakes in his cradle. By the time Luke was nine, he'd fought for his life more than a dozen times. Annabeth could use a weapon.

“Knives are only for the bravest and quickest fighters,” Luke explained, his voice caught as he remembered Hal Green, and how he'd died to save them. “They don't have the reach or power of a sword, but they're easy to conceal and they can find weak spots in your enemy's armor. It takes a clever warrior to use a knife, and I have a feeling you're pretty clever.”

Annabeth beamed at him, and for that, all his problems seemed to melt. Luke felt as if he'd done one thing right. He swore to himself that he would never let any harm come to this little girl, his little girl. “I am clever! I am!”

Thalia laughed and tousled Annabeth's curls, and just like that, they had a new companion. “We'd better get going, Annabeth,” she said, looking around. “We have a safe house by the James River. We'll get you some clothes and food.”

Annabeth's smile wavered, for a moment, she had that wild look in her eyes again. “You….you aren’t going to take me back to my family, are you?”

Luke swallowed the lump out of his throat. Annabeth was so young, but she'd learned a hard lesson, just like he and Thalia had. Their parents had failed them. The gods were harsh, cruel and aloof. Demigods had only each other. He put his hand on Annabeth's shoulder. “You're part of our family now, and I—we—promise never to fail you like our families did us. Deal?”

"Deal!" Annabeth said happily, clutching her new dagger.

Thalia picked up the red sparkly owl backpack, which she had assumed was Annabeth’s, smiling at Luke with approval. “Now, come on. We can't stay put for much longer!”

The trio left the warehouse and headed to their safe house on the James River. The three of them fought for survival and avoided monsters together. It wasn't much, but it was home for them—the family they built.

If he was going to be the dad of their little family, then Luke’s got to be worthy of their trust. None of them has had good luck with their fathers. So, he decided he had to be better than their sorry excuses for parents. Luke may be only fourteen, but he’s gonna try to be the best big brother to his new family, his sisters.

At some point, Thalia got injured and Luke and Annabeth wanted to rest. Given the situation, Luke decided to take the girls to his mother's house to treat Thalia's wounds and to gather up a few supplies as Annabeth rested. There, Luke finally meets the bastard—his father—Hermes, for the first time in thirteen years.

Anger was an understatement to what he felt seeing the divine asshole of a jerk. He demanded to know why he had never bothered to show up when Luke had desperately prayed while he hid from his mother when she had fits, or when he was on his own, running away from monsters.

During this conversation, Hermes inadvertently let slip that he knew of his son’s fate. Luke asked about it since Hal had only given him vague answers, but Hermes refused to tell him as he had already said too much and it was for his own good. He then lashed out at his father, telling him that he couldn't possibly love him if he wouldn't tell him anything and angrily left with Thalia and Annabeth.

Eventually, they met Grover Underwood, a satyr tasked to bring them back to Camp Half Blood. A safe haven for demigods. A place where monsters and mortals can't enter. Grover led the three of them to camp, but it wasn't exactly a walk in the park. Monsters attacked them from left to right. All three Furies and a pack of Hellhounds attacked, Cyclopes followed, and one thing led to another. 

Thalia sacrificed herself so Luke and Annabeth could get to camp safely. He thought she was stupid to sacrifice herself, and he yelled at Thalia to not do it but she was as stubborn as her father. Luke held a crying Annabeth while fighting tears of his own as they entered the barrier between Camp Half Blood and the mortal world, where Thalia breathed her last breath as Zeus turned his daughter into a pine tree.

“Don't worry, Annabeth. I won't let anyone hurt you.” Luke soothed the young girl in his arms, who mourned the loss of their friend—their sister. Luke vowed to himself that he wouldn't let the gods treat them horribly ever again. 

MAYA WILLIAMS hated being a half-blood. 

Why wouldn't she?

Maya’s life turned upside down because she was one. Sure, she wasn't chased by any monsters like any other half-blood, but her life was an impending tragedy waiting to unfold since the day she was born.

Half-bloods—or in technical terms, children of the gods—like her, don't get peaceful lives. One way or the other, their lives get fucked up because the gods just love the drama. Fun, isn’t it? Getting your life completely fucked up just because you were born. Nice family, right? Wait until you hear about the rest of this fucked up tree. 

Maya’s mother left only a month after she was born, leaving their once so happy little family behind. It was fine at first, Oliver Williams knew she would have to leave, but he didn’t expect it to be so soon. 

He was left with his newborn daughter, a sweet little angel with green eyes like his. He had no idea how to raise a child, but here he was, balancing his career and taking care of his daughter as a single father with little to no help as he didn’t want to hire help in fear of his child getting hurt in the hands of a terrible person hidden behind a kind smile. Despite the struggles that came with being a famous actor’s child, Oliver managed to raise a sweet and kind little girl. 

Growing up, Maya had no clue who her mother was. All she knew about her mother was the fact that she left, only a month after she was born. It was fine, at first, really. Maya never felt any less loved without a maternal figure, as her father never failed to show how much she was loved and adored. 

Life was great for the father and daughter. Well, that is until her third birthday came around—the day she started to resemble her mother. From her smile, to the look in her eyes, it was all her mother. And it gave Oliver terrible flashbacks of the past, the haunting memories of the day she left.

Oliver grew distant from his daughter, as if she’d grown to be a different person and he didn’t want anything to do with her. It wasn’t Maya’s fault, but her father made it quite obvious that it was. He changed, quite drastically. Gone was the sweet and loving father Oliver Williams once was.

Whenever the young girl would try to ask her father to play or spend time with her, he would get angry at her and yell at her to go to her room, leaving the girl a crying mess. There were times that Oliver would leave for days—weeks, even—leaving Maya with a nanny and the toys he had bought to get her to leave him alone and the occasional visits from his secretary (who pitied the young girl), when he used to bring her along everywhere he went. Maya didn't understand why her father was acting like he didn’t want her when she only wanted to make her daddy happy.

When Maya turned four, she started experiencing strange things.

Like white doves started flocking near her school that refused to leave how much the exterminators tried. There was also this time when her grandparents had rented a yacht for a party and dolphins came swimming towards her by the deck where she was sitting with her grandmother. Another one, was when she was at the park and swans approached her as she fed the birds with her nanny. As a child, Maya didn't pay it too much attention. She only thought that those said animals liked her so much that they refused to leave her alone.

But when she turned five, she knew she was different.

Apart from having diagnosed dyslexia and attention deficit hyperactivity disorder, Maya had this aura, which caused everyone to like her more than a normal person would. It started with the neighborhood children often wanting to be friends with her, then the parents desperate to have her in their homes, classmates who’d do anything for a sliver of her attention, and so on. It got to the point that even her father’s mates would often say things that were not appropriate for a five year old girl, which her nanny highly disapproved of—often taking little Maya out whenever her father had company.

Aside from that little aura, Maya had this little ability to get anyone to do anything she wanted and more. It wasn't because she was spoiled or anything, being a daughter of a well-known wealthy actor and all, but if she would ask anyone out on the street for anything, they'd give it to her—no questions asked. Maya could ask for the most expensive item in the world, and someone would give her just that. Somehow, it didn’t work on her father though. What was the point of having the ability to make someone do anything that she wanted, when it didn’t even work on the person she wanted the most? If by chance that it did, Maya would have asked her father to spend every bit of his time with her.

Outside, Maya had this picture perfect life. But for this young girl, it was a horror movie, her worst fears come to life in the form of her own father. 

A little while after Maya turned six, she heard her father crying in his room, drunk out of his mind. It was weird for Maya to see her father crying without any cameras because he was an actor, so as a curious little girl, Maya peeked into his room. She saw her father, a glass of amber liquid in his hand and a photo in the other, which Maya had long assumed was her mother.

“Oh, Aphrodite, why did you have to leave me?” Oliver let out an exasperated sigh, titling the glass of whiskey to his lips, spite and anger etched on his features as he held the photo up in the air. “You left me with nothing! You said it was true love! You left me alone to raise our daughter-”

Maya ran to her room before she even heard the rest of what her father said. Her own heart racing in her chest, in fear of getting hit or yelled at by her drunken father. Feeling overwhelmed by all the hatred her father had, the girl grabbed her sparkly pink backpack, shoving inside everything she could—clothes, what little money she had saved in a pink piggy bank, and her stuffed bear from her grandmother—like it was nobody’s business, before leaving the only home she’s ever known. 

Maya was only six years old, but she’s most certainly not stupid. For as long as she could remember, her father has made it abundantly clear that he despises her, that he hates her, that she was the reason for every misfortune in his life. Therefore, she was doing her own father a favor by leaving him be. It wasn’t something ideal for a girl her age, but what else could she do? Maya only ever wanted for her father to be happy. 

Maya ran through the streets of New Hampshire as fast as her little legs could carry her, determined to get as far as possible from the place she once called home. She thought it would be easy, like what she'd seen once in those movies and television shows she’s watched growing up, but it wasn't—it was far worse than anything she could possibly imagine. She didn't know what else to do, she didn't have anywhere else to go. She couldn't go to her grandparents since they were in Europe and she couldn't go back home either, as she was sure her father would be terribly angry for pulling such a stunt. 

Maya never felt so alone. On the run, all by herself, in a world not built for little kids—especially for a kid like her. 

She understood something that night, though. A fact that would forever change her life. Her mother was Aphrodite, the goddess of love and beauty. How did a six-year-old girl understand that? She didn't know. It just clicked in Maya's head—the doves, the dolphins, the swans, were somehow enough to prove that the goddess was her mother.

Eventually, Maya figured out how to live on the streets. It wasn’t exactly a walk in the park, she was living from state to state, traveling on foot, asking for help—using her charm—to get by. She was eating food from the trash and dumpsters, drinking water from murky sources, doing whatever she could to ease that gnawing hunger inside of her. It was honestly a miracle Maya was still alive with how she was living.

At seven years old, Maya had already told a million lies—that came from her mother, probably—just to survive. Her clothes were now small and tattered, her hair was matted and dirty, and her skin was bruised like violets from tripping as she ran away from creepy older men who tried to follow her. She had been on the run for two years, and she had everything under control. She shoplifted from convenience stores and whenever she was caught, Maya would tell them that she lost her parents (which was true, in a sense) and had nowhere else to go. It worked like a charm each and every time, well except for that one time she ran into the police.

Maya often wondered what it would be like to live in a place where she could be just a kid and not have to think where she'd get her next meal, where she'd sleep for the night—at this point, she’s already forgotten what sleeping in a bed feels like—and not having to worry being chased through the streets. 

From time to time, the thought of her father would cross her mind. Was he looking for her? Was he worried for her? Did he miss her? Maya wanted nothing more than to have her father's love again. She wanted him to find her, to wrap her in his arms and tell her he missed her and he was sorry for making her feel unloved, but she knew better than to expect that.

Maya often watched fathers with their little girls, wondering what she did to deserve a father like the one she had—a father careless enough to let his own child believe that she wasn't loved and run away from home at six years old. She couldn't understand how he could hurt a little kid, let alone his own. 

And then there was the thought of her mother.

It was ironic, how Maya was a daughter of the goddess of love and a man who's incapable of loving. Maybe it was some sort of joke, that she'd been born to parents who didn't care about her. Or maybe her mother just didn't think she was pretty enough to be worthy of being her child. It didn't matter, because she was all alone—her mother never answered her prayers and pleas, proving all of her points. Maya was all on her own, she always had been. The happy little girl was long gone, replaced by a little girl terrified by everything the cruel world tossed at her.

It was then that she held a grudge against her parents. Maya was tired of believing her parents ever loved her, because someone who loves you wouldn't do any of this. If her parents did love her, everything Maya had gone through wouldn’t have happened in the first place. As anger coursed in Maya’s veins, she’d realized that they were only the ones who gave her life, nothing more. She promised to herself that she wouldn't let anyone hurt her again, that she'd never be naive enough to believe that anyone could ever love her.

At eight years old, Maya met Ferdinand—a satyr who had sensed that Maya was a demigod. At first, Maya was scared. Of course she'd be scared, who wouldn’t be? She was still a little girl and Ferdinand looked quite older than she was—she didn't have great experiences with people older than her—and he had goat horns and legs. 

“Don't be scared, little one. I am a friend.” Ferdinand tried to soothe the girl, who hid behind a large trash can in an alley.

“Go away! I don't wanna be friends!” Maya yelled, clutching her fraying backpack close to her chest, tears welling in her emerald eyes. 

“I can take you to a safer place, little one. A place where no one will ever hurt you again.” Ferdinand explained, taking a step closer to the crying young girl. “I sense that you have been hurt before, am I right?”

Maya didn't want to believe him. He was a stranger and strangers meant trouble. But something about the goat man felt...safe. “I don't wanna go to your stupid place! Leave me alone!”

“What's your name?” Ferdinand asked, peering over the large trash can.

Maya hesitated, tears streaming down her cheeks from the bad memories that kept flashing in her mind. “Not telling.”

“Alright, I'll go first.” Ferdinand took the risk of walking to Maya's side. “I'm Ferdinand. I am a satyr, protector of young demigods, or half bloods as they call children of the gods. And you are?”

Maya looked at him, eyes still glazed over with fresh tears. “Amaya Therese, but I like to be called Maya.”

“Well then, young Maya, are you hungry?”

Maya shook her head, but the grumble of stomach betrayed her. “Hungry.”

“If you'd like, you can come with me to that convenience store just 'round the corner.” Ferdinand smiled at her, a kind genuine smile that Maya had never seen before in any other person she's met.

Reluctantly, she agreed, keeping her distance as Ferdinand led the way. Maya looked around, wondering why people weren't looking at Ferdinand weirdly. He literally had the body of a man but the legs and horns of a goat. 

As soon as Maya was settled with a sandwich and juice box, she asked Ferdinand. “Why aren't people scared of you, Mr. Ferdinand?”

Ferdinand chuckled. “It's because of the Mist, young Maya,”

Maya raised a brow, big green eyes staring at Ferdinand as if he'd said something crazy—at this point, honestly, everything was crazy. “The Mist? Like perfume? My daddy had perfume, I dunno if he still has it.”

“No, no,” Ferdinand chuckled, biting into his own sandwich. “The Mist is what separates the mortal world from our world.”

Maya looked at him as if he was crazy. “What do you mean? Don't we have one world?”

“Let me take you to Camp Half Blood, little one. Everything will make sense once you arrive.”

Camp Half Blood. Maya repeated in her head three times. Camp Half Blood. Camp Half Blood. Everything will make sense once you arrive.

“Why should I go with you?” Maya asked, gripping the straps of her backpack, ready to run at any second.

“Because,” Ferdinand smiled, acknowledging Maya's skepticism. “There are kids like you at Camp Half Blood. It is a safe haven for young half-bloods like you. It is where the gods claim their children, young Maya.”

“You're not lying?” Maya asked, searching for any malice in the satyr's eyes. She has had enough from malicious men who wanted to do unspeakable things to her. There was once this man who tried to lure her in with a good meal. When Maya declined, he tried to grab her, luckily Maya escaped—with the help of a little foot stomping and biting. Though, it only fueled her hatred of men.

“I'm not, young Maya.” Ferdinand smiled at her. “It is our duty to protect. I promise I will not let any harm come to you as we travel to camp.”

“You promise?” Promises were never good, Maya hated promises. Promises were always meant to be broken. But this one felt like a tug in her heart, like a way to find who she was. 

“On the River Styx, young one.”

Maya didn't understand what the River Styx meant. Was it a river full of sticks? Despite her worries, Maya trusted him. She had nothing else left to lose. Might as well let him lead her to wherever this so-called camp was.

The two then traveled to Long Island on foot from Massachusetts. It was a long journey, eventually Maya learned to trust Ferdinand, who stayed true to his promise of keeping her safe no matter what. 

“You know, I have a nephew that's around your age. His name is Grover, a fine protector in the making. He could be your friend once you arrive at camp.” Ferdinand mused as he and Maya—aboard his shoulders—trudged up the highway nearing Half Blood Hill.

“Really? You think he's gonna play with me? An orphan-”

“You are not an orphan, Maya. You have a mother. I'm sure she will claim you as soon as you step through the barrier.” Ferdinand insisted. Maya doubted it, but decided against voicing out her thoughts. She had prayed and prayed for so long, but her mother never answered, so why would she? Now that Maya was finally at camp?

As soon as Maya arrived at Camp Half Blood, she was in awe—giddy, almost. It wasn't what Maya expected it to be. Camp was beautiful, far from the dumpster Maya had thought it to be. Every camper had necklaces, with beads indicating the years they've been at camp—Maya wanted one so badly and tried asking Ferdinand to make her one. There was a strawberry patch, much to Maya's excitement—she loves strawberries and wanted to go straight to the patches. And for the main attraction, the twelve cabins, which Maya assumed one was her mother's since Ferdinand had explained it was for each of the Olympian gods. 

Maya was then welcomed by a crowd—campers of all ages, a grumbling man in a Hawaiian shirt, and half horse, half man.

“Welcome, young demigod.” Chiron greeted the young girl who was looking up at him with wide eyes. It's not everyday that she sees another half human animal. 

“Uh, what are you?” Maya asked, her hand immediately flying to her mouth. “I’m so sorry, mister, I-”

Chiron laughed heartily. “It's alright, I apologize for not introducing myself properly. I'm Chiron, a centaur and the activities director of camp. And you are, young lady?”

“Amaya,” she squeaked, eyes still wide. “Amaya Therese Williams, but…I like to be called Maya, sir.”

“Welcome to Camp, Maya. You will do great things here, I know it.”

Suddenly, there was a collective gasp. Everyone stared at Maya like she'd just done something wrong. 

“What did I do?” Maya asked, her lower lip trembling. She had been at camp barely a day, and she had already done something wrong. Was everything in her life always going to go wrong? 

“Look down.” One of the campers said, pointing to Maya's clothes. 

Maya looked down and her eyes widened once more, she looked different. Her clothes weren't tattered and filthy anymore. Now, she was wearing a beautiful white sleeveless gown that went down to her ankles. Delicate gold armbands circled her biceps. An intricate necklace of amber, coral, and gold flowers glittered on her chest, and her hair was perfect: lush and long auburn locks, braided to the side with gold ribbons.

The filthy child was gone, as if she never was there to even begin with.

Her mother had claimed her, just like that. Maya had been expecting that her mother would personally come and claim her, but she didn't. Maya should've known better than to expect a literal goddess to come down and meet her child.

Chiron folded his front legs and bowed to her, and all the campers followed his example. “Hail, Amaya Williams,” Chiron announced proudly, as if she did something honorable. “Daughter of Aphrodite, lady of the doves, goddess of love and beauty!”