Chapter 15

We set up camp in a marshy clearing near the main road, surrounded by evidence of local kids' partying—a mess of soda cans and fast-food wrappers strewn across the ground. After gathering some food and blankets from Aunty Em's, I dried them off using my powers. We decided to take turns keeping watch, and I volunteered for the first shift.

Annabeth wasted no time in curling up on the blankets, already lost in peaceful slumber. Clarisse, on the other hand, leaned against a tree with her spear at the ready.

"Go ahead and sleep," I told her. "I'll wake you if there's any trouble."

She nodded but kept her eyes open, her gaze fixed on something in the distance. "You're different from most of us," she remarked.

"I am? How so?" I inquired.

"I don't know; you just are. Yet, somehow, I know I can trust you to lead us safely through this quest."

"Aw, I didn't know you cared," I teased, flashing her a grin.

She shot me a glare and retaliated by throwing an acorn at my head. "Shut up, Prissy!"

"Hey, I was just kidding around," I muttered, rubbing my head where the acorn had struck.

"Vlakas," she muttered under her breath.

A strange breeze swept through the clearing, momentarily masking the stench of garbage and swamp. It carried the scent of berries, wildflowers, and pure rainwater—a nostalgic reminder of things I'd never known.

"So, what's the deal with Grover?" I asked. "Back at camp, he was always muttering about some searcher's license and how he failed."

"The God of Wild Places disappeared two thousand years ago," Clarisse explained. "A sailor off the coast of Ephesos heard a mysterious voice crying out from the shore: 'Tell them that the great god Pan has died!' When humans got wind of it, they believed it and have been plundering Pan's kingdom ever since. But for the satyrs, Pan was their lord and protector of the wild. They refuse to believe he's dead. In every generation, the bravest satyrs dedicate their lives to finding Pan. They explore the wildest corners of the earth, hoping to locate him and awaken him from his slumber."

"And Grover wants to be a searcher."

"It's his lifelong dream," Clarisse replied. "I heard both his father and uncle were searchers."

"Hmm, sounds intriguing."

Clarisse shook her head. "No searcher has ever returned. Once they set out, they vanish. They're never seen alive again."

"Not in two thousand years?" I asked in disbelief.

"Nope."

"But he still wants to go," I marveled. "Do you really think he could be the one to find Pan?"

"Who knows? All satyrs are consumed by the idea of finding Pan, and Grover is no exception."

I stared at the orange-tinted sky, contemplating how Grover could chase a seemingly hopeless dream. Around midnight, Clarisse insisted that I get some sleep while she kept watch.

In my dreams, I found myself in a dark cavern, standing before a vast, gaping pit. Gray, misty creatures swirled all around me, whispering like tattered smoke—spirits of the dead. They tugged at my clothes, attempting to pull me back, but an irresistible force compelled me to the very edge of the chasm.

The pit stretched wide and appeared infinitely black, its depths immeasurable. A sense of something enormous and malevolent trying to ascend from the abyss gripped me.

"The little hero," a voice echoed from deep within the darkness, tinged with amusement. "Too weak, too young, but perhaps you will do."

The voice carried an ancient, cold weight that wrapped around me like sheets of lead.

"They have misled you, boy," it continued. "Barter with me. I will grant you what you desire."

Cold laughter reverberated from the pit. An invisible force seemed to pull me closer, threatening to drag me into its abyss unless I resisted.

"Help me rise, boy," the voice grew hungrier. "Bring me the bolt. Strike a blow against the treacherous gods."

Whispers from the spirits of the dead surrounded me, urging, "No! Wake!" It became clear that the entity in the pit wasn't interested in pulling me in; it aimed to use me to free itself.

"Good," it murmured. "Good."

"Don't worry, grandfather. We shall soon meet and when we do, you will be the one to join me." I stared into the pit and i could feel it stare back.

The chorus of the dead intensified, insisting, "Wake! Wake!"

Then, someone was shaking me awake.

My eyes fluttered open, and the daylight greeted me.

"Well," Annabeth said with a hint of sarcasm, "the zombie lives."

I stretched and got up. "How long was I asleep?"

"Long enough for me to get breakfast," Clarisse chimed in, tossing me a breakfast sandwich from McDonald's. I opened the wrapper and took a bite as I tried to shake off the dream.

"So, what's the plan?" Clarisse asked after she finished her burrito.

Annabeth adopted her best strategic tone. "I found a poster offering a $200 reward for a missing pink poodle named Gladiola. We find the poodle, turn it in, get the reward money, and use it to buy tickets to Los Angeles. Simple."

I was not amused. "Seems boring, and we don't have time to look for a dog. Let's skip the poodle and head straight to buying tickets. I still have money left from the many jobs I took growing up."

Annabeth looked skeptical. "I doubt you have enough for the ti—"

"I have a little over $10,000,000 in my account. That should be more than enough for train tickets, right?"

"Fine, let's go get the tickets," Annabeth muttered..

"How do you even have that much?" Clarrise asked, confused at the numbers.

"Let's just say some people offer a lot of money to do some easy jobs, you just have to find the right people." I responded shrugging. How many people have I killed? How many dangerous missions had I done?

We spent the next two days on the Amtrak train, heading west through picturesque landscapes. Surprisingly, we weren't attacked during the journey, it was annoying to figure out that we were being watched by the gods

As our second day on the train neared its end, we passed through golden hills and crossed the Mississippi River into St. Louis. Annabeth strained her neck to catch a glimpse of the Gateway Arch.

"I'd love to build something like that," she sighed.

"What?" I inquired.

"Build something that will last forever," Annabeth explained. "Have you ever seen the Parthenon, Percy?"

"Only in pictures."

"Someday, I'm going to see it in person. I'm going to build the greatest monument to the gods ever, something that will endure for a thousand years."

I nodded. "So, you want to be an architect?"

Her cheeks flushed slightly. "Yes, an architect. Athena expects her children to create things, not just tear them down, unlike a certain god of earthquakes I could mention."

"You know, Poseidon once created the most beautiful city in the world on an island in the Atlantic Ocean. Athena grew jealous and angry at his achievements, so she tricked Zeus into destroying it. My father lost about 80% of his city, but to protect the rest, he sunk it and transformed the remaining people into the first Merfolk."

"Atlantis was real?" Annabeth whispered, stunned. "How do you know this?"

"Did you not read the book I gave you," I asked alittle confused. Annabeth looked down, clearly deep in thought. I decided to leave her with some parting words. "Remember that we are not our parents, and we can make our own choices. Do not let the actions of your mother control who you end up being. Also read the book, you ll learn quite alot."

We reached our destination and disembarked from the train, only to be instantly pulled along by Annabeth, heading straight for the Arch.

We were crammed into the Arch's car with a portly woman and her dog—a Chihuahua sporting a rhinestone collar. I kept a vigilant eye on them, standing protectively.

The car began its ascent, curving along the interior of the Arch. I had never been in an elevator like this, and my stomach wasn't exactly thrilled about it.

"No parents?" the rotund lady inquired.

She had small, beady eyes; sharp, coffee-stained teeth; a floppy denim hat; and a denim dress that bulged so much it made her resemble a blue-jean blimp.

"They're afraid of heights, so they decided not to join us," I replied, my voice low.

"Oh, the poor dears."

The Chihuahua let out a growl. The woman said, "Now, now, sonny. Be good." The dog's beady eyes mirrored its owner's—intelligent yet filled with a hint of viciousness.

Clarisse arched an eyebrow. "Sonny, is that his name?"

"No," the lady clarified. She beamed as if that explanation made perfect sense.

Upon reaching the top of the Arch, the observation deck greeted us. It resembled a tin can with carpeting. Rows of small windows offered views of the city on one side and the river on the other. The scenery was decent, but if there's anything I dislike more than tight spaces, it's being in a confined space suspended six hundred feet in the air. I was ready to leave rather quickly.

Annabeth, on the other hand, continued discussing structural supports, how she would have designed larger windows, and even a see-through floor. She probably could have stayed up there for hours. Fortunately for us, the park ranger soon announced that the observation deck would be closing in a few minutes.