𝗔𝗣𝗣𝗟𝗔𝗨𝗦𝗘 ! ━ 𝙋. 𝙅𝘼𝘾𝙆𝙎𝙊𝙉

vi.

the next few days went smoothly. percy settled into a routine that felt almost normal if you didn't count the fact that he was getting lessons from satyrs, nymphs, and a centaur.

each morning he took ancient greek from annabeth, with marcel occasionally tagging along. they talked about the gods and goddesses in the present tense, which was kind of weird for percy. the older boy assured him that he'd get used to it.

speaking of which, marcel was... more agitated. he often snapped at others and seemed on edge, as if he was expecting someone to attack him at any moment. no one knew what was wrong with him. whenever annabeth, clarisse, or even percy tried to ask him what was wrong, they'd get a snarkish reply in return. there was a time when the daughter of athena sent charles beckendorf, a burly son of hephaestus, to talk to him. percy didn't know why annabeth thought it was actually a good idea, but, to his surprise, marcel didn't send beckendorf away. he didn't answer his questions either, but he was definitely nicer to him than to the other three.

for the rest of the day, percy'd rotate through outdoor activities, looking for something he was good at. chiron tried to teach him archery, but they quickly found out he wasn't any good with a bow and arrow. the centaur didn't complain when he had to disentangle a stray arrow from his tail. how did it end up there? no one knew.

foot racing? not good either. the wood-nymph instructors, dryads, left him in the dust. they told percy not to worry about it. they'd had centuries of practice running away from lovesick gods. kind of sad and awful if you asked him. but still, it was a little humiliating to be slower than a tree.

and wrestling? forget it. every time percy got on the mat, clarisse would pulverize him.

"i'm not done with you yet, punk," she'd mumble in his ear.

the only thing percy really excelled at was canoeing, and that wasn't the kind of heroic skill people expected to see from the kid who had beaten the minotaur. he tried to ignore the anticipation hiding in their peering eyes, but it was more difficult than some may think.

percy knew the senior campers and counselors were watching him, trying to decide who his dad was, but they weren't having an easy time with it. he didn't have the brawn of an ares kid or the good aim at archery of apollo's child. he wasn't good with metalwork like hephaestus's kid or (gods forbid!) dionysus's way with vine plants. luke told him he might be a child of hermes, a kind of jack-of-all-trades, master of none. but percy had the feeling he was just trying to make him feel better. luke really didn't know what to make of him either.

despite all that, percy liked camp. he got used to the morning fog over the beach, the smell of hot strawberry fields in the afternoon, marcel supporting and helping him out despite his terrible mood, and even the weird noises of monsters in the woods at night. he would eat dinner with cabin eleven, scrape part of his meal into the fire, and try to feel some connection to his real dad. nothing came. just that warm feeling he'd always had, like the memory of his smile. percy tried not to think too much about his mom, but he kept wondering: if gods and monsters were real, if all this magical stuff was possible, there had to be some way to save her, to bring her back...