As the final game of Capture the Flag loomed, Harry stood at the edge of the forest, his pulse quickening like a drumline before a concert. For most campers, it was just another game. For Harry? This was the moment to show that everything he'd learned—strategy, teamwork, and fighting like he meant it—had sunk in. And maybe, just maybe, he'd finally get bragging rights over Fleur.
Chiron's hooves clopped lightly as he addressed the gathered campers, his gaze sweeping over the crowd like an eagle hunting for slackers. "Remember," the centaur said, "this game isn't just about strength. It's about using your skills wisely. Victory comes to those who work together—and those who think ahead."
Harry adjusted the strap of his bow, feeling the magic hum against his back like a live wire. His knives were tucked into his belt, just where he liked them, and the moon's subtle influence buzzed in his veins. Sure, it wasn't a full moon tonight—so he wasn't at his peak—but the lunar energy still thrummed in the background, like a steady bass line waiting to drop. Thanks, Mom.
He stood with Clarisse from Ares cabin, the Stoll brothers from Hermes, and Beckendorf from Hephaestus—probably the only group that could give Chiron heartburn just by existing. With Clarisse itching to smash skulls, the Stolls scheming five different pranks at once, and Beckendorf lugging around enough mechanical traps to turn the battlefield into a junkyard, the other team didn't stand a chance.
Or at least, that's what Harry told himself.
On the opposite side stood campers from Athena, Apollo, Aphrodite, Demeter, and Dionysus cabins. Somewhere among them, Harry spotted Fleur, her silver-blonde hair glinting like moonlight. She gave him a wink that promised trouble—or fun, depending on how you looked at it. Yeah, that was Fleur. Best friend? Definitely. Future something-more? Maybe. Enemy for the next forty minutes? Absolutely.
Jasper, the best archer in Apollo cabin, gave Harry a grin from across the field, all lazy confidence. Friendly, sure—but the kind of friendly that came with arrows flying at your head.
Chiron raised his arm. "Let the game begin!"
The horn blared, and the forest erupted into beautiful chaos.
---
Harry sprinted toward the river, his feet barely brushing the ground. Clarisse charged beside him, her war cry loud enough to make an entire legion of monsters second-guess their life choices. Behind them, the Stoll brothers melted into the shadows like cats up to no good. Beckendorf followed at a steady pace, already pulling out weird contraptions from his backpack.
"Harry, take the right flank!" Clarisse barked. "The Stolls will handle those know-it-alls from Athena."
"You mean try to handle," Travis muttered before disappearing into the undergrowth.
Harry veered to the right, conjuring a shimmering celestial shield that floated ahead of him like a magic bubble. An arrow zipped past his ear, only to bounce harmlessly off the barrier. He grinned. That had to be Jasper.
"Nice try, sunshine!" Harry called.
Somewhere in the distance, he heard Fleur laughing. She was probably running with Silena Beauregard, Aphrodite cabin's youngest camper. Don't let the sparkles fool you—Silena was terrifying in the way only an eight-year-old prodigy with no fear could be.
"Careful!" Harry shouted to his teammates. "Fleur's out here trying to steal my flag and my pride."
"Only your pride, Potter!" Fleur's voice floated back, light and teasing.
Clarisse snorted. "We'll see who's laughing when I skewer her with my spear."
They reached the riverbank, only to find it wrapped in thick vines—Demeter's handiwork. Roots twisted across the ground like snakes waiting to trip them.
"No problem," Beckendorf said, grinning. He lobbed a small bronze orb into the mess. With a whoosh, the sphere hissed and sent a wave of fire rippling through the vines, clearing a path.
"Gods, I love you, Beckendorf," Harry said, clapping him on the back.
"Everyone loves me," Beckendorf replied without missing a beat.
They pushed forward until the other team's flag came into view—a gleaming blue banner swaying gently in the breeze. Of course, it was surrounded by thorny hedges and a squad of Athena defenders.
"Okay, we need a distraction," Harry whispered.
Clarisse grinned like someone who really enjoyed breaking things. "I got this."
Before Harry could stop her, she let out a battle cry that could make a grown minotaur cry for its mom. The Athena campers scrambled into formation, weapons drawn.
"GO!" Clarisse bellowed, charging straight into the fray like a human wrecking ball.
The Stolls popped out of nowhere, pelting the Athena defenders with mud and insults that would make a sailor blush.
Harry slipped through the chaos, moving like a shadow. His heart pounded as he neared the flag. Just a few more steps and—
"Not so fast!"
Harry skidded to a halt. Silena stood in front of him, her tiny frame blocking the path, determination blazing in her blue eyes.
"Really, Silena?" Harry asked, catching his breath. "You're gonna stop me?"
Silena grinned. "Try me."
Harry chuckled. "Alright, kid. Let's see what you've got."
He darted left, feinted right, then spun around her with a speed that even Hermes would envy. Just as his fingers brushed the flag, a gust of wind knocked him off-balance.
"Nice try, Potter," Fleur called, appearing out of nowhere. Her magic twisted the air around him, slowing him down just enough to throw him off his game.
Harry grinned. "You've gotta do better than that."
With a final burst of speed, he yanked the flag free and bolted toward the river. Fleur was right on his heels, moving like a cat on the hunt.
"Stolls! Cover me!" Harry shouted over his shoulder.
The twins ambushed Fleur from the shadows, throwing ropes at her feet. She dodged them effortlessly, laughing as she kept pace with Harry.
"Clarisse! Now!" Harry yelled.
Clarisse plowed through the battlefield like a bulldozer, knocking an Apollo camper out of the way just in time to block Fleur's path. "Go, Potter!" she roared.
Harry sprinted across the river, his heart thundering in his chest. Arrows flew past him, but he twisted and leaped, dodging them with ease. The boundary line was just ahead.
With one last leap, Harry crossed it, slamming the flag down on the post.
"Victory!" he shouted, holding the flag high as his teammates erupted in cheers.
---
Chiron's voice carried across the battlefield. "A magnificent display of skill and teamwork. Well done."
The team gathered around Harry, clapping him on the back.
"Alright, Stolls," Harry said, grinning. "Where's the victory stash?"
Travis pulled out a bag of chips. "As promised—victory snacks!"
Connor tossed one into his mouth. "Next time, we've got pizza."
Clarisse rolled her eyes but smiled. "Save some for everyone, idiots."
As the team celebrated, Harry glanced across the field. Fleur stood with her hands on her hips, watching him with a playful smile. He shot her a wink. She rolled her eyes but smiled back—the kind of smile that made Harry's heart feel like it was flying higher than Zeus's lightning bolts.
This was what made it all worth it. Every bruise, every fight, every late night. He wasn't just getting stronger—he was building something bigger. A family.
And no matter what challenges waited beyond camp, Harry knew he'd face them head-on, surrounded by friends who made every battle, every victory, and every defeat worth it.
—
The rhythmic clang of metal rang through the forge, mingling with the scent of molten bronze and the sweet tang of sweat. Harry—Haris Lokison to those who knew him best—was in his element, standing shoulder to shoulder with his friend Charles, a nine-year-old blacksmith prodigy. They were hammering away at glowing ingots of Celestial Bronze, forging swords that would make even the mightiest demigod jealous.
"Careful with that, Charles!" Harry called out, wiping sweat from his brow. "I don't want to explain to Chiron why we've created the first enchanted sword that doubles as a barbecue fork!"
Charles, focused on the anvil, flashed a determined grin. "If it makes the campers cook faster, I'm all for it!"
Just then, the door swung open, and in came Silena Beauregard, a whirlwind of energy at eight years old. "Harry! Chiron wants to see you at the Big House! He said it's important!"
"Why does 'important' always come with a side of anxiety?" Harry muttered, pulling off his gloves. "I was just getting to the good part."
Silena shrugged, her bright eyes sparkling with curiosity. "No clue! Just hurry!"
"Guess I have to go save the world or something," Harry replied, grinning at Charles. "Don't finish all the fun without me, okay?"
"Only if you promise to tell me about your mysterious mission later!" Charles shot back.
With a quick wave, Harry made his way through the bustling camp. Camp Half-Blood was alive with activity: campers practicing archery, sparring with wooden swords, and the delicious aroma of strawberries wafting from the fields. He felt a familiar thrill of belonging pulse through him. Being part demigod and part Asgardian had its perks, but nothing compared to the chaos and camaraderie of camp life.
As the Big House came into view, a large, sky-blue structure with a wraparound porch, Harry noticed Mr. D—Dionysus, the ever-surly god of wine—sitting on the steps, half-heartedly playing pinochle with a group of satyrs. He wore his signature leopard-skin shirt and shorts, looking every bit the reluctant camp director. Harry couldn't help but grin at the sight.
"About time, Harvey!" Mr. D called, glancing up, his eyes narrowed. "Get Helga in line, would you? She's going to make me drink another Diet Coke!"
"Harry," he corrected, but Mr. D was already back to his game, muttering something about the horrors of being sentenced to a century of babysitting demigods.
Inside, Chiron stood waiting, his centaur form radiating authority and warmth. Beside him was a man in his mid-thirties, exuding military discipline and a protective air. His hand rested gently on the shoulder of a girl around Harry's age, a bushy-haired whirlwind of energy clutching a backpack that seemed to have its own gravitational pull. Seriously, Harry thought, how did that girl manage to walk upright with all that weight?
"Harry," Chiron said, his voice as warm as a summer day. "This is Hermione Granger. She's a daughter of Athena."
"Hello!" Hermione beamed, her cheeks flushed with a mix of excitement and nerves. "And this is my dad, Richard."
"Nice to meet you, Harry," Mr. Granger said with a polite nod, his military posture making Harry feel slightly underdressed.
"Hi!" Harry replied, trying to shake off the feeling of intimidation. "So, uh… welcome to camp!"
Hermione glanced at her dad and then back at Harry, her eyes sparkling with curiosity. "I still don't quite understand everything. One day I was just a normal girl, and now I'm… well, here."
"Yeah, that's pretty much how it goes," Harry said, chuckling. "Just wait until you find out about the quests, monsters, and, oh yeah, the occasional battle for your life."
"I'm ready for that!" Hermione declared, her grip on her backpack tightening. "I've read about quests and monsters!"
"Good to know I'm not the only one panicking," Harry shot back, grinning.
Chiron nodded approvingly. "Harry here is one of our more seasoned campers. I thought it would be great for him to give you a tour of the camp and help you settle in."
Just then, Mr. D wandered back in long enough to offer his two cents. "Make new friends, Harold. Show… uh… Helga around." With that, he returned to his satyr game, seemingly unaware of the chaos he left in his wake.
"Harry," Chiron said, his voice laced with kindness, "take good care of her."
"Of course!" Harry said, giving Hermione a reassuring nod. "So, wanna see the archery range first? Or are you more of a library person?"
Hermione's eyes widened. "There's a library?"
Harry couldn't help but laugh. "Oh yeah, the library is legendary. You're gonna love it!"
As they stepped off the porch and into the sunlit camp, Harry felt a tingle of excitement course through him. Maybe this summer wouldn't be so bad after all. With a new friend by his side and a world of adventure waiting, he was ready for whatever mischief lay ahead—because when you're caught between being a trickster god's son and a demigod, every day promised a new adventure.
—
As Harry guided Hermione through the sprawling grounds of Camp Half-Blood, the vibrant energy of demigod life buzzed around them. The air was thick with the scent of pine and the distant sounds of laughter and clashing swords. Harry, a living testament to the wild intersection of mythologies, reveled in the chaotic harmony of it all. He pointed out various areas of interest: the training fields where young heroes sparred, the colorful banners flapping in the breeze, and the communal dining pavilion, which smelled suspiciously of burnt pancakes.
"So, Harry," Hermione began, glancing sideways at him, her eyes sparkling with curiosity, "what's your divine parentage? I mean, you must have one, right?"
With a smirk, Harry glanced up at the sky, contemplating how to unravel the tangled web of his lineage. "Oh, it's a bit of a mess," he said, picking up his pace to keep up with her enthusiasm. "My mom is Artemis."
"Artemis? The virgin goddess of the hunt?" Hermione exclaimed, her eyebrows shooting up like she'd just discovered a new spell. "But that's impossible!"
"Right?" Harry chuckled, his grin widening as he watched her struggle to process the impossibility. "Here's the twist—she was punished and had to live as a mortal when I was born. So, she took on the identity of Lily Potter."
"Lily Potter," Hermione echoed, her mind racing to connect the dots.
"But it gets even crazier," Harry continued, a mischievous glint in his eyes. "My dad is Loki, the Norse god of mischief."
At this, Hermione's mouth dropped open like a trapdoor ready to swallow secrets. "Loki? The trickster? This is unbelievable! I knew the Olympian gods were real, but I had no idea that ALL the pantheons existed! This is… a lot to take in."
"Tell me about it," Harry said, leaning against a nearby tree, his posture relaxed despite the weight of his revelations. "Loki took the form of my dad, James Potter, just to experience life as a mortal. You know, because what's more fun than being a human for a while?"
"Wow," Hermione said, her eyes shining with a mixture of awe and disbelief. "So you're saying you have both a Greek and a Norse god as parents? That's incredible!"
"Exactly! I'm basically a walking mythology book," Harry replied, his playful tone lighting up the conversation.
As they continued walking, Harry couldn't help but notice the flickers of accidental magic sparking around her when she got excited. "Also, I noticed some signs of accidental magic whenever you got nervous during the tour," he ventured, his curiosity piqued. "Would you happen to be a Muggle-born witch?"
"Actually," Hermione said, her face lighting up like a campfire, "I do have magic! I met Professor McGonagall a few weeks ago. She told me I'd be attending Hogwarts next year!"
Harry's eyes widened, excitement bubbling over. "No way! I know McGonagall personally. She's an amazing teacher—tough but fair. You're going to love it! Plus, I'll be attending Hogwarts as well."
"Really?" Hermione asked, her grin so wide it threatened to take flight. "That's fantastic! We'll be at the same school!"
"Yeah! Just think about all the adventures we'll have," Harry said, matching her enthusiasm. "But for now, let's focus on finding some good books in this library."
As they approached the library, a grand structure that looked like it had sprung from the pages of a myth, Harry opened the heavy wooden doors. Inside was a treasure trove of ancient texts and scrolls, the shelves stretching endlessly like the labyrinth of his own tangled heritage.
"And here's the treasure trove," he said, stepping aside for Hermione to enter first. "If you love books, this place is paradise."
"Oh my gods, look at all of this!" Hermione exclaimed, her voice echoing off the high ceilings. "This is amazing! I can't wait to explore!"
Harry watched her with a smile, his heart swelling with appreciation for her enthusiasm. "Just remember to keep an eye out for the nymphs; they can get a bit territorial over their favorite reading spots."
"Nymphs?" Hermione raised an eyebrow, a playful smile tugging at her lips.
"Yeah, you'll see," Harry said, grinning. "But for now, let's see what kind of trouble we can get into."
With that, they ventured deeper into the library, ready to uncover the secrets hidden within its ancient walls. The two of them were poised to forge a friendship that intertwined their fates, each step resonating with the thrill of adventure that awaited them.
—
As Harry Lokison and Hermione explored the expansive library of Camp Half-Blood, the serene atmosphere shattered when the camp's alarms blared like an old-school horror movie soundtrack. Sirens wailed, echoing off the towering shelves lined with ancient tomes, and Harry felt his heart rate kick into high gear.
"Stay here, Hermione," Harry said, his voice steady yet urgent. He looked her in the eye, his expression serious. "Don't move until I come back. Promise me."
"Promise," she replied, a flicker of worry crossing her face, which only made Harry feel more heroic (and slightly guilty).
With a quick nod, he darted out of the library, adrenaline coursing through his veins. His heart raced as he sprinted toward the Artemis Cabin, knowing time was of the essence and that he couldn't let his overzealous library explorations end in disaster.
Inside, he grabbed his dual hunting knives, each one a unique blend of Vibranium and Celestial Bronze. He strapped the leather harness across his back, feeling the reassuring weight of the weapons—his version of "let's get ready to rumble." Next, he reached for his wand, crafted from Uru and Celestial Bronze, a little over-the-top for a demigod, but hey, he had to look the part. With a flick of his wrist and a whispered incantation, the wand transformed into his enchanted bow, a nifty gift from his grandmother, Frigga. The magic hummed, and as he pulled back the string, he felt the power surge through him. Whatever arrows and spells he imagined would manifest as he drew the bow—no need for pesky quivers. It was like having a smartphone for magic, minus the screen time addiction.
"Let's go!" he muttered, stepping outside into the unfolding chaos, where the world had decided that the camp needed a bit more excitement.
Just as he emerged, Brunhilde materialized at his side, her fierce grin slicing through the tension like a hot knife through butter. She carried a Celestial Bronze sword that shimmered in the fading light, looking every bit the warrior he'd expect from a Valkyrie.
"Ready for some action?" she asked, the thrill of battle practically radiating from her.
"Always," Harry replied, channeling every bit of his inner hero—though his inner trickster was already contemplating the best way to prank the monsters once they got through.
Together, they raced toward the boundary, where Chiron, the centaur and resident camp director, was already coordinating the camp's defense like he was auditioning for the role of general in a demigod army. The air was thick with tension, and the distant howls of monsters echoed ominously, reminding Harry of horror movies he'd watched back when he was still getting used to being half god.
"Harry! Brunhilde!" Chiron called, motioning them closer. "Grover is back with some recruits."
As they approached, Grover Underwood, the ever-enthusiastic satyr, stood beside two young demigods who looked like they'd just walked off a recruitment poster for "Demigods 101." "This is Luke Castellan, son of Hermes," Grover said, gesturing to a lanky boy with an air of confidence that screamed, "I'm definitely going to steal something before the day is over."
"Hey there," Luke said, his eyes flickering with excitement and a hint of nervousness.
"And this is Annabeth Chase, daughter of Athena," Grover continued, indicating a small girl with striking blonde curls and intelligent gray eyes, clutching a dagger far too large for her small frame. She looked like she could take down a mountain troll if she wanted to.
"Nice to meet you," Annabeth said, her voice steady, betraying no hint of fear, as if she was used to chaos.
But Grover's next revelation hit harder than a rogue Minotaur at full charge. "There's one more Demigod—Thalia Grace, daughter of Zeus—holding off a pack of Hellhounds and the three Furies down the hill. She's trying to buy us time."
Harry's stomach sank. The fact that Zeus, Poseidon, and Hades had been prohibited from fathering children due to an ancient pact made Thalia's existence an alarming anomaly. It felt like learning that Amelia Bones had been secretly running a wizarding speakeasy on the side.
"We need to help her!" Harry exclaimed, his resolve hardening faster than a kid trying to get a good grade in Potions class.
Chiron nodded, his expression grave. "We'll hold the perimeter here. You two go assist Thalia."
"On it!" Brunhilde replied, her fierce spirit ignited like a flame in a dark cave.
With that, Harry and Brunhilde took off down the hill, the earth pounding beneath their feet as the sounds of battle grew closer. The distant cries of Hellhounds and the chilling laughter of the Furies filled the air, igniting a fire of urgency within him. It felt like an epic video game level, and he was determined to hit "play" and dive in.
—
The clearing was a warzone. Fangs, claws, wings—it was like a monster mosh pit, minus the music. Hellhounds prowled in tight circles, their red eyes glowing with the delightful promise of tearing someone limb from limb. Overhead, three Furies swooped and cackled, wings kicking up dust that made everything worse. At the center of it all, standing like a queen who'd just realized her subjects were all trying to eat her, was Thalia Grace.
She held her Aegis shield out front, and Medusa's face glared back at the monsters, petrifying enough to give even a Hellhound second thoughts. Her spear crackled with electricity, each jab sending sparks flying. It was awesome. It was terrifying. And it was clear she was one mistimed breath away from keeling over.
Harry knew the look—he'd worn it himself more than once. Thalia was running on fumes and sheer stubbornness, which was impressive. But stubbornness could only get you so far before monsters made you a snack.
"Not happening," Harry muttered, already sprinting into the chaos. His bow shimmered into existence in his hand, light rippling across its length. No time to waste.
A Fury dove toward Thalia, claws gleaming, teeth bared.
Yeah, no.
Harry loosed an arrow. It zipped through the air and—bam—punched right through the Fury's ribcage. The thing exploded into ash, leaving behind the distinct smell of rotting eggs, because apparently nothing in the underworld smelled pleasant.
Thalia spun, electric-blue eyes locking onto him. "Who the Hades are you?"
"Reinforcements!" Harry grinned, already nocking another arrow. "You're welcome!"
Before she could respond, a Hellhound lunged. Thalia reacted fast, bashing it in the face with her shield, then following up with a spear thrust that fried the thing from nose to tail. It went poof—one less problem.
"Not bad," Harry called as he ducked a set of claws aimed for his neck. He rolled to his feet and fired again, catching another Fury mid-flight. It disintegrated in a dramatic burst of black smoke.
"Not bad yourself!" Thalia yelled, planting her spear in the dirt and sending a ripple of electricity outward. The shockwave zapped the nearest Hellhound, leaving it twitching before it evaporated like a bad dream.
Then Brunhilde—Harry's not-so-patient battle partner—came crashing into the fray like she had a personal vendetta against everything with more than two legs. Her Celestial Bronze sword gleamed in the dim light as she cleaved through a Hellhound without so much as a hello.
"Can we flirt later?" she snapped, flicking monster guts off her blade. "Fight now. Banter after."
Harry shot her a grin. "That's what I keep telling people."
Thalia smirked, the faintest flicker of amusement lighting up her face. "I like her."
"I know, right?" Harry fired one last arrow, pinning the final Fury's wing to a tree. It screeched in frustration before dissolving into ash, because monsters are nothing if not dramatic.
"Left side!" Thalia called out, just as another Hellhound leaped at Harry.
He slipped into shadow—literally—and reappeared behind the beast like a magic trick. Before the Hellhound could react, Harry drove his hunting knife into its side. It yelped, gave him a betrayed look (because apparently even monsters can feel hurt feelings), and disintegrated.
Thalia leaned on her spear, catching her breath. "Okay, who are you, and how are you not dead?"
Harry gave her a two-fingered salute. "Harry. Nice to meet you."
"Thalia," she replied, still eyeing him like she wasn't sure if he was about to sprout horns. "Thalia Grace."
"Well, Grace, you make one heck of a first impression."
Before Thalia could answer, Annabeth and Luke crashed through the undergrowth, panting and looking ready for round two. Annabeth took one look at the battlefield and raised an eyebrow. "We leave you alone for five minutes, and you nearly get eaten?"
"Somebody's gotta do it," Thalia said, shrugging like monster fights were just part of her regular schedule.
Harry arched an eyebrow. "You do this often?"
"Only on weekends," Thalia deadpanned. Then her lips twitched into a real smile. "But hey, it's been fun."
Harry grinned. "Glad I could help. You know, next time, just send me a text if you need backup."
Brunhilde rolled her eyes as she slid her sword back into its scabbard. "Next time, how about we don't wait until the last second?"
"Details, details," Harry said with a wink. "Anyway, welcome to Camp Half-Blood, Thalia. Snacks are on Chiron."
Thalia snorted, brushing dust off her jacket. "Snacks, huh? I'm holding you to that."
"Oh, you'll love it here," Harry promised. "We've got quests, monsters, and absolutely no chill."
For the first time that day, Thalia laughed—a loud, reckless sound that made the whole battle seem a little less serious. Harry decided right then and there that he wouldn't mind hearing it again.
"Come on," he said, offering her a hand. "Let's get out of here before more monsters show up."
Thalia eyed his hand like it might bite, then took it anyway.
"Okay, Harry," she said with a smirk. "Let's see if this camp of yours lives up to the hype."
"Oh, it will," Harry promised, already thinking of all the chaos waiting for her back at camp.
And with that, they walked off, ready for whatever came next.
—
On Olympus, things were not going great. Thunder rumbled overhead, the clouds swirling dramatically like Zeus had hired a storm just for the occasion—which, honestly, seemed entirely on brand. In the center of the grand hall, the King of the Gods stood with his lightning bolt in hand, eyes locked onto Hades, who had his arms crossed and looked like he'd rather be anywhere else, possibly plotting mortal doom. Poseidon lounged nearby, swirling a goblet of nectar, watching the whole argument unfold like it was better than whatever garbage mortals called "reality TV."
"You sent Hellhounds and Furies after Thalia?" Zeus's voice boomed through the hall. "My daughter?"
Hades gave him the flattest look ever, the kind that said, Wow, you really think you're the victim here?
"Yes, because I have so much free time," Hades said dryly. "When I'm not wrangling the dead or making sure the Underworld doesn't explode, I definitely enjoy setting monsters on your kids. Ever consider maybe your enemies are just catching up with your terrible parenting?"
Zeus raised his lightning bolt higher, as if being taller would somehow make him right. "Watch it, brother."
Poseidon gave an exaggerated sigh, like a lifeguard forced to break up a splash fight for the hundredth time. "Alright, Zeus, let's not make this all about you. Again. Maybe it's time we talk about the real problem." He leaned forward, fixing his sea-green gaze on Zeus. "You broke the pact."
Zeus blinked, clearly offended that Poseidon had switched topics on him. "What do you mean, I broke the pact?"
Poseidon exchanged a glance with Hades, who raised an eyebrow, clearly saying, This'll be fun.
"Let's see," Poseidon began, swirling his drink. "A daughter born after we swore to have no more demigod children, meaning you're supposed to not fool around with mortals. Sound familiar?"
Zeus's nostrils flared like a bull ready to charge. "Thalia was... an accident!"
"Sure she was," Poseidon muttered, rolling his eyes. "Totally slipped and fell into that mortal, huh?"
Zeus turned to Hades for backup, which was hilarious, considering Hades rarely backed anyone up. But this time, the Lord of the Dead decided to pile on.
"This is typical of you, Zeus. Rules only matter when other people break them." He tilted his head, smirking. "Luckily, some of us have standards."
Zeus narrowed his eyes. "You have standards?"
Hades's expression didn't change. "Unlike you, I've kept the pact."
Technically, not a lie. Bianca and Nico were safely tucked away in the Lotus Casino, still twelve and ten respectively—though they'd been that way for the past 66 years. But Hades wasn't about to spill that little secret to his thunder-happy brother.
"You're not fooling anyone, Hades," Zeus growled. "If you haven't broken the pact, why do I keep hearing rumors that you've got demigod children tucked away somewhere?"
Hades gave an unimpressed shrug. "Rumors are just that—rumors." He shot a glance at Poseidon, who offered a slight nod, confirming their unspoken pact of mutual hypocrisy. They weren't about to admit to their children just yet. No sense in giving Zeus the upper hand.
"I don't have children running around," Hades continued smoothly. "And even if I did, they'd be born before the pact. Unlike your daughter, who's what, twelve?"
Zeus opened his mouth to protest, but Poseidon was ready with a follow-up.
"Interesting, though," Poseidon said casually, swirling his nectar again. "You seem pretty upset about Thalia. Does that mean the rumors are true about another one of your kids? That boy... what's his name? Jason? Or are we still pretending that was just a clerical error on Olympus?"
Zeus went stiff as a lightning rod in a thunderstorm, and Hades let out a low, amused chuckle.
"Careful, brother," Hades said softly. "Wouldn't want people thinking you've got more kids floating around."
Poseidon smirked. "That would be... awkward."
Zeus's grip on his lightning bolt tightened, the air around him humming with electricity. "What about your mistakes?" he shot back, turning the accusation on Poseidon. "Anything you want to confess?"
Poseidon didn't even blink. "Nope."
Zeus scowled. "You sure? I hear there's a boy out there. Seven years old. Lives with his mom in New York."
Poseidon sipped his nectar. "We're talking about your mistakes, not mine."
"And you, Hades?" Zeus barked. "Any other skeletons in your closet?"
Hades's smirk widened. "Literally or figuratively?"
Zeus looked ready to throw his lightning bolt, but Poseidon cut in with the world's most casual tone. "You're in no position to judge anyone, Zeus. We all know what you did. It's just a matter of time before it catches up to you."
Zeus gritted his teeth but didn't respond. He knew better than to push both his brothers at the same time. He wasn't stupid—well, not completely stupid.
"Let me remind you both," Zeus said, his voice crackling with menace, "I am the King of the Gods. If I find out either of you has violated the pact, there will be consequences."
Poseidon gave a lazy shrug. "Sure. And if I find out you've got more kids running around, I'll send you a sternly worded letter."
Hades chuckled under his breath. "Good luck with that."
Zeus glared at both of them, his eyes burning like storm clouds about to burst. "Watch yourselves."
With that, the King of Olympus stormed out of the hall, lightning trailing behind him like a very angry comet.
The moment he was gone, Poseidon leaned toward Hades with a grin. "You think he knows?"
"About my kids?" Hades asked, deadpan. "Not a chance."
Poseidon snorted. "Good. Because I'm not admitting anything, either."
"Obviously," Hades muttered, rubbing his temples. "Let him think he's got the moral high ground. It'll make it that much funnier when it all blows up in his face."
Poseidon raised his goblet. "To hypocrisy."
Hades smirked. "To chaos."
And just like that, the brothers shared a rare, conspiratorial moment—one that Zeus would never, ever be allowed to know about.
---
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