Shattered

Cards

-Fractured C3-

Nico di Angelo was beginning to regret introducing Mythomagic to his ghostly trainers.

He had first brought out his card collection last week during an afternoon break of one of his many training sessions. It wasn't everyday something as modern as game cards would get brought down into the underworld and Achilles and Dryas had immediately taken keen interest.

And now, they were pretty much obsessed.

"What do you mean, I wasn't included in the Argonaut Expansion Pack?" Dryas moaned in despair, his ghostly form faltering over the array of cards that were the latest addition to Nico's collection. If ghosts could cry, Dryas would do just that.

"It means you hadn't made the cut, you idiot." Achilles rolled his eyes in annoyance, before clapping the long-dead son of Ares' shoulder. Dryas tended to get a tad bit emotional about these things. "Maybe they'll add you in the next one."

"Easy for you to say, Achilles," Dryas grunted helplessly - almost a whimper. He placed his transparent hands over his eyes in self-pity as his spectral form laid on the ground atop Nico's cards. "You were one of the first demigods to be added. They'll never add me at this rate. I am destined to be forgotten."

"It's a card game for children, not the Olympiad," Achilles yawned to him, although his smirking expression pronounced otherwise. When Dryas didn't immediately move from his spot on the ground, however, Achilles kicked at his back. "By the Styx, we're supposed to be training the boy Nico here. Stop with this self-absorbed meltdown. I'm sure there's still somebody spreading great epics about your accomplishments."

"Are there? Are there really?" Dryas slowly rolled over so his back would be against the ground (and cards). The ghost's eyes squinted at Nico for some consolation and confirmation.

"Sure..." Nico said from the large boulder he sat upon. He didn't have the heart to tell the son of Ares that he had never even heard of him before he had been conscripted by Hades to help Achilles train him, much less he being famed enough for some cult.

To be fair, Nico hadn't necessarily been an expert in Greek stories when he had been first introduced to his true heritage, but he still probably fared better than most.

"See?" Achilles pointed at Nico. "There's probably some old, smelly scholar somewhere singing the tale of Dryas. Maybe even a cult which worships you."

"Do I have a cult?" Dryas looked again at Nico, hopefully.

There wasn't a Cult of Dryas. That was what Nico wanted to say.

"They are very secretive," Nico said instead, begrudgingly.

The son of Ares eased into a nod. "Makes sense."

Neither Achilles, nor Nico wanted to clarify with the ghost why such a claim would make sense. Instead, when Dryas continued to refuse to get off the ground, Achilles sighed.

"Dryas might've been one of the best blades back in my day, but I still don't understand why Lord Hades sent him," Achilles grumbled, shaking his head, before motioning Nico to get off the stump he currently sat on. "Back with the reps. Get y'ur blade out."

Nico unsheathed Nightcrawler with a heave. The stygian blade was still on the edge of being too heavy in his arms, but supposedly this meant it would be a better fit for him later on.

"Your next lesson will be on footwork," Achilles barked. "In a test of blades, where you position your feet at every moment is just as important as the control of your blade. If you allow your opponent to trip you, or even catch you off-balance, an early grave is but guaranteed."