Prophesied Powder, PJO

4.9

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Chapter 41
I Visit Mount Olympus

Volume 4: The Battle of
the Labyrinth

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All of Greg's life, he had been alone.

Even in his earliest memories, around seven or so, he was teaching himself how to ride a bike. He'd had to teach himself a lot—from hotwiring motorcycles to pickpocketing rich ladies with purses that were so large that Greg's thin wrists could easily slip in and out. Once, he'd told Luke that he could've been a son of Hermes. But Luke hadn't liked that.

He met Luke when he was thirteen, and he thought of their first meeting often. About how fabricated it had been and how manipulative Luke could be. It was a talent in war to draw people in, and Luke possessed a winsome smile and a charming cadence that could make the great generals of history rot in jealousy. Still, being aware of his falseness didn't make Greg feel differently about Luke.

At the end of every day, Greg had to tell himself the same thing. Luke was the first adult in his life to look at him like he had value. Whether or not Luke wanted to use him, or cared for him at all, it was still true. His eyes still shined proudly when Greg wielded his sword correctly, and Greg was old enough to admit that he craved that.

He'd learned he was a demigod on a normal day in New York City. His foster parents at the time were sick of his "disrespectful behavior" and reckless compulsion toward criminal activities, but they hadn't given up on him just yet. It was what his foster mother had called a family outing--as if they were family. He'd slipped away quickly in the midst of Times Square.

It was one stolen watch later that Luke found Greg. He was staring at a shop window, brown eyes fixed on a pair of black Nike shoes. "Nike is the name of a Greek goddess, you know?" Luke's first words to him, with his pale hands in his pockets and a beanie over his blond hair.

"Yeah," Greg side-eyed him. He didn't like him from the start; a stranger coming up to him could've been a cop, could've been CPS. But Luke was too young, and Greg didn't run away. "Learned at school." Only a partial lie; Pat had taught him during lunch. He'd always been well-versed in his Greek myths. Of course, now Greg knew why.

"A lot of things are still shaped by the ancient Greeks," Luke had said, "Pop culture, architecture," He'd trailed off slightly, then added, "Weather, wars, technology."

Greg furrowed his eyebrows.

"It's because they're still here," Luke told him, "And Mount Olympus?" He pointed up, to the top of the Empire State Building a few blocks away, "It's right there."

At the time, Greg hadn't spoken. It was New York City, and people were crazy. Luke hadn't seemed violent, so he didn't run. He didn't do anything. His eyes remained set on the Nike shoes.

"Don't believe me?" Luke asked. "Your mom is one of them."

Greg's head had snapped to Luke, but he'd taken a step away from him. Luke focused on that first, his eyes glancing toward Greg's beat-up sneakers as they got ready to run.

"I know my fair share about running, Gregory," Luke smiled—still charming, much more terrifying. Greg hadn't told him his name. "I ran away when I was seven. Because I'm a demigod, like you."

"You're crazy," Greg glared, "Like half of this fucking city."

Luke rolled his eyes, "Hear me out," He pointed to the Empire State Building, which towered over the department stores around them, standing a few blocks away. "Mount Olympus floats about the Empire State Building. Walk with me, and you'll see."