Percy Jackson and the lightning thief

We are offered a quest [Harry]

The next morning Chiron showed us to cabin 3.

We didn't have to share with anybody. We had plenty of room for our stuff: the Minotaur's horn, one set of spare clothes, and a toiletry bag. We got to sit at our own dinner table, pick all my own activities, call "lights out" whenever we felt like it, and not listen to anybody else.

And we were absolutely miserable. Mostly Percy.

Just when he'd started to feel accepted, to feel like we had a home in cabin eleven and we might normal kids — or as normal as you can be when you're a half-blood — we'd been separated out as if we had some rare disease.

Nobody mentioned the hellhound, but he  got the feeling they were all talking about it behind my back. They were but I couldn't tell him that.

'Then maybe you should work on blocking me from reading your thoughts'

The attack had scared everybody. It sent two messages: one, that we were the kinda Sons of the Sea God; and two, monsters would stop at nothing to kill us. They could even invade a camp that had always been considered safe. But it's not like we're gonna be that powerful we're blessing kids after all.

The other campers steered clear of us a s much as possible. Cabin eleven were about the only one who didn't seem around us nervous after what Percy'd done to the Ares folks in the woods, so out lessons with Luke didn't become one-on-one. He pushed us harder than ever, and wasn't afraid to bruise me up in the process.

"You're going to need all the training you can get," he promised, as we were working with swords and flaming torches. "Now let's try that viper-beheading strike again. Fifty more repetitions."

Annabeth full on resented us now. Jade  still taught us Greek in the mornings, but she seemed distracted. Every time Percy said something, she scowled at me, as if he'd  just poked her between the eyes.

After lessons, she would walk away muttering to herself: "Quest ... Poseidon? ... fucking shitty
... Got to make a plan ..."

Even Clarisse kept her distance, though her venomous looks made it clear she wanted to kill Percy for breaking her electric spear. He wished she would just yell or punch him or something. I'd rather get into fights every day than be ignored.

That night, we had our worst dream yet.

We were running along the beach in a storm.

This time, there was a city behind us. Not New York. The sprawl was different: buildings spread farther apart, palm trees and low hills in the distance.

About a hundred yards down the surf, two men were fighting. They looked like TV wrestlers, muscular, with beards and long hair. Both wore flowing Greek tunics, one trimmed in blue, the other in green. They grappled with each other, wrestled, kicked and head-butted, and every time they connected, lightning flashed, the sky grew darker, and the wind rose.

We had to stop them. We didn't know why. But the harder we ran, the more the wind blew me back, until we were running in place, our heels digging uselessly in the sand.

Over the roar of the storm, I could hear the blue-robed one yelling at the greenrobed one, Give it back! Give it back! Like a nursery children fighting over a toy.

The waves got bigger, crashing into the beach, spraying us with salt.

We yelled, "Stop it! Stop fighting!"

The ground shook. Laughter came from somewhere under the earth, and a voice so deep and evil it turned my blood to ice .

"Come down, little hero, the voice crooned. Come down!"