FULL SPEED AHEAD (an Epic: the Musical reference).
It's an oddly poetic way of saying, 'Hey, let's go grocery shopping,' except this wasn't your usual trip to a pristine, air-conditioned mall with floors so clean you could practically eat off them (please don't do that). Instead, I found myself wandering through a ghostly market, completely deserted—well, except for my friends. Not a single soul in sight (though I can't speak for the married ones).
This could be a mixed bag. On one hand, no people might mean no monsters. But then again, the lack of people might also mean something drove them away, which could further explain the strange smell of smoke lingering around here.
Before I go any further, let me just say that Nebby's strange obsession with the military and Christal's random jokes are definitely starting to rub off on me. So, please bear with me as my sense of humor becomes more questionable with time. No judgment, okay?
I tugged at some ash-covered sheets draped over a stall, revealing untouched fruits and vegetables underneath.
What are they doing out here?
I wasn't exactly a genius at grocery shopping, but it didn't take much to see that this market had been deserted only recently. A few days, perhaps? But why?
Eruptions? Maybe. Fire? This is a fruit market. Heatwave? What even is a heatwave? My brain does this thing where it tries to list all the possibilities, just so I can cross out the ridiculous ones. I usually do this out loud, like those nerds on TV (gotta stay in character), but it's supposed to be a last resort.
But right now? I was completely stuck. The clues were right there: ash smeared on my fingers, the thick, suffocating air, and yet... none of it made sense.
One thing was clear, though: it definitely had something to do with fire.
And to make matters worse, I couldn't believe we lost our senior after just the first few hours of the quest. Now we're left to wade through this mess without any guidance, and I'm not exactly in a position to offer any insight myself either, being a newbie and all.
I flipped an apple upside down, checking for any bruises or dents. Too bad I never really learned how to tell if fruit is ripe or how long it lasts. In situations like this, even something as simple as diarrhea could be fatal. Still, I don't regret taking on the role of finding food, making sure it's safe to eat, and, of course, actually cooking it. Somebody had to do it, and honestly, I wouldn't trust the rest of the group to start a fire without turning the tents into a bonfire.
As I tossed the apple into my bag, I noticed a tiny spider scuttling away like it had somewhere better to be. I couldn't help but glare at it. Annabeth once told me that arachnophobia was pretty common in Cabin 6 because of some family beef with Arachne, but for me, it was a bit more intense.
I don't just dislike spiders; I'm absolutely terrified of them. They always seem to be watching me sleep with their beady little eyes, and whenever I try to shoo them away, they become aggressive, even nipping at me occasionally, leaving my skin reddened more often than not and it really hurt my ego to check in on my parents just for them to find absolutely nothing. Honestly, how can you get a restraining order against something that fits in a Tic Tac box? I don't have a solution just yet, but I'm determined to come up with one soon—I won't tolerate any hairy, rent-evading creatures in my home.
Maybe that's why I ended up switching to boarding school in the first place. Sleeping in the same room with my parents would've been a bit awkward for a future Harvard med student, so I figured sharing a room with a friend was the next best option. We just had to tweak the system, and I ended up with Esmé as a roommate.
I sighed, shaking my head.
What was I supposed to do again? Oh, food. Dementia and ADHD is such a disastrous pairing. I piled up on a few more fruits and veggies as well as a few cans of beans, packets of jerky, and other weird foods into the crumpled up plastic bag I'd crammed into the side pocket of my backpack in the heat of the moment. Now, I'm not skimping on using my backpack, but it's already packed to the brim… with Esmé's stuff (this is what happens when you have an overpacker as a friend). And those weren't exactly the items you'd find in those camping YouTube videos, but they'd have to do for now.
I then continued to wander through the deserted market, examining the supplies on display, all smeared with soot.
***
I shook my foot, trying to dislodge the gritty mix of sand, decaying berries, and ash that clung stubbornly to the soles of my feet. That should be enough, I thought, glancing at the bulging bag of supplies I had collected. With everything I and Es packed, we should at least be able to survive for about 2 more days. I brushed the dirt off my backpack, which I had left on the ground earlier, and zipped it up tightly. I'd been preparing all the necessary items ever since I got the news that we were going on a field trip—it wasn't a field trip at all.
My collection included a limited edition instant noodle packet (you'd be surprised how useful they can be), a half-empty pack of gum to satisfy my sugar cravings, my favorite necklace, and a plastic bag I'd salvaged from a trash can at camp (which I'm using for the fruit). The load was much lighter even with Es's stuff than if I had brought those weird books Annabeth insisted I pack. Even for me, overplanning is overrated. Not saying that you're underrated, Es, if you're reading this, but still. And another thing: if the others had just let me keep my phone, we could've sold it for cash, but whatever. In case you're wondering, I'm still salty about that.
I've also been picking up combat skills from Esmé, but her boyfrie—I mean Alex—'s constant cussing was a bit much for me. Besides, she's more of a projectile expert, great with archery and stuff, but not exactly a master with the blade, my primary weapon. Maybe I should switch to training with someone else. The only reason I even trained with her was to pass the time—and, you know, to avoid spiders at night. And death. Yes, death. I've decided that the only way I'd actually meet my end was if I planned it two months in advance.
For a moment, my brain cleared up, and I was suddenly painfully aware of my surroundings. The air was still, and the night felt heavy, like the world was holding its breath. My gaze followed the moon, a pale, perfect circle suspended in the inky sky. It's beautiful tonight, I thought, as the dim moonlight washed over me, its gentle glow streaking across my face. A sharp breeze cut through the air, raising goosebumps on my exposed skin. I had forgotten how quickly the temperature drops in the desert after dark. Despite the desert's scorching days, the temperature can plummet down to negative… something… degrees. How am I supposed to look like a nerd if I can't remember random facts nobody asked for?
I straightened up and stepped out of the shadows, struggling with the plastic bag. Part of me was desperate to search for more food, while the other part was tempted to squeeze out every bit of trapped air from this makeshift pouch and return to our camping area.
Focus, Helen. Be helpful for once.
My eyes scanned my surroundings in a desperate attempt to look for the others: sand, sand, sky, moon, tent, tent, stall, stall, stall, stall, smoke—wait a minute, SMOKE?
I nearly jumped. There was smoke coming from behind a brightly lit tent, its colors a bizarre blend of oranges and blues, reflecting the night sky. And that tent—it wasn't ours. How had I missed this before? I'd clearly been too absorbed in my own thoughts to pay proper attention. Should I just leave the supplies here? It won't do any harm, would it? One would've just considered it a regular trash bag. But what about my backpack?
I slung my backpack over my shoulder and sprinted toward the flickering light. Settling by the fire—after all, I was freezing—I planned to eavesdrop, just in case they turned out to be less pleasant than I hoped.
"So you're saying you're… Hephaestus?" I'd recognize that voice anywhere—Esmé's, still hoarse and muted.
"Mhm." A gruff, irritated voice replied, clearly male, with a timbre too deep for a woman.
"The god?" Esmé asked hesitantly, almost a whisper. I could almost hear her legs shifting through the thin walls of the tent.
"Who else do you think would bear the name 'Hephaestus', girl?" he rumbled, tearing open a gap in the fabric that separated me from the prying eyes of the audience, who had just realized I'd been eavesdropping. With a heavy sigh, he turned to me and grumbled, "You make too much noise."
Excuse me? Should I be offended by this? I sulkily studied his face instead (and pretended I didn't hear that)—deformed, bearded, and aged. Three unmistakable traits that perfectly matched his claim. Hephaestus. The god of the forge. And the first words I spoke upon meeting a god? I promise it just slipped—I PROMISE I DIDN'T MEAN TO SAY THAT.
"Uh… hi." I slipped in from beneath the tent. "Um… you like iPhones… right?"
"Uh... Hel? Where did you—" Esmé stopped mid-sentence, her voice trailing off in a sigh. She looked exhausted, like she hadn't slept in days. Well, technically she did, but not quite enough. Her usually bright complexion was ghostly pale, and I could see the web of blue veins standing out beneath her skin, almost too visible. My eyes immediately caught a fresh gash on her wrist, a vivid, sharp red line against her washed-out skin. My stomach twisted—had she done it again? Please, not again.
From a young age, Es had this strange obsession with pain. It wasn't just curiosity—it was almost like she found some twisted sense of relief in it. She'd go so far as to cut herself, claiming it was 'just for fun' and 'nothing much'. I'll never forget the time I walked in on her, blood staining her thighs, pooling on the floor, while she frantically tore through drawers looking for tissues. And yet I never found the courage to confront her… Let's just get back to the topic.
"What...?" The god shot me a distant glare, snapping me out of my thoughts. "Did Emelie tell you that?" He might've glanced at the nearby table with a hint of disapproval, but I couldn't be sure.
"Um, actually, one of your sons did. Well, when I took out my phone, they all jumped at it, and… uh…" Basically, I spun the story to work in my favor. You don't get a vote on this one, readers. Now shut up and read my chapter.
Hephaestus glanced over at Esmé, who was already pushing her chair back, backing away. "I wasn't there. Don't look at me like that."
I pulled a chair from the corner and sat down stiffly. It was a wobbly, rickety stool—short and creaking like it could snap any second—but it beat standing for another hour.
With that thought, I slowly stood up, just as Esmé strutted out of the tent, casually tossing her braid over her shoulder. I almost stood to follow her, but something kept me rooted to my chair. And Hephaestus? He simply glanced at the small table in the middle of the tent from earlier and grunted.
"Are you continuing the quest or not?" He rapped his knuckles on the table.
"...Yes, Father." And from beneath the dusty tablecloth, wide hazelnut eyes peeked out, staring right back at me intently. It was extremely uncomfortable having a tablecloth eyeing you up and down, thank you very much. A petite girl around my age crawled out from beneath the table, her olive skin smeared with dried blood and her nose slightly more crooked than before. Her hair was pulled back into the same messy ponytail from when we first got on the train, looking worse for wear. It took me a moment to recognize the girl before me as Emelie, bruised and battered for whatever reasons, her eyes sheepishly fixed on the ground. I never would have expected the almost innocent yet guilty expression on her face as she shoved her hands deep into her pockets—nothing like the confident front she had put on just a few days ago.
Her breath hitched as she locked eyes with me, her gaze frantic and darting around before she let out a sigh. "Hello."
She looked like she'd been through a lot, and there was something different about her—more… fearful.
I see now. Even under all that metal… she's only human.
***
"Hi, Al. Hi, J."
When we finally got back to the meetup, the boys were practically falling over themselves around her (please don't get dark-minded like Esmé did), to the point where she literally had to scream that she was tired and needed to sit down because she's got a broken leg.
"Oh my gods… Emelie's back," Christal muttered as Alex helped Em settle onto a stool in some rickety stall. Nebby stood quietly in the corner, watching her intently before slowly making her way over.
"Medicine," Nebby said, handing her a small bottle filled with the golden liquid she'd given us on our first night as demigods, back when we were on the chariot.
"Ambrosia," Emelie corrected, snatching the container from Nebby's hands. "But thanks."
Nebby just blinked and walked back to her spot. "And uh… Esmé, it's your turn to stay up tonight."
"The sun's up, Neb. Maybe you should get your eyes checked," she mumbled, standing up and cracking her back.
"Okay, rude," Nebby shot back.
"Sorry," she sighed, letting down her hair so it tumbled down in waves over her shoulders. The rich brown of her hair contrasted sharply with the pale of her skin as the dim sunlight from the sunset caught her cheekbones.
Maybe it's the harsh desert conditions getting to them, but everyone's been acting a little... awkward. Christal hasn't been her usual cheerful self, and ever since the train, Esmé's vibrant energy has felt strangely distant. She's still as unpredictable as always, but there's this underlying tension that wasn't there before. Something just feels... off. While I appreciate that everyone seems more grounded lately, there's something unsettling about the change. It just feels out of character. Did Emelie's return not matter, not even in the slightest to the both of them?
It's a depressing revelation to have. I know, I've said I'm not great at reading people, but with someone as energetic and outspoken as them, it's hard to ignore. My doubts aren't as strong anymore.
"How's the leg, Em?" Es asked, leaning in with a slight bend to her knees.
"It's… getting better," Em replied, letting out a sigh before taking another swig from the flask.
"Alright, that's enough of that." Alex stepped forward, snatching the container from her hands. "You keep that up, and you're going to keel over."
Em rolled her eyes. "Alex, I already feel like a corpse. Could you cut it with the jokes?"
"Jokes? I'm dead serious," He replied with a shake of his head. "Bloody hell, I'm serious."
My eyebrows shot up, but I slowly began lowering them as I caught a few judgmental looks from across the bonfire. Right. A few swears weren't going to hurt anyone, and it's not like I'm in a classroom where I need to play the goody-two-shoes. Meanwhile, Esmé was already toasting some tomatoes over a crackling fire. It's kind of… impressive, how quickly she can switch her train of thought. And how did they even start a fire?
"Hi, Hel!" She beamed, prodding a stick into one of the sizzling veggies. "And before you ask, yes, I am happy."
Liar, I thought. You're obviously not happy—not with how fast you're blinking or how quickly your heart's beating.
"Helen?" She tapped me on the shoulder, pulling me from my thoughts. "You okay?"
"Huh?" I blinked, staring blankly at the orange sky as it slowly softened into a serene baby blue. Morning has arrived. "Yeah. Sorry. What were you saying again?"
"Oh, right," She continued, her voice light. "So… What's your type?" It was the usual—her go-to question to start a conversation.
"Someone who seems perfect at first sight but is imperfect in ways that make them perfect for me," I replied with a small smile, fingers fidgeting with my hiking trousers. "You?"
"I dunno," She mused, cocking her head toward Alex, who was still lingering nearby. "Someone who's, you know… hot. Like, from every angle."
"O… kay." I raised an eyebrow. "That's such a horny answer."
"What?" Esmé blinked, caught off guard.
"Don't deny it. You're horny and you know it," I said, narrowing my eyes playfully.
She burst into laughter, and for a moment, it felt like the old Es was back.
"Wait, what?" She tilted her head, then realized what I was up to. "NO, I AM NOT!"
"You are," I teased.
"Am not!"
"Debatable." I smirked, feeling smug.
As the laughter faded, I pried open a can of beans. Soggy and wet, sure, but you have to make the best of what you've got. After all those days of scavenging for food, I'm proud to finally have something to bring back. It would be pretty pathetic to starve here, surrounded by all this cacti and creosote bushes, especially since the creosote can treat illnesses—thankfully. Even though we're just a bunch of clueless kids with zero survival skills, I still wouldn't forgive us if we ended up dying out here in these arid dunes.
I feel like I'm being treated more and more like a child, as if I have barely any capacity for memory or logic, which is just downright insulting. Well, if it helps me evade some responsibilities (like taxes—ew), so be it.
I took out a small spoon to scoop up some beans, but halfway through, I decided I wasn't going to finish them. I handed the rest to Es, who passed it to Alex. He wasted no time, downing the whole thing in one go. The British do really love beans, huh?
Oh, look.
It was already noon, the sun blazed high in the sky, as blinding as ever. The once-vibrant blue had softened to a pale hue, while fluffy white clouds drifted by, forming shapes like snow hares and snowballs. Overhead, ravens soared, shaking sand from their inky black feathers.
I glanced down from the sky, thinking I could turn this into an essay—but for the sake of fanfiction, I won't.
I turned to Emelie, who was quietly fiddling with a small metal block, its surface marked with words I couldn't make out.
Eh?
I mean, if she was having fun with it, it was nothing I had to worry about.
But just as I turned back to tending the fire, I caught a glimpse of something golden slipping from her pocket and falling into a nearby sinkhole.
"Emelie, what was that?" I called out.
"What was what?" She furrowed her brows, holding up the metal. Now that I looked closer, it resembled a gun—larger and bulkier than any I had seen before. Bronze encased the titanium interior, and at the end were two small antennas crackling with electricity. On the side, a small screen flashed with numbers and percentages: 15; 100%. She closed her eyes, taking a moment to gather her thoughts before saying, "Yeah, Leo helped me with this project. I really, really miss him and the forge. I could Iris Message him right now with a quick, 'O Iris, goddess of the rainbow, accept my offering!' but I think I'll save it for something more important."
"You dropped something—OW!" I yelped as a surge of energy knocked me backward, sending a spray of groundwater into the air as a small portal (?) opened up from the sinkhole, like a reflection in the newly found source of freshwater.
A man—Leo Valdez—peered at the newly summoned... thing, his eyes lighting up with joy. "Gods, EMELIE!"
"Leo?" She stepped forward, attempting to poke a finger through his face, but of course, it didn't work—it wasn't really him, just a projection. Disappointing, but it would've been unrealistic if it was anything otherwise. If we could teleport like this, we'd have reached the end of our journey by now.
"Mhm," He hummed, wiping his goggles clean. "It's been five days since you all left. Maybe six."
"Six?" she repeated, her expression shifting as she processed the time that had passed. "Six days…"
"Alright, what do you need from me?" Leo asked, running a hand through his hair, shaking off bits of aluminum dust from his brown curls. "Do you need Percy, or what?"
"Actually, we do," I jumped in, cutting her off. It was a bit rude, but I needed his advice on which sorceress to visit next. "Which sorceress should we visit?"
He gave me a puzzled look, then shrugged. "PERCYYY!!!"
A few minutes later, Percy arrived, Annabeth at his side with their arms linked.
"So...?" Percy glanced at us, and I gave an awkward smile. It felt strange to have my former-substitute—whom I'd once called weird—now be the person I needed help from.
"Prophecy. Witch. Choose." Leo condensed our entire question into just three simple words and five syllables.
"Witch?" Percy glanced at Annabeth, who was literally glaring at him for not grasping the meaning behind 'witch' in that context.
"He meant 'sorceress', Seaweed Brain." She gave him a light smack on the back. "Hi, Helen."
"Hello," I replied quietly.
"Oh."
"'Release a sorceress from her cage; who shows the path of the ancient sage,'" Emelie quoted the line from earlier. "It is…?"
"I don't really know… just pick the one closest to you. I only know one's who still… well, alive, the immortal way—Circe." Percy replied, wrapping bandages around his bleeding knuckles. "Tsk, these eidolons…"
"Why?" I had to ask, curiosity getting the better of me. "Surely, she can't be the only one you've met."
"She is, though." His gaze wandered over our surroundings. "Are you in a desert right—?"
"Percy. Focus now," Annabeth said, poking her fiancé's ribs gently. "Yes, Helen, she is, and she turned him into a pig."
"A guinea pig," He corrected.
"A stupid guinea pig."
"A stupidly cute guinea pig." Percy flashed her a smug grin.
Annabeth sighed at the absurdity of the argument and muttered, "She's 'caged' with the pirates. No one knows if she's escaped."
"Are you sure?" I asked, glancing into the portal, my fingers dancing over the light spilling from the opening.
"Most of her followers died, and there's Reyna, who's at Camp Jupiter. There. You're welcome—oh." Her words were abruptly cut off by a loud voice blaring from the radio.
"EIDOLON ATTACK! CHASE, JACKSON, SOS!" The voice shrieked as the two guys sprinted forward, swords drawn (Leo's hammer in hand for some reason), and Annabeth shot me a quick goodbye before running off.
"Eidolons…" Emelie murmured, rising to her feet. "We've got to move."
"No, Em, your leg—"
"I'm fine." Her voice was steady, leaving no room for argument. "Ambrosia's better than any medicine you could take—or any surgery you could go through. Tell the others we're heading south—to Circe's Island."
***
It turned out the "gun" Emelie had been holding near the fire this whole time was actually a teleportation device she'd scavenged from her father's junk drawer two years ago during a visit to his forge. He'd told her to toss it, but she'd fixed it up and maxed out the charge to a solid fifteen uses. Not bad, really, but with so few charges, we'd have to ration it carefully—saving it only for the longest distances.
After biking for a while, we reached a tourist attraction, where we stocked up on food using Esmé's ever-reliable stash of cash. Meanwhile, I went on the hunt for some healing herbs. Luck was sort of on my side—I found a few plants… but, sadly, just creosote leaves. Yeah, not exactly miracle workers.
And yes, I know about the ambrosia, but come on. It'd be running out any time now. Emelie's leg alone burned through two sips just to get it halfway healed. Try arguing with that.
As I darted around, yanking plants out of the ground, I suddenly collided with a woman. Her brown hair was neatly pinned up in a tight bun, framing her sharp jawline and pointed chin. She wore a crisp white dress, the kind that looked like it never wrinkled. A wide-brimmed summer hat sat perfectly atop her head, casting a soft shadow over her face, though her sharp features remained in clear view.
After that fateful (and humiliating) stumble, I figured it might be a good idea to ask where we were and how much farther we had to go to reach the coastline. "Excuse me, miss, where are we right now?"
Tick tock. Tick tock.
What the—? I frowned, confused. Wait… what?
She shot me a quick glance and snapped her fingers. "Uh, where are your parents?"
I tried to stay calm, wiping my sweaty palms on my trousers. "They're at home. We're just… just… running some errands. Could you please just answer my question?"
She adjusted her sunglasses, eyeing me suspiciously while clutching her purse. "We're in Texas—the Chihuahuan Desert."
"Thanks," I said, tilting my head slightly. As we continued, the terrain shifted—still dry, but the sand began to give way to patches of scruffy grass. I took a second to process everything (including the ticking sound, which was speeding up), and mentally mapped out the best route for us to follow.
"HELEN! Where have you been?" Esmé sprinted over, struggling under the weight of my backpack as it pulled her down.
I grabbed the straps and slung them over my shoulder. "Can you call the others? We need to leave for Circe now."
Tick tock. Tick tock.
And then... it stopped. A heavy thud echoed from where the woman had stood moments before. The crowd rushed over, some gasping in shock, others frantically calling for an ambulance. Though I wasn't entirely sure where that thought came from, I was about 90% certain she was dead.
As we huddled around a small patch of grass, one by one, we silently hopped onto our bikes and pedaled east—toward what I think might be Florida, or at least somewhere far, far away from here. Anywhere that would get us away from this heat and the unsettling scene we'd just witnessed.
I think I'm going to get PTSD from this.