Walk With the Shadows [ Percy Jackson OC ]

EIGHTEEN | Alex

WHO KNEW EIGHT WOODEN BEADS COULD WEIGH HEAVIER than the bronze sword Alex kept at his side? He looked down at the camp necklace in his hands. They almost glowed in the golden light of early morning.

Four painted beads ending with Poseidon's Trident represented the years he had spent at Camp Half-Blood with Luke. On the other end hung the bead he'd received last night, the Empire State Building surrounded by the names of the fallen campers. But between the beautifully crafted summer beads he'd strung three, black as night. One for each summer he'd spent with Kronos.

Those didn't glow in the light of dawn. They looked like tear drops made of tar, physical representations of his mistakes. Chiron had offered him a Labyrinth bead. But it hadn't seemed right. He'd fought the battle on their side, but not the war. Not back then.

In the sword fighting arena, Alex couldn't hear the hustle and bustle of departing campers. He didn't want to hear them. While they left for the real world, for middle schools, high schools, and for one or two, college, Alex knew he had only twenty four to forty eight hours until he had to leave the safety of camp.

These last few days had been the best days of his life since the beginning of the Second Titan War. Relay races, friendly sparring, campfire karaoke. Then the Oracle had spoiled it. The Prophecy of Reparation had reminded Alex that he had no right to rest.

He stood up from his stone bench in the amphitheater. Packed sand shuffled only slightly beneath his grey tennis shoes. He slipped the necklace back on and approached the nearest training dummy.

Made of straw and leather armor, the first looked comically like a kindergartner's interpretation of a Laistrygonian. Alex readied himself. He gritted his teeth, raising his sword to the proper height.

He remembered every lesson Luke had given him. Every parry, every thrust, every shifting of his feet. Luke had been there from day one to guide him and as he hewed at the training dummy, he focused on his brother's voice in his mind.

His arms burned. The pain fueled him. He finished off the Laistrygonian and moved to the second. Alex laid into it, slamming his sharpened celestial bronze sword down into the straw over and over and over until sweat dripped from his brow and his knuckles turned white. The body split in two.

Alex did the same to the third. His sword stuck between wood and straw, wrenching it from his grasp. White hot pain shot up his arm from hai wrist to his chest. He shouted both from the pain and from his rage.

Taking a moment to breathe, he left his sword stuck in the dummy. The sun crept up in the sky. Alex took a drink, water spilling out of the corner of his mouth and down his sweaty orange shirt. He closed his eyes.

He had to remember who he was doing this for. Not for himself. He'd have been fine with taking a lightning bolt to the chest on Olympus. But he had a job, a duty. He couldn't let his bitterness take control. Not this time.