Walk With the Shadows [ Percy Jackson OC ]

FORTY-TWO | Ophelia

HIDDEN FLAMES PAINTED THE BLACK HORIZON RED as Ophelia led the way towards the Fields of Punishment. The further they went, the more familiar it became. She'd seen these plains of barren ash in her dreams.

It's sad, isn't it. That you've become so familiar with this dreadful place.

I wish I could walk free with you, Ophelia.

At least you aren't alone.

I've not been alone for years.

Ophelia closed her eyes for a moment as she continued on. The rhythmic footsteps of Alex just behind her gave her some comfort. She knew he would stand beside her. She knew he understood the importance of their quest. To save them all.

You used to be alone, though. We all were.

Truly unfair. Even your beloved Alex was sent a Satyr guide, and he still rebelled.

Ophelia opened her eyes again. Her footsteps crunched against gravel and soot as she started up a massive hillside. Scree as black as obsidian offered precarious footholds. With each move, she sent a dozen little rocks sliding back down behind her.

Your mother believes in a child making their own choices. Even if it leads them to ruin.

She did nothing for me.

What did she do for you, Ophelia?

An icy rage filled her chest as she struggled up the hill. Her hands hit the debris. Hissing in pain, she pulled back after steadying herself to see small bloody scrapes along her palms.

"You okay?"

Ophelia paused to catch her breath. But she nodded, risking a quick glance back at Alex. "I'm fine."

Do you mean that?

We got real good at lying, didn't we?

Ophelia scrambled up the last leg of the hillside. She didn't respond to the voices, not to Eris and not to Samuel. She didn't want to admit they were right.

Mortals fell for deception far too easily. Ophelia had learned that very early on. With a father too invested in searching for ghosts and listening to what he claimed were the voices of the dead, Ophelia had quickly learned to look after herself. Middle school children weren't supposed to fend for themselves in alleyways and interstates but she'd found a way.

During the day, she spent time in bookstores. The children's section of Borders Books had been her favorite spot. She remembered vividly the dark blue, black, and purple carpet with stars and planets. She'd never advanced in math past a fourth grade level, but she could read.

She found the books in Spanish and French almost easier to read than the ones in English. Samuel had told her that was because as a child of Hecate, they could read Latin as well as Greek. So many of their spells required knowledge of the dead language, a knowledge which came easily and without training.