The forest of Camp Half-Blood loomed around Meara Adair like a silent audience, watching as she crouched low behind the wide trunk of an oak tree, her breath uneven but quiet. Her heart hammered against her ribs, more out of anticipation than fear. She could hear the voices of her pursuers closing in, their frustration spilling out into the stillness of the woods.
"Where is she?" Clarisse's voice sliced through the air, dripping with fury. It was clear she hadn't taken Meara's act of revenge lightly. "Look for her! We can't lose her now!" she ordered, directing her comrades with the authority she wielded so effortlessly.
You might be wondering what led to this moment;
When Meara discovered that the children of Ares had stolen her necklace—her only magical item, a treasured gift from her godly parent—just for the fun of it, rage consumed her.
Luke, her friend, had urged her to let it go, but anger clouded her judgment, compelling her to seek revenge.
Yes, revenge against the offsprings of the god of war.
So, she had done what any "rational" demigod would do—she snuck into their cabin during dinner and hid their belongings in irregular, near-impossible-to-find places.
It had taken them three full days to notice.
Their rage was satisfying at first, but now, as she crouched in the woods, she wondered if maybe, just maybe, she'd overplayed her hand.
Suddenly, a stick snapped under her foot.
Meara steadied herself against the rough bark of the tree, peeking around cautiously while trying to control her breathing. To her dismay, one of the Ares campers stood twenty feet in front of the tree.
As she retreated, her mind raced for a plan.
Meara took a deep breath and stepped out from her hiding place. Almost immediately, he spotted her. "Clarisse! We've got her!" he shouted, sprinting toward her, eager for recognition.
Meara locked eyes with him, but as he closed in, she shifted her gaze to a nearby bush.
In an unexpected burst of movement, it rustled violently, and a rock tumbled out, tripping the boy as he stumbled forward.
A soft chuckle escaped Meara's lips, a sound that only served to heighten Clarisse's fury.
With a flick of her wrist, Clarisse tossed her long curls over her shoulder and muttered under her breath while walking towards the girl.
"The kids of Ares? Come on, this guy just tripped over a rock." Meara's mocking voice rang out as she assessed their numbers. She counted five, with two more hidden behind a tall tree. "Can you even be considered opponents?"
"That's not fair, the rock just rolled out of nowhere," one of Clarisse's lackeys chimed in, drawing Meara's gaze.
Clarisse silenced him with a swift hand gesture.
"You're just a little child—Chiron's favorite one, no doubt. They say that you're one of the two best sword fighters... But I wonder, has anyone ever seen you fight outside the training arena?" Clarisse's laughter echoed in the clearing, closing the distance between them. Meara returned her gaze defiantly.
"Big talk for someone who needs little minions behind her to feel confident." Meara retorted, tilting her head in challenge. "You'd never take me on one-on-one."
"If you really think that, then you're delusional." Clarisse narrowed her eyes, trying to seem calm while clenching her fists.
"Delusional? You needed five people just to go after me." Meara tilted her head, her lips curving into a sly smirk.
"No wonder you're unclaimed. I wouldn't claim a child like you either." Clarisse sneered, a cruel smile creeping across her face.
Meara struggled to maintain her composure, her blood boiling beneath the surface. "Better than being claimed by a father who hates me," she shot back.
In an instant, Clarisse's fury boiled over. She hurled her spear, advancing with deadly determination.
Meara quickly snatched a thick stick from the ground, prepared for the confrontation. She knew she couldn't seriously hurt them though—without protective gear, things could escalate quickly.
Clarisse's spear flew through the air, aimed directly at Meara's stomach. She had lost her rationality, and Meara saw an opportunity to turn the tide.
Meara barely had time to react, her instincts taking over as she reached out and caught the spear mid-flight. For a brief moment, the wind seemed to shift unnaturally around her, slowing the spear just enough for her to grab it. She stumbled, the force of the throw making her knees buckle slightly.
The moment didn't last long. One of Clarisse's lackeys lunged at her from behind, grabbing a handful of her hair.
"Seriously?" Meara grimaced while elbowing him hard in the hip, forcing him to release his grip, then swiftly turned and kicked him in the stomach.
Another camper charged at her, his fists swinging wildly. Meara ducked, letting his momentum carry him past her. She swung the spear's blunt end into his side, sending him sprawling. But the sheer number of them was overwhelming. One girl managed to land a kick near Meara's shoulder, throwing her off balance.
As the wind whipped through her hair, Meara stumbled backward, feeling a surge of energy coursing through her veins.
She had to let go of the stick; she couldn't manage both that and the spear.
Meara noticed two other campers rushing toward her, Clarisse leading the charge. A girl who ran on her left side, infuriated, charged at Meara, but she had no time to stand back up.
She struck the girl's right leg, and to her shock, she saw her opponent suddenly convulsing.
As Meara glanced to inspect the weapon in confusion from it's power, she realized it wasn't Clarisse's spear that had caused the girl's shock; it was the simple wooden stick that she picked up earlier.
The weapon felt ordinary in her hand, but the raw energy coursing through it was unmistakable.
She gripped it tighter, her mind racing.
The Ares campers hesitated, exchanging uneasy glances. Even Clarisse seemed momentarily unsure.
"Get back," she ordered, her voice quieter but still firm. Her crew scrambled to collect their injured, their confidence shaken. Clarisse shot Meara one last glare, her expression a mix of anger and something else—something almost like fear. "This isn't over," she declared before turning to follow her group.
Meara stood alone in the clearing, her chest heaving as the adrenaline began to fade. She looked down at the stick in her hand, her mind buzzing with questions.
This wasn't the first time something strange had happened around her.
YOU ARE READING
𝐚𝐳𝐚𝐞𝐥𝐚; percy jackson
Fanfiction✧. ┊ IN WHICH a 12-year-old Meara Adair is thrust into a fate she never wanted. Even as the daughter of a powerful god, Meara struggles to embrace her destiny, especially when it means teaming up with the infuriating yet undeniably captivating Per...
