chapter one
❛ the chore of patrolling ❜

━━━━━ IF POSIE WAS honest, border patrol was the worst chore at Camp Half-Blood. Even compared to chores such as checking storage and stock of weapons, or even preparing lunches with the harpies — being put on border patrol was Posie's worst nightmare ... after all her other fears, of course. Such other fears include her hands glowing green, giving her or someone else boils on the skin and a cough, another conversation with Apollo, going into the Underworld again, or nearly getting made a human-sized chew toy by Cerberus. All rational, sensible, and reasonable fears, mind you! (She didn't need to be told she was a worry-wart. Posie knew that already, thanks to the likes of her brothers Michael and Austin. They really knew how to instill her with confidence ...)

Border patrol was the most recent task added to the list of chores. The newest added as in: hardly even a week ago. Despite the limited time since it was added, Posie was certain this was the worst chore to be assigned. Yet, what even is border patrol? Well, it was quite boring and painfully dull. The person assigned to the task stood on the border of Camp Half-Blood (that's where the "border" part of border patrol came in) and they patrolled (and that's where the "patrol" part of border patrol came in) for any monsters that could be lingering around. It was exactly as it sounded — standing at the treeline on Half-Blood Hill where the magical borders of the camp met the mortal world, waiting to see if any monsters stumbled upon them, sensing the weakening magic that kept them safe. Standing there, weapon in hand, weighed down by armor, and waiting to see if any monsters came by for a large meal of demigod-ly thighs.

But why was border patrol even added to the list of cycling chores for Camp's demigods? The answer is Luke Castellan.

Just as she was (rightfully) scared of glowing green hands and the Underworld, Posie was just as afraid of something so many talked about casually — dreaming. She was absolutely terrified of falling asleep and her mind conjuring some ghastly scene to show her so the night full of rest she was supposed to have gotten, she didn't get. Unlike the other things on Posie's (Ever-Growing) List of Fears, she couldn't run away from her dreams; not how she could run away from Cerberus, the Underworld, or anything that could make her hands glow. Everyone had to sleep, and even if she tried not to sleep, the visions would still find her. She would see flashes of images. Throughout the routine, almost mundane life at Camp Half-Blood, she would have these split-second moments where she saw things — that (unfortunately familiar) sickly green glow, black poplar trees like the Underworld's, a golden knife, and golden eyes. At times, even, the flashes became so fast, they were indescribable — only confusing blurs as Posie had to reach for the thing nearest to her feet staggered underneath her, and it felt as if the earth was spinning out from beneath her.

One particular night, not too many nights ago, she felt particularly nervous to fall asleep. With the summer session getting ready to commence, many of Cabin Seven still hadn't arrived. It was her, Lee (as the Head Counselor, he typically ended up arriving just a little before the rest of the summer campers), and Reed (his mother dropped him off early since he got suspended until the end of the school year; it was supposed to be punishment, but her half-brother didn't look particularly upset regarding his early arrival) in the golden cabin as it dimmed in the shinning moonlight Artemis brought with her silver chariot. Posie just knew that night, the moment she closed her eyes, she would have a nightmare. So she tried not to fall asleep.

If her brothers took notice of her trying to stay awake, they didn't say anything (even if they did glance at her oddly every once in a while throughout the night until the lights were out). Once both Lee and Reed turned over in their bunks, and Posie heard them snoring ever so slightly, she continued to lay awake. By technicalities and rules, campers weren't allowed to "decorate" their bunks beyond bedding, pillows, and the like; however, many former campers took it upon themselves to carve their initials into the underneath of the top bunks. Posie dragged her fingers along the old initials — L.O., R.C., G.W.

She wondered where they were now. But ... she knew the most likely answers. The initials that belonged to these campers, technically her half-siblings, were more than likely dead. That was the norm for half-bloods, as unsettling and troubling as it was. They — demigods — didn't have many options when it came to where they would live. As they become older, the chance of monsters finding them and hunting them grows. By age twelve, most half-bloods have had at least one monster encounter, and they're found by satyrs and then brought to Camp Half-Blood to live out their teenage years. Once you hit college age, around eighteen or so, you're almost expected to leave; yet, there were rare cases like Luke Castellan, who seemingly had no upcoming plans to leave for as much of a mortal life as he could have as Hermes's son.

Of course, on this side of things, everyone knew that his plans weren't that. His plans were to steal Zeus's Master Bolt and put all the blame on Percy Jackson, instigating a full-out brawl between the Big Three. And all of this was orchestrated by Kronos, the Titan Lord. So much for foresight and dreams. Posie had no idea about any of this — well, until she might as well have been smacked in the face with the news.

Even still, Luke Castellan's betrayal the previous summer had opened a third option for the demigods — abandon and betray Camp Half-Blood in favor of the Titans and the back-stabbing son of Hermes. It wasn't college, yes, and it wasn't wasting away at Camp (as they so felt they were doing, and perhaps they were, unclaimed and unloved by their immortal parents). And many demigods were flocking for this third option; far more claimed demigods than Posie originally thought. But ... part of her also knew otherwise. At the very least, she shouldn't be so surprised. Claimed or not, it wasn't like the gods were very present either way. That sense of isolation breeds a level of bitterness no one would ever expect; it was ravenous like a wild animal, and it was clawing for any chance to sink its sharp, bloody teeth into the cause of their resentment. Posie dealt with hers by stuffing it to the very furthest corners of her mind. Perhaps it was giving Onesimus good, entertaining company.

Everyone had long since noticed the disappearing campers. No one said anything ... out loud, at least. They were all too afraid of opening that can; the proverbial floodgates that would start spilling everything. No one wanted to speak about Luke Castellan, even if they all knew about what he had done. There was no way not to know, not on this side of things. He had left Camp Half-Blood, not kicking and screaming, but instead, yelling and cursing the gods, claiming that the Titans would be much better rulers for Mount Olympus than the gods. Evidently, many had agreed as they, too, had vacated Camp — not screaming and kicking, but in the dead of night, their bags stuffed with clothes and weapons, all of which they would take as they joined Kronos and his growing Titan army.

Since the summer session ended last August, that was all people knew — Luke had betrayed the gods, gone off to join another side, and other campers were slowly trickling away like an old leak no one could find and fix.

Until Posie had a dream she had spent that night so hard trying to avoid. Truthfully, it wasn't as scary as many of the other dreams she had in the past; however, that doesn't mean it wasn't as jarring or skin-crawling. Many of her dreams seemed to be of the past — her old life with Beau, flashes of a blond, young woman and a blond child in an unkempt home. Dreams of some future, perhaps far-off or not — a sleeping city, cars littering the streets, as the sun rose behind rows and rows of skyscrapers as far as the eye could see. Besides Beau Pascual, Posie had never seen anything else before; she just knew whether they had transpired yet or not. She even had dreams of entirely new scenes, her mind or this voice conjuring these places so a message could be delivered to her.

She didn't have to look very hard to see what message this dream wanted her to leave with.

The sky was dark, casting the earth in a blanket of nighttime, as Luke Castellan stood at the base of Thalia's pine tree. In the pale, silver moonlight by Posie's aunt, she could just see his face — his cruel blue eyes, his blond hair that looked ghostly in color, and the long, white scar that ran along the length of his face. The permanent reminder of his failed quest. The quest, as Annabeth had claimed, he was never the same after. For a brief moment, he looked hesitant, glancing down at the vial clutched in his hands. For an even shorter moment, Posie held out some hope for Hermes's son — until his feet moved underneath him, carrying him closer to the pine tree.

He stopped arm's length away from the trunk. The vial, holding this oozing, green liquid inside of it, had a cork stopping it from spilling everywhere. He tucked it into the back pocket of his pants, pulling out a knife from his waistband — so he could carve into the wood, exposing the layers to show the age of the pine tree. Posie could only watch, helplessly stuck in a dream she couldn't wake from, as he grabbed the vial, uncorked it, and trickled the liquid into the exposed pinewood. And the change was instant, the pine needles slowly turning this sickly shade of yellow — from the lowest branch to the highest.

Luke stayed long enough to see the first branches yellow, then he ran off. Like he always did. He was like a thief in the night, stealing away the last of Thalia's life, just as he tried to steal Percy's life with scorpion poison. And all Posie could do was watch — watch Luke as he ran like the betraying coward he is, and as Thalia's tree slowly began to do.

The next morning, after waking up and hitting her head on the top bunk bed's frame, she ran all the way to Chiron. She ran up the stairs to the Big House two at a time, the news of Luke Castellan's poisoning spilling from her lips like an overflowing goblet — but Chiron already knew. She was too late, and there wasn't anything she could do while awake, either.

Some gift of foresight. How can all these stupid dreams help if what I see has already happened? It's not like I can stop Luke now. She ignored Onesimus's attempts at help, figuring his help as about as useful as the "answers" he promised her, too — this ring carved from black marble, an Ouroboros with emeralds for eyes.

All of this to say: border patrol was the worst chore at Camp Half-Blood, and Luke Castellan was the sole cause of it. Yet, not that any of this was new. After all, Luke was the sole cause of Kronos's rising.

✿

As a general rule of thumb, Posie tried to look for the good in any situation. That didn't always happen, of course, but it was especially hard nowadays with Thalia's tree slowly dying. It was especially difficult every time she was placed on border patrol, having to stand around, her feet aching, her shoulders uncomfortable as her armor sat heavily on them, with nothing to do but stare out to Half-Blood Hill or the yellowing and dropping pine tree. But ... there was one good thing: having border patrol with Wyatt Fitzgerald.

The first time they were placed on patrol together, she wanted to bolt back to Cabin Seven and hide until next winter. Or ... never come out from underneath her blankets again. Yet, she knew that was impossible. For one thing, someone would figure out she had bailed, and they would force her to do border patrol anyway. More importantly, Wyatt had already seen her walking up the hill, and he even waved at her.

She realized how bad the problem had become when that wave was possibly the biggest highlight of her day. It became an even bigger problem when Onesimus began ferociously teasing her as she stumbled through a "Hello" to Wyatt. There was no escaping Onesimus's bothersome voice. The only thing she could do was shove his voice to the back of her mind as furthest as possible.

At least they could complain and lament about how much they hate border patrol together. Posie felt as if every neuron in her body was on fire, creating prickles all over her skin, making her shift uncomfortably underneath her armor — yet, Wyatt didn't seem to notice, lamenting how boring border patrol was, but that she (yes, Posie Pascual) made it "not so bad." (Before she could ride the high of what sounded like a compliment, there came Onesimus's pesky voice with a flood of teasing to deliver, all of which she quickly shoved to the back of her mind.)

Truth be told, he did make border patrol far less agonizing. And that relief made her want to take a sharp swan-dive into the Canoe Lake and stay at the bottom with the Naiads, weaving baskets as minnows flowed throughout their hair. Even turning blue in the face would have been a more peaceful outcome than the emotional turmoil Posie was going through as she tried to deny the feelings she had.

Yes, she had feelings for Wyatt Fitzgerald. But they weren't very strong feelings! (As she tried to reason with herself, Onesimus made a very obviously derisive noise of disagreement — to which she only ignored. What did he know about feelings?) The feelings were only feelings because she was around him, but having him around was also nice ... and it made border patrol and a bunch of other chores far less unbearable to do. She didn't seek out his company, no, she didn't! But she would rather have border patrol with him than someone like Clarisse La Rue. (Which would become painfully ironic in only a few weeks.)

Feelings aside (as much as she could shove them aside, that is), it was nice to have Wyatt around in case some monsters did attack. He was far taller than her, and he was far more burly, too, especially compared to Posie's scrawny legs and spindly arms. (It's not her fault she hasn't grown into her body yet!) He also was good at keeping a conversation going, even with Posie's awkward and stiff responses as her tongue became tied with embarrassment. Even in the occasional moments when she did step (further) outside her comfort zone by attempting a joke, he would laugh. (Albeit, probably only a polite laugh, but it was still a laugh nonetheless.) Best of all, he would curse Luke Castellan's name with her.

This particular border patrol, about their fourth or fifth one paired together, Wyatt was crouched at the base of Thalia's tree. His elbows were resting on his knees, his Camp-borrowed Celestial bronze sword laying in the grass beside him. "You want to dye your hair ... pink?" he asked Posie, grinning slightly.

She sat on the grass a few feet away, one ankle crossed over the other as her knees were pulled close to her chest. Anthos and Arsis were on either side of her, out in case any monsters came storming up. "I just want to do something," she replied. "Anything, really. I'm just really tired of having long hair. But I know if I did anything too drastic, Lee would have a fit."

Wyatt pursed his lips. "S'not like Lee can change your hair once you do it. So do whatever you want."

"That sounds like something Connor and Travis would say," she remarked.

The son of Dike looked at her sharply from the corner of his vision. "That was an insult to my character, Posie."

Posie only rolled her eyes in return, huffing ever so slightly. "Then don't say stuff they would say ..."

He huffed, as well, shifting so he sat on the grass, his legs stretched out before him. Last summer, he had his coily hair cut close to his scalp, but it had grown enough that he had braided sections to his neck. "Whatever ..." he murmured. "What do you want to do? Y'know, with your hair?"

Posie didn't reply for a brief moment, wondering if it was even worth a conversation to have. "Just ... anything. I've gotten sick of having super long hair. Maybe I wouldn't dye it. Just cut some of it off."

"To — what? — your shoulders?"

She took the ends of her hair, which were tied together in one thick braid, and wrapped them around her pointer finger. "I dunno ..."

"Well," Wyatt replied, "as long as you'll like it, you'll look good with it."

She froze, the ends of her hair unraveling from her finger. She opened her mouth, feeling the words already twisting into a jumbled mess on her tongue — an odd mix of "Thank you!" "I'm not so sure ..." and "I feel like I'm going to be sick!" The only really appropriate thing to say would be "Thank you." Yet, Posie only gave him a weird smile a quickly stood up. She grabbed her daggers from the grass, spinning around to face Camp Half-Blood, hidden behind the magical borders Thalia's tree gave them. At the bottom of the hill rolling into Camp were two campers.

"There's Ethan and Rose," she declared, hoping to break the conversation away into a new topic.

Wyatt shifted around so he could look. He didn't reply, only getting up and grabbing the Celestial bronze sword beside him. Ethan Nakamura, an unclaimed kid from Cabin Eleven, looked disgruntled as he climbed Half-Blood Hill. He kept glancing at the person walking beside him, a girl with brown hair that curled ever so slightly: Rose Ashford. The daughter of Hermes was jabbing Ethan in the side with her elbow, causing the black-haired boy to step away from her. She didn't seem to let him bother her, saying something else to Ethan, which he surprisingly began to smile at.

"We're relieved from border patrol," announced Wyatt, sounding grateful.

Posie tried to ignore the jabs of embarrassment coursing through her. As much as she hated border patrol, Wyatt did make it just slightly better. Apparently, she didn't make it better enough for him. "Well," she began, ignoring as Onesimus began muttering about her inability to speak to Wyatt, "I'm gonna go, then. You'll get them up to date on Thalia's tree?"

Before he could even have a chance to reply, the daughter of Apollo tore down the hill. She waved briefly to Rose, setting her sights on Cabin Seven as it glowed in the distance, underneath the glowing sun high in the sky.

I'll curse him! offered Onesimus. He's a fool. Shouldn't he realize you like him?

You're making the feelings more than they actually are, Posie argued. However, she knew it was useless to try with Onesimus.

Oh, sure, Little Posie, he replied dryly. She didn't have to see him in the flesh to know he was rolling his eyes (metaphorically, of course). But isn't he all smooth complimenting you like that? Makes me sick, to be honest ...

✿

Mythologically speaking, Posie hated many things curated around it. She had created entire lists of the mythological things she hated. (She loves lists, okay? They were a great tool to keep an ADHD-riddled mind organized ... well, as organized as they can get.) And, weirdly enough, bronze bulls were on Posie's Most Hated Myths! It wasn't any normal, non-bloodthirsty bull's fault, but she absolutely hated Colchis bulls. She hated them with a burning passion. Colchis bulls were gigantic bronze bulls, created to be the size of full-grown elephants. All of that was bad enough, but they could even breathe fire.

I hate these stupid things! Onesimus screamed as the daughter of Apollo rolled, tucking her head, laying her arms over her neck, as she clutched Anthos in her hand. The pinches of her armor prodded her side as she rolled out of the warpath of one of the bronze bulls. She did her best to ignore him, lunging for the dagger, Arsis, that she had dropped in the grass. She tucked both away into the belt, unsheathing the Celestial bronze sword Clarisse had insisted she wore for today's patrolling. She had only thought the daughter of Ares was being ridiculous at the moment, but now, she was glad she had a long weapon. Instead of being paired with Wyatt for patrol, it had been Clarisse La Rue. She knew it was going to be a painful time — but some bronze, fire-breathing bulls storming Camp really took the cake for "painful."

She tried to ignore the gut feeling, telling herself it wouldn't be so bad. (Or, as Onesimus classified it, "self-inflicted gaslighting.") But ... she was clearly wrong. Posie half-listened as Clarisse went on about her training — the new routines she was putting Cabin Five through as their Head Counselor, how her siblings were becoming far better (but still nowhere near as good as her) when it came to sword fighting and wrestling, and the up-coming Capture the Flag game that she was certain her cabin would "pummel" through to their "obvious" win. Posie wasn't going to argue with the daughter of Ares. She'd like to keep her limbs as unbroken as possible.

As rough as Clarisse La Rue was around the edges, she wasn't so bad when she wasn't trying to live up to the ego of her father and her status as Head Counselor of Cabin Five. She certainly had her jagged edges (but what demigod didn't? another part of Posie reasoned) and she liked being big and tough, but that wasn't all she was. When she was around people like Silena Beauregard and Chris Rodriguez, she smiled and joked and she was like any other teenager. Even here, just the two of them at Thalia's dying tree, her jagged edges had baby-proofing around them. She didn't scowl at Posie so much, and she didn't threaten to shove the girl's head into a toilet. But, of course, the daughter of Apollo was very careful not to provoke Clarisse. She didn't want her head in a toilet, after all.

Their patrol was nearly over, with Wyatt and Katie Gardner (Head Counselor of Cabin Four, Demeter's cabin) making their trek up the hill, where Clarisse and Posie were posted. She was almost free of border patrol duty — when she heard the clopping of bronze hooves on asphalt, and Clarisse cursing under her breath. Ares's daughter spun around, pointing a finger at Katie, and ordered the brunette to run and get back up. Demeter's daughter didn't need to be told twice, running back down Half-Blood Hill, leaving Clarisse, Posie, and Wyatt to defend against the bronze bulls barreling for them, for Thalia's weakened tree and Camp Half-Blood.

The three demigods scattered, Wyatt pulling Posie in the opposite direction Clarisse went, and the two Colchis bulls followed. They were forced to lead the bulls away from Thalia's tree as much as possible, their fire would weaken any tree, let alone a poisoned one. They managed to play chicken with Colchis bulls long enough for Katie Gardner to bring all of Cabin Five and some of her own cabin back to Half-Blood Hill. There were around twelve or so demigods, and in normal circumstances, the fight wouldn't have been so bad — except these were bronze bulls that could breathe fire, and they were already wreaking havoc on the other side of Thalia's tree.

Typically, Camp Half-Blood's magical borders would have blocked the bulls from making it past the boundary line, Thalia's tree. It was all Luke Castellan's fault. He had poisoned the tree for no good reason other than to hurt his old home and cause them more trouble than he already had.

Clarisse glared at the bulls with a temper that even made Posie shiver. "Border patrol, to me!" Her voice was gruff and assertive as she tugged her helmet over her eyes and tightened her grip on her spear.

Posie scrambled to her feet, grabbing Wyatt by the arm to pull him off the ground. The boy grunted at her, ripping his arm out of her hold — as they both had to dodge at an incoming bull's stampede. They tumbled in opposite directions, the bull swinging its head angrily as it passed by Posie. She swung the Celestial bronze sword in a wide arc, just narrowly missing the monster. The bull hardly seemed fazed as she backed away, inching closer to Clarisse.

How can we take care of these things? she asked Onesimus, hoping he would finally be useful and give her some kind of answer.

Well, someone immune to fire and ridiculously strong would be the answer, he replied. But ... you can try and see if those powers of yours would do the trick.

Posie's eyes tracked the bull that had tried to trample her. She knew what Onesimus was referring to. Last summer, at Aunty Em's (who was secretly-but-not-so-secretly Medusa), she had accidentally given the monster a cough and boils along her skin. And then, at the St. Louis Arch, she had somehow saved this mortal family by using that green glow to warp and rust the metal, sealing them inside with the Chimera and Echidna. She knew in some wild fantasy that the powers might be beneficial, but fear had made its home in her chest, and she couldn't bring herself to use that green mist ... or whatever it was. Besides, she didn't even understand how she had used it in the first place.

No way, she told Onesimus. I don't want to hurt anyone here but those bulls. Besides ... I don't even know how I did it last summer.

The small group of campers they had managed to gather were only scattering. They were running around in a blind panic as the bulls continued to charge at them It was like some high-stakes game of tag, and Posie hated it. The grass was burning in huge swathes around the pine tree. One of Clarisse's siblings was screaming, waving his arms like a chicken, as he ran in circles, and Posie saw why — the horsehair plume on his helmet was ablaze like a fiery Mohawk. If they made it out of this alive, Clarisse was going to hang her brother up from the ceiling by his ears — that, or shove his head so far down a toilet bowl, he would be stuck there.

The daughter of Ares had her armor charred. By now, she only had one half of her spear, the other end was embedded uselessly in the metal joint of one bull's shoulder.

It wasn't the smartest move considering Clarisse was in the very middle of the battle, and what Posie really wanted to do was bolt back for her cabin; however, she ran for the daughter of Ares. Clarisse was yelling this odd mix of insults and commands at the patrol, trying to wrestle them into phalanx formation. It was a good idea, but only a losing battle — the few who were listening lined up, shoulder to shoulder, locking their shields to form an ox-hide-and-bronze wall, their spears bristling over the top like porcupine quills. Unfortunately, Clarisse could only muster eight campers, Posie, herself, and Wyatt included. The other four were still running around, panicking loudly as their helmets caught on fire.

Over the shields, Posie caught a glimpse of something at the bottom of the hill, where the grass met the old, cracking asphalt of a road. It was a car speeding away, leaving a cloud of dust, and three figures coughing in the aftermath. She felt relief wash over her as she recognized two: Annabeth Chase and Percy Jackson. The other figure, she didn't know, but they were unbelievably tall, burly, and —

"A Cyclops?" she demanded loudly, her voice shrill with shock.

That managed to catch the attention of one of the bulls. Its beady eyes focused on her, one of its bronze hooves pawing at the ground and leaving a smoldering patch in its wake. Posie saw the behavior for what it was, breaking away from the phalanx, backing away from Thalia's tree, and closer to her friends at the bottom of the hill. Percy and Annabeth saw and understood what she was doing, bolting up Half-Blood Hill, and they were closing the gap between her and them. At the base of the hill, where the magical borders stood, their tag-along Cyclops hung back, fighting against the magic keeping him out.

The pathetic border patrol they had were scattering once more, running in panic as the bulls charged around the ground around them. All the while, Clarisse was still yelling at them to lock their shields and stand strong. Posie ducked and rolled as the bull following her made a huge arc of fire dance over her head. Annabeth made it to her, grabbing her by the arm and pulling the daughter of Apollo to her feet as a few puffs of fire still floated through the air around them. Annabeth's grey eyes were hard as she gave Posie her infamous Talk about this later look as Posie glanced at the Cyclops still stuck at the bottom of the hill.

If it had been any other time, she would've pushed; however, two fire-breathing bulls were ravaging the measly border patrol they had rushed to put together. Annabeth pulled Posie further up the hill, yelling at the bull closest to them to keep its attention. She shoved the daughter of Apollo in one direction, bolting in the other, and Posie understood — both needed to keep the bull busy, and they were doing that by running in opposite directions, the bull shooting fire at them, leaving burn marks where they had been.

Further up the hill, closer to Camp, the other bull charged at Clarisse's line. For something so big and bulky, they sure moved fast. Their metal hides gleamed in the sun. They had fist-sized rubies for eyes, and their horns were polished silver. Whoever made them, probably Hephaestus, had taken good care of them — until they ended up here, opening their hinged mouths, shooting columns of white-hot flames at innocent demigods.

"Hold the line!" Clarisse barked at the others.

There was no denying Clarisse's abilities, and she and Posie could find it in them to get along enough to survive a border patrol together and fight some fire-breathing bulls. As a daughter of Ares, Clarisse had the same cruel eyes and looked born-ready to wear Greek armor — but for all of that, she still couldn't withstand one bull charging at her hardly-formed phalanx formation, let alone two. Unfortunately, as they climbed up the hill, the second bull lost interest in Annabeth and Posie, recognizing their method. It turned on its four hooves, wheeling around behind Clarisse, on her unprotected side, as she tried to lead the first bull away from Thalia's tree.

Posie's eyes widened as she realized. She opened her mouth to yell warnings to Clarisse; however, Percy ran past her, Riptide shimmering in his hands. "Behind you!" he screamed at the daughter of Ares. "Look out!"

Yet, all they managed to accomplish was startling Clarisse. Bull Number One, the one with one end of Clarisse's spear embedded into it, crashed into the phalanx's shield, and the phalanx shattered like glass. The daughter of Ares went flying backward, landing in a smoldering patch of grass. The bull charged past her, but not before getting another hit in by blasting the others were its fiery breath. Their shields melted right off their arms, and they screamed in pain, dropping their weapons in the process.

All the while, Bull Number Two closed in on Clarisse for the kill. The daughter of Ares was dazed, but she was still aware enough to start yelling at Percy, cursing at him and demanding why he distracted her. The son of Poseidon didn't reply, lunging for her and grabbing her straps of armor. Clarisse's cursing became louder as he dragged her out of the patch of smoldering grass, and out of the way of Bull Number Two as it trampled the ground where she had once been. As it passed, he swiped at it with Riptide, only managing to create a gash in its flank; yet, the monster only creaked and groaned, but it continued onwards.

"Let me go!" Clarisse yowled, digging her fingers into Percy's skin, trying to rip them off her armor. "Percy, curse you! You're a foul-breathed, low-life dumbass! You're —"

Her insults came to an abrupt end as he dropped her in a heap next to the pine tree. She was already climbing to her feet as the son of Poseidon whirled around to face the bulls. They were on the inside slope of the hill now; the valley of Camp Half-Blood was directly below them — the cabins, the training facilities, the Big House. If these bulls made it past these campers, all of that was at risk.

A few feet away from her, Annabeth was shouting orders loudly. She was telling any camper listening to spread out and keep the bulls distracted. Bull Number One ran a wide arc, making its way back toward Percy. As it passed the middle of the hill, where the invisible boundary line should have kept it out, it only slowed down, as if it were fighting against a strong gust of wind — but then it broke through and continued to charge. Bull Number Two turned to face Percy, fire sputtering from the gash he had cut in its metal hide. Posie didn't know if these bulls had the receptors for pain; even then, the bull's ruby eyes seemed to glare at Percy as if he had somehow made things personal between them.

As strong as Percy was, nobody would be able to fight both bulls at the same time. They'd have to take down one bull first, and then deal with the second bull when it came back in range. Posie danced nervously on her feet, trying to decide if she needed to follow Onesimus's advice and use that green mist thing — or however it would present itself this time.

How bad do you think this could turn out? she asked him.

Well, you could give everyone here those same boils you gave Medusa — Posie fought the urge to snap at him as he reminded her of that — or you could get one bull out of commission. It's a gamble, and it all depends on if you're willing to take those risks.

Posie swallowed the scream bubbling in her throat. What was the point of having a stranger's voice in her head if they didn't give her any good advice? She didn't like risks, and she sure as hell didn't like gambling. (She didn't even know how to gamble!)

From the corner of her eye, Posie saw Percy readying himself as Bull Number Two stalked for him — as much as a bulky, bronze bull could stalk its prey. Out in front of her, she could clearly see Bull Number One as it turned around and huffed at her, plumes of flames flying out of its flared nostrils. She swallowed harshly, her chest squeezing tighter and tighter as the bull closed in. She had two options: get trampled into a Posie pancake or use that green glow against the bull. Either option seemed like a terrible choice; Posie pancake wasn't what she wanted her future to be, but she also had the future of giving everyone (and herself) some incurable boils and a cough by trying to take down one bronze bull with the glow.

Just as it had last summer, and many times before as she learned from her past dreams, that burning feeling began beneath her palms. It was like she had dipped her hands into vats of lava; the fire the kids from Cabin Nine used to make weapons and whatever else. Her nails dug into her skin, but she hardly noticed as the green glow started once more — it began to seep through her fingers like poison, not quite a liquid, but not the same burst of light the way it had in the Underworld.

Instinctively, she pulled her daggers out, the green glow seeping from her fingers to the Celestial bronze blades. Bull Number One didn't seem to notice the green glow — or, more likely, it didn't care. It blew a column of white-hot flames at her, and the daughter of Apollo ducked. The motion caused her heart to become lodged in her throat as she hurriedly rolled underneath the bull, slashing Arsis at the bull's bronze leg. The green ... whatever it was, as it was almost the consistency of a liquid now, bled from the blade to the cut. The effects were immediate as the bull began to creak and groan in what sounded like pain, stumbling away from her.

Posie crawled back to her feet, a patch of grass turning brown and dead from where she had pushed herself off the ground. She ignored it, lunging for the backside of the stumbling bull. Anthos made a stab in the bull's hip, the green bleeding from the blade to the metal, where the bronze quickly began to rot the same way the doors at St. Louis Arch had.

The bull had begun to slow down, but now, it was stumbling like every hoof was shattered. Posie reeled her arm back like she was ready to throw a pitch, but she dug Arsis into the withers of the bull — two plumes of fire shot from its nostrils in pain and anger. Bull Number One continued to creak in pain, slowly turning around, Arsis still lodged in its metal; however, Posie was backing away, holding Anthos out like a shield.

As she watched, from the point where Arsis and the bronze bull met, the rust started spreading — faster and faster, from its withers, meeting to where the gash in its hip, then spreading to the cut along the hoof, and finally, to its head. The ruby eyes stared at her, full of resentment and indignation, as if the bull couldn't believe this was its outcome.

It took one step, and then a second, and its third, final step. Before it could make a fourth step — it fell to the ground with a loud thud!

Posie stared for a moment, half in shock and half in shame of what had just happened. She stepped closer, afraid it would somehow come to life, its ruby eyes blazing with anger once more — but it didn't. It stayed in the smoldering grass, its rusting body a testament to how hard it fought to cause mayhem for the demigods of Camp Half-Blood. She stood over the bull for a moment, realizing Arsis no longer glowed green, and neither did the gashes and stabs she had made. It was like the poisonous green color had seeped deeper inside, rusting the bull from the inside out.

Onesimus's voice shook her out of shock. No one's coughing! And you killed that stupid bull!

Behind her, Posie heard Annabeth scream, "Tyson, help Percy!"

The daughter of Apollo whirled around, her senses coming back to her, remembering what else was going on. Percy was kneeling at the roots of Thalia's pine tree, cradling a rather red ankle as his face was twisted in pain. Not too far away, Bull Number Two was making an arc, slowly closing in on the son of Poseidon.

Towards the crest of the hill, where Bull Number One had hardly struggled to get through the invisible borders, the Cyclops wailed, "Can't — get — through!"

Annabeth was running for Percy, her head whipping between the son of Poseidon and the Cyclops. Her jaw flexed as her eyes swirled like storm clouds as they locked onto the Cyclops. "I, Annabeth Chase, give you permission to enter Camp Half-Blood!"

Even on a cloudless, sunny day, thunder rattled in the sky over their heads. Suddenly, the Cyclops stumbled, but he quickly began barreling towards Percy. He was yelling, "Percy needs help!"

Posie stared on in shock, her eyes darting between Annabeth and this Cyclops. The daughter of Athena, who was supposed to be logical and sensible, had just allowed a monster to enter Camp. And now, that Cyclops was barreling towards Percy. She stared in horror, frozen in shock, expecting the Cyclops to lung for Percy like a ravaging beast, ripping the boy apart, limb by limb — yet, the Cyclops only dove between Percy and Bull Number Two, just as it unleashed a firestorm.

Percy stared, his eyes widening. "Tyson!"

The fire consumed the Cyclops like a red tornado, swirling around him from head to toe. Just vaguely, Posie could see the black silhouette of the Cyclops, and he didn't seem to be panicking whatsoever.

When the fire died, the Cyclops named Tyson was still standing, completely unharmed and unfazed. Posie knew this: Cyclops were immune to fire, they couldn't be harmed by it. Their immunity went so far that even Tyson's grungy clothes weren't scorched too badly. Bull Number Two huffed, seemingly in shock just as much as Percy. However, before it could unleash a second blast, Tyson took two large steps towards it, his fists balled in rage. He raised his fists over his head, bringing them down like a hammer, right into the bull's face.

"Bad cow!" he bellowed, his face curled in childlike anger. His fists made a crater where the bronze bull's snout used to be. Two small columns of flame shot out of the bull's ears. Tyson hardly paid any attention, hitting the bull again — the bronze crumpled under his hands like it was only aluminum foil. In the Cyclops's wake, Bull Number Two looked more like a sock puppet that had been pulled inside out.

"Down!" the Cyclops roared.

Not that this bull would listen to orders, but it did stagger around — until it reared onto its hind legs and fell flat on its back. Its legs moved feebly in the air, steam pouring out of its destroyed head in odd places.

Posie ripped Arsis out of Bull Number One's withers, tucking it away before running for Percy. She winced to herself as she made it closer, seeing how red his ankle truly was — he had twisted it somehow as she was dealing with Bull Number One. Annabeth knelt beside him, giving him some nectar from her metal canteen. Immediately, the sprain began to heal, the redness fading away.

Percy looked up from his ankle, between the daughter of Athena and Posie. "The other bull?" he asked.

Posie pursed her lips, shifting her weight from one foot to the other. She simply pointed over her shoulder, where Bull Number One laid, its body entirely rusted by now. "It's been dealt with."

Annabeth stared on. "What happened to it?"

Apollo's daughter wasn't sure how to respond. Fortunately, she didn't have to, now with Clarisse La Rue storming for them, up Half-Blood Hill. She had gathered her wits by now, ripping off her helmet, the horsehair completely signed away. Posie let the girl's appearance divert the conversation as they all braced for Clarisse's anger. "You — ruin — everything!" she snapped at Percy, pointing a shaky finger at him. "I had it under control, you idiot!"

Annabeth rolled her eyes. "Good to see you, too, Clarisse ..." she grumbled under her breath.

"Hey — c'mon, Clarisse," began Posie, trying to make her voice as gentle as possible. "It's all good. The bulls are defeated. Camp's okay —" The daughter of Ares's head snapped toward her, her eyes alight with rage, and Posie quickly added, "And you've got wounded campers."

That stopped Clarisse from spewing whatever insult was bubbling inside her chest. As brash as she was, she did care about the campers who were under her command. Her brown eyes moved resentfully from Posie, Annabeth, and then Percy as she growled, "I'll be back." Then, she trudged off to assess the damage caused by the Colchis bulls.

From behind Clarisse, Wyatt stumbled towards them. At some point in the fight, he had lost his Camp-borrowed sword, but fortunately, he still seemed to have his eyebrows and non-burned skin. Yet, he did have scorch marks all along his armor. He stared at Tyson, his fingers clenching into fists. Annabeth noticed this, giving him a warning look.

Throughout all of this, Percy had been staring at Tyson. He was gaping at the Cyclops. "You ... didn't die."

The Cyclops looked down at his large feet, wringing his grimy hands. He was acting like he was embarrassed. "I am sorry," he said. "Came to help. Disobeyed you."

Wyatt opened his mouth to say something. However, before he could, Posie quickly elbowed him in the side.

Annabeth stepped forward, closer to Percy. "My fault," she admitted. "I had no choice. I had to let Tyson cross the boundary line to save you, Percy. Otherwise, you would've died."

The son of Poseidon blinked at her. Then, he frowned in confusion. "Let him cross the boundary line? But —"

"Oh, come on," Wyatt broke in, rolling his eyes impatiently. "Do you really not see it?"

Percy's frown deepened as he stared at the son of Dike. "See what?" he asked.

Posie pursed her lips, trying to work out the most gentle way of delivering the news. "Percy," she began, "do you really not see it?"

"Well, if I saw it, Posie, would you have to be asking me that?" he replied snarkily, rolling his eyes as he huffed.

He has a point ... murmured Onesimus.

She frowned at Percy. She knew the Mist could be powerful enough to fool demigods, but being fooled so easily typically stopped after the demigod knew of their situation. This, Percy being entirely unaware of Tyson's ... monsterly form, had to be the work of someone else.

"Percy." She did her best to sound gentle. Not that she was babying him, which would only make him more irritable, but that she was trying not to just dump the information onto him with no sense of cushion. "Look ... closer at Tyson. In the face. Work past the Mist and really look at Tyson."

Percy frowned at her for a brief moment, but when she didn't burst out laughing, his eyes slowly slid over to Tyson. He stared at the Cyclops, his face contorted in concentration. All the while, she watched as his expression morphed — from annoyance at her, to confusion at Tyson, then to realization, and then sudden horror, all in a matter of seconds.

"Tyson ..." Percy was fumbling for words. "You're a ... You're a ..."

"Cyclops?" offered Wyatt. "That is one hundred percent a Cyclops." He looked at Posie, asking, "So why isn't it killing us?"

She elbowed him sharply in the side once more. "Not the time, Wyatt ..."

Annabeth laid a hand on Percy's shoulder from where she was crouched. "Tyson's a baby, by the looks of him," she informed him. "Probably why he couldn't get past the boundary line as easily as the Colchis bulls. Tyson's one of the homeless orphans."

Percy managed to tear his eyes away from the Cyclops, frowning at Annabeth. "One of the what?"

"They're in almost all the big cities across the States." Annabeth's voice was laced with distaste. It was impossible to ignore. "They're ... mistakes, Percy. Children of nature spirits and gods ..." She trailed off, glancing at him. "Well, one god in particular, usually. And ... they don't always come out right. No one wants them. Not the nature spirit and certainly not the god. They get tossed aside. They grow up on the streets. I don't know how this one found you, but he obviously likes you. We should take him to Chiron, let him decide what to do with Tyson."

Posie glanced off. She knew what it felt like to be treated like some mistake made by the god who was supposed to be a parent.

Percy, however, only looked perplexed by all the information. "But the fire," he protested. "How —?"

"Cyclops are immune to fire," Posie informed him. There was this pressure behind her eyes as images flashed across her vision — a nasty fight with four figures, a blond boy, a girl with spiky hair, a boy with goat legs, and a girl, far younger than the rest, with coily hair. She blinked quickly, forcing herself to focus. "They work in the forges for gods. They wouldn't make it in those forges if they weren't immune to fire."

Around them, the remnants of the battle smoldered. The whole side of the hill was burning. Wounded campers needed attention, care, and help. And there were still two banged-up bronze bulls to dispose of. They had recycling centers for Celestial bronze, but Posie doubted these could fit in there without being taken apart (and that was if the bull she had fought would even be worth anything, given how rusted it was).

Clarisse came back. She was wiping soot off her forehead. "Jackson, if you can stand, get up. We need to carry the wounded back to the Big House, let Tantalus know what's happened."

"Tantalus?" he repeated.

Posie winced to herself. "The new Activities Director for Camp."

The black-haired boy stared at her. "New? But Chiron's the Activities Director! And where's Argus? He's Head of Security. He should be here!"

Posie's expression twisted sourly. "Argus got sacked. You and Annabeth've been gone for a while. I was trying to tell you over Iris Message, but ..." She shrugged as she trailed off.

The last time they had Iris Messaged had only been about a week and a half ago. Things had just begun to change then, and she wanted to tell him about it. To keep him in the know, but just so she could have someone to speak to about everything. But on the call, she struggled to do so. Percy had saved enough money to buy a new skateboard, and he was excitedly telling her his time at the skating park (or whatever it was called) and all the cool tricks he was trying. She couldn't get enough words in to tell him about Thalia's tree, her dream, and the new employment; she also couldn't bring herself to bring Percy's mood down by telling him everything.

"But Chiron ..." Percy looked almost sick as he stumbled to his feet. "He's trained kids to fight monsters for — what? — three thousand years? He can't just be ... gone. What happened?"

Clarisse frowned at him, almost seeming impatient with the son of Poseidon. "That happened," she replied bluntly, pointing to Thalia's tree looming over them.

Every camper knew the story behind the pine tree. Six years ago, Grover, Annabeth, Luke, and another demigod named Thalia had made it to Camp Half-Blood, all the while being chased by some of Hades's worst monsters. When they became cornered at the top of Half-Blood Hill, Thalia, a forbidden daughter of Zeus, had made her last stand here — to give the others enough time to reach safety within Camp. As she was dying, her father took pity and changed her into a pine tree. The last of her spirit had reinforced the magic borders, protecting Camp and all within from monsters outside. Ever since, the tree almost seemed to glow, unnaturally so.

But now, as they all turned to face the pine tree, the needles had turned yellow. At the base, there was a huge pile of dead needles, littering the area unfavorably. In the center of the trunk, tree feet from the ground, was obvious damage — some of the brown bark had been carved away, revealing the layers, and there was a puncture mark the size of a bullet hole. From that, oozing green sap slowly trickled down the tree.

The dream of Luke Castellan poisoning Thalia's pine tree flashed across Posie's mind. Her fingernails dug into the skin of her palm, that burning feeling slowly pulsing like its own heartbeat. The green sap trickling down the bark was a similar green that her hands glowed and burned with. If it hadn't been for her dream and Luke being an obvious enemy of Camp Half-Blood, someone who knew what she could do might have been able to frame her for this.

But no one had. Everyone knew it was Luke.

And it was all Luke Castellan's fault. He was the reason Camp Half-Blood was in danger. He was the reason the magical boundary line was failing. He was the reason why Thalia's tree was dying; the last of her life force was draining away.

Luke had poisoned the tree. The tree that was protecting them, but the tree that was the last of Thalia's life form. The girl he had traveled to Camp with, the girl who had made one final stand to let him, Annabeth, and Grover make it to Camp Half-Blood alive.

✿  JUL. 20TH, 2023  /  i'm sure you've noticed but instead of writing josephine, i'll be writing posie!! i think for her character arc it makes sense since now she's accepted to nickname and embraces it, i hope it isn't too confusing compared to act one

honestly, ngl kinda shocked myself that i've made it this far in pfop like,, i love posie and her story but i have issues with starting a book getting five chapters in, and then unpublishing it

but i'm also so excited for sea of monsters!! now that i have matured, i realize this is the second-best book (first being titan's curse)

okay for me sea of monsters is the second-best and titan's curse is the best - because i know a lot of people love lightning thief (and fair enough, it is such a fun book and is super nostalgic) but i just really love som and ttc personally

when i first read som - i hated it, but i've matured now, i know better - its fun and i love it (and tyson is the best - and grover in a wedding dress is just iconic)

and just a lot happens for posie in this act, so just wait and see!!

anyways,, thoughts? opinions??

EDITED  /  mar. 18th, 2025

i think by this act i knew a lot better about what i wanted this fic to be and was a lot more comfortable changing bigger and more things. and a lot of act one, i was going off an unpublished/drafted old PJO fic that i had that this fic was based on (admittedly though, this fic does have better, more fleshed out ideas)

but that does not mean i was the best at executing those ideas. that is why we're rewriting now lol

but i still hate writing fight scenes. hate it with every fiber of my being.