Chapter 32

My mother's cheerful call pierced through the solemnity that had settled in our apartment. "Come on, dear," she encouraged once more, her voice laced with anticipation. "Last day of school. You should be excited! You've almost made it."

I tore myself away from the depths of my contemplation and responded with a somewhat subdued, "Coming." My fingers instinctively ventured under my pillow, seeking comfort in the familiar touch of the ballpoint pen concealed there. Its surface bore the engraved inscription in Ancient Greek: Anaklusmos. Riptide.

It had been a year since I'd first received the pen from Chiron, and it had remained by my side ever since. Between Riptide, Morningstar, and my weapons that reside inside Atlan. I was starting to become a walking armory.

I hurriedly got dressed, my mind buzzing with a peculiar sense of restlessness. Something felt different today, and it wasn't just the anticipation of the school year's end. The morning sun streamed through the window, casting a warm glow over the room, but my thoughts were far from the cheerful morning light.

Last year, the approach of the end of the school year had marked the beginning of my extraordinary journey as a demigod. It had been a year since I'd received Adias's final lesson and training at Camp Half-Blood had begun. Adias last messge the last I saw him was to give the gods hell. And oh I planned to.

Tomorrow, I planned to return to Camp Half-Blood. I had yearned for this moment, eager to return back to camp, I had many plans for what was to come. 

As I descended the stairs to the kitchen, the enticing aroma of freshly prepared blue waffles and eggs greeted me. My mother, dressed for work, had outdone herself. She wore a white button-down shirt, the sleeves casually rolled up, and a stylish blue pencil skirt paired with matching heels. Her long brown hair was gathered into a ponytail, giving her a professional yet approachable appearance.

My thoughts briefly veered off course as I couldn't help but notice how effortlessly she maintained her youthful and radiant appearance, even in her forties. Her vibrant energy and warm smile seemed to defy the passage of time, a fact that I couldn't help but admire.

My stepfather, Paul, had already left for work, having an earlier schedule than the rest of us. He worked as an English teacher at Goode High, and his dedication to his students often meant early mornings. Mother on the other hand had scored a job at this place as the boss. yeah Hades idea of an apology was to give my mom her own business.

"Percy, are you all right?" my mother asked, her perceptive gaze fixed on me as I settled into my seat at the kitchen table.

"Yeah... fine," I responded, my attempt to conceal my unease falling short.

My mother, however, was adept at sensing when something troubled me. She dried her hands and took a seat opposite me, her concern palpable. "Is it school or..." She left the question hanging, her eyes searching mine for answers. I raised my eyebrow at her question.

"Really, school? You shouldknow me by now." I chuckle

"Oh right, how could I forget that my baby is so smart and powerful." She laughes as she kisses my cheek.

"Yeah, yeah. but if you are wondering, I am just thinking about camp."

"I wouldn't be too concerned, dear, if there were a problem, I'm sure we would've heard from... from camp."

The subtle hesitation in her voice didn't escape my notice. "What is it?" I pressed, an unshakable sense of foreboding enveloping me.

Her eyes conveyed a mixture of reluctance and uncertainty. "Percy, we'll discuss this further this afternoon. I can't explain everything right now. The situation developed rather abruptly."

My mind whirled with countless questions, but as the kitchen clock chimed, it served as a stark reminder of the pressing demands of the day. It was already half-past seven.

My mother seized the moment. "Seven-thirty, dear. You should head to school. Taylor has already left without you."

"But—"

"Percy, go to school."

With a heavy heart and a whirlwind of thoughts, I gathered my belongings and reluctantly made my way out of the house

<----------------------- >

My first class of the day was English, and the final exam our teacher had devised was, well, quite unconventional. Instead of the usual written test, we found ourselves banished to the schoolyard with no adult supervision for an entire hour. The purpose? To observe our behavior, apparently. What could go wrong?

As I stepped into the chaotic battleground of our school's outdoor area, it was evident that this experiment had brought out the wild side in many of my classmates. The scene resembled a carnival of madness, a whirlwind of activities ranging from wedgie contests to pebble fights and even a full-tackle basketball game. All the while, Matt Sloan, our resident school bully, played the role of the ringleader, orchestrating most of these chaotic activities.

Sloan, who had only transferred to our school a few weeks ago, had quickly gained a reputation for his relentless bullying. It didn't matter who you were; if you crossed his path, you were fair game. I was convinced that if he came across a lion, he'd probably attempt to bully it too.

In terms of physical size and strength, Sloan was far from intimidating. However, it was his pit bull-like demeanor, shaggy black hair, and that perpetual sneer on his face that gave him an aura of menace. He had a penchant for dressing in expensive yet perpetually disheveled attire, as if he aimed to flaunt his family's wealth while pretending not to care about it. The chipped front tooth he sported was a testament to his history of reckless misadventures, including an ill-fated joyride in his father's Porsche.

The turmoil of the morning escalated when Sloan, for reasons known only to him, decided to target Taylor. Usually, he directed his bullying at other, more "typical" targets, but today, his sights were set on her. To everyone's surprise, Taylor reacted with remarkable speed and determination. She swung a powerful punch at Sloan, sending him careening through the air until he became ensnared in the swing set meant for younger kids.

"You freak!" Sloan roared, his fury unabated. "Why don't you go back to your cardboard box!"

I couldn't help but notice the tears welling up at the edges of Taylor's eyes. For all her towering height and physical strength, she was still a young girl, and the cruel words had struck a painful chord.

"Hey, Sloan. Why don't you take that back," I retorted, my voice laced with anger as I faced the school bully. Flames of fury danced in my eyes. "before I send you home inside of one."

Sloan, ever unrepentant, merely sneered in response, his taunting words echoing in the air. "Why do you even bother, Jackson? You might have friends if you weren't always sticking up for that freak."

The mention of my sister sparked a fire within me, one that I had learned to control but would unleash when necessary. I felt a chill in the air as I fixed my gaze on Sloan, my voice turning icy. "Call my sister a freak again, and I will make you regret existing. Try to hurt my sister again, and I'll break your body like a twig."

Sloan growled in frustration but couldn't hide the fear that flickered in his eyes. He beat a hasty retreat, shouting back at me as he went, "Just you wait for gym class, Jackson! I will destroy you!"

Some people never learn when to shut up...

As he disappeared into the distance, the tension in the schoolyard began to dissipate. Taylor's tearful expression softened, and I offered her a reassuring smile. The morning had taken an unexpected turn, but my determination to protect my sister remained unshaken.

The school day continued, its ebb and flow of classes and hallway chatter seemingly mundane compared to the morning's events. There was a sense of unease, a lingering tension in the air. Something was amiss, and I couldn't shake the feeling that trouble loomed on the horizon.

My second period was History, a subject that had always fascinated me. The teacher, Mr. Lawrence, was known for his eccentric teaching style and affinity for ancient civilizations. As I settled into my seat, I couldn't help but let my mind wander to the distant past, to the stories of gods and heroes that had shaped the world.

Mr. Lawrence, a bespectacled man with unruly hair, began the class with an animated discussion about the rise and fall of ancient empires. His passion for the subject was evident in his lively gestures and spirited storytelling. As he delved into the complexities of Greek and Roman history, my mind couldn't help but zone out.