Not Your Ordinary Demigods

Chapter 8: Arrion (written by Kiwi)

Okay. Let's cut to the chase. My name is Arrion, and I'd been claimed a while back, to say the least. I'd been here, at Camp Half-Blood, for many years, flying under the radar, hardly known. Being introverted yet competitive, I was always watching around, so I knew a couple names of most of the people at camp, but I never spoke out.

I suppose that worked out successfully.

Ptolemy, the absolutely great, perfect, and definitely intelligent mathematician reached out to me on a lonely day in my cabin. He seemed to understand me too well. He knew my godly parent, Nike, my exact abilities: great reflexes, speed, some (over exhausting) shadow teleportation, and stealth, as well as my weaknesses: attachment, ultimatums, guilt, and regret. He offered me to be his spy, something I will never forgive myself for accepting. At first, it seemed fine; just tell him a few names, cabins. Eventually he let me go, and I thought that'd be the end.

But now he visits me again, asking for help, once again. I refuse this time, worried he would do the same thing, and with the guilt I feel from having helped him the last time. That's when, once again, he pulls the ultimatum. Yay. Great. I'm clapping in awe at how skilled this man is at striking deals. Stunning. Inspiring. Intriguing. Wow. (Fine, OKAY! I'll stop being sarcastic for a minute!)

"You have helped me once, soldier. Do it again, and I shall not harm the Romans and Greeks you care so much about," he says calmly, a smirk on his face. I can only smile thinly.

"If you DARE take them, I will kill you," I hiss back, glaring at the Iris projection of Ptolemy. I leave the Iris message, running out of the cabin, a pitted feeling of angst and worry overcoming me as I sprint towards the Big House, wanting to talk to Chiron; he could help. Understand.

"Chiron! Chiron! Ptolemy" I yell, but before I can say more, I see a flash faster than my inhuman reflexes, and the next thing I know I'm hidden away in a cave, just coming back to my senses.

So there. That's my backstory, I guess. Now let me finish cleaning the infirmary... I swear, nobody talks about doing the chores. It's fun. (No, Stal, I'm not being sarcastic- okay, just a little. But it's been past a minute by now. I'm allowed to be sarcastic. Oh, wait, no, it hasn't been a minute, I'm not allowed. Fine. I'll stop if you stop.)