The Path Of Glory (Annabeth Chase x Male Reader)

45. Bad Omen

Y/N didn't feel like eating at dinner that night.

The food was as excellent as usual. Barbecue, pizza, never-empty soda goblets—safe bets. The torches and braziers kept the outdoor pavilion warm, but they all had to sit with their cabin mates, which meant YN was alone at the Hera table. Percy sat alone at the Poseidon table, but they couldn't sit together. Camp rules. Thalia was alone, too, though it didn't bother Y/N much. At least the Hephaestus, Ares, and Hermes cabins had a few people each. Nico sat with the Stoll brothers, since new campers always got stuck in the Hermes cabin if their Olympian parent was unknown. The Stoll brothers seemed to be trying to convince Nico that poker was a much better game than Mythomagic.

Let's hope Nico doesn't have any money to lose, Y/N thought.

The only table that really seemed to be having a good time was the Artemis table. The Hunters drank and ate and laughed like one big happy family. Zoë sat at the head as though she was the mama. She didn't laugh as much as the others, but she did smile from time to time. Her silver lieutenant's band glittered in the dark braids of her hair. Bianca di Angelo seemed to be having a great time. She was trying to learn how to arm wrestle from the big girl who had picked a fight with the Ares kid on the basketball court. The bigger girl was beating her every time, but Bianca didn't seem to mind.

When they had finished eating, Chiron made the customary toast to the gods and formally welcomed the Hunters of Artemis. The clapping was half hearted. Then he announced the "good will" capture-the-flag game for tomorrow night, which got a lot better reception.

Afterward, they all trailed back to their cabins. Lights out was early, in the winter. Y/N was exhausted, anyway, and just as his head fell on his pillow, he fell asleep. That was the good part of going on quests—sleeping fast. The bad part was, Y/N didn't like sleeping. Let's just say that almost a year and a half of either no dream or the same one over and over, didn't help at all. But this time, it was different.

Annabeth was on a dark hillside, shrouded in fog. Y/N immediately thought of his usual dream, but he couldn't figure which part. He couldn't really figure anything, in a dream.

Annabeth struggled up the hill. Old broken Greek columns of black marble were scattered around, as though something had blasted a huge building to ruins.

"Thorn!" Annabeth cried. "Where are you? Why did you bring me here?" She scrambled over a section of broken wall and came to the crest of the hill.

She gasped.

There was Luke. And he was in pain.

He was crumpled on the rocky ground, trying to rise. The blackness seemed to be thicker around him, fog swirling hungrily. His clothes were in tatters and his face was scratched and drenched with sweat.

"Annabeth!" he called. "Help me! Please!"

She ran forward.

He's a traitor! Don't trust him! That was what Y/N wanted to cry out, but his voice didn't work in the dream. He tried to grab Annabeth's shoulder, but his hand went through it as if he was a ghost.

Annabeth had tears in her eyes. She reached down as if she wanted to touch Luke's face, but at the last second she hesitated.

"What happened?" she asked.

"They left me here," Luke groaned. "Please. It's killing me."

Y/N couldn't see what was burdening him, no matter how hard he tried to peer through the fog; he was sure the real problem hid behind it. Luke seemed to be struggling against some invisible curse, as if the fog were squeezing him to death.