𝘼 𝙌𝙪𝙞𝙚𝙩 𝘿𝙚𝙢𝙞𝙜𝙤𝙙 𝙇𝙞𝙛𝙚 ⁰·¹

🧊Cyrus Grant🐬

"Sirius Grant" Luna muttered, staring down at her own son. "I-"

"I don't need to hear it," Cyrus interrupted. "You want me to come back. Go around and-I don't know, eat pretzels or something."

"No, that's not-... " Luna sighed deeply through her nose. "You're in danger."

"Yeah, of getting hit by lightning in a weather like this," Cyrus grumbled, hinting at the heavy storm falling on top of both of them.

"Look, there's this kid-(y/n) de La Cruz," Luna hummed, "he's important. And he's at Camp right now."

Cyrus hated it when Luna rambled about this weird stuff. Like "Camp," or "Half-Blood," or "gods." He never knew what she was talking about.

He shook his head. "I'm not coming with you."

🧊🐬✾

"awa an bile yer heid," Cyrus grunted, waving his hand around.

"What?" the British kid frowned, though his "what" sounded more like "wot."

Cyrus sighed. "It means "Go away and boil your head"-Go fuck yerself. It's Scottish slang."

"Oh," (y/n) hummed. "So it's an insult."

Cyrus shrugged. "Ask your dad, maybe he'd know."

(y/n) narrowed his eyes. "I don't have a dad."

Cyrus eyed him. "We're on the same boat, then."

🧊🐬✾

"Greek," Annabeth said. "I spoke Ancient Greek."

"Oh, uhm," Cyrus hummed. "Was I supposed to understand that?"

"You're a half blood, I'd assume so," she shrugged. "Why?"

"No reason," Cyrus trailed off. "Just wondering."

🧊🐬✾

"Neptune," Cyrus said as he rubbed his temples. "I'm a son of Neptune, not Poseidon?"

The god Poseidon nodded. "Yeah. You are still my son, though in my Roman form."

"... So the prophecy is definitely not about me," Cyrus muttered as he realized. "It's about Percy."

"Yes, it is... Likely," Poseidon hummed.

"I've gotta tell him," Cyrus shook his head.

Poseidon raised his hand. "You can't. That's like looking down to a wound you didn't realize you had. It'll only make it worse."

"No, he'll-" Cyrus sighed. "He's-..."

Poseidon put a hand to his son's shoulder, as the boy put his hands to his face, quiet sobs filling the empty room.

"He'll be fine," the god reassured. "Percy's strong. You just gotta believe in him."

🧊🐬✾

"Why don't you come down and lemme freeze yer ass off," Cyrus taunted, lifting his adamantine sword-Imber, or Rainfall from Latin.

Luke chuckled. "I'm more of a warm weather kinda guy."

Cyrus scoffed. "No problem with that, we have (y/n)."

Speak of the devil: (y/n), riding an overgrown Benny, bounced into the small clearance, steaming the border of the creek that was over 15 feet away with the heat they emanated.