Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Roman’s day had been ordinary so far.

Roman was fiddling with a broken pen on his bed, ignoring any homework he still had to do. It would be fine, he could do it later, he always managed to scramble to get it done in time. Logan said that wasn’t a very good idea, but what did Logan know? ( A lot, his brain supplied, Logan knows a lot ). All that mattered was finding a way to get the ink cartridge to shoot out of the pen casing like a mini spring-powered cannon, responsibilities came after.

Roman had zoned out, shoving the spring into the casing in different ways. After a few minutes, he finally pulled back on the ink cartridge, releasing his thumb to let it soar across the room towards the wall.

Unfortunately, his best friend chose that moment to stick his head through the window.

“ Ow! ” Logan winced, rubbing the small blue ink dot on his forehead, “Watch where you’re shooting that thing,” He scowled, hopping through the window and landing on Roman’s bed, causing the mattress to shake.  

Logan Cato had been Roman‘s best friend since they got paired together for a science project back in freshman year. Roman had been the first person he came out as non-binary to. Tall with steely grey eyes, dark brown, almost black fluffy hair that flopped over to one side, and tan skin, Logan looked like someone took the words ‘punk’ and ‘nerd’ and shoved them into a person, with the resting bitch face to match. 

Logan swung a duffel bag off of his shoulder, placing it next to him at the foot of the bed and leaning against it. The bag meant that Logan was staying the night, not like it was an uncommon occurrence, he stayed over a lot.

“You should watch where you put your face,” Roman fired back with a grin while reaching over to pick up the ink cartridge from where it had fallen on the bed. 

“Yeah, yeah, sure,” Logan rolled his eyes, but nonetheless nudged the ink cartridge closer to the other with his foot, “Why do you even like making those so much? Most of the time it just ends up hitting me in the head,” he had the ink marks to prove it.

Roman shrugged, “So I can hit you in the head with it,” Truth was, he had always found joy in making things. Roman would take parts from pens and mechanical pencils and make the most amazing contraptions, which got him in trouble a lot in school. It just felt...invigorating, making something new from something else, and it’s not like he had access to many other sources of materials, his dad wouldn’t let him go into his shop on the other side of town, for some absurd reason. So, pen canons it was.

“...would you stop if I asked politely?”

“Nope,” Roman answered with a bright smile, popping the ‘p’, before returning to the pen he was fiddling with, placing the ink cartridge back into the casing.

“I figured as much,”

They sat in silence for a few moments, Roman messing around more with his pen and Logan thumbing at one of the patches on his jacket, one he had gotten from Roman last Christmas, which said ‘You’re going to rattle the stars one day, you are!’ from one of the disney movies they both enjoyed. Logan had a signature look, every day he wore the same blue tie and dark blue jean jacket that he decorated with patches and pins that he found he liked. It shouldn’t have worked, two opposing styles mixed together in the bundle of madness that was his friend, but it did.

At the time, though, Logan had the sleeves rolled down, uncuffed. Usually, the older had the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, he said it made it easier to do things without them getting dirty. But when the sleeves were down… that wasn’t a good sign.

“...Rough day?” Roman asked hesitantly. He knew it wasn’t any of his business, but he couldn’t help but be concerned for his friend. 

Logan sighed, pulling a knee to his chest and leaning his arm on it as he stared wistfully out the window. Roman couldn’t tell what was running through his head, he was unreadable, “...Amy was drunk when I got home,” he said softly, finally turning his head towards Roman, though his eyes remained downcast.

Logan admittedly didn’t have a good home life, if that hellhole of a house could be called ‘home’. Amy was Logan’s asshole foster mom. She was an angel when CPS was around, but when they were gone, she couldn’t be less angelic. Logan barely talked about what she did to him, but there was more than one instance of them both in the bathroom, Logan sitting on the closed toilet as Roman treated welts conveniently shaped like fingers that wrapped around his wrists. Roman nodded, not asking anything else about it. Logan would let him know if he needed help, he trusted the other’s judgement of his own health.

The shorter one stood up from the bed, throwing the pen carcass on to the comforter and holding a hand out to his friend, “C’mon, dad baked some scones the other day and we bought some crofters for you,” it was Logan’s comfort food. More than once had he been seen shoveling his face full of it when finals rolled around. Roman liked it too, which was surprising, considering he wasn’t much of a jelly guy. He usually preferred Nutella.

He could see the way Logan’s eyes lit up at the statement, a little bit of light being added to the faint grey, making them glow like stars in the moonlight (Roman wondered where that thought came from). He grabbed Roman’s hand with a small smile, “What are we waiting for then?,” he asked, pulling himself up, before all but rushing out of the room and down the stairs, his boots thump thump thump -ing with each footstep. Roman followed with a chuckle, Logan certainly did like his jam.

Logan was already grabbing a knife and plate from the cabinet by the time Roman got there. He could see his dad typing away on his laptop at the kitchen table, an untouched cup of coffee resting on a coaster beside him. Romulus Herrero was a well known artisan in this part of the country, creating things like glassware, ceramics and forged items of all kinds. Roman was almost a carbon copy of him, with the same curly brown hair, brown skin and hazel eyes. Roman was just shorter and missing the beard and coke-bottle glasses. 

Roman’s dad was great, taking as much time off from his job as he could to spend time with his son and his friend. The teen waved, getting a short nod and smile from his dad, before making his way into the kitchen to get some snacks before Logan stole them all. He pulled out a few scones from the Tupperware they kept them in, grabbing a plate for himself and sitting down at the counter. Logan soon joined him with jam in hand, almost pouring half the jar out onto his pastries, much to Roman’s disapproval.

“Hey! Leave some for me,” he reached up to snatch the jar from Logan, but unfortunately, Logan was tall, and to make it even worse, Roman was short. Curse Logan and his stupid tall nerd arms.

“Relax, I’m not going to take all of it,” the taller said with a smirk, as he let another glob fall to the plate with a loud splat. He finally handed the jar off, “There, now you can have it,”

He was technically right, he didn't take all of it, but when Roman went to scoop some out, he could see Logan took a whopping 75% of the jar. Roman scooped out what was left, glaring at Logan, who just sat there with a smug jam and crumb covered grin. Roman would allow it, only because he deeply cared for his best friend and Logan probably needed this small victory, but he was on thin ice.

The two of them sat in silence after that, the only noises to be heard being the almost constant clacking of Romulus’ keyboard and the occasional sigh. The conversation drifted in and out, with his dad piping up occasionally before clacking away once more. It was peaceful. 

Thump

Roman almost didn’t hear it for a moment, such a faint noise against the quiet conversation they were having. It was probably nothing, though.

Thump

This time, he paused, looking out the window in confusion, leaving Logan’s mini-rant about space to fall upon deaf ears. Was there construction nearby? Neighbors?

Thump

“...does anyone else hear that?” He asked hesitantly. He could almost feel it, how the noise just barely shook the very earth beneath him. The countertop his arm was resting on vibrated almost imperceptively. Something strange was going on...but what?

Logan stopped at his question, pausing for a moment. Romulus looked up from his computer.

Thump

“...the hell?” Logan stood up with a look of confusion, moving over to the window above the sink. As far as Roman could see from his position at the counter, everything was perfectly normal. The backyard was covered in the same dying grass as always, and the standard, pointed wood fence stood tall as a barrier between them and the other houses. But when Roman went to look over at his dad... he was scared. There was a nervous, almost panicked look on his face, and that made Roman anxious. His dad was a usually very fearless man (except when it came to clowns, he thought clowns were “The makings of the satan sent up to torture humankind,” and that they “Should be destroyed at all costs,”), and if Romulus was scared…

“Dad?” Roman stood up, pushing away from the counter, “Dad, what’s wrong?”

Thump 

He seemed to have been shocked out of his thoughts when Roman spoke, flinching a bit before readjusting his glasses and clearing his throat, seemingly trying to regain his composure, “N-Nothing, I’m sure there’s nothing to worry about-”

Thump

Thump

“Guys?”

THUMP

When Roman whipped around to ask Logan what was wrong, he froze.

Logan was slowly backing away from the window, moving back one foot at a time, and Roman could almost see the battle in his eyes behind his expression of terror, debating whether to flee or attack, fight or flight. His hands were flexing as he stepped back, as if longing to grab ahold of something and throw it at whatever he was so scared of. 

And then Roman saw it.

He saw glimpses of scales, shining dimly with the sun's fading light as they slipped past the window. He saw teeth, as long as his arm, poking out of a horrible maw, dripping what looked like sickly, green drool. He could hear the dragging of talons through the gravel outside, rocks tumbling over each other and crumbling under a heavy weight. He saw a large, yellow, slitted eye like that of a snake, peering through the window right at him. 

"...what-?"

Before he could get another word out, the beast roared, ramming its head into the glass and sending shards all around the room. Logan dived out of the way of the falling shards, ramming towards Roman and tackling him to the ground, which the latter was going to complain about until he saw something soar above them. It looked like a ball of what he had seen dripping from the monster’s muzzle a moment before, and the smell alone was enough to make him sick to his stomach. Roman turned in Logan’s grip to see it connect with the wall and hear the glob sizzle as it melted through the layers of paint, plaster, and wood like cotton candy dissolving in water, taking some of the framed pictures and drawing hung up with it. Logan hauled Roman to his feet, shouting a quick “C’mon!” as they bolted up the stairs, Romulus followed right behind them.

As they ran, the monster wormed its serpentine-like body through where the window once was, breaking the sink’s faucet and causing water to spray everywhere as it roared in fury. Roman hadn’t been this scared in a long, long time. Pure adrenaline coursed through his veins as he slammed the door to the master bedroom shut. He could still hear it. He could still hear the beast roaring its terrible roar as it smashed apart the first floor looking for them. 

He turned to see his dad rushing around the room, muttering to himself as if he had lost something, but Roman couldn’t think of what would be so important as to find it while there was a dragon downstairs. Speaking of which-

“What the fuck was that?!” Logan exclaimed, not even bothering to mind his language around Roman’s dad. He stood next to Roman by the door, a hand clenched into a fist at his side as he gestured towards the door with the other, looking like he was ready to go fight the monster downstairs himself, “A fucking dragon just shows up out of nowhere- ”

“Drakon,”

Both of the teenager’s heads snapped towards Romulus, who was now turned towards them with a small, silver box in his hands, and a solemn look on his face as he stared down at the object, “That, boys...is a drakon. A fearsome, almost indestructible greek monster,” he said in a low voice, shaking with terror just as his hands were. He said this as if it cleared everything up, as if it explained what the beast was doing downstairs, as if it explained how exactly he knew about the monster.

“How-” Roman was once again unable to get another word in as Romulus walked forward, speaking urgently.

“We don’t have much time,” he stated suddenly, leaning down and pressing the box into Roman’s hands with care, like it would shatter if the boy held it wrong, “Your father wanted you to have this, I don’t know what it is though,”

Roman turned the box over in his hands. It was about the size of his palm, colored with gleaming silver and iron plating. It had no lid, no opening or keyhole, just a peculiar cog-like pattering on the outside. He didn’t know how, but somehow he could tell there was machinery inside.

“He said you would know what to do when the time came,” his father said softly, before standing straight once again and rushing over to his nightstand, “You need to go to New York. Take the bus, look for camp… they’ll help you,” he seemed to be deadly serious, despite the nonsense that was coming out of his mouth. Romulus took a wad of cash out of the drawer, mostly composed of crumpled one dollar bills, and shoved it into Logan’s hands this time.

“Sir-”

“I should have sent you there a long time ago. I was selfish, I-I just wanted more time ,” he spoke over Logan, grabbing ahold of the eldest’s shoulders and speaking in a fearful tone, “Promise me… Promise me you’ll take care of my boy,” he sounded desperate, like any moment now the world could end, and he wouldn’t be able to say what he needed to.

A moment passed before Logan answered, Roman could hear the monster (drakon, he recalled) roaring downstairs, getting more impatient with every moment that passed, “Y-Yes sir,” Logan looked nervous, more so at how Romulus’ actions and desperation than the drakon, “I… I will,” Roman could almost hear the quiver in his voice, usually so calm and collected. To hear Logan not angry, shouting out against the thing that might have filled him with fear, but frightened? Roman didn’t know what to do.

Romulus sighed, and Roman could see some of the tension melting off of him, “Good...that’s good,” He let go of Logan who took a step back and untensed, shoving the money in his jacket pocket. Roman’s dad then walked over to the other teen, not hesitating to wrap his arms around his son in a warm and comforting embrace, “I love you, Roman,” he whispered as the teenager relaxed into the hug, “Don’t you ever forget that,” 

“I-I love you too, dad,”  Roman hugged him back, wondering why he phrased it like that, almost as if he would never be able to say it again. 

After a moment, Romulus pulled away from the hug, his expression smoothing over into something deadly serious as he spoke in a commanding tone, “I’m going to distract it, you two run like hell. Don’t look into its eyes, it’ll paralyze you,” he moved over to his closet, digging through it like he was once again looking for something, “No matter what happens, run and don’t look back.”

“But-” what about him? What made his dad think he could take on the acid-spitting monster downstairs?

“Go!” 

Logan grabbed Roman’s arm, tugging him lightly in the direction of the door, “Let’s go,” Logan was right, they had to leave. The drakon’s roars were getting louder by the second, and Roman could almost feel it’s thundering footsteps echoing throughout the building. Roman’s last look at his father was him kneeled to the ground, pulling something gleaming bronze out of what looked to be a guitar case, a determined look on his face.

The two teenagers managed to cross the hall into Roman’s room without attracting the attention of the monster, which seemed to be scouring through their trash like a raccoon the size of a small bus. Without another word, they climbed onto Roman’s bed and jumped out the window onto the tree Logan used to get in.

Before they left the driveway, Roman risked one last glance back at the house he had grown up in, back at the only home he had ever known. He peered through the windows and…

Was that a sword in his dad’s hands?

“We need to go, Roman,” Logan grabbed his friend’s hand tightly in his own, tugging the other away as he watched his father, nothing more than a skilled artisan, swing the bronze, leaf-shaped blade around like he was born with it in his hands against the fearsome drakon. Roman can’t leave him alone in there.

“But-!” 

“Now!”

With one final tug, Roman turned from his home, following Logan as they ran down the street. They were only a block or so away when Roman could hear the rumble of the drakon’s roar, accompanied by the crashing of his house falling apart. Yet he kept running, just like his dad told him to. He kept running, pulling ahead of Logan as they raced towards the nearest bus stop. He kept running, no matter how much his legs ached or his lungs screamed for air. It was all he could do.

All he could do was run.

It was about an hour or so later that the duo found themselves situated under the small roof of the bus stop as rain poured down around them. Roman didn’t know when it started raining, it just happened, he was too busy staring down at the little box in his hands, the last little bit of home he still had with him (other than his clothes, though, those didn’t count). He traced his fingers over the grooves in the metal, stark fire and gear patterns that in no way should look that good together, yet they did. Roman tried not to wonder about how exactly his dad had this, and what did he mean he got it from Roman’s father? He had never known his other dad, Romulus had said he died when Roman was just a baby, but he had heard stories. Stories of a hearty laugh and an eye for detail. Stories of a burly man with a beard large enough to fill a room.

Roman smiled at the thought, his dad seemed fond of the guy, fond enough at least to have a kid with him. He never actually told Roman how he was made, if there was a surrogate or if he was adopted. When he had asked, Romulus had moved his hands like a rainbow and whispered, “ Magic ,” (with everything happening, he was starting to wonder if that was actually true).

At the thought of his dad, though… his smile fell. He had stayed behind, and...and there was a good chance Roman would never see him again. Roman felt apathetic, though he knew he should be grieving, or at least sad . But he just couldn’t imagine it being true. How could his dad be gone if he was there yesterday, humming away as he baked scones for when Logan would inevitably come over. How could he be gone if all the memories of him in Roman’s mind were filled with such life?

Roman was shaken out of his thoughts by Logan’s voice asking him a question, “Can you read this thing?” 

Logan was staring up at the map plastered on the wall of the bus stop, his eyes tracing over the colorful lines and symbols on it, lingering on the tiny words scrawled out beside the symbols on the key. His eyebrows were knit together in frustration, the corners of his mouth turned down in a frown as he held his hand in his chin in a classic thinking pose. 

“Why do you need my help?” Logan was the smart one, if anyone could figure it out, it was him.

Logan’s voice wavered slightly as he spoke, sighing frustratedly as he turned to face Roman, “I’m dyslexic , remember?” He gestured to his eyes, hidden behind coke-bottle glasses, as if that would help to remind Roman of his problem.

Roman immediately felt guilty, “Right, sorry,” For how Logan soaked up information like a spunge, it was hard to remember sometimes that his best friend had a hard time reading. It frustrated the other, how he loved to learn but had almost no access to sources he could use. Roman knew from experience how ADHD made it hard to focus on things that mattered, he couldn’t imagine what it would be like having to manage swirling words and numbers as well. Roman was concerned with how Logan’s voice shook, though. That almost never happened, “Are...Are you oka-?”

“No, I’m not fucking okay! ” Roman was taken aback by how Logan suddenly interjected, interrupting his question as the other moved away from the map and started to pace back and forth on the small piece of sidewalk that was sheltered from the pouring rain, moving his hands expressively as he ranted in a wavering voice that let Roman know just how wound up his companion was, “We just got attacked by a greek dragon-”

“Drakon,”

Logan didn’t even acknowledge his interruption, nor when Roman stood up and slowly moved closer to his frantic friend. “-your dad stayed behind to distract it, and I’m just trying to figure out this fucking map so I can you get on a damn bus to New York because we don’t have any information other than what your dad gave us and I refuse to fail him and let you get hurt and-”

“Logan!”

He paused at Roman’s shout, looking up at the other with his hands loosely gripping his hair, which was messed up from how much he had run his hands through it. Up close, the shorter could see the wild, stressed look in his stormcloud-grey eyes, shining in the dim light as if he were about to cry. He might be, Logan was always a frustrated crier, and Roman knew how much he hated it. He could see how Logan looked down at him, and for the first time in a very long while, he could see how uncertain the other was, how he looked down at Roman as if he looked hard enough, he would find the answer he was looking for. Anxiety wasn’t a good look on Logan, Roman then decided.

In that moment, the only sounds were those of the rain pouring down around them and Logan’s heavy breathing as he seemingly tried to calm down after his outburst, his eyes flicking to look anywhere except for into his friends.

Roman broke the silence with a sigh, reaching up to softly grasp Logan’s hands and bring them away from his head. Then, he did what little he could to comfort the other: he wrapped his arms around Logan and tucked his head into his chest, squeezing Logan in a tight hug and getting not much more than a light, shuddery gasp in return.

“I’m sorry,” Roman tried to ignore how one of Logan’s pins was scratching his face, or how Logan somehow managed to smell like pen ink and steel, two scents that had no business smelling good together, despite not having been around either in hours. Or how Logan’s heartbeat started to slow down as soon as Roman grabbed ahold of him.

Logan’s arms soon were wrapped around Roman’s back, though not gripping as tightly as the shorter’s were, “I...It’s alright, Roman,” he spoke softly, though Roman could feel how his chest vibrated with every word spoken, “I apologize for my outburst,”

Roman pulled his head away from Logan’s chest, looking up at him, “You don’t have to apologize, Lo,” Roman hadn’t realized how stressed he was. The hispanic had tried to take everything in stride, but he had always been the more adaptable of the two. Roman knew much about his friend, and he knew that Logan hated being thrown around, he hated not knowing, not having answers when he needed them. Roman couldn’t imagine a situation the other was more ill-equipped for, “Do you still want help with the map?”

“Please,”

It was maybe thirty minutes later that the correct bus pulled up. 

The rain hadn’t let up at all, and it had only gotten darker as time went on. Roman felt Logan gently nudge him with his shoulder, pulling the younger from his train of thought, filled with thoughts about everything that had happened that day, and the distressed look on Logan’s face earlier. 

“C’mon,” Logan spoke softly, as if not to break the...not calm, but uneventful silence that they had been sharing, filled only with the sound of dripping rain and the occasional car that would splash through the puddles on the street. He stood up from where he sat down next to Roman on the little bench and reached a hand down to help his friend up, “Let’s get you to New York,”

Roman was a bit miffed about how he phrased it, get him to New York, as if that monster hadn’t tried to attack the other was well, but he elected to ignore that for the time being, grabbing the other’s hand and hauling himself up, “Y’think we’ll have enough money left to go see a Broadway musical when we get there?” he asked with a small smile. It felt nice to joke, he didn’t know how much he took the simple pleasure that humor brought for granted.

There was a small snort beside him, “Who knows? Maybe you’ll find a way to get yourself in one, after we find…” Logan trailed off.

After we find camp.

Roman could hear the unspoken words in his sentence. They still had no clue what this camp was, and no idea how to find it. It’s not like they could really look it up, neither of them had phones and the home computer was trapped under a pile of rubble.

Roman gave a squeeze to Logan’s hand, bringing them down to rest between them as they walked through the rain to the bus’ awaiting doors, “Everything’s going to okay, Lo,” it had to be. They had to get through this.

If the rain had been any lighter, he would have heard the small, “ Will it?” that left Logan’s lips like a sigh.

They stepped onto the bus, Roman shivering slightly from the rain that settled on his skin as Logan paid their fares. The bus driver, an older woman with a mop of red hair that reached down to her mid back, gave them a suspicious look, as if she didn’t trust the teengers at all, before allowing them to move on. There was only one other person on the bus, so the two were able to choose wherever they wanted to sit.

They settled into one of the rows towards the back, Logan moving in first so he could sit next to the window as Roman took the seat next to him. He couldn’t help but notice how they were still holding hands, not that it mattered, it just stood out to him, that’s all. He leaned his head against Logan’s shoulder, closing his eyes and trying to get closer to the other, who somehow managed to be warm, which was in no way fair. Roman started to drift off, tired after the stressful and adrenaline-packed day they were forced to live through. 

But a moment later, Roman was being moved, a noise of disapproval leaving his lips as he peaked open his eyes to see Logan shimmying around, having finally let go of Roman’s hand so he could pull his arms out of his jean jacket. Roman looked at him in sleepy confusion, tilting his head to the side like a curious puppy, “Whatcha doin’?”

Logan managed to pull the garment off in the small space, before settling back down, “You’re cold,” His voice was soft and concerned as he draped the jacket over Roman, who once again leaned back over onto Logan, and a slight heat to his face that he was confused as to how it got there. It was probably from the sudden warmth the soft inside of the jacket provided. Yeah.

“Thanks,” It was...really nice of him, though Roman was still a bit confused. Logan rarely ever shed his jacket, much less give it to someone else. So what was different now?

Roman decided that was a question for another time. His last view before he dozed off was of Logan staring out the window, his chin resting on his hand, which had a faint purple bruise wrapping around the wrist, as he watched the water droplets trail down the window against a murky background of green and grey while the bus slowly started to move down the road.

Pretty

Chapter Text

Logan didn’t know when he fell asleep. 

No one ever did, really. A loss of consciousness was never really a thing that could be documented by the one experiencing it. What did miff him, however, was where he ended up.

He was in a cave, he could tell that much by the red, sandy, and organic color of the walls around him, and the large mouth that sunlight was pouring in through to his left. He could see a city of short, sand-colored buildings spreading out just below the mountain the cave seemed to be residing in. The rest of the cave was bathed in shadow, starting just behind the spot where Logan stood. He couldn’t see more than a foot into it, which unsettled him greatly.

The next thing Logan noticed was the heat . It was hot, so, so unbearably hot. The stale, putrid air was stifling, even while Logan wasn’t technically there (at least, that’s what he assumed. The last place he remembered being was on a bus in Boston, not some hot cave.), he could feel himself starting to sweat. He could smell something musky that he couldn’t quite place, though it seemed fitting for a cave such as this. It was probably mold.

Suddenly, there was a noise in the shadows. A subtle hiss accompanied by soft footfall that was growing louder with each second that passed. Logan spun around to gaze into the impermeable darkness that the noise was coming from. He should run, get away from whatever was making that noise, and come back with a sharp stick to poke it to death. But… he couldn't move. His legs were stuck in place, fixed to the cave floor no matter how much he tugged.

The footsteps stopped, but the hissing, the hissing had multiplied, layering over each other like an opera of snakes.

“I have a job for you,”

A voice drifted out of the darkness, accompanied by a chorus of hisses. The voice was sweet, but in the way rotten honey was sweet (Logan knew it was almost impossible for honey to rot, but it seemed like the only fitting description). It promised no good, a sinister tone that sent a shiver up Logan’s spine.

Logan was about to say something, ask who this person was and what they wanted from him when he was interrupted, “What is it?”

This voice was different, snappish, though bored, yet there was a trace of nervousness under that mask of indifference. Logan found it in himself to move, whipping around to identify the newcomer.

It was a boy, who looked to be about Logan’s age, though a bit shorter. His hair was a mass of dirty blond curls, pulled into a low ponytail, though even in the dim lighting Logan could see streaks of green running through it. His shoulders were tensed, with his head angled downwards towards the cavern floor and hands shoved into his pockets. He wore a well-worn black hoodie with yellow scale patterning at the ends of the sleeves and a design of a snake eating its tail on the chest. Logan could make out a curved, black leather holster strapped to his thigh, some sort of knife, he guessed. 

There was a much louder hiss from the darkness, a mixture between a laugh and a sneer, “It would do you well to watch your tone , boy,” Their voice was chastising, like how Amy would seethe at Logan through a too wide, too perfect smile. The similarity made him flinch, along with the boy beside him, who otherwise showed no other emotion 

The voice continued, “The drakon failed to rid us of those two demi-gods in Boston, as you are surely aware,”

Logan’s eyes widened. Were they referring to him and Roman? What was a ‘demi-god’? Logistically, it would refer to someone less than a god, but more than a man. A child of a greater being, but that would be impossible. Gods weren’t real. They were stories created by man to explain what science could not. But man had evolved past the need for gods. They weren’t real.

The blond nodded, “I have been informed of such,” Logan was impressed by how calm the other sounded. It made him wonder just how much he had to deal with this; the lies and hissing.

There was a contented hiss, “On the bright side, it did manage to bring back a rather… fascinating morsel, though,” There was a light, airy tone to their voice now, as if pleased by this fact, “I will add him to my collection soon enough,”

Logan’s blood ran cold. Roman’s dad? No, he died when the house collapsed, they had to be referring to someone else. Surely.

The blond sighed, shifting his weight from side to side that should have appeared casual, had Logan not known exactly how it felt to be in that position, “What is the reason you called me here?”

There was a soft tsk, though it sounded more like the chorus of snakes hissing at once, “Patience , insolent child,” The words were sharp, and if Logan didn’t already dislike the person hiding in those shadows, he surely would now. It reminded him too much of backhanded insults and threats thrown his way day after day.

The voice continued speaking, back to its honeyed, sickly-sweet texture, “I cannot tolerate any number of those vile creatures from slipping through my grasp,” Says the one hissing like a viper. “You will go after them. Return them to me, alive ,” There was stress on that last word as if they usually did not care what condition they were returned in, “I wish to see just how much they wished the drakon slaughtered them first,” well that didn’t sound very good.

Logan looked towards the boy, who had not yet reacted to the voice’s commands. Who was this? And who was the one hidden in the darkness of the cave, whispering out bitten words as sweet as sugar? He almost wanted to feel bad for the blond.

“Do you understand my orders, boy?” They snapped, the chorus of hissing following.

It was then that the boy looked up, revealing features that one would not usually see on a person, which shocked Logan greatly. Green, yellow and brown scales that contrasted with tanned skin were spread over the right side of his face. Ears that were just a little more pointed than what could be considered normal poked out from behind his curls. A normal, copper-shaded eye stared directly at Logan, and it made him worry if the other could see him. The other eye, however, sent a shock down the brunette’s spine.

A slitted yellow eye stared back at him, slightly dilated due to the darkness of the cave. It was almost hypnotic, Logan couldn’t look away. His heart rate started to speed up, which made no sense. Why was Logan panicking? There was nothing to fear. Despite this, Logan couldn’t help the growing horror he felt, gripping his heart and squeezing the air from his lungs.

The boy’s words were accompanied by a hiss that shook Logan to his core, showing Logan sharp canines inside of the other’s mouth that only unsettled him further. His eyebrows knit into a scowl as he answered the voice.

“Of course, my queen,”

Logan awoke with a strangled gasp, tightly gripping the bus’ armrest as he was knocked out of his dream. The first thing he noticed was that it wasn’t dark outside anymore, though the sun hadn’t quite risen yet, coating both the inside of the bus and the buildings outside in a blue hue. The second thing he noticed was the racing of his heart, how his breathing was quick and shallow, irregular in a way that breathing was not supposed to be. He needed to calm down. 

Logan tried to focus on his surroundings, how the atmosphere was a brilliant, soothing shade of cerulean. Blue was a good color, it was scientifically proven to be calming, lowering pulse rate and body temperature, and helping to increase focus. Some experts theorized it was due to how familiar it is, as a person only needed to look upwards to see its cool tone. Focus on the blue, try to calm down, calm down, focus on the light, focus on what you know. It was light out. Light meant you weren’t in that small, dark cave or locked in the closet without a way out. Focus on the light. She wasn’t there. She’s gone. They’re gone. Focus.

It took a few moments for Logan to believe himself. Finally, he released his death grip on the armrests, taking a deep, shuddery breath. He was okay. He closed his eyes and leaned his head back against his seat’s headrest as he tried to figure out what the fuck just happened.

He had a dream, that much he knew. There was no way that was anything else. It was his brain trying to process what had happened the previous day (Logan still wasn’t quite sure if that had been a dream as well). 

But Logan was never a very imaginative person, that was Roman’s job. Logan didn’t have the capacity to come up with the rotten whispers of that voice in the darkness, a queen . Logan couldn’t have imagined the helplessness that overcame him when he realized he couldn’t move. He couldn’t have, he was no storyteller.

But there was no other explanation for it. Roman’s dad most likely perished when the house collapsed, killing the drakon with it. It was the only answer that made sense.

Logan felt something shift next to him, pressing further up against his shoulder. He peeked open one eye and was met with the pleasant sight of Roman, softly snoring as he slept, curled up with Logan’s jacket covering him like a blanket. The other’s face was slightly squished, his cheek pressed up against the other’s shoulder. His hair was all over the place, as it usually was, though it still looked like a fluffy brown cloud, soft enough to use as a pillow. Roman looked so peaceful, with his eyes closed and lips slightly parted, much more so than he was yesterday. Logan hated how panicked Roman had looked, his eyes wide with fear as they ran away from the only home he had ever known. Logan knew terror, he greeted it like an old friend whenever the adrenaline started pumping through his veins. Logan had grown up scared.

But Roman?

This must be so hard for him. Logan could barely think of a situation that would be harder on the boy resting on his shoulder. Logan was going to do everything in his power to keep the other safe, just like he promised. He wouldn’t be able to live with himself otherwise.

Logan reached the hand that had been gripping the armrest over to gently run his fingers through Roman’s hair, finding a feeling of satisfaction with how the curls would bounce back after he pulled them out a bit. 

It was then he noticed his wrist, both of them, actually. The bruises were gone, faded, leaving nothing but tanned, smooth skin in their wake. Logan knew that those should have taken at least another two weeks to heal, and possibly as long as ten weeks. Come to think of it, any discomfort from any other bruises or wounds other places on his body was gone, disappeared while he slept. Were the injuries just not as bad as he thought they were?

Roman chose that moment to awaken, interrupting Logan’s thoughts and making noises like the ones a cat made when it woke up as the bus came to a hard stop outside of what seemed to be a checkpoint to some sort of tunnel. Despite his dyslexia, he was able to tell what the words painted on the concrete above the tunnel said, seeing as they were big and spaced far enough apart to prevent them from trying to float away and rearrange themselves.

Holland Tunnel 

“How’d you sleep?” asked the younger, pulling Logan from his thoughts as Roman opened his eyes and yawned, started to sit up straighter (as if Roman could ever be straight).

That was certainly a question, though. “I…” Logan paused. Should he tell Roman about his dream? That there was a possibility something, no, someone else was after them, or that there was a possibility that his dad hadn’t perished underneath the rubble of his home, but was with who or whatever this queen was? 

No, he wasn’t about to cause Roman more distress. They already had to worry about finding this ‘camp’, there was no use in fretting over things that were probably just imaginary, “I slept fine,” he lied.

Roman didn’t question his hesitant tone, or maybe he hadn’t been awake enough to process it, “That’s nice,”  He murmured as he stretched his arms and legs out, dislodging the makeshift blanket that covered him. He really did look like a cat when he did that, which made Logan smile.

Then, to Logan’s shock, Roman started to pull his arms through the sleeves of the jacket he had used as a blanket, tucking the small box he had gotten from his father into the pocket. It swamped the other, seeing as he was smaller than Logan, the sleeves gave him little sweater paws that he kept trying to push up. The shoulders jutted out awkwardly and the bottom edge pooled around his waist, and Logan figured it would have gone down to about his upper thigh were he not sitting down.

Despite his extensive vocabulary, Logan couldn’t find the words to vocalize just how small Roman looked, swamped in his jacket. 

Roman turned from where he was looking down the aisle of the bus, to see Logan’s wide-eyed expression, and tilted his head like a confused puppy, “Somthin’ wrong?” 

“Oh, uh...” Logan looked away and stared at the patterned backs of the seats in front of them, rubbing the back of his neck like he did whenever he was nervous or didn’t know what to say, much like now, “It’s… nothing,”

Roman just stared, and Logan could feel his ears start to burn in what he could only assume was embarrassment. He turned his face away to look out the window, where he caught a glimpse of the sun just beginning to peak over the short buildings to their right, replacing the earlier blue hues with stunning yellows and pinks, before the bus entered the well-lit concrete tunnel. 

It took a few moments for Roman to realize what exactly had happened, to which he facepalmed, “I’m such a dumbass,” Logan turned around, opening his mouth to refute Roman’s claim, but he didn't have time before Roman was starting to pull the jacket back off, “Should’a given this back to you, sorry, you’re probably uncomfortable without it or somthin’-”

“No, no, it’s okay,” Logan waved off Roman’s concern, “You can wear it, I’ll be fine,” he was probably cold. Roman never functioned well in colder temperatures. He would need it after they got off the bus more than Logan. 

Roman paused, staring at Logan for a moment before shrugging and moving to pull the garment back over his shoulders, “Whatever you say, Lo,” and that was the end of it.

Logan slumped back into his seat and turned to see the bus exit the tunnel out of the window. This was going to be a long trip.

It wasn’t much later that they were stepping off the bus into a much more populated area.

“Welcome to New York City, boys,” the bus driver stated gruffly as they stepped off, “Try not to die,” and with that, she closed the bus door and drove off, narrowly avoiding a taxi as she pulled out of the stop.

How ominous.

The two stood on the sidewalk for a moment, just trying to take in the tall buildings and onslaught of noise. Advertisements and lights shone brightly, despite the sun shining brightly behind the clouds that drifted overhead. People walking past on the sidewalk yelled into cell phones and whistled for taxis, and a man was carting around a stand for churros on the other side of the car-filled street.

“Well?” Logan’s gaze was pulled away from the scenery as Roman piped up, turning to look at each other from where they stood shoulder to shoulder facing the street. Roman had rolled the sleeves of the jacket up, to remove the oversized sweater paws it gave him. Logan had been right, the bottom hem reached to his upper thigh. 

Roman continued his earlier thought, “What now?”

Logan shrugged, turning back to look up and down the street, “We explore...I guess,” he offered, “Try to find anyone who knows about camp,” it was their best chance, seeing as Roman’s dad didn’t provide any other instructions.

He could see Roman nod in the corner of his eye, “Sounds good,” Roman slipped his hand into the other’s, lacing their fingers together. He probably just didn’t want to get separated — a reasonable worry, considering where they were.

Roman did a quick sweep of the street in front of them, “Where should we start?” That...was a good question. Logan didn’t have an answer, which was becoming too much of a common occurrence for his liking.

Logan thought for a moment, before pointing down the street where the buildings seemed to get taller and more numerous. The number of people seemed to be denser the further he looked, “Where there are people, there are bound to be answers,” 

New York was a big place, which would seem obvious to most, but the sheer size of the buildings surprised him more than he ever would have expected.

The duo had spent a good hour or so following crowds of people, looking for any sort of sign that someone knew about the camp or anything else about what had been happening. They had accidentally tagged along with useless tour groups more than once, and there was one instance where Logan found himself staring at a dog that didn’t look quite right. He was pretty sure that dobermen didn’t have red eyes and teeth sharp enough to be used as knives, but he must have been seeing things, as everyone else who passed it either ignored the animal or leaned down to pet it for a moment. He caught snippets of foreign languages, only being able to identify some of the Spanish that was spoken (you couldn’t be friends with Roman and not know a multitude of Spanish curses). He was doing his best to keep them both from getting lost in the massive crowd. Anxiety was starting to grip at his lungs and his hand tightened around Roman’s.

Roman, on the other hand, could be less bothered by the people on the ground. His eyes were transfixed towards the brightly colored, light-up signs that seemed to be everywhere. They changed so often, and the words moved more often than not, so Logan didn’t even attempt to make out exactly what they were saying, though he did recognize a few iconic logos. Roman wandered around, tugging Logan along as he took in everything with his head high in the clouds. Logan had to tug him away from bumping into people more than once. 

“Wow,” Roman muttered, eyes transfixed on one of the largest billboards, “...y’think I could figure out how to change what it says?” He asked aloud.

Logan rolled his eyes, though there was a fond smile on his face, “You’d get caught by security personnel, and possibly the fire department if you actually climbed up there to do it,” he reasoned as he pulled Roman along. He didn’t know what exactly it was that they were looking for, but he felt as if they had to keep moving.

Roman shook his head, a bright smile on his face. It was the same smile he got when he got an idea that would more times than not end up with the two of them in detention, such as when he made a larger version of one of his pen cannons with a PVC pipe and managed to start a food fight in the cafeteria with grapes and bits of shitty ground beef, “But imagine the chaos I could start if I could get them to say ‘Elvis Lives’! Or maybe I could Rick-Roll everyone-“

Roman was suddenly cut off as he bumped into a person, letting out a small ‘ oof ’ as he landed squarely on his butt, almost bringing Logan down with him. The stranger, a small but squarely built teenager with a purple and black checkered hoodie over an orange t-shirt and ripped back jeans, immediately kneeled to help Roman up, “Sorry, I wasn’t looking,” he said in a low, mumbly voice as he reached out a hand.

Roman accepted the hand one the one that wasn’t currently clasped in Logan’s, “No, that was my fault, you’re good,” he stated as he got back to his feet, flashing the newcomer a good-natured smile.

There was something odd about this man, but Logan couldn’t quite put a finger on it. Maybe it was the way his grey eyes sized them both up with undeserving scrutiny or the sheepish aura that seemed to permeate from him. The stranger stepped back to get out of their way, but then Roman spoke up.

“Wait a second,” The Hispanic tugged on Logan’s sleeve and pointed at the man’s orange shirt, on which Logan now noticed an emblazoned Pegasus logo with faded text beneath it. Some of the words were illegible, but one stood out clearly in lettering that somehow worked with his dyslexia:

Camp

Logan immediately understood, “Where did you get that shirt?” He tried to sound polite but finally finding a lead after hours of searching this godforsaken city had led him to be a bit impatient.

The stranger immediately covered his midsection with his arms, his eyes wide in alarm, “O-Oh, it’s just a summer camp, nothing too special-“

“My dad told me to find camp here in New York,” Roman stated quickly, letting go of Logan’s hand to lace his own together in a pleading motion, “He...he said there would be people there who could help us. We don’t know what’s going on, but we need your help,” Logan had to admit, with the puppy eyes his friend was giving the stranger, even Logan himself would be hard-pressed to resist helping him.

The boy’s eyes flickered cautiously between the two from behind his dark bangs, seeming to be taking in Roman’s words. After a moment, he sighed and lowered his guard, stuffing his hands into his jacket pockets, “Look. I can’t tell you everything here, ‘cus I know they would be bound to find us if they knew, but-“ he ran a hand through his hair, closing his eyes for a moment before speaking again, “I can take you there. Camp, I mean. It’s a safe place for people like...us,” 

Like who? Who was ‘us’? “How do we know we can trust you?” Logan spoke up. Roman elbowed him in the side, and Logan got the impression he was being scolded for being rude, but he continued talking anyway, “For all we know, this could be a trick. We know almost nothing, Roman,” he spoke towards his friend, but before the other could argue, the stranger cut in with a nervous chuckle.

“Yeah, I get it, don’t worry,” he brushed his bangs out of his face in what Logan was now starting to realize was a nervous gesture, “I’m still not sure about you two, which…probably doesn’t help,” he cringed at his words, “I’m...My name’s Virgil,” he spoke softly, almost like he didn’t want anyone else to hear his name, as if anyone could with the bustling of the crowd around them.

“Like the guy from Dante’s Inferno?” Roman interjected, to which Virgil nodded a hesitant affirmation.

“Yeah, and...fuck, I don’t know how to get you to trust me. You’re just gonna have to believe me, I guess,” his voice took on a worried tone, “I-I know I probably wouldn’t believe me in this situation but… I can’t tell you much right now. They- the more you know, the easier it is to find you, and when they find you-“ he seemed to be out of words and ended his spiel with a shrug.

Logan sighed. He didn’t like this. He didn’t like how vague he was being. Why couldn’t he tell them? Who was he talking about? But it was possible that following the stranger- Virgil apparently, would be their only option, “Fine,” he would just have to be on guard.

Roman nodded, a smile returning to his face, “Lead the way, Edgar Allan Poe!” Virgil snorted at the nickname.

The taller kid sighed once again. He just hoped nothing else would happen on their way over.

“Y’know Virgil’s name is kinda fitting,”

The pair was a few paces behind the boy in question, who was walking through the streets of New York with a familiarity only a local could possess. The scenery had started to change from big skyscrapers and bustling crowds to more secluded landscapes and parks. They had been walking for a while now after taking the bus once again about halfway across Long Island. If he had to guess, Logan would say it’d be around noon-ish, going off of the sun, which cast light shadows on the dark road beneath his boots. His feet were starting to hurt, and Logan cursed himself for not having the foresight to bring walking shoes, not that he had access to them before they left home. He didn’t have access to anything, really, which was a depressing thought.

Logan decided to ignore that feeling of melancholy and instead turned to face his friend, quirking an eyebrow upwards in response to Roman’s statement, “Oh? How’s that,”

Roman shrugged, “Virgil was the dude who led Dante in the story, right? Dante’s Inferno?” He explained, “and now he’s leading us,” he gestured to the hooded figure in front of the pair.

“So we’d be Dante in this situation?” Logan barely remembered that book, as he was more of a visual learner than an auditory one, but had to listen to the audiobook version when the book had been required to read for the class as he could not find a version of the text in a dyslexic-friendly font. Unfortunate, with how excited Roman got about old, classic stories, “Are we both one-half Dante? How does that work?” Logan wished he could humor Roman’s love for fictional literature as much as the other humored his love of sciences.

He got an ‘I don’t know’ noise and a shrug in response, before Roman looked over to him with a grin, “Maybe the real Dante was the friends we made along the way,” that got a snort out of the brunette.

“Does that mean Virgil is both he and Dante?” Logan retorted, delighted to be able to fall back into the comfortable rhythm of their bickering. Their friendship was based on half-hearted insults and trying to one-up the other, as well as a love for petty arguments and conversations such as this one. Once, they had an intense argument, which he soon learned that Roman assumed was playful, over whether or not magic was science. It got heated on Logan’s end and it caused a rift in their relationship before Logan realized he was being unreasonable. Now, they are sure to keep their bickering away from any sensitive topics or things that either one is especially passionate about.

Roman raised an eyebrow, smiling all the while, “What, so Virgil’s our friend now? Weren’t you so suspicious of him just a while back?”

“He’s earned my respect by guiding us through hell,” That, and he felt more comfortable now that Virgil was in front of them, right where Logan could keep an eye on him.

“And New York is hell now, gotcha,”

“Oh shut up , I’m simply stating that Virgil has been a good guide-“

“And I’m saying that you’re a hypocrite-“

“Oh my gods, please stop. I am so tired of hearing my name when not in reference to me,”

Their guide’s annoyed interjection startled the friends out of their playful argument, each sheepishly looking over at their new friend before Roman started to break down in a fit of giggles while the other shook his head fondly, “Apologies,” Logan said for the both of them, “we just found our current situation a bit ironic, nothing more,”

Virgil huffed, shoving his hands even deeper into his pockets, which seemed impossible with how far he was already pushing down on the fabric, “Yeah, well…” he seemed to run out of words again. He sighed and relaxed his hold on his poor hoodie to push the hair out of his face, “Whatever, we’re almost there, anyways,”

Roman had stopped laughing and power walked forward to catch up with the two, startling Virgil a bit as he piped up, “Almost there? It just looks like road here. No camps,”

“We have to keep going up Sound Avenue about another 200 feet before turning into the forest. Farm road runs through it, which will lead us to Delphi farms. Camp’s a bit closer to the beach, but not too far after that,” 

Well, one thing’s for sure, Virgil knew where he was going. 

Roman groaned at the prospect of even more walking, and honestly? Logan wasn’t excited about it either.

It was about another hour or so before they arrived at the strawberry farm Virgil had mentioned. During which, something, black and with lots of legs, perhaps a large scorpion, had jumped out of the forest, leaping towards Logan before quickly being dispelled by their vigilant guide, who pulled out a slingshot from somewhere in his hoodie and a ball of gleaming bronze from somewhere else. Neither of the two friends knew what to make of that, but Virgil kept leading them as if this was an everyday occurrence, and so they had no choice but to follow. 

Eventually, the group passed beyond the sign for the vineyard, “Well, guys,” Virgil spoke, marching them up a small hill to lean against an out of place pine tree with what seemed to be a towel of some sort hanging from one of the lower branches, and…coils? Purple coils next to his feet, of which the pattern seemed strangely reminiscent of scales. There was a hint of pride in his next words, “Welcome to Camp Half-Blood,”

Past the hill on which they resided stood a vast plain of green grass, cut through by a winding river that was connected to both the beach further down and a lake closer to the forest behind them. A large, white farmhouse stood tall to the side of some strawberry fields, in which humans, goat-legged persons whistling pipes, and green pigmented girls roamed. Logan watched as a tanned boy about his age touched a leaf of one of the plants, and caused a surplus amount of strawberries to grow in record time. 

Beyond that was a currently unoccupied amphitheater of which you would see in history books, and a pavilion filled with stone tables decorated with different colored fabric runners. He could see what looked to be small houses or cabins arranged in a sort of rectangular pattern a bit further away, but the odd part was how different each of them was. He saw one that shone like gold, blinding him even from a distance, and another that seemed covered in enough red paint to send a raging bull into cardiac arrest. One of them had enough plants to make the world choke on oxygen pouring from the rooftops.

There was a whooping noise above them, and Logan looked up to see a herd of flying horses ( Pegasi, he recalled, those were pegasi, ) circling above them, each with a rider on its back. A girl with red hair had a fist raised in the air as she cheered from atop a peanut-colored mare.

Logan was in awe. How was any of this real? He had to be dreaming, “This is…”

“ Awesome! ” Roman interjected, and Logan turned to see him looking around with wonder. His smile was bright enough to outshine even the dazzling gold building across the way, and Logan found it hard to look away

“...I was going to say impossible, but that works too,”

No one seemed to notice them quite yet, that is until Virgil whistled and called out to the person on horseback (pegasi-back?), “Hey, Hope! I’ve got some newbies!” It was a far cry from the anxious, almost paranoid kid they had encountered in the city, Logan thought. Maybe this place just makes people feel at ease.

The girl- Hope , steered her ride so that Virgil was at her steed’s flank, and pulled the reins so that she hovered in the air at a standstill. It was amazing she could even hear him, given how the wind must be whipping around her with how high up she was. Logan couldn’t make out much of her features from so far below, but she had a light blue bandana that stood out starkly from her red hair, a blue jacket similar to his own, and a dangerously wicked grin- for which he wondered the reason for until she stood up from her saddle. 

To his left, Virgil sighed, bringing a hand up to pinch the bridge of his nose, “I don’t know why she insists on doing this, she’s gonna end up giving the newcomers a heart attack one day,” after which he muttered, “As if Patton doesn’t already have enough on his plate,”

“W-What do you mean?” Roman voiced Logan’s thoughts for him, “What is she doing?!”

“Just watch,”

And Logan did. He watched as the girl purposefully fell off the back of her steed with her arms spread wide. He watched as she hurtled headfirst towards the ground like a missile, spinning and waiting for impact before she would ignite. Other campers gasped and pointed at the show of blatant insanity, but in the way someone would point at an acrobat on a tightrope: in awe and astonishment. Why were they just staring? Was no one going to do anything to save her? This girl who decided not to heed the laws of gravity and the effects they oh so obviously had on her?

His panicked thoughts were interrupted by a whoosh of air rushing past his ears - a harsh noise with how fast it moved. Logan could see Roman stumble a bit as the wind whipped at his hair and caused the grass to lick their ankles. Under the girl, leaves and broken bits of plants from the field and trees nearby started to swirl as if picked up by a tornado. Tears came to Logan’s eyes as he tried to keep them open despite the intense force of the winds in front of him, and the redheaded acrobat flipped around so she was falling feet-first, her confident, gleeful, and almost feral smile never falling from her face.

And then she landed. There was no splatter of blood or crunch of bones hitting solid earth. Instead, the girl’s descent slowed down as she neared the ground, the air swirling beneath her spinning faster and faster until it received her like an inflatable cushion they use for stunt actors. The speed slowed until her feet gracefully touched the ground, with only a minor stumble to ever even indicate the great height she had come hurtling down from. That’s impossible. She should have died. There has to be an explanation- a solution. Logan couldn’t keep going without knowing why.

It was silent, save for the dissipating winds and rustling leaves, before-

“Oh, what the fuck ,” 

All of the bystanders’ eyes moved from the girl to Roman after he spoke words into the silence. And then she laughed, big and bright; her feral smile still on display as she threw her head back and cackled. She laughed until everyone joined in, even Virgil letting out a snort at her glee. Logan had heard laughter was a contagious thing, which is why sitcoms would add laugh tracks to their shows- inducing audience reaction. Now, he saw it in front of his own eyes as he gripped his best friend’s hand tight.

“That’s the best reaction I’ve gotten so far,” attention was drawn back to the girl, who had stepped out of her wild-blown circle of grass and begun walking towards the group. Now that she was closer, he could make out her green-grey eyes and the splash of freckles that seemed to coat her entire body, as well as a sharp scar that made its way from her jawline up her cheek before stopping halfway to her left eye. Her jacket, leather, he could see now, was patched to hell and back with both actual patches and darned bits of thread, and…were those swords on her back? This wasn’t real.

Another voice cut off his thoughts, “Stop torturing the poor kid, H,” Virgil sounded more at ease there than he did at any moment during their trip, “Where’s Atum? Usually, he can keep you from pulling stunts like that,” and Logan had to wonder if this happened often. Maybe he was just losing it.

The girl shrugged, crossing her arms in front of her, “Pulled a prank on the Aphrodite cabin and landed himself on dish duty,” Aphrodite? 

Virgil nodded, “Sounds about right,” he then turned to the two he had been escorting, “Logan, Roman, meet Hope, Daughter of Zeus,” Zeus?

“Wait,” Roman was the one to interject this time, voicing what both of them were thinking, “What do you mean, daughter of Zeus ? I thought- aren’t those just myths?” Roman sounded confused and more than a little nervous, and Logan wasn’t faring much better. While he was speaking, the people who had gathered for Hope’s dive-bomb act started to go back to what they were doing. As if nothing was amiss. As if they hadn’t seen the unrealistic feats and insanity brought forth by this girl’s stupid fall.

Hope quirked an eyebrow, her grin turning much more condescending and sinister, “How’d you suppose I’d survive that drop, then?” Her voice dropped, and Logan could almost smell the electricity in the air around her. Things weren’t right here. They were crazy- messing with them. Maybe they were part of some new game show: the drakon, the house collapsing, the weird camp- it was all just too unreal for Logan to accept. He was confused, he had no resources to rely on and had too many questions left unanswered and it was driving him mad.

So Logan pushed his friend behind him with an arm to separate him from the insanity before them. He held his head high and spoke in a voice free of tremors that would reveal how uncertain he was, “What is going on here,” it was less a question and more a demand. He heard Roman say something about calming down, but he would not hear it. His job was to protect Roman. He did not haul ass up to New York after being attacked by some- thing, to be deceived by some people who were probably deceiving them. Logan had heard of the dangers of cults and their ways: making you believe that they were safe and right , “Why should I- we- Why should we trust you,”

For a moment, Logan thought he had stumped them, as the two did not say anything to calm his anxieties. They stared forward at a point above his shoulder, and for a second, he thought they had gone brain-dead, slack-jawed and wide-eyed. 

And then he felt warmth at his back. A warmth that seeps into your bones like a warm coffee in the bitter snow. It reminded him of good nights with the Herrero family. Nights where he stared at the stars with a blanket pulled tight around him. And then he noticed a glow reflecting on Hope and Virgil’s faces, orange and bright. 

He thought he was glowing until Roman spoke.

“What are you staring at?” Logan turned to see it was not he who was glowing, but his friend. Or rather, the large, fiery hammer above his friend's head.

More questions flooded into Logan’s mind. More than he could verbalize or even make sense of. What was that? What did it mean? 

Before he could even attempt to speak, Virgil dropped to a knee, with everyone in the vicinity following his lead. A new voice, fatherly but respectable like a college professor, rang out:

“All hail Roman Herrero, son of Hephaestus, god of the forge and fire,”

What?