VI: Half-Blooded

I was glad when the yellow schoolbus came. It was ridiculously large, providing enough seats for all of the demigods whose parents couldn't be bothered to pick up their kids. Annabeth was one of those kids. She waved goodbye to Percy, and sat at the back, next to some of her siblings. I sat by myself, on a window spot. 

There I was, enjoying my little peace, when a tall scrawny kid invited himself to the empty place besides me. He looked like an elf, with sharp features and tricky blue eyes. His moppy black hair dangled around his forehead, covering about half of his eyesight.

But I remembered him. He was Connor Stoll, a son of Hermes, who tried to sneak me food while I was imprisoned here. When he couldn't sleep, he'd grab a glass of milk and come to the makeshift dungeon, sitting down besides me and talking about life to my responseless body. 

He kept me sane, and for that I owed him a lot. For more than formalities and favors, there was also the fact that I liked him. He was the type of person you'd grow on easily, without even noticing. He was easygoing, funny, and most of all kind.

I smiled to him.

"Hey! I'll sit here, since it's empty." he declared. It was a statement, and he didn't even try to make it sound like a request. It sounded like he was narrating himself. "Or do you mind?"

"Does it matter if I do?"

"Of course it doesn't." he giggled, as he sat down and back, extending his legs and immediately starting to kick on the seat of whichever poor bastard seated in front of him. "What's up? I'm Con–"

"Connor Stoll. So we meet again." I said jokingly. 

He cackled surprisingly loud, flailing around his hands. He had a pretty extreme body language.

"Fair enough, fair enough. Say no more, Erica Nakamura." he matched my energy as he proclaimed my name. Then, his face went serious. "But damn, nice memory you've got there!"

"You're hard to forget." I shrugged casually, shifting on the old leather seat. 

"I'm built like the average skinny white american, I don't have special powers," he bobbed his chin at a son of Apollo who made his skin glow while his mates laughed. "and I'm not the most charismatic one out there."

"That doesn't matter." I answered. I was being honest, his soft sharpness separated him from the others. His laugh had made me smile secretly during those days. "You saw me."

He pursed his lips, scratching the back of his hair, cheeks roughly blushed with peach pink. 

"Thanks, dude. Sounds nice to hear it from you." he muttered, smiling genuinely. There was something in his eyes I couldn't really identify.

"Thank you for doing that, by the way. I had no idea giraffes didn't have vocal chords." I answered. He'd told me that once, munching on his cookies that he'd set on the floor between us two. 

He'd sit leaning against the wall sometimes, half in my sight, before the bars that kept me. I'd sit with my head between my knees, reeking of blood and sweat and poison, and I'd listen to what he had to say. He didn't always ask for an answer, but I noticed how pleased he became when I spoke in my damaged voice, tired of screaming and shouting. He'd laugh, saying that it was a shame that I was locked up and all, and that if I wasn't he'd take me to see the baby turtles that just sprouted from their eggs on the beach. He always asked if I wanted to sleep, and I never wanted to. So, he stayed, spitting useless facts that would never come useful in most people's lives. He asked me things about myself, and sometimes I answered if I wasn't too tired. But mostly, he did the talking.

He told me his favorite color was beige, because it was so boring and it was everywhere. His favorite candy was Sour Patch Kids, that I never really enjoyed, honestly. He was shit at fighting, he'd complained. Travis beat him every time, and he had bruises everywhere. Said he envied how fast I moved, how everything seemed right when I swiped my clearly cheap sword, when I threw a knife or released an arrow. He said I made death seem like a very pretty thing. 

I told him I'd teach him to fight one day.

"You're welcome." he answered, crossing his arms proudly and smirking. "I'm for real the most giraffe knowing guy in camp."

"Of course you are. I forgot how witty you were." I snickered, looking out the window as the bus started moving.

The uncourteous thief snuck his hand into my jacket's pocket, ripping out my wallet. 

"What's this?" he asked, while flipping it open. I turned back to grab it from his hands, and I caught a glimpse of the swift swipe his fingers did. "Hey! I was looking at it!"

"Yes, yes." I rolled my eyes. "What did you steal? My keys?"

"Nothing!" he whined, watering his eyes as if I'd made a wildly offensive accusation. "How could you say that?"

I laughed, opening my wallet to check what it was. My keys were there, and so was my money, so there wasn't any major issue. I glanced at him, whose grin occupied his whole face, and his fingers now tapped unceasingly on his leg. I smiled. It felt like I knew him since forever. 

I pulled out a picture of me and my friends from my wallet and held it out in my hand between us. His gaze shifted to it immediately, interested in what I would say about it. 

"My friends." I explained, and he nodded. "We were on Princess Andromeda for this one… I remember that day, heh. Ethan pushed Luke off of the boat, and he almost went on a killing rampage–"

"Ethan, your brother?" he asked, pointing at him. He was laughing, and his hair was wet after Luke forced it into the bathroom sink, almost drowning him. "He seems happy."

"Yeah, he was happy. We had happy days." I said, before pointing at Alabaster, who had me sitting on his shoulders and reaching for Ska's bag that we'd thrown onto the mast, and had gotten stuck. Skylar sulked next to us, shouting orders at me to reach higher, but in the picture he'd broken his composure and bursted out laughing when I hit my head against the sail. "Alabaster Torrington, and myself on top of him. Very comfortable, I assure you. Ska was a little bitch. He was the youngest, and he was insane. Son of Ares for a reason, you know?"

"Wait, hold up. Ares? Wasn't he supposed to be in camp or something?" Connor asked, confused. "I mean, privileged kid and whatnot."

"His situation was complicated." I answered, wincing slightly. His story had always disgusted me, and somewhat made me think of myself. "Ares raped his mother, and she wasn't silent about it. She prayed and begged Artemis and Hera, who caused some problems for Ares. He wouldn't claim the son of a woman like that in a thousand years. He even sent some monsters to try to kill the son and the mother. Ska killed his first monster when he was nine, and killed a first human when he was ten. It drove his mom insane, mothering a murderer."

He scowled, gulping. It was unimaginable what they must've been through. I remembered watching Ethan's face go pale as Luke told us about Skylar's story… Alabaster had found him when he was going for groceries at night, around an unpopulated alley, slamming a brick onto someone's face for no particular reason. 

The teenager he killed was at least twice his size. When Alabaster had asked him why he did it, he justified it with the fact that the guy had looked at his hair the wrong way. He was eleven.

For him, killing was like a hobby. He didn't put much effort into it, mainly because he didn't value lives that much. When he wasn't fighting, he was ridiculously childish, so much that it was hard to believe, even before his blessing, that he was the same person he was when he battled.

"That kid scared the fuck out of me. Whenever he fought, the look in his eyes was completely unhinged, like he would cut open his own people just to see some blood." I muttered, as the spider crawled past my spine.

"That's kind of awesome!" he exclaimed, his eyes glinting. His smile was back, and he grabbed my picture to take a closer look at the kid. "I wish I'd met him."

"You two would've gotten along well." I agreed.

"He was really short here, though. I don't remember anyone mentioning a murderous toddler." he pointed out. He was right. Normally, Skylar was only barely five foot tall.

"Oh, yeah. He fought amazingly for someone his age and size, and very violently." I remarked, trying to avoid the avid memories of him slitting the throats of the demigods that surrendered in front of the rest of us, taunting them with his undeveloped high-pitched voice. "Perses loved the kid. Blessed by the own Titan of Destruction, he got a new form when he fought. It was enormous, terrifying, more than seven feet tall. He had this huge battleax that–"

"Lit up on fire when it killed." Connor completed, and his eyes lit up with disbelief. "THAT WAS A KID? Everyone thought he was some Titan! That helmet was cool as fuck!"

"Oh yeah. Everyone was so confused when it first happened. We were capturing Artemis, who had some soldiers with her, he charged into battle and turned into that thing. He slaughtered everyone before I could unsheathe my sword, leaving even a goddess horrified. Atlas was very pleased. None of the rest of us were." I shook at the memory. That one particular bloodbath had bothered me a lot. "I gave him that helmet, though. I found it outside Hades' palace, and when I saw him turn into that thing, with that wavy black hair that looked like a fucking mane, I knew it was for him."

"You have awesome taste, dude!" he exclaimed, completely ignoring the other part of my discourse. "He's probably alive, you know? Me and Trav trapped him in the Labyrinth, but seeing how small he was, he could've perfectly just crawled out through some empty space!"

"You managed to survive him?" I asked, surprised. If Ska went against me, I would probably be waving goodbye to the world. "Maybe you're not as bad at fighting as you mentioned."

Connor started cackling and laughing again madly. I stared at him. 

"Very cute how you overestimate me, but, nah, I almost died!" the excited emphasis he put on the last word worried me on his mental health. "I'm just lucky I'm so fast. Travis says I look like I fly when I jump."

"Wait, how'd you deal with Skylar?" I asked, curious. He was the best fighter I'd crossed paths with. The raw strength in each of his strikes was enough to overpower the most calculated opponent.

He simply shrugged, dismissing it as if it was easy.

"We found him in a tunnel under Manhattan. He's fast, but not as fast as me and my brother. Besides, his leg was hurt. He came at us with that gigantic ax, but the ceiling wasn't very resistant. It was a simple scheme, really. If I was in front of him, dodging his swings, Travis would be behind or next to him, throwing shit at him and distracting him. If Travis hopping around to not get crushed by the ax, I'd be jumping and kicking at his face and whatever." he spoke as if he didn't have enough breaths to say it in more than two sentences, then paused to take a look at how I was receiving the info. I was listening, and once he confirmed that, he proceeded. "Eventually, all of his miswings caused the ceiling to basically collapse on his face. But he's ridiculously strong, pushed me on a wall with the pole of his ax the one time I wasn't quick enough."

He lifted his shirt to show his wound. It was quite worse than I anticipated. Days had passed, but still the whole left side of his ribcage was tinged a sickly purple, and under his thin skin, I could still see his damaged bones, and where they'd been fractured. Instinctively, I ran my hand through his injury, feeling his bones under my fingertips.

He yelped. Immediately, I apologized. When I saw his face, it was basically orange. Someone yelled:

"Connor, stop stripping on the bus!" 

We ignored it.

"I'm sorry, I completely forgot it hurt." I muttered, almost laughing as he covered up again.

"Nah, nah. It's just.. your hand is kinda cold." he mumbled in return, face still reddish.

Without giving me a window to say anything else, he pulled up his backpack and started rummaging through its itinerary, until he found what was of his interest. I recognized it as a broken part of Ska's helmet, that looked like a goat's horn. It was made in obsidian, and adorned with blood red. 

"I kicked it off of his helmet." he proclaimed, proud of himself and sticking his chin up. "I can jump really high."

Before I had the chance to answer anything, he shouted his brother's name ridiculously loud, almost bursting my eardrums. From a couple of rows before us, Travis stuck his head back to scowl at his brother.

"What do you want? Why did you go max volume? I'm not deaf." he grumbled, shaking his head, but I knew the tones of delight and amusement hidden under the thin layer of irritation.

"Pass me the camera!" Connor demanded. "Please!"

A couple of scrambling sounds later, a small gray device was tossed across the air. Connor reached up and easily caught it. He clicked the power on, and then opened the monitor. 

"I have some jumps on camera, but I can show you live one of these days." he told me, while the screen loaded.

He clicked open one of the videos. It showed nothing but an empty corridor at first, until I saw a silhouette in the distance, asking the cameraman if he was filming. In response, the camera shook slightly, probably a nod. 

Then, he started sprinting to the wall. It wore an overly large greenish flannel over a white shirt, and some loose grayish denim pants. Connor. 

He was surprisingly fast, and seemed to even blur his surroundings. He looked at the camera for a brief second, and I saw his adrenaline-charged face, and his gleaming blue eyes. Then, his steps went against the wall, and faster than I could process he'd sprung his body backwards and his hair flailed in the air. Before he did a complete 360, his feet effortlessly kicked the air, and he hauled himself on top of a lamp, that barely shook with his weight. He hung on to the lamp with his arms, until he let go, impulsing himself against the wall again, doing another jump, and sliding down to the floor in perfection.

I was speechless when the video stopped. He was fast. Really fast, really agile. My eyebrows were raised up and refused to come down. But I still understood how he fought badly. When you're that quick and skilled, your movements are sloppy, flawed, and you leave out gaps perfect for someone to stab you or break your legs with a stick.

"What do ya think?" he asked, his legs shaking so hard I felt he was going to break the bus. I put a hand on his leg to stop him. 

"Dude, chill. You're really fast. Faster than I thought was humanly possible. Your jumps are amazing. You don't look like you're flying. You are flying." I said, separating my thoughts into sentences. His nervous energy was starting to get to me. 

"Whoa, thanks." he stuttered slightly, and he seemed quite more held back, less hyper. "Do you wanna, maybe, hang out with me in the autumn so I can show you my jumps?"

"Uh, sure. Give me your number, I'll talk to you if I can." I answered, shrugging.

He smirked, showing his dimples, and making his features seem even more elfish.

"It's in your wallet!" he chuckled. So that was what he did… I shook my head in disapproval.

"Reverse-stealing." I sighed.

I'd been so invested in the conversation with Connor, I hadn't realized the bus approached my address. A handful of kids were already standing up as the bus came to a stop. I said goodbye to him, and left the bus. 

I waked down Canal street to find my house, and got my key out. Everything seemed silent even in the busy streets of Manhattan now that his loud voice stopped sounding in my ears. 

I climbed the stairs to the third floor and unlocked the door. I went to my own apartment and found it surprisingly clean for something uninhabited for, what, two years? Everything was in its place: the photos, the books, everything.

I knew every secret of this house. I pushed away the large bookshelf, revealing the small concrete room that seemed more like a box. 

It was mainly a storage room, with random stuff like a whiteboard, motorbike helmets, the Christmas Pine, etcetera. That was the left half of the room. 

In the right, there was a stash of celestial bronze knives and bullets, carefully put in boxes. I reached for the combination safe he'd always kept a secret from us, rolling in a code.

I actually had no idea what it would be, but I tried the annual date in which he'd stay up all night, sitting on the balcony with a glass of wine and looking into the sky as if he expected it to talk to him. Twelfth of october, the anniversary of him and Nemesis' love. 

I got it upon the first try, which turned my stomach. To him, she'd been everything. He'd grasped and kept anything and everything she'd left him. Their memories, their children, the gifts. And to her… he'd been nothing.

The safe had dozens of sachs of drachmas, and labeled envelopes. I ripped open the one with me and my brother's names. 

Out came an old sheet of paper, marked with my father's handwriting:

Dear Ethan and Erica. 

I hope this finds you well. Unfortunately, it possibly means I'm no longer there with you. 

All I can say to you is that, well, stick together. You complete each other, you're each other's mind and soul. You will survive. You have to. You're not only the children of Nemesis, you are the legacy of Nakamura. You're my children. 

Take care of each other, and maybe you'll even save the world someday. You already know everything you need to survive every odd that may find you. If you ever need help, pray to your mother.

Ethan, Erica, I wish you to live the best. I don't want you to have the greatest adventures, or the wealthiest success, or the vainest paramours. I pray for the best lives you wish for. I want you to be happy. In your deathbeds, know that this was it. This was the life you wanted, that was the death you expected.

I love you. Learn to trust, but be cautious. Never let people underestimate you, and never underestimate people. When someone strikes you, strike them back tenfold. Protect the ones you love.

Dad.

Besides the letter, there were photos of us three, and a ring. The silver ring was familiar to me, because my uncle had died with one identical to it. 中村 was carved onto it, our family name. In my uncle's dying breath, he'd given the legacy to Ethan. And this was mine.

I slid it onto my middle finger, and it tightened around my skin, as if it recognized me.

Something else in the safe drew my gaze. The lighter. Ethan's shattered sword. The steel zippo with black and blood patterns coating its surface was covered in scratches. I grabbed it, flipping it open and letting the blade spring out.

It was in one piece, but its destruction had marked it. Scars. 

I put that in my pocket, and reached for another envelope, branded "My Love". From it fell pictures of them together, smiling or kissing like they were meant to be. I swallowed my hatred and put down those photos, holding down my tears and checking another envelope.

This one was also branded in the same way, and inside were love letters, rose petals, perfumed ribbons. The next one was also titled that, filled with sketches of the woman who'd given birth to me. Ruins of his love and her indifference. "My Love" again, and again, and again. I tore through the envelopes furiously, not knowing if I even expected or wanted to see anything else. Every envelope was dedicated to Nemesis.

If you're ever in trouble, pray for your mother, he had said. She's all powerful, and yet all she's ever done to us was taking Ethan's eye. She let everyone around us die. She did nothing. I willed for her pain silently, cursing her with every string in my heart and every word I knew. I screamed her name.

Someone was behind me. It was her. She touched my shoulder gently and I flinched away from her.

"Daughter." she called.

"Don't touch me!" I snarled, in a shout. My heart raced too fast for me to be able to breathe comfortably. "Don't call me that. You've destroyed us. My father. My brother. You have come destroy me as well?"

Her gaze was guilty, but her voice came soft.

"I know you need to blame someone." she said, her voice caressing me like a feather. It made me sick. "It's human nature. But you cannot blame people blindly." 

"Blindly?" I wailed in despair, my tears drowning out my rationality and washing out my limits. "You blinded him! False promises, fame, honor. He was good! He wanted none of those things! HE WANTED TO BE WORTHY OF HAVING YOU AS A MOTHER! And you guided him to his demise. You knew from the start. You killed him, and you killed dad, and you will kill me."

"Erica." she said "You cannot let vengeance consume you. It's the core of every war."

I sighed and lowered my voice to how people normally speak, attempting to slow down my heartbeat enough so that not even I could hear it. My blood pumped too fast, my dizziness suffocated me and tightened the walls of the house.

"I blame no one else." I said. "I don't blame Kronos, I don't blame Beckendorf, and I don't blame Luke. I blame you. I blame the gods. You have the power to help your children, suffering and dying down here, and you do nothing."

"It's not like-" she said, but I interrupted her.

"You make them pawns, you let them die, suffer, for your stupid prophecies. You can't love! Do you know what they did to me!? Did you bother to look?" I yelled, pointing an incriminating finger at my mother. I did not speak only to her. "All of you! You betray the ones you love, if killing them if it profits you, you and your fucking prophecies. You say you're better than Kronos? You call him a villain? You call us traitors? HE LOVED ME WHEN IT BROUGHT HIM NOTHING IN RETURN."

I burst out in tears, while Nemesis grabbed my arm and tried to comfort me. I took some time to calm down, then I told her to get out.

"Erica." she said, genuinely. Her eyes were teary, and her gentle fingers wiped the tears from my eyes before they fell. "You and your brother... You carry my blood justly, you carry your name proudly. He is justice, and you are vengeance. I am so proud of you. You are my greatest feat, my vainest pride, you are my children."

I looked into her comforting eyes, hoping there was more that she could offer besides words. She kissed my forehead, while I sobbed, and her silver tears too fell on my face. 

"I wish my pride hadn't cost his life." her voice cracked, a broken wing. "If I could have changed it, I would. You can't do this to yourself, Erica. I do not wish to lose you too."

She dissipated into thin air, leaving me on my knees on the cold wood of the place that had been a home so long ago.