From Hogwarts to Olympus Ch.6 (Patreon)

Disclaimer: I don't own anything.

Chapter 6- Of Songs and Sights

AN: Over a month late, Ik, but the chap got too big and I had to divide it again. Ch.7 will be posted by tomorrow (this time, for sure), so do check it out as well. Beta'd by Basilisk, and Deathwish. Hope you enjoy!

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The following days did much to settle his stay in the Camp.

As he found himself digging deeper within this new world, Harry quickly came to realise there were two main components in the lives of all demigods here; Camp Activities…and Camp Chores. Understandably, the former was what motivated the demigods to get up each morning, while the latter was spoken with dread and damnation. One, a gift. The other, a punishment.

The Camp operated under a fairly simple formula to decide who would get what: Competitions. Win, behave well, and receive gifts. Lose, make mistakes, and be punished. Needless to say, most of the competitions revolved around exchanging chores, getting prime shower time, and haggling more flexible timings for activities—say, to not have Archery or Wrestling beneath a scalding hot sun doing its best to drain your soul.

Harry found out the hard way what it felt like to be on the losing side when he was forced to wait twenty minutes for the shower in just the second day of his life in Camp. He’d only barely finished in time for breakfast.

From there, he attended the various outdoor activities Chiron or Castellan encouraged him to, that could help determine his godly parent. Those activities rotated daily, though one of the few constants that remained was taking Ancient Greek with the Athena Counselor, Annabeth Chase.

Sadly, that was when he found the first camper in Camp Half Blood he actively disliked.

Annabeth Chase was Hermione Granger if Hermione had the hubris the size of Titanic, along with a distinct self-centeredness that comes from wholeheartedly believing oneself to be superior at any given company. She spoke like she expected you to be four universes behind her at all times, simply playing catch-up.

Now to be fair to her, she did have an incredibly witty intellect, and a tongue sharper than most razors. Yet, none of that really mattered if you actively tried making others dislike you. And Harry could dislike people faster than most.

All of it had been worth it, though, for the spectacular, red-faced sight he witnessed when he revealed his grasp over Ancient Greek, which, coincidentally, far surpassed her own by a country mile. Needless to say, he hadn’t been graceful in his gloating. He'd gone so far as to suggest if maybe he shouldn't tutor her instead…

Chase hadn't liked that.

And that was how he found himself in a passive competition as the girl did her best to overwhelm his mind with the knowledge of Greek Mythology. She beat a grudging pace, pouring out information like a cracked dam…

And she was well matched at every turn. His brain devoured the new info like a parched tongue, his Occlumency making the memorization trivial. It was here he realised how much his control over the mental magic had increased since the day before; he could now maintain a shield all day long if he so wished—long as he ignored the obvious side-effects of suppressing emotions.

Sadly for Percy, that left him almost every session scratching his head, for he simply couldn’t keep up with a daughter of Athena and a magically enhanced mind.

Apart from that though, he and Percy stuck together through most of the activities, both sharing an almost identical routine. Their lives had simply settled down in a rhythmic schedule. In the morning, they celebrated the rising of the Sun—which was simply Apollo leaving for his full-time job, Lee informed later—with breakfast in the Pavilion, and—past their Ancient Greek class—followed it up with Archery; Harry had to practically drag the boy along before he became convinced to at least keep on trying until he found his own niche.

While Percy remained an utter atrocity, Harry steadily learnt to read his instincts better and continued his slow march towards mastering the bow.

Unfortunately, that wasn’t an isolated case. It became pretty clear time and again that their similarities ended with their schedule, whilst the differences were simply further ignited. Had it not been so pitiful, it could’ve been taken as some hilarious running theme.

To put it simply, everything they tried, Harry was simply…better.

The wood Nymphs that acted as their running instructors had nothing but excited chittering for his agility and pace…and then he had to watch a sullen, miserable Percy slowly catch up to them, huffing and puffing like he’d just ran a marathon.

Metalwork with the Hephaestus? Forget it. Even though his instincts weren’t quite as intuitive in the Forge, he still did far better than, say, chipping a hot piece of metal and watching it spin off into the distance, barely an inch away from slitting someone's throat…

Percy was promptly deported off the Forge grounds.

Harry had half expected climbing up the Lava wall to end with both of them burning to a sizzling crisp, but his newfound quickness and upper-body strength meant he was able to scamper up the wall—even against the deceptively slippery holds—with enough time left to turn around and yell encouragements as his fellow newbie struggled beneath. In the end, the boy got away with only scorched marks on his T-shirt and a few singed hairs, but it had still been a close call.

Then there was the Unarmed Melee with Ares Cabin. It primarily focused on wrestling, though a chosen few also trained in at least some form of mixed martial arts.

Both of them had arrived at the Sword Arena fully expecting to eat a ton of dust. Peaceful learning was simply not a forte of Ares Cabin. They liked to take any chance they get to pulverise their opponents, and neither Harry nor Percy expected to win any awards for their friendliness from the War God’s Cabin.

Needless to say, even against him, it should’ve been another clean sweep. Melee fighting was simply unlike anything Harry had tried before. His only experience extended to breaking Montague’s nose and meant nothing in front of Ares demigods, each a towering brute who could tie up a dozen Marcus Flints into knots and pack up Urquhart in a matchbox.

Yet, reality begged to differ.

He was easily outmatched in skills, there were no doubts about that, but the first time one of the smaller Ares kids tried to put him on his back through sheer power, he found out the new limits of his strength.

Even with his instincts guiding him, the boy had gotten him firmly immobilised a mere few seconds into the spar, before, in a show of overconfidence, he smirked and locked their palms together and began shoving back to overpower through pure strength. One moment, Harry’s limbs were all bent out of shape, unable to move, next he was manoeuvred around face to face and locked in position with a boy almost as tall as him…

From there, things proceeded to a conclusion wildly out of everyone's expectations.

For a brief second, they stayed in place, and he could quickly see the smirk dropping from his opponent’s face as he realised even his full strength refused to budge him…then Harry pushed back. The boy had only the time to widen his eyes before his feet were skittering across the sandy field like a child against an adult, clouds of dust left in the wake of his flailing sandals.

To the Demigod’s credit, he got over his surprise fairly quickly and found his bearings, but a moment before he could right his balance and dismantle him completely in revenge, Harry lashed out with his right foot and kicked him square on the chest, leaving a visible imprint upon his leather armour. In a horrifyingly realistic mockery of over-the-top action films, the boy flew back half a dozen feet through the air, driven out of bounds, before falling upon the soft sand with a bouncy thud.

A moment of incredulous hush fell upon the field, and Harry faintly realised Dumbledore really hadn’t lied; he was superhuman now.

Unfortunately, where Harry once again managed to excel in his first showing, Percy just…could not. It was painful having to watch Clarisse put her knee in the small of his back the umpteenth time, whispering Merlin knew what obscenities in his ear. Eventually, Harry had to drag the boy away, ignoring the girl’s sneered warnings and threats. It was clear the boy would find no future as a professional wrestler, and he didn't trust the Ares girl not to try and permanently cripple him in some way.

One thing was certain, Ares Cabin were not gracious losers, for they now disliked Harry just as much for ‘embarrassing’ their Cabin through unfair means. How was he to know kicking was not allowed in wrestling? It wasn't like he was doing this for the first time in his life, right? Yet they moaned and whined about the perceived insult, and he quickly came to realise the Ares Cabin was made up of some of the pettiest manchildren in any corner of the world, with egos that towered Olympus and mapped the length of Nile. In his next few bouts, he found himself especially pressed hard, and was forced to subtly pull out his wand and petrify a couple of demigods who didn’t look so willing to stop, even after achieving swift victories.

He memorised their names and faces, their hoots and laughter at his every fall deeply etched within his heart.

He had thought it would be a long, gruelling couple of months before he could come close to besting one in genuine combat. Not through sheer strength or trickery, but to truly outmanoeuvre one with skill and claim victory.

He was wrong. It took only two days.

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One positive of the development between him and Annabeth came the morning after their latest session, as his knowledge of the Greek mythology—which they spoke of in the present and very much literally—soon began accumulating into a bigger whole, filling up the massive holes that had came from his previous insistent focus on heroes and monsters.

And Harry promptly made one concrete connection: Hades.

Every single strange occurrence, every single bout of that unknown power…it could all be traced back to Hades. The Darkness and fear, the spindle working of shadows, the wave of Skeleton…everything pointed to Hades, the God of the Dead, being somehow involved. He couldn’t bring himself to even theorise the deity could be his father, but he was confident he was somehow connected to his powers.

Yet, two things worked to undermine this theory. One, the fact that after all these signs of power, all his accomplishments, he was still left unclaimed. And two…a conversation with Lee Fletcher on the noon of his third day in the Camp.

They had only just concluded their Archery session, as the two made their slow way to the Dining Pavilion for Lunch. The Sun straight overhead was working extra hard today to turn the world into a shimmering haze of distorted reality, and Harry had to make ample use of his lone Atmospheric charm and Scourgify to keep himself cool and clean.

He was beginning to realise, for all his appreciation of magic, he had still underestimated its use. Where the demigods had to roll around like sweaty pigs after their Camp Activities—or wait in line to use the showers, which was even worse in some ways—Harry could simply whip out his wand to clean himself and feel at least marginally human.

It was simply one of the many things he had taken for granted that the Camp life here made him appreciate.

“So…” Lee turned to him, grinning with hidden motive. “You know which Cabin you’ll be in, yet?”

“Not really.”

Lee’s grin widened in triumph. “Let me have a guess then! I always fancied myself a little bit of a seer, though my jealous siblings would disagree.” He closed his eyes at Harry’s shrugging acceptance, and waved his hand at his face vaguely, making stupid symbols that even Harry knew were complete bullshit…Then he opened an eye and took a peek at him, “Wait, who’s the mortal between your parents?”

Harry snorted, though it quickly turned into a grimace at her mention. “...My mother.”

The boy closed his eyes again. “I'm guessing—I mean, I predict you're the son of…Lord Hermes! The god of roads and travellers, thieves and cunning…the Divine Trickster!”

“Really?” He asked sceptically.

“Well, I mean, who else could it be? It's a simple process of—of…Uhh—”

“Elimination?”

He snapped his fingers. “Yeah, that! I mean, look at you; tall, elven features, kinda pale…I guess you could be one of Aphrodite’s, but you're way too quiet and broody for that. Ares, maybe, but you're way too civilised for that. Not Hephaestus either, just not ugly enough. I don't see you as a gardener, so Demeter's out. You could be Athena’s, but I wouldn't ever mistake your eyes for grey. That just leaves Apollo, Dionysus, or Hermes. Considering Mr. D hasn’t claimed you yet, I'll rule him out too. And I know for a fact that Father claims any of his children as soon as they enter the Camp and show even an inkling of talent with the bow—which you do.”

He paused, glancing at him from the corner of his eyes. “He's cool like that, you know? One of the only few who actually answers anytime me or my siblings call for him.” He gave a shrug. “Ergo, you're the son of Hermes. I mean it kinda fits as well, doesn't it? You're fast and nimble, strong and brainy; a jack of all trades, master of none kinda guy. I bet you can easily pick pockets if you ever tried to.” He hesitated. “The only thing that confuses me is why you haven’t been claimed yet. Most Hermes demigods get claimed for far less, but then again, it has been just three days. Maybe you need to do something really mind-blowing?”

Harry hummed, before finally hinting at what he truly wished to know. “What about Zeus, Poseidon, or…Hades?”

Lee shot him a funny look. “You still don't know, huh? The last Demigod to be claimed by the Big Three was almost a century ago. They don't make them like they used to anymore. Well, that’s not entirely true, there was this girl a few years ago but…”

There was something solemn behind the hidden humour in his words, but to his disappointment, Harry decided not to indulge him. There would be time yet to learn the more recent histories and secrets of Camp Half-Blood…but first, he needed to know more on why there were no more children of Hades.

The son of Apollo proved to be not a very good story-teller—ironic, considering he could recite the umpteenth retelling of Apollo’s heroic deeds without batting an eye—but Harry didn't care. He simply needed a rough idea if his earlier theory had any possibility at all.

And he quickly came to the conclusion…not impossible.

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That afternoon, after a satisfying meal of pulled pork and bread, the ship to fashion himself as a grand sword-wielding magus finally set sail, with the entirety of Hermes Cabin gathered, once again, in the massive circular Arena.

It was finally time to learn sword fighting.

Castellan naturally acted as their instructor, and this time, Harry actively sought out his ‘godly instincts’—for the lack of a better term. The sword was one thing that had ignited his heart’s desire since his first day in the camp, and he would do whatever it took to gain an edge.

Their first task was to pair up against straw-stuffed dummies and practise basic stabs and slashes. As the demigods moved over to select their swords for the exercise, Harry stressed his mind, trying to hear the guidance of his intuition.

Perhaps it was he who had twisted it so, but for the last few days, he’d begun imagining it as a song that always played in the background. Most of the time, it was so soft he might as well be searching for a snitch inside the vastness of an ocean, but sometimes—most consistently in battle—he could pick up on this gentle, whispering tune that made him aware of things he really shouldn’t be aware of.

As he brushed his fingers against the hilt of all the practice swords available to them, he picked up a faint spike that gave off positive warmth. Instantly, Harry wrapped his hand around the blade’s grip and pulled it out.

‘A Greek kopis.’ His mind supplied as he examined the blade.

It was a tad longer than a usual kopis, but fairly on the shorter end of the spectrum as far as one-handed swords go. It held a dulled edge on one side—the side that danced up and down like a wave—while the other was built to support the sharper outcurved edge.

It…would not have been his first choice, Harry had to admit. It simply lacked the reach of most swords, and its wavy design did not inspire courage in a newbie like him.

He had no idea how to use it.

He gave it a few experimental swings, noting the audible swish of cutting air. It wasn’t perfect, he instinctively knew, but it was the best available of the whole pile.

Shrugging, he brought the blade over to the straw dummy and started hacking and slashing. He was confident heading in that he would do well, at least compared to the average starting demigods. After all, he already knew how to swing a wand. How hard could it be to swing a sword?

As it turned out, a lot.

Even with Castellan’s instructions, and his own inner song that slowly guided his hand, he found his movements stiff and awkward, for the sword used parts of his muscles that had gone untouched for too long a time. By the end of the session, the muscles in his shoulders and abdomen were burning. He was sure using the bow had loosened the former some, but the latter had its dust shaken only a few hours ago and they made their protests known wide and clear.

Despite the negatives though, he found himself quickly falling in love with the weapon, and the rhythm of the song became just a tiny bit clearer and stronger by the end.

“Alright, now we’ll pair up against each other.” Castellan called out as the demigods caught their breath and wiped their sweat.

The late afternoon heat glared down at them, and Harry couldn’t help but wonder why they didn’t do this in the morning or evening.  Then again, he did know. Everything was a competition here, and Hermes wasn’t in the business of winning.

You want better times to practise your swordsmanship? Earn it.

“Harry, Perce, this is your first time so you two are with me.”

From his other side, Dantes snorted. “I’d say don’t let him wack you around too much…but honestly? I doubt you could do much. Luke’s a monster with a sword, the best we’ve seen in three centuries. Oh well, at least I get to enjoy the show.”

Harry gave him a classic two-fingered English flip before joining Castellan and his fellow newbie up front.  “You did well there, you know.” He glanced at Percy whilst they waited for the Hermes Counselor to finish a few last-minute instructions for the rest. “Maybe you’ve found your thing after all.”

“Right, I haven't let go of the sword and brained someone by accident yet.” The boy muttered, pumping his fist half-heartedly. “Yay, go me.”

Harry pursed his lips. He had always disdained self-pity, in himself and in others. “C’mon, don’t be such a downer. You were pretty decent with your strikes, you just need some consistency now.”

The boy hesitated. “…You’re probably right, but it's hard to convince myself, you know? Especially when you’re out there making minced pies out of those poor dummies, and making it look so easy. What did they ever do to you anyway?” He snarked, though a smile had curled up on his face. “Still, thanks. Maybe I can actually do this camp stuff, huh?”

Castellan chose that moment to return, now equipped with a sword of his own. “Okay, here’s how we’re gonna go. I’ll press one of you in a short spar, then disengage and take the other one. We’ll repeat this until at least one of you is on the ground.”

Harry absently noted the older demigod did not include himself in the latter part. Even 2v1, he was confident in outlasting the two of them.

He fully believed him.

Not that he needed to, for it was proven true in the next fifteen minutes anyway. Castellan showed them thrusts and parries and shield blocks by giving a live demonstration—on them. True to his words, he would engage one of them for a couple minutes straight, whacking them with the dulled steel and yelling instructions. Then he would change, having battered and bruised the first enough, and giving them a moment to catch their breath.

Whenever his turn came, Harry held onto his song with desperation, its low notes warning him of hidden, unseen strikes and its highs warning of urgent attacks about to sweep him off his feet. He had learnt to read it adequately in the last few days, but he’d quickly realised the song held a different meaning for each task; for Archery, it was his grip and draw that the song warned of, and a good aim gave a gentle, warm thrumming of rightness. For Wrestling, the notes became a tad more incessant and quicker, focusing more on warnings than guidance, likely due to inclusion of an opponent who actively tried to harm him.

But it was here and now, as he parried one of Castellan’s deceptively quick strikes, he realised it wasn’t simply the task that affected the song…it was also the opponent. The song blared a constant note of danger throughout their sparring session, even when Castellan changed opponents and spread some of his bullying onto Percy. It would heighten in intensity dramatically when they did engage and Harry would struggle to hear the different notes for how absurdly fast they came, missing more than one warning and taking nasty whacks on his shins, arms, and shoulders.

Luckily, he’d quickly adjusted to some of the tunes and managed to more or less learn how to consistently defend his head and chest.

Throughout the spar, the song was more focused on predicting the attacks and warning him aplenty, rather than guiding his swordsmanship. Castellan was simply too good for more.

Unfortunately, he was also coming to learn its limits, as the tune became progressively weaker the more he let the stings and swelling on his arm distract him. He would need to maintain constant Occlumency to tackle the issue, but that would be a challenge on its own.

Percy, on the other hand, was already laying spread-eagle on the ground after only the fourth swap.

“That was really good.” Castellan praised as they disengaged. “Absurdly good for a first-timer. Your stamina could use some work, but you’re almost as strong as some of the older Ares demigods—Kopis was a good choice to utilise that in full. Though it's really not made for piercing strikes and thrusts, and its single-edge and short range could be a problem for someone like you. It’s well-balanced in your hands, I take it?”

Harry lightly nodded, his chest rapidly swelling and contracting as he caught his breath, both hands on knees. Now that he felt the adrenaline die down within him, he realised the protests of his muscles had become louder still.

“Good, I’ll take you to the armoury in the evening. You can pick up a real sword then.” With that, he turned and yelled across the field. “Alright, five minutes break, everyone! Like always, drink slow and don’t lay down for too long. That goes for you too, Perce.”

The fore-mentioned boy groaned and pushed himself to his knees while the rest swarmed the drink coolers. Harry made his own way across, though he found he didn't feel too tired. Even his muscles had stopped throbbing too insistently after the short break, like they always eventually did, no matter how much he seemed to torture them recently.

His thoughts wandered briefly to his mysterious song. He was well-aware he'd become heavily dependent upon it since his arrival here, but for the life of him, he couldn't make sense of it. The different tunes and chords and melodies themselves weren't hard to interpret but almost everything else about his new ability was a huge question mark to him.

Reaching the coolers, he picked up a nearby pitcher and gulped down the icy, cold water, soothing his parched throat. He noticed a few demigods pouring the water down their heads but didn’t follow their examples.

Ultimately, he decided, the song was his, just as the darkness was his and the magic was his. It had done nothing but help him since it’d awakened. Staying guarded against it in suspicion will hurt no one but him.

“Alright, everybody circle up!” Castellan eventually called forth, ending the brief break. “If Percy doesn’t mind, I want to give you a little demo.”

A rough ring of demigods promptly formed, and Harry was struck by how much respect Castellan commanded. He doubted Flint could command even a fraction of his players so casually.

The older demigod then proceeded to show a proper disarming technique and Harry took close notes the way the flat of the sword was supposed to strike and twist the opponent’s hilt. After a few slow-motion demonstrations on Percy—with successful disarmings each time—the two began sparring to show how it might work in a real fight.

Instantly, Harry felt something off. There was a sudden precision in Percy’s movements now. Castellan’s first strike came as a thrust meant to put Percy on backfoot…instead, the boy parried it away with confidence, made space with a single, perfect step, and stood stable with his sword at ready. Castellan seemed to agree with his assessment, for his eyes narrowed and he pushed the boy harder. That was when he became certain something was really wrong here. Percy parried strikes Harry would've found blurring to the eyes, side-stepped thrusts and piercing slashes with bare minute give for mistakes, and even made some proper counters.

It was a strange and quite astonishing onset of expert-level swordsmanship that simply shouldn’t be possible. The boy had been decent for a fellow first-timer before, yes, but even as Harry had encouraged him, he held no delusions between the two, he would still win at least eight out of ten spars. Now…now, he was uncertain if he could even win one.

Yet, the sight in front of his eyes assured him of truth. In an astonishing moment of wonder, the flat of Percy’s blade slipped past Castellan's guard and hit the hilt of the older demigod’s blade with perfect precision, twisting around to disarm the Hermes counselor and coming to rest its blunt tip against his undefended chest.

Harry breathed out slowly, as the rest of Cabin Eleven stood still in a daze of sheer, incredulous bewilderment.

“Um, sorry.” Even Percy looked uncertain of what just happened.

Castellan was the first to recover, a smile splitting his scarred face as he blinked away the shock. “Sorry? By the gods, Percy, why would you be sorry!? Show me that again!”

But there was no contest this time. Whatever unexplainable power had briefly possessed the boy seemed to have left him, and Castellan whacked away his sword in the first exchange itself.

As the Campers calmed and tried to puzzle out the strange phenomenon, Harry thought back to what may have happened in the short break that transformed Percy into the second coming of Achilles, utilising his Occlumency to review his memory…and his song spurred with golden warmth when he recalled the water hitting the boy’s head.

‘When he poured water on his head?’ He questioned his instincts, but the tune simply blinked with the same warmth. ‘The water…empowered him?’ It felt right.

An ember of suspicion began bubbling in his heart.

As they broke for lunch, Harry’s thoughts drew back to Lee Fletcher and their most recent conversation, and he found himself wondering. ‘…What if the Big Three broke their promise?’

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Soon after, Cabin Eleven concluded their training session and dispersed, either heading back towards the Divine Cabin or their next respective task.

Instead of following the rest, Harry waved off Percy and Castellan, and sought out the Ares thugs, who practised at another section of the Arena—it was big enough to be shared between both. The next thing on the schedule for him and Percy was Canoeing, and he no longer intended to waste his time. There was an urgency set ablaze in his chest now, a subtle confirmation that he was arriving upon a truth no one intended for him to learn, and something big would happen when it was finally revealed in full.

It did not matter how or what his instincts were guiding him towards, what mattered was to master this strange power that seemed to help him in almost every endeavour as soon as possible. It was like a guide to Life itself, and learning to hear its wisdom was more important than ever.

And if that meant throwing himself in combat and focusing his entire being towards one thing that mattered most? That was what he would do.

It was two more hours before Harry dragged himself back to his Cabin, sweat-caked and dust-baked, yet his body no longer felt like a worn-down blanket, even though the abuse he had forced upon it today far surpassed anything he’d ever went through. The metallic tang of blood still stewed on his tongue, but his smile stayed true in all its triumph.

The Ares Demigods had been instantly hooked by his offer, exchanging sleazy little smirks; apparently, the impression he'd made the last time was even stronger than he'd suspected. They really did not like him and a chance to freely break a couple of his bones was akin to a prey delivering itself within the hunter's maw.

That feeling slowly disappeared away overtime as he got up on his feet, dusted off his knees, picked up his fallen sword, and threw himself back in with the wild ferocity of an animal again and again, all the while wholly and utterly attending to the faint rhythm of battle playing in his ears, forcing the grasp of Occlumency over his mind.

The sword was his, long as it touched his hands. The song of battle made that clear. Long as it lay grasped between his fingers, he was the master of it and must act as such.

Reality, of course, did not conform to his instincts.

He ate dust more times than he could count. He’d known from prior experience learning with Castellan was entirely different than with the thug Cabin, so he voiced no complaints this time and actively suppressed the urge to whip out his wand. All that mattered was to give in to his instincts and help it as it helped him.

A pleasant side-effect was the dramatic increase in his understanding of the sword. While his brief hour or so with Castellan aided in laying bricks to build up a solid foundation, it simply wasn't enough to shorten the distance against experienced swordsmen like these. So he did the one thing his song continued to urge him towards; stick to the basics and build upon it. In record time, he learned to perform precise thrusts—even though a Kopis wasn’t made for it—then he learned to cut and slash, first horizontally, then vertically, always making sure the Kopis’ edge-side led the charge.

Castellan had done much to adjust and remove any of his bad habits from picking, but he’d always, always stuck to Harry’s pace. The Ares demigods were not so kind. And with the guidance of his divine intuition, Harry quickly adapted.

In the beginning, he fell prey to easily seen through tricks, even with the warnings of the song that he was too blind to see. Then, he began reacting the moment the notes changed from high and ceaseless to low and pulsating—like a heartbeat. He would make space, read his opponents, hear the next tune, and advance. Eventually, he didn’t need to make space or read his opponents…he simply heard the song’s guidance and acted.

Half an hour into this self-inflicted torture session, he was already beginning to hold onto the duels with the edges of his teeth, especially against the lesser experienced opponents. He would still occasionally fall prey to a feint or two when the Song blared multiple notes in quick succession—too fast for him to react—but the most glaring of his mistakes were eliminated under the mysterious guidance of his instincts, and he had always been a quick learner. Soon, he didn't need a special note from his song to no longer rush into attacks in search of capitalising on an overextended thrust—usually, it was simply another form of feint. He learnt to execute quick slashes and immediately return to a defensive stance, he learnt to parry and riposte so the opponent wouldn’t press their advantage, and he learnt to keep an absent focus on his footwork and control the distance between him and his enemy…

And it was here, facing vastly superior opponents, that he truly began seeing a method to this madness. As he saw exactly what his song wanted him to do, what it guided him towards.

One would think, even with these supernatural instincts—likely inherited from an Olympian god—he would still be unable to do much against veteran fighters with only a couple hours of training under his belt…but that wasn’t entirely the truth.

His strength was already superior to many, even in the Ares Cabin. And there was a deceptive quickness to his motion that outstripped almost every single one of them. That moment of battle-focus, when the world around him would be wreathed in a curious slowness…that period seemed to last longer for him than the others. It all came to a head on his thirteenth spar, when something within him…clicked whole.

Suddenly he could see. His current Ares opponent came with a quick slash to the shoulder, but even Harry surprised himself when his feet moved to side-step and positioned perfectly for a chance….and then his leg lashed out. He could feel the flesh of the demigod’s shin ripple beneath his pant from the great force, feel the bone break like a rigid stick pressed beneath a heavy boot.

Before the boy so much as had a chance to open his mouth in a silent scream, he closed in and struck him in the ribs with the rounded, disc-shaped pommel of his Kopis…. He felt something give a moment before the demigod went down the ground, hard, clutching his side in a silent wheeze, rage-like agony in his scrunched up eyes that began glaring in pure hatred mere seconds later.

Harry grinned, and suddenly the world was but a surreal playground. The demigods around him all flinched, including the downed one whose glare faltered to nothingness, but he didn’t need to guess why. He simply knew—a Truth not unlike a grand prophecy written—that it was the blood that tasted of copper in his mouth, slowly trickling down his nose and his lips, his ears and his eyes. But he felt no different, for the mortal body was not what he needed to see.

A few Demigods, including Clarisse, made to move towards him, but Harry knew they wouldn't attack. He knew it, once again, as Truth, the same way one knows where the Sun would set and from whence it rose up everyday. He knew it in his bones and in his still dripping blood.

By the end, the song of Life blared loud and clear and for one single moment, Harry saw the world in all its different shades, felt his consciousness brush the deepest truth of reality, witnessed the grand line of time that held all the secrets of the past and the future…then the moment faded away and the curtains drew to a close.

His consciousness began withering rapidly, his soul burning feverish, but the darkness was there to embrace him like always, and Harry knew it would never leave him. So he let the Truth slip away, and began dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to dream before.

For he knew he would arise once again, more ignorant than now but wiser than before.

He knew.

…It was thirty minutes later, confused and disoriented, that Harry James Potter found himself in the lands of living again, a straw in his mouth and a pillow under his head, feeling more well rested than after a night of feast followed by weekend holidays in Hogwarts.

It took a bit of asking around but he soon found out what had happened. Apparently, he had overtaxed himself in training and lost consciousness, along with a fair pint of blood. The Ares thugs had been kind enough to pick his insensate body up and dump him in the infirmary, from whence an Apollo demigod took the matters—or well, his bleeding body, at least—in hand and drip-fed him Nectar, the drink of gods.

He'd felt a great regret at having missed the opportunity to taste the thing. From the way Percy drooled when speaking of it, Harry was certain he knew what his new drink in Pavilion would be.

All such thoughts left him, however, when he was informed who his healer was. And after getting to his senses and up on his feet, Harry had promptly beaten a hasty exit from the Big House, only stopping to accept some light admonishment from Chiron for overworking himself. In record time he was back in the Hermes Cabin, waving away some curious questions and queries; the Ares demigods hadn’t been very subtle in carrying his body from the Arena to the Big House.

After receiving a moment to himself, the reason for his rathe departure, he convinced himself, had absolutely nothing to do with a frowning Layla Goldstein entering the infirmary as his sole healer. No matter what his stupid instincts seemed to hint at.

In fact, he didn't even know why he believed the humming Song so wholeheartedly. Clearly there was some potential for malfunction, and how would he recognise if it ever led him astray? Sometimes, a dose of scepticism was needed, and this simply happened to be one such case.

Nonetheless, it was clear from the first waking moment that something had changed within him. As he lay in the privacy of his tent, alone and comforted, he focused his attention inwards.

The Song…it was brighter now. More clearer and louder. No longer a tune or a distant melody but a poem of silent words and whispered wisdom.

He didn't quite remember his last few moments after hitting the Ares Demigod in the ribs—and Merlin had it felt good to finally win—but it was clear whatever had happened, his method of forced progression was successful. While the accounts of him bleeding out of his orifices had indeed been a tad disturbing, he felt hale and healthy now, if not slightly dirty.

As he focused on the light humming, Harry noticed how at ease he was with calling upon it now. No longer was it a mysterious stranger only arriving in the time of need, when in battle or in struggle with some task, no. Now it was a constant presence, a friend a mere call away, a serene and windless companion breathing in his heart with the touch of a cotton feather, awaiting at his fingertips. It had replaced the silence forever, yet Harry couldn’t miss it even if he wished to; for the thrum of Song was boundless and powerful and he wouldn't ever wish it to cease—if that happened, he would know something was very, very wrong within him.

The evening soon petered into darkness as Artemis made her rounds around the world. Harry had given a heavily modified version of the truth to Percy and Castellan, while keeping up his avoidance of the inquiries from his fellow Cabinmates, as they proceeded to the Dinner.

Before long the night had fallen deeper and he was back in his bedroll, with a full stomach and a fuller heart. The lights soon dimmed down and the snoring and silent whispering filled up Cabin Eleven. Within the darkness of his tent, so secure and snug, it was the thoughts of troubling abilities and unexplainable powers that accompanied him until the moment he drifted off to sleep.

One thing was certain; even amongst Demigods, Harry Potter was different. As different as he’d been in the muggle world. As different as he’d been in Hogwarts…

Yet, it was no longer something to resent.

For he had finally found his lot in life.

----------------------------

The following days blurred past Harry in a fixed sequence of training, learning, chores…and some more training. He couldn’t figure out what unholy fate awaited in his near future from the vague warnings of his Song, but he’d learned to heed its call nonetheless. Ever since his breakthrough, the whispers had gotten even more insistent and louder, and they beckoned for him to do the only thing he could: Prepare.

So that was what he did.

While the sword called to him far more now, he kept up with his daily Archery religiously—and if he had taken the chance to thank Layla with more composure, and, hopefully, more charm, who could blame him?

For the rest, he alternated between Unarmed Combat and Sword fighting in the afternoon, and when the evening dawned close, he would voluntarily seek out any willing to go steel for steel against him in an hour of hard training; oftentimes, that happened to be Castellan or even Percy, though he never turned away any of the Ares thugs if he found them loitering around.

Eventually, he also ran out of new activities to try and seamlessly incorporated the ones he was either instinctively good at or was interested in becoming so into his schedule.

Arts and Crafts was a no-go, not only because Chase’s siblings were more or less her seamless copies—albeit not quite as condescending once you prove you have a brain—but also because sculpting or painting simply held no interest to him; even when the Song tried to guide his hand, Harry simply brushed it away and moved on.

What did interest him in the arts of creation was the Forge. While it was too early since his arrival here to go looking for Greek Magic, he did know Dumbledore was a son of Hephaestus. And the card of Mistform simply tickled his fancy a tad too strongly to give up any advantages. He still trusted personal power over any other, but the advantages of a superhuman lapdog were too many to give up. And thus it was so, every other day of the week would find him in the heat of the Forge, cursing his apparent lack of skill with Cooling charms, for even with magic he was just barely edging out the Hephaestus demigods in lessening the visible wounds of sweaty dampness on their Camp shirts.

Clearly, their demigod abilities extended beyond simply being peerless blacksmiths, and could either regulate their temperatures better, or simply did not feel as much heat.

It was the latter, Harry later found out.

Pegasus riding was another one that could’ve been his next favourite Activity… had it not been for the fact that every single one of those idiotic winged creatures seemed to hate him with a passion and staunchly refused to let even one of his legs swing over their backs. It didn’t help the first time one of the blasted animals reared up high and tried to take a bite out of him, Harry had whipped out his wand and Cursed its mouth to be overwashed with soap water. The Aphrodite instructor hadn’t approved one bit and promptly sent him packing, but Harry maintained it was for the best. He really hadn’t liked having to constantly Occlude his mind, just to stifle the urge of staring at Silena Beauregard half-dazedly. Especially when the older demigod stood with her back to him, her dress hugging her snuggly as she stretched on her toes to reach the maw of some of the taller demon-horses…

Harry had no idea how, when, or why girls had suddenly become such anathema to his existence. Naturally, he blamed his demigod abilities.

Another couple of Camp Activities he did end up including in his schedule were Javelin-throwing and Spear-wielding. Like Blacksmithing, they weren’t regulars either—simply because his tent wasn’t big enough to house either one of the weapons under his ownership—but he had the facilities to be good at them and felt it would be a disservice to not at least give them a try.

Apart from taking part in the Camp Activities, one of the more vital elements in a Demigod’s life was, of course, competitions. Volleyball League, Unarmed Combat, Trials of Time, Trials of Strength and of Speed, Wrestling competitions…all of them occurred throughout the week, the winners earning Camp credits to be used in the Store, to commission works from the Forge or the Arts and Crafts room, or, the most usual—exchanging chores and securing valuable timings on different Activities.

Hermes Cabin usually never won anything, apart from the Trials of Speed, and occasionally, Time; even then, the strict rule of having every member participate meant those who were undetermined and did not possess the typical powers of Cabin Eleven brought them down as a whole. And the Apollo and Ares Demigods were always around the corner to overtake them, edging out their minor advantage in speed and agility through tactic and unity, especially in Relay and hurdle races.

On the other hand, Cabin challenges didn’t always include team competitions. There were plenty of ways for individuals to shine, and even with only a handful of days under his belt, Harry had managed to do well enough to amass himself a good bit of Camp credits. A proud achievement indeed, especially when he got to use them in the most exciting of ways…

Despite all this, he still remained an undetermined Demigod…though he no longer stressed about it overmuch, nor did he blame whoever his godly father was supposed to be. It was clear by now the guy was a coward of the highest degree and no amount of impressing would do the trick. Then again, he should’ve known better than to have any expectations from the very start; after all, it would take a real nutjob of a deity to live a mortal life only to end up married to a hag like Lily Potter.

The days of crumbling apart like a child and wondering why he was rejected by everyone were long gone now. The last of his family wished to treat him like the rest? Cool. He would pine for no one’s approval but his own.

Throughout all this, the matter of his Song always lingered in the forefront of his thoughts. He had wondered, more than once, if he should inform someone of the coming danger or not. However, his prior experience made him cringe up at the mere thought of trusting someone with any sort of secret, let alone revealing it to an adult—doubtless they would dismiss it away, confident in their faulty wisdom that comes with greater age.

Though he did feel a tad guilty at keeping Percy in the dark, especially when he had such a solid theory on who his father might be, but the misery of a lone Demigod was not enough to move him in making reckless decisions.

Sadly, neither Chiron nor the Counsellors had any luck in this regard either. Hells, they had just as much trouble determining his place in the Camp as they did Percy…except, the reason was quite awkwardly opposite. His strength matched the children of Ares, his speed equaled the Hermes. On a good day, he could be as dexterous as Apollo demigods, then go on to match wit with the Athenas. And it was hinted repeatedly, by some of the more giggly girls of Cabin Ten—to the point where even he, with his utter lack of understanding in regards to the opposite sex, couldn't fully ignore it—that he would be welcome to attend a few make-up sessions in the Aphrodite Cabin, just to see if he had what it takes…

Harry hated to admit so, but the last one proved to be his biggest source of pride, no matter how shallow or irksome it made him feel. Turns out Lee really hadn't been joking about the English accent being sorta attractive…

On the other hand was Percy. He wasn’t fully a gone case, of course. He was passable—if barely—in most of the physical Activities, and just like him, had taken a liking to the sword. Unfortunately, Harry’s decision to withhold his findings meant the boy never managed to replicate his earlier showing of skill with the blade. He had briefly weighed the idea of just continually dumping gallons of water upon the boy at random times, until it got through his thick head exactly what empowered him, but quickly found to his irritation the Wand-made water had a relatively minor effect…though the sight of a shocked Percy standing beneath the sun like a wet cat never failed to amuse him.

It did not, however, amuse the boy too much, so he no longer repeated this stunt.

Despite all the complexities and hurdles in the Camp, however, Harry had gotten used to its feel far quicker than Hogwarts’. It really was just a gathering of teenage demigods, doing their best to learn, adapt, and thrive in their new realities. Something Harry could easily get behind.

That afternoon, as they were returning back from Lunch, his eyes glided to the most central of the large clearing that all Cabins faced, naturally honing in on a small child tending to the massive stone-lined firepit that smouldered a gentle flame of yellow and orange. He'd caught a glimpse or two of her a few days prior as well, but hadn't thought upon it too deeply. Now, though, sitting beneath the sweltering heat, tending to a very much unneeded firepit, she stuck out like a sore thumb.

His brows furrowed and his gaze lingered upon the kid briefly, absently wondering if he should walk over. Suddenly the girl looked up—as if she felt his stare from all the way across—meeting his eyes with a kind smile and a small wave.

Her image shifted. Harry barely kept his eyes from widening as he witnessed the ball of golden-white supernova burning into his retina, the miniature globe of power at its centre dominating his world for the briefest of seconds. Unlike Dionysus’ purple fire, however, this one was made of the most heartening, gentle flames that beckoned his heart with promises of absolute safety; a feeling he’d never, ever experienced before arriving at Hogwarts, and even then was so rare his heart ached to embrace it tight and never let go. Yet, it glowed far more powerfully than Dionysus’ and his Song blared an urgent warning that he was about to lose his vision if he kept staring like a fool…

Then the sight was broken. His vision returned to normal, and all that was left was a small girl cocking her head confusedly. Harry, after a moment of hesitation, gave a shallow bow in return. Now it was her turn to widen her eyes, but he quickly moved on, unwilling to engage a goddess who clearly didn’t wish to attract attention.

It would be just his luck to offend an Olympian even more powerful than Dionysus and spend the next century dancing on burning coals, or hells, smelling a Troll’s armpit for all eternity.

“You know her?” Percy asked from beside him, staring after the girl bewildered. “Who is she?”

Harry quickly dragged him along and gave a non-committal ‘nobody.’

“Right.” Percy grouched sassily. “So do you make a hobby of bowing to nobodies or was this just a one-time special occasion?”

Harry glared at the boy, who gave a winced sorry but didn’t look all that regretful as they entered Cabin Eleven. Even as he busied himself upon his bedroll, hooking his weapon to his waist and readying himself for an hour of long, hard practice in different stances and grips, his mind kept drifting back to the goddess in the firepit, and a single name soon bubbled to the surface.

‘Hestia.’

Even dismissing all the little quirks and characteristics he’d learnt of different gods through Chase, the Song was plenty clear on the identity—very much like when he’d honed in on Dionysus the moment he laid eyes on him—and he wasn't in the business of doubting his second greatest gift.

‘So,’ He finalised, ‘Hestia.’ The former Olympian, who'd freely given away her seat of power to a new godling to avoid family squabbles. Why an Elder goddess was sitting in the middle of, well, practically nowhere, he did not know nor cared, for most of his worry was stuck on remembering if she was one of those vicious beings who saw slight in the littlest of actions and punished the undeserving just for chancing upon some unlucky happenstance…

‘No, that is Artemis.’ Harry slowly shook his head, breathing out a small sigh. ‘Maybe Athena…Hestia was supposed to be one of the kinder ones.’

Well, he hoped so, at least.

Spending almost a week competing with Annabeth had done wonders to his knowledge of Greek mythology and the gods who headed the entire Pantheon, but that didn't mean he would be leaping at the chance to trap Ares in a bronze jar, or shove a spider beneath Athena's feet. Learning their histories was all well and good, but reading some stories does not maketh one an expert on gods and their godly behaviours. For all he knew, these divine deities took whatever personality they fancied at the moment, and he would soon be receiving a call from Hestia to promptly prostrate himself at her feet.

Of course, that was ignoring the other elephants in the room. Camp Half-blood housed two local gods in its midst. And that was only the ones he'd managed to catch on sight.

It puzzled him and filled him with fantastic terrors in equal measure. Could more implausibly-powerful, utterly immortal, possibly omnipotent beings be stumbling around this Camp, unbeknownst to anyone?...Perhaps even his father?

There was also another graver worry and he quickly found himself asking…why? Why did his vision change, not once but twice now, upon witnessing gods? Was it another one of his unique demigod abilities? By now he'd come to learn most of the major powers a demigod might possess from their godly parent, yet none wrote home of some magical sight that uncovers the truth.

Then again, the same was true for his instincts…

‘Could the Song and Sight be related somehow?’

It added another half a dozen questions to a million others he seemed to be always carrying along in his pockets nowadays. Harry missed the sweeter times when he had believed he’d figured the world out. It was not nearly as fun walking around like a ball of uncertainty, wondering, fearing, awaiting for something to go wrong…

For the time being, he decided to shelf the matter. He had only just managed to gain a modicum of control over his Song, and was still learning to hear its finer details. He did not need another distraction to mess up his perfect schedule.

So he went about the rest of his day relatively unconcerned. And if he stayed clear of the firepit from that moment forth, who could truly blame him?

----------------------------

All worries of being incinerated by a goddess disappeared away at Nightfall. For at the time of Dinner, something new happened to the camp. A palpable air of excitement surged through the meadows and up the hills, all around the Campers who sat in a preliminary stage of, without a doubt, the greatest of all Cabin Challenges; Capture the Flag.

Chittering, whispering, gossiping…the prittle-prattle, jibber-jabber. It enveloped the entire Hill of the Dining Pavilion, as voices mixed and rose in bets and discussions. Harry was not at all exempt from that as he huddled alongside Percy, speculating their expectations in their own noisy corner.

Neither truly expected to play a huge part in their first all-out battle, especially one where the potential of accidents and mindless chaos were at an all time high. So long as they got out with all their limbs intact, Percy decided, they’d be well in their rights to count it as a victory.

…But that wasn't enough for Harry.

He would be lying if he claimed this entire business hadn’t gotten his blood pumping something fierce. All legends had to start from somewhere, and if his began with a brilliant performance in some mock war between demigods, he would not at all be ashamed.

After all, Achilles had already become a prominent figure before Troy happened, and that surely hadn’t come to pass by hiding in some royal court, disguised as a girl…

All too soon, the dinner was over—naiads darting in to clear the tables—and the conch horn sounded across the Pavilion, cutting through the noise and chatter like the word of God. Campers stood up in unity, excited and jittery, even the mostly war-repellent Aphrodite Cabin. From one side, a silken banner wafted through the air, carried up the Hill by a couple of Athena demigods; it glistened beneath the moonlight, full grey with the image of a barn owl sitting atop an olive tree stitched upon its fluttering cloth. A loud cheer went up from three Cabins, Athena the loudest among them.

Not to be outdone, from the other side came a banner of similar size, flapping through the air uglily, its flag a splash of gaudy red as if someone had purposely spilled a can of paint over its canvas to sabotage it. A boar’s head was embellished on its face alongside a bloodied spear, the two reds mocking each other in conflicted tones.

“Suits them.” Percy snorted from his side.

Naturally, the bearer of the abomination was Ares Cabin, led by Clarisse and a couple of her more ugly brothers.

“So, what!?” Harry yelled at Castellan over the din of the newly risen cheers. “We have to capture those?”

“Not those, just it.” The older demigod turned to him. “We’ve made a temporary alliance with Athena. Tonight, we take the flag from Ares.” Then he smirked, flitted eyes darting from him to Percy. “And you two are going to help.” The stretched scar on his face looked almost as ugly as the Ares flag.

Soon after, the teams were announced by Chiron. Athena had indeed allied itself with Hermes, along with Apollo—the two biggest cabins in sheer number. Castellan informed him of the privileges they'd traded to earn their support—suffice it to say, Harry was looking forward to the hot showers in cold, sunless mornings when he was up before the rooster's crow.

On the other hand, Ares had allied themselves with everybody else, but Harry wasn't overly concerned of their chances. If anything, he felt the teams were weirdly unbalanced towards their side. The opposition might have had more Cabins, yet their numbers were still lower. Hells, Hermes alone almost managed to match the combined numerical strength of Dionysus, Demeter, Aphrodite, and Hephaestus.

And that was without even acknowledging the fact that Athena, Hermes, and Apollo were the Camp’s most war-like Cabins besides Ares. How in Merlin’s bloody name were a bunch of good-for-nothing pretty boys and girls expected to meet them blade for blade, Harry had no idea. Maybe the Demeters and Hephaestus could come up with some nasty surprises, but he wouldn't count on it to win this war. Dionysus Cabin, on the other hand, included a grand total of two Demigods; Pollus and Castor. Did the Ares really think they stood a chance?

…Then again, he supposed the Athenas did pay a hefty price for it. Showers alone would have been worth it, but no more chores for a week? No Kitchen Petrol?

Yeah…Ares deserved to lose. It would be too comically unfair for Cabin Six to give away that much and still not win…or would it?

As the two opposing Flags came to rest alongside their respective tables—dancing in the wind mightily—Harry couldn't decide which one would be more amusing; watching Clarisse’s pig eyes welling up with angry tears or Chase’s pale face turning paler in dismay.

He finally decided both memories would merit a go at the Patronus charm, even though he would, of course, always strive to win.

With the teams settled and the demigods’ zeal reaching a new high, Chiron finally hammered his hoof on the marble platform and brought an instant hush over the Pavilion.

“Heroes!” His voice reverberated through the pillars. “You know the rules. The creek is the boundary line. The entire forest is fair game, though beware—” His face held a dramatically grim smile. “The woods are freshly stocked. If you wish to try your luck, now is not the time.”  He continued a pregnant pause later, not giving even a moment to digest the cryptic warning. “All magic items are allowed. The banner must be prominently displayed, and have no more than two guards. Prisoners may be disarmed, but may not be bound or gagged. No killing or maiming is allowed. I will serve as referee and battlefield medic. Now, arm yourselves!”

He spread his arms wide and the tables were suddenly covered with equipment: helmets and shields, breastplates and shin guards, bronze swords and spears…

At once, almost a hundred Campers burst into motion around their respective tables, and the new sound of clinking metals and rubbing leather completely overwhelmed the Pavilion.

“Whoa,” Percy piped up over the racket, slightly incredulous. “We’re really supposed to use these?”

Castellan glanced at him like he was more than a little insane, and this time Harry fully agreed. “Unless you want to get skewered by your friends in cabin five, you better. Here—Chiron thought these would fit. You’ll be on border patrol.”

Harry himself decided to settle for a thyreos shield coated in metal. It was a long, oval-shaped thing, covering him from neck to knee, with a central spine for added strength. He would’ve preferred something far smaller to make the most of his exemplary dexterity, but all of the tiny ones were quickly picked up by the more experienced Hermes demigods, who obviously knew of their limited supply.

Still, he wasn't too disappointed. He hadn't had as much practice with a Shield as he did with a lone sword, but luckily it took little skill to be proficient in the arts of defence if you had a mysterious song guiding your actions.

…Plus, it was likely better to be safe than flashy on his first true battle with live blades.

He quickly made a grab for a few decent looking pieces of armour within the mountainous pile, fighting off a grubby hand or two, and geared himself up as solidly as possible. First went the glinting bronze Greaves, covering his shin whole, from ankles to the knees: four tiny holes at the edges secured them to his legs with a leather cord, wrapping around his calf. Then came the body armour; the most common ones littering around the table were the linothorax—upper body armour that had the distinct look of a white lifejacket, made of layered-up linen instead of leather…

That was when a light-bulb flashed in his head and he had the brilliant—albeit belated—idea, to get an assist from his Song. A moment later, he was pouncing on one of the rarer Celestial Bronze Cuirasses—solid as a steel block—hidden deep beneath the pile. To his slight surprise, no one fought him for it. Apparently, it's weight was a turn off for many; something Harry could understand, for it took a fair bit of pull to get the thing out of the pile.

Soon, a thirty-pound glowing metal armour was fitted snugly to his chest and back. It did leave him completely bare shoulders-down, with only his orange Camp shirt to keep off the night’s chill, but Harry felt more than protected enough.

Considering most of the Hermes Campers roamed around with just a tunic and a sword, he supposed he was quite overdressed. Yet, he couldn’t care less; caution was a virtue many lacked.

He would rather boil inside the cage of his own making than risk losing a limb in some weekly competition.

“That’s one way to stand out.” Castellan’s voice droned from behind. He turned, noticing the older demigod’s gaze dart from his top to bottom. “In the dark, you’ll be their first target to take out.”

Harry raised a brow, before giving himself a once over. With a start, he realised he was glowing golden as a morning sun, the faint luminescence shed by Celestial Bronze enveloping him from neck to toe.

After a slightly bewildered pause, he forced an unconcerned shrug, glancing at Castellan undaunted. “They’re welcome to try.”

Chiron had announced all magic items were to be allowed…that clearly included his wand. After having experienced the power of these Demigods day after day, perhaps it was finally time to show off what magic was truly capable of…

“That’s the spirit.” The Hermes Counselor smirked. “C’mon.” He tossed him a basic Greek Helmet, with a long blue plumage sticking out the top like a horse’s mane. Glancing around, he realised almost every Demigod was already equipped with one, either sporting a blue or red plumage.

Clearly, he was part of the Blue guys.

To Harry’s surprise, the helmet fit perfectly, and soon he was just another one of the forty-something Demigods of Blue Team…half of whom naturally came from Hermes Cabin.

“It's time.” Castellan muttered, glancing across the Pavilion.

Right on the nail, Chiron hammered his hooves once more and announced the time for preparations has dawned to an end.

“Let's go.”

He followed after Castellan.

Cabin Six led the warcry to assemble the Blue team together a little ways away from the Pavilion’s pillars, with Chase at the helm, standing like a proud hero in their midst. Harry joined the rest of Hermes Cabin in the procession alongside Percy, who was now carrying a long Xiphos and a comically massive shield that did not do any flattering justice to his small frame.

He himself had abstained from picking any weapons off the Hermes table, having only slowed a tad to snatch a bow from the Apollos, promptly hanging it onto his back. He’d picked up a fully-filled quiver from the rack on his way over to the gathering point, but that was about it.

Joining the blue-plumaged lot, he touched the outline of his Charmed pocket that contained his wand, and another that contained the Invisibility Cloak.

Harry nodded. He was ready.

Once all were gathered beneath the Pavilion Hill, Chase raised a hand and yelled, “Blue team, forward!” The whooping and cheering of the assembled demigods shook the naked skies.

Soon, over forty demigods of varying age, height, and gender sauntered beneath the stars—their chants and cheers drowning out the insults from the Red team—as they followed their leader deeper into the Southern woods, armed to the teeth and rearing to use them.

At the same time, the Red team disappeared into the darkness of the northern part.

Harry took one last look over the Pavillion Hill, at the shy Moon only just granting audience to their affair, and the dark, empty Camp that lay drenched in silence, before following after his team at a light jog.

It was time to deliver some arse-whooping Hogwarts style.

---------------------------

AN: That's about it for this one! The next chap covers the battle and the rest of his stay at Camp until the quest. 

Originally I was gonna post a small 8k chap to cover everything after Ch.5, but it just spiralled out of control like always. Anyway, do check the next chap out tomorrow (if not today) and lemme know what you think of the direction this story is heading. See ya!