Dreamwalker - A Percy Jackson Fic

Prologue

Okay, look. Thinking back, all the signs were there that what Kieran had assumed were chronic nightmares were very much not just nightmares. The signs were neon yellow, in blinking lights, and about a billion feet tall and there were a ton of them, all right in front of his face. Hindsight is 20/20 and all that.

For instance, the nightmare from a week or so ago.

If Kieran didn't know any better, he'd think the sky was going to explode. Actually, he did know better and he still thought the sky was going to explode.

He was trapped in a storm on the beach. Every clap of thunder shook the earth as colossal waves crashed onto the shore threatening to drown him. Lightning fell like rain. It was a miracle he wasn't dead.

This nightmare Kieran had had a few times before, or at least variations of it. Sometimes he was just fine. Sometimes he was struck by lightning or dragged out to sea to die. Sometimes he heard a laugh coming from a crevice in the ground behind him only to die to a curved blade through his chest from behind when he tried to look for the voice.

But this time was different. He was protected. Whenever he'd survived this dream before it was pure luck and because he'd managed to hide in the crevice, echoing laughter following him as he awoke. But this time, even as he was tossed around by thunder and water, he was safe. The waves never dragged him or got too high, lightning never got near him.

Kieran looked around, hoping to finally see the owner of the voice maybe, or whoever it was that kept stabbing him, but instead there was a sword next to him. It was stuck into the sand which couldn't be very stable but it didn't budge no matter what happened around it. It was made of a strange metal. Not steel like you'd expect a sword to be made of, but what looked like copper or bronze.

Somehow Kieran instinctively knew this sword was protecting him. He had no idea how it got there or who it belonged to because it definitely wasn't his and it didn't look like the blade that had killed him in these dreams before. But there was just a feeling of rightness he got when he neared it and despite the maelstrom around him, he felt safe. When he put his hand on the hilt he suddenly knew its name, like he'd been around it all his life.

Anaklusmos.

"Ky!"

Kieran jolted as he was yanked back by the collar of his shirt, frantically looking around as he tried to find the sword. But there was no sword, not even a storm, and definitely not a beach. Probably because he was never on a beach and actually lived smack dab in the middle of Missouri which funnily enough did not have an ocean.

"Dude, what was that?!" Mavros demanded.

Mavros Hawthorne, Kieran's friend for pretty much all of his life. Kieran's mother and their little baby self had moved in next door to baby Mavros, his father, and his step-mom. Mavros's parents had been more than happy to pawn him off to play dates at Kieran's house (three guesses as to Kieran's opinion on them) and Kieran was just happy to have a friend. They even stayed friends when Mavros's dad got promoted and his family got to move to a nicer house than Kieran's mom could afford as an artist.

Mavros wasn't exactly a popular guy; he was crude and grumpy, not to mention his resting face looked like he was imagining whoever he was looking at on fire. Imagine his glare. Plus there was just something off about him, something genuinely scary. Almost cold. Even Kieran saw it sometimes. The guy didn't exactly have a lot of friends. But he was genuinely one of the best people Kieran had ever met and as someone who had been to six schools in six years, Kieran had met a lot of people.

"What was what?" Kieran asked.

"You almost walked right into the street!" Mavros exclaimed. He grabbed Kieran's arm and sat him down on a nearby bench to get him out of the way. "Where is your head at, man? You scared the shit out of me."