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siennasfix · 1 month

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Pareidolia

Chapter 1 "Old Blood"

*****

Chapter 2>>>

Trigger warnings: child abuse, human experimentation, human sacrifice, starvation, child neglect, isolation, mentions of suicide, mentions of drowning, mentions of hanging

Clouds were a form of cruelty. Y/n truly believed that. What reason could there be for them to stubbornly mar the midnight sky, concealing the truth of what lay above, other than mere sadistic pleasure? What could possibly be the goal of such obscurity? The questions were of a rhetorical nature, of course. She already knew.

Just as she knew that it wasn’t their fault for existing. Other forces were at play. Forces that clamored in her ears like the sound of a battle cry as millions jumped headfirst into battle. The sound of over 90 thousand demigods and legacies applauding the night’s gladiator as she sauntered out of the underground tunnel and into the arena.

Aggression. Conviction. It was all written in the smirk she sported, in the way she encouraged the crowd to roar louder by raising her sword, in the way her features taunted the weaker crop of those that had divine blood running through their veins. She never failed to make a spectacle of what was, in fact, dutiful bloodshed. As a daughter of Bellona, Shin Ryujin never shied away from the duty of slaughtering monsters to appease the gods. It was an art form that legacies and demigods in particular spent their entire life perfecting. No shirking of obligations was allowed.

Y/n knew this. Ryujin knew this. There wasn’t a single person in the world of myths that didn’t. Everyone knew that once the doors to one of the cages belowground yawned open, the cheers would soon turn to bated breaths, cries of terror, and triumphant cheers as the gladiator fought the monster to the death.

A gladiator’s black uniform wasn’t honored if unbloodied. Soon, the built-in breastplate would be slashed or burned, if not pierced or torn. One or both pauldrons might have clattered to the ground. By the end of it, random integrated elements of her protective gear⸺ vambraces, cuisses, poleyns, and greaves⸺ could be scattered all over the arena.

Eventually, the cheer died down. Ryujin stood at the very center of the fighting ground, feet firmly planted in the dirt. She raised her armor and adjusted her grip on the double-pointed spear. Y/n could almost feel her glancing from one opening to the other, wondering out of which the monster would spring. There was no way to be certain. The Battle Creators were cunning, shrewd, and cruel in their designs.

A minute or two passes in hushed whispers. Many of the spectators were likely wondering whether there would be a fight at all. Some of the more impatient ones were already rising from their seats. Others, like Y/n, sat there as if entranced.

There was at first a low rumbling. It sounded as though it was being filtered through several layers of cement. Suddenly the air grew thick with the stench of sweat, fear, and anticipation. Then came the roar. The ground beneath their feet vibrated as if zapped with lightning. The ones who had planned on leaving stumbled back to their seats and waited. In the arena, Ryujin flinched, and out of the cage, the monster soared.

The Manticore wasted no time in diving down for the girl. But Ryujin wasn't there to be a mere figurine. She propelled herself out of the way once it was too close to change its course and slashed sideways. The beast roared in pain, sinking its claws into the ground. Dust clouded Ryujin’s and the audience’s view of its body. All they could perceive was its mammoth silhouette. Even that was thanks to the burning torches stationed all over the Colosseum.

Fighting a beast at night while the children of Aeolus and its Roman counterpart, Aiolos, did the most to have the clouds smothering moonlight, was no easy feat. Y/n was sure Ryujin was mostly relying on her sense of hearing and touch, feeling the vibrations under the soles of her feet.

Her suspicions were confirmed when the beast flapped its wings, blowing out their only light source. Only Y/n and her younger sister Luna might be able to see and hear the truth of the shadows. Ryujin followed the sound of the manticore’s footsteps as it circled her. Predator and prey. In a fight of this sort, no one was certain which was which. Could you call a beast out of its cage prey? Could you call a demigod a predator?

The Manticore sniffed the air and bared its fangs.

“Ah, the stench of godliness,” It spoke, stalking closer to Ryujin who retreated several steps back. “How you reek of servitude.”

One step forward. One step back for Ryujin. The Manticore ran its lengthy tongue across its pointed teeth.

“Should you slay me,” A low growl, “You shall remain a slave still.”

This time, Ryujin was the first to lunge. She sprinted towards the beast, spear and shield raised. Precisely then, the torches came alive, children of Hecate, Trivia, Hephaestus, and Vulcan having taken it upon themselves to restore the visibility of their surroundings. If you looked carefully, you could pinpoint the exact moment when Ryujin’s plans were foiled.

The Manticore didn’t sidestep. It neither flew as high as the electromagnetic and magic-infused barriers can allow nor leaped over her. And everyone knew it was futile to try and goad it into a defensive mode. This was no horse you could whip into submission, no emaciated child you could starve into servitude. This was an intelligent creature mistakenly taken for a mindless beast. It made Ryujin’s victory seem like a pipe dream.

Staring her down, the monster stood its ground, remaining unmoving as Ryujin thrust her spear forward. The manticore swatted her like a fly, sending her body flying. Many in the crowd gasped. Others yelled encouragements at her, demanding that she pull the heart out of its chest. The rest spoke amongst themselves, making bets and pondering the odds.

Ryujin leaped to her feet, paying no heed to the possible injuries. She had to have at least fractured her elbow. But the demigods healed quickly and this was, by far, not among the most fatal injuries. It was not uncommon for them to shatter ribs, have their guts spilling out, or run even as the bottoms of their feet melted in the scorching hot sand. These were to be expected. As was death.

Her shield had slipped from her grip during the attack. Only her javelin remained. That meant the remaining defense was to attack the beast and hope it didn’t sink its claws in her chest during the struggle. The monster and the girl walked in a circle, maintaining eye contact all the while. As seconds passed, the circle got smaller. Once they were within 10 feet of each other, both raised their weapons. Ryujin’s spear spun in her hand as the manticore raised its unsightly paw. The claws glinted in the flickering light of the torches.

Passing the spear from one hand to the other Ryujin slashed and slashed, all while trying to evade the manticore’s attacks. Just because she was the one doing the attacking, it didn’t mean she was the one in control. In fact, the monster seemed to almost be grinning at her puny effort. It didn’t see her as a threat at all. Ryujin appeared to catch on pretty quickly. Instead of letting the beast manipulate her into thinking she had him cornered, she allowed herself to step sideways.

She didn’t lessen the severity of her attacks, thrusting with all her might and as much rapid succession as she could. This way the manticore would believe she was still being deceived. She ducked as the manticore’s claws swished through the air like behemoth-sized blades. It snapped its jaws right as she saw the light from the torches glowing all brighter as she walked backward toward the wall. It seemed to think it had Ryujin trapped. And, despite her best efforts to outsmart the monster, she was.

It didn’t matter if she slashed at its neck. It didn’t matter that she tried to plunge the point of her spear into its chest. The manticore only needed to loom over her like a shadow of a being. “Foolish child believes herself a victor.” It growled sinisterly.

Scowling, Ryujin sends a gobble of spit flying at the monster’s maw. “Fuck off to Tartarus! I am a victor! I am the-

“Offspring of something that loves you even less than I do.”

No one wants to believe it. No one wants to believe that they can ever cower in terror. But what else can a girl of 19 do when the monster she thought she’d be toying with is toying with her instead? Y/n wonders if this is what food feels like when the other demigods and legacies play with it. She wonders if Ryujin foresees herself becoming the monster’s dinner. The look of horror on her face tells her she might be.

The manticore raises its right muscular foreleg and swipes at her only to find its paw pierced through by a double-edged sword. A normal person would be confounded by the turn of events. But even if this whole thing was normal, this sentient being was no human. It growled in pain but its pain did not register. Saliva trickled from its monstrous maw. Its eyes burned furiously. The shadows told Y/n all about it.

As a child of Bellona, Shin Ryujin possessed the ability of telumkinesis; control over a myriad of weapons. Children of Ares and Athena, as well as those of their Roman counterparts, could also wield such power. It was a blessing truly. Now more than ever.

Ryujin twisted the blade. When the manticore struck again, she dragged the blade across its paw before sliding down between its legs. She made to slash at them. The manticore beat its bat wings before she could do any damage and sent several of the spikes on its tail spearing in her direction. Having no shield to protect herself with, she ran as the spikes stabbed into the ground one after the other. Before the audience could marvel at her agility, the weapon in her grip transformed into a chakram. It arched up into the air toward the monster. The manticore swooped down instead and Ryujin took off to the left, taking hold of the chakram as it came back down in a curved motion. The Manticore was not far behind. Ryujin stepped out of the way before its jaws snapped shut and she was lying there lifeless.

This time she didn’t see the attack coming. Some of the spikes on its tail carved deep gashes across her collarbone and arm as she tried to put some distance between them. Ryujin cried out in pain and faltered. But one look at the crowd, at their watchful, judgmental gaze, and she knew she wasn’t allowed to lick her wounds in the arena.

She had planned on altering the chakram into a spear to pierce right through the monster’s thick skin. Change of plans.

Once the beast turned to face her once more, its ghastly orifice agape, she separated the chakram and molded it into two daggers, each the size of her forearms. Swiftly, she plunged the blades into its feline eyes. The monster roared in agony for everyone to hear. It tried to shake her off but she refused to relent. The spectators rose to their feet, pumping their fists into the air as Ryujin pulled herself up by the two blades, landing right on the manticore’s back. She ruthlessly dragged the daggers through its skull. The monster’s anguish heightened as she split it open. Then she started to scoop up the contents of its head, blackened blood and unearthly matter that only slightly resembled the human brain. The liquified substance dripped down her hands as she hurled fistful after fistful of it to the mud below with a dull thud. The manticore gave a last desperate bellow and knelt. Its surrender became obvious to everyone as it fell limp on its side.

Ryujin yanked out the blades and dismounted. But her duty was far from finished. The spectators had demanded she pull the heart out of its chest. And that’s just what she did. Shin Ryujin was a gladiator and a victor. She never looked the part more than she did then; a monster’s heart in her grasp, bleeding gashes on her body, matted hair on her cheeks. Her weapon was a spear once again and it stood proudly in her grasp, one tip nailed to the ground.

The crowd roared and she stood there, crying out in triumph.

It was amazing, Y/n mused, how fast the world could pretend to have moved on from the mystery murder of the closest thing to a god. As she mulled the last part over and over again, Y/n couldn’t decide if it was the manticore she was thinking of or Juliana Pierce, daughter of Victoria.

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Never a dull moment at Olympia University. There was always some clownery to behold at the front steps; a noisy quarrel, laughable theatrics, failed confessions, foolish but clever pranks, et cetera. If you tried, you could probably assign a demigod to each of the aforementioned events. For instance, the boy who handed another boy a bag of chips as a gesture of kindness was a son of Hermes, if the repulsed screaming that followed was anything to go by. He howled with laughter as the victim chased him down the steps and around the fountain built into the expansive yard. Next to the front door, a monstrosity of Celestial Bronze, a buff boy trapped another in a chokehold. Son of Ares and Bacchus respectively. Next to them stood Ryujin, cheering on the ‘assailant’.

You might say it was all a merry affair. And it goes without saying that none of it involves Y/n. She could observe but never make herself welcome. She could study but never make it apparent that she was doing it. She was allowed to be the reason they ate plenty as long as she never made her existence known or felt. It was a rather isolated reality. She owed it all to her godly parent, whoever they were. Her fingers curled around the spine of her book as she crossed the schoolyard. Eye contact proved easier once you erased it from your dictionary. She couldn’t remember the last time she held someone’s gaze for longer than two seconds. Luna was the only exception but, being Y/n’s younger sister by 11 years, she didn’t really count.

The moment she thought of Luna, that’s where her thoughts remained. This morning the nine-year-old wasn’t that chipper about going to class. Actually, she’d begged Y/n to stay in bed, saying it was too cold outside, that her skin prickled and the light streaming in from the open windows was too bright. It hurt her eyes. Not knowing what to do, Y/n had given her one of her thick padded jackets which had been rotting in their shared closet for the past three years.

“See?” She’d told Luna as she zipped it up to the neck. “It’s dark green. Like the forest.”

Luna hadn’t looked too happy about it, pouting as she complained, “Everyone is going to make fun of me.”

Y/n had frowned.

“Why?” She’d asked, sitting at the foot of Luna’s bed.

“Because it’s spring!” The little girl had stomped her foot, hands bunched into fists. “Nobody wears this in spring! Only weird kids do!”

They had both been running late at that point and Y/n had wanted nothing more than to yell at her sister. Tell her to shut up and deal with it, and that they couldn’t afford to skip lessons. It would just make them even more of a target. But there her sister had been, eyes of the darkest brown squeezed shut as she stood her ground. It’s not even that cold, Y/n had sighed internally.

As the older sister, she had tried to reason, “But don’t you want to be warm?”

“I want to stay home.”

“Luna,” Y/n had groaned in exasperation, flopping backward on the covers. “Please, I haven’t slept at all and we’re both late.”

With that, Y/n had dragged her ass and Luna’s out of the cramped apartment and dropped her off her at the primary school on Camp Jupiter. It was a 1-hour walk from their living quarters to the front gate of the Academy for younger kids, a building the monstrous size of which was only rivaled by that of the Colosseum and the University. Only a 20-minute walk from there and up north to the University. But it felt like she’d been sprinting for miles.

The Government spared no expenses where the education sector was concerned, providing only the most updated data on any and every field of study as well as equipment for the harnessing of the demigods and legacies’ physical skills. A system had been put into place that allowed for experimentation in terms of how well supernatural abilities could work in tandem with physical skills and prowess, and children were not exempt from it. In fact, it was made clear on their first day on camp that the training would be a grueling one and that their duty was to endure it without a word of complaint. But like everything else, this was provided for them under several conditions. Unlike the other progeny of the divine, Y/n and Luna were forbidden from accessing certain texts and documents. They were never granted permission to leave the camp and had been warned that if that were the case, neither would be spared from the dungeons of torment. Meals were provided for them but they preferred to have them alone. At least, Y/n tried to convince herself that was the case.

The topic of food was one she hadn’t told Luna about even if she eventually would have to. It was a subject as tender as the flesh from which her blood was drawn, darker than the deep violet bruises littering her skin from shoulder to wrist. It had been some time since she’d last seen the natural hue of the inner part of her arms. For years, her blood had been used as an offering to the Pantheon. What better insult to the primordial entities than bleeding its offspring dry?

By law, everyone was supposed to offer exactly three drops of blood at the temple each morning but, every time a child of the Titans or some other entity that preceded the Gods of Olympus in age was born, the Pantheon would hunt them down and drag them to one of the camps. There, they became the Vetus Sanguis, palió aíma in Greek, or ‘blood piggy’ as campers liked to call them. Before Y/n, it had been more than a century since the birth of a child of an Old God. There had never been that many of them around, to begin with. And even when there were morsels of them for others to feed on, those reserves soon ran drier than a scorching desert. Bot metaphorically and literally.

Vetus Sanguis, Old Bloods, always found a way to escape. If captured, they resorted to committing suicide; hanging, drowning, setting themselves on fire, slitting their wrists in the dead of night, ingesting highly active substances that liquified their insides, and so on. Bottom line⸺ they got creative. Over time, the respective caretakers of Camp Half-Blood and Jupiter had learned to identify the symptoms of a defective blood piggy and taken the necessary precautions. Chiron had told her this one night, in that fatherly way of his, after he’d caught her sobbing in her confinement. To his credit, he had always stayed up late to read her bedtime stories, after which he’d rub her head and leave. The lock on the door always turned.

As she passed through the front door of Olympia University, Y/n could only be thankful for the long sleeves of her midnight blue zip-up hoodie seeing as it was the only thing shielding her arms from scrutiny. She could have worn her uniform jacket⸺ it kept her warmer after all. But to quote Luna, only weird kids wore those at Olympia. It wasn’t obligatory for the students to present themselves clad in formal attire so they didn’t, save for ceremonial events. They were no longer in service to the One Legion Alliance or the Senate as they had once been. Now, they were adults who serviced New Rome and the world at large. To keep them contained, the higher-ups allowed them some freedom of choice. It was taken from them one way or another. Nothing ever evened out.

She passed by countless students on her way to the lab, where blood would be drawn from her vessels. Y/n tried her hardest not to look back, it would make the current so much stronger. It would only embitter her. It always did because she always looked back. She was never strong enough not to glance at the stream of students. She wasn’t strong now either.

At the lab, a nurse she hadn’t seen before made the preparations necessary and sat by her side as the blood left her body through the transparent tube. This nurse was much gentler than the other one, who always pierced the flesh a little too hard, gripping her wrist a little too tight. It was the first time in a while that her arm hadn’t throbbed during the process. That morning, at 7:40, Y/n could move her arm without wincing. Lightheadedness was still there and she had to stop outside the lab for a few minutes. As she sat on one of the benches, the blood collector entered the lab with a box of celestial bronze in his hands and came out just the same. This time, the box wasn’t empty.

Y/n took deep breaths as she walked to her first lecture. At 8:03, it was already too late to have breakfast. The dining hall was sure to be bustling with students, some still drowsy while others screeched. No table would be empty enough for her to eat her meal without the weight of their condemnatory gaze on her.

She was late for everything today; waking up, taking her sister to school, and for the offering. If she kept this up, the principal would likely duck points from her record, which was neither entirely clean nor too grim to behold. But she couldn’t afford further fuckups. Once Y/n got her degree, she would have to get a decent-paying job⸺ hopefully in the field of astronomy, but that dream was far-fetched⸺ in New Rome after University so she could be taken seriously and afford a living that neither she nor Luna found shameful. Especially Luna.

Luckily for her, the lecture had yet to commence. The hall being on the second floor of the northern wing of the palace-like edifice, made it so the walk from the dining hall to where she was currently sitting took about 15 minutes longer than the one from the lab. It made sense as it was on the other side of the campus. Having been bored one morning, Y/n had spent her spare time doing the math. Then, bored once again, she’d found herself studying the cream coloring of the walls, the bronze lining on the columns, the gilded embroidery of the burgundy velvet curtains, as well as the fresco on the ceiling.

Right now, the only students present in the lecture hall were the children of Athena and Minerva. Three of them, two girls and a boy, were clustered in two of the desks on the front row, whispering amongst themselves about the gods knew what. Probably their latest architectural designs or documentary. The fourth sat separate from them and right next to her. It had been his self-assigned seat from the beginning of this academic year.

Kim Seungmin, a son of Athena, presently seated on their shared mahogany bench, was her desk mate and only spoke with her if absolutely necessary. Meaning, his evaluation would have to be on the line. One time, he’d turned to her and asked if she had a pen to spare, and when she’d handed her only pen to him, he’d thanked her and immediately returned to his notes. That had marked the end of their first conversation. After that, they only spoke if paired on an assignment⸺ even then, in fragments. He didn’t seem like the type to enjoy meaningless conversation in general. At times, he quite reminded her of an owl; diligent, studious, and cuttingly critical.

The imagery was painted to completion by his manner of dress. His wardrobe, though of significantly higher quality than Y/n’s, appeared to consist mainly of loose linen dress shirts, wool sweaters, plain slacks, and vests of the same material as the sweaters, most of which were in neutral to earthly colors.

Y/n tried to relax in her seat and lifted her eyes. The lecture hall’s vaulted ceiling echoed sounds to perfection. If one were to start singing, it would sound like if you belted out notes in an empty church like people in the movies did. So, when the students trickled in, their voices were the first indication that the room was coming alive. They poured in, and with that came the sense of being watched, as if from a distance.

Not five minutes later, Liliana Orlova, daughter of Venus and Professor of Hematology took her place at the podium. Like that, the lecture hall went silent and she started taking absences. The speed at which she spoke Y/n’s name was astounding, truly. The woman moved on to the next student before Y/n could even open her mouth to let her know she was present.

Once the roll call was done and every student had opened their textbooks, Professor Orlova got on with the lecture. Last time they had stopped at “Molecular Hematopathology”, a 53-page chapter that had, curiously enough, not bored her into jumping off the balcony at 3 AM. The theoretical analysis was to be wrapped up by the end of today’s lecture and on Friday they had to put the knowledge into practice. Some liked it. Some didn’t. Everyone, however, found the schedule unfortunate. They had this evening and the 3 days in between to get through the class material; not slow enough a pace for most to learn comfortably. Even having gobbled up the information on the pages, Y/n had to agree with the shared plight of the collective.

The room had become too cold for her liking. She felt goosebumps rise on her skin despite the thick, black shirt underneath. Y/n pulled the zipper of her hoodie up to her neck. In a few minutes, the cold had gradually spread to her extremities, freezing her hands and feet to the extent that she had trouble moving her toes inside her scruffy, white sneakers or jotting down notes from the lecture. Not that she could write anything down anyway. Without her noticing, Professor Orlova’s voice had become background noise as Y/n rubbed her palms against her baggy jeans. She could feel the soft flesh burn, but none of the warmth. Soon her vision blurred to the point where the words swam across the page and the entire lecture hall appeared to tilt.

“You’re looking pale.”

Her desk partner’s voice, though startling, was always welcome as it was a rare thing to behold. But at that moment Y/n wished he hadn’t looked her way. She wished he hadn’t witnessed her present state.

She looked down at her book, trying to act as if she was reading.

“And you’re shaking.” He added.

“Yeah, sorry.” She didn’t mean to sound so snappy, especially feeling that drained. But the familiar feeling of folding in on herself always rose from within whenever she felt threatened, humiliated, or flat-out sad. And right now, she was ashamed to be seen in such a state. Trying to fix it, she looks at him and says, “I mean, yeah, I am.”

Kim Seungmin seems to be peering at her through his thin, round-framed spectacles, his gaze dull. “You didn’t have breakfast, did you?”

On her thighs, her hands come to a halt.

“How did you know that?” She asked in a low voice.

“I didn’t either.” He answered, glancing ahead for a second before adding. “And you were here earlier than me. You should take your pill at the very least. They give you 31 each month, don’t they?”

“How do you know so much?” But what she really wanted to ask is ‘why’. “This information isn’t for public record.”

“Really?”

“That’s what they told me.”

“Just because you have no friends doesn’t mean your life isn’t public.” He looked at her as if all of this was common sense. “Everyone knows. So, take the pill and focus.”

“It’s not that-

“L/n.”

Y/n all but jolted. When she looked forward, she was met with the disapproving stare of Professor Orlova. It was as if the woman could penetrate the deepest layers of her skin, capable of finding fault with every fiber of her being. It was not the first time. Every lecture with her was followed by an aftermath of crippling self-assessment.

“Yes, Professor?”

Her delicate features morphed into a scowl but only for a short moment. Then, a sickly-sweet smile took over as she leaned forward with her palms planted on the lectern made out of cherry wood. “It must have been of great interest to you,” She said, “To be interrupting the lecture.”

Y/n swallowed a thick lump in her throat. There was no other way to react with how hypervigilant all eyes that were on her made her. At least Seungmin kept staring down at his open book, pretending to flip through the pages slowly.

“Apologies, Professor,” Y/n tried to keep her voice from sounding like a crow’s, “It wasn’t.”

The woman’s lips twitched.

“Still, I believe we would all like to hear it.” She goaded and turned to the other students as if to urge them to join in. “Wouldn’t we?”

There were a few nods, some firm affirmations, but for the most part, the hall was enveloped in silence. How the hell was Y/n supposed to break it with a convincing enough answer that would get Professor Orlova to let this slide? Why did everyone have to know? It didn’t concern them in the least. She was sure none of them, save for the ones seated closest to them, had managed to catch onto anything.

Y/n looked everywhere and nowhere at the same time. Her glances were furtive at best. But in the short time she swept her eyes across the hall a few faces registered. She caught sight of two guys whispering amongst themselves as they stared at her. She knew them both to be sons of Apollo. The one doing the talking was the one seated closest to the column. From what she could see, he was dressed in a sleeveless black t-shirt. His caramel brown hair had a slight perm to it and a silver earring glinted from his right ear. The more he talked the more his features resembled those of a hamster. By contrast, his desk partner, a boy with bleached blonde hair and plump lips in the shape of a heart, clad in a plain white shirt and washed-out jeans, just listened. If Y/n had looked a little longer, she might have noticed the pity in his gaze.

Near the center of the lecture hall, another boy her age stared. His gaze wasn’t nearly as empathetic though. All she allowed herself to discern before she slid her gaze elsewhere was the sleek black hair flowing down to his shoulders and the full, defined lips.

Next to her, Seungmin stirred. Y/n gaped at him in shock.

“Professor,” He started, “We-

“Not you, Mr. Kim. Her.” She bit out, emphasizing the last part as she pointed in Y/n’s direction. “I wish to hear it from her.”

If she’d felt cold before, it was nothing compared to the glacier plunging into the pit of her belly. Being put on the spot was never something to look forward to, especially for her or Luna. Nothing good ever came of being in the spotlight. Y/n swore she was going to freeze before she managed to get a word out, no matter how long or how hard Seungmin kicked her shin under the desk.

Meeting Professor Orlova’s jeering gaze, she braced herself.

“I wasn’t- there’s nothing to tell.” Her voice sounded at once dead and panicked. The twitch of Professor Orlova’s eye told Y/n that she wasn’t convinced. That she wished to hear more come out of her mouth. “Truly, Professor, it was nothing. Again, I really am sorry for the disruption and I promise not to do it aga-

“You’re looking quite pale, Ms. L/n.”

The sentence was like a punch to the fucking gut. It served as a reminder of where she stood in comparison to her peers. The absence of worth and one sole use. The only part of her that remained visible at the end of the day was the one they couldn’t see, the part that kept them fed. In their eyes, she was merely a tube made of flesh.

From the corner of her eye, she could spy Seungmin shooting a glance at her clenched fists. He shook his head.

“My appearance,” Y/n bit out and trembled with exhaustion, from the cold, and the strength it took not to scream, “Is none of your business.”

Some students gasped behind the hands clasped over their mouths. A few snickers here and there. Seungmin shook his head again, exasperated by the whole thing. But most of all, she felt the colossal weight of the opinion of the collective. Never before had she talked back to a professor, choosing to stare at them until they eventually demerited her, issued a warning, or gave her some sort of punitive task to complete. They likely thought her audacious, a pathetic thing who should have learned her place by now.

Professor Orlova's piercing mint-green eyes twitched. A sandy-brown strand of hair escaped her tight, previously immaculate bun.

“Respect!” She slammed both hands on the lectern, causing the students in the lecture hall to turn their attention to her. Then, in a calmer tone, she continued, “I am your professor, your superior, and you will show me respect.”

“We’re both in bad luck then because my parents never taught me any,” Y/n said slowly, “They weren’t around you see.”

It was no secret that demigods rarely interacted with their godly parents. Over the years, a few had even become estranged from their mortal guardians. But it was different with Old Bloods. No matter their achievements, they were never claimed, or if they had been at one point in history, such was no longer the case. Being acknowledged by the Old Gods only put a target on their back. It meant they were accepted in some form so those around would do anything to prevent them from reveling in it. Y/n had always thought that was such bullshit.

Luna was a daughter of Nyx because she’d once curled into a ball at the corner of her room during a thunderstorm. Nobody had been able to detect her. Trying to escape the terror of lighting, how it made ghouls out of branches, she’d become one with the shadows as if seeking comfort in the closest manifestation to her mother. All of this had happened prior to meeting Y/n, who, unlike Luna, had been told her case was different.

This time, Orlova straightened and regarded her with a cold smile.

“Out of this hall, at once.” She pronounced each word clearly, for all to hear. “Go to the Principal’s office.”

Y/n packed her backpack and left without a word, despite the lump in her throat and the dread leisurely settling in her chest. Luna had been right; it was just so fucking cold today.

******************************************************************************************

The walk to Principal Jiang’s office took about 10 minutes. On the way there she saw a few students smoking pot under stairwells as some of their friends dozed off with their backs to the wall, sitting on the benches along the corridor, students with their noses in books, boys and girls with tears in their eyes as they tried not to get caught howling with laughter. She tried her best to delay the inevitable but her feet, spurred on by humiliation and the desire to put as much distance between her and the lecture hall as possible, were marching across the campus to the personnel building. It was adjacent to the kitchens and the cafeteria, and it made meals much more accessible for the academic staff. If the lecturers ever missed a meal, it was deliberate.

The interior was impressive, to say the least, with marble stairs of cream coloring much like the walls if not a tad darker, and coffee brown handrail to match. On the walls, sconces were installed, and there hung paintings depicting battles, triumphs, slaying of monsters, defeats, revels, and grief. What always struck her (it wasn’t her first time walking up these stairs) was the depiction of the Pantheon as glorious guardians of humanity. It left a bitter taste in her mouth. Was it really how the rest perceived them? Were they really so loved, so revered? Would they look kindly upon her and Luna if she did as everyone did if she saw them as protectors as opposed to predators?

Before her tendency to overthink could take over, Y/n found herself on the third floor of the building. She walked up to the door to Principal Jiang’s office and knocked in hopes that he had taken leave. She should have known better, because, of course, Albert Jiang, ever the punctual man, would be past that door. It wasn’t nearly close to being 4 PM. The class was still in session and after that, a training that ended with some students pressing ice packs to their wounds and nurses administering vials of ambrosia.

“Come in,” She heard the man say in a brittle voice. Y/n turned the knob and walked in. Upon seeing it was her, the old man straightened in his seat and clasped his wrinkly hands on the table before him. “It is you again. Sit. What are you to claim culpability for today?”

The thing about Principal Jiang, son of Pluto, was that he didn’t seem to loathe the sight of her more than he found some of the reasons she was sent to his quarters downright preposterous. A waste of time as he often called it. Many of these offenses consisted of accidentally dropping her ratty pencil case (there was only a pencil, an eraser, and a pen inside so it couldn’t have been that disruptive), laughing when she found another student’s joke too funny to suppress her mirth, and failing to answer a question right because she was too anxious to breathe properly.

Today, she’d been sent here because she’d run her mouth. Knowing he would eventually hear Professor Orlova’s version of the story, Y/n decided to share hers in advance. For a man of 73, who had to have more pressing matters to attend to, Principal Jiang, hands still clasped on the table, listened to her story from start to finish without interrupting her a single time. In a way, she was fortunate to be living at a time when he was in charge.

Near the end, Y/n felt like bursting out laughing when he shook his head and the morning sunlight pouring in from the open mullioned window started tap-dancing on the rock-hard surface of his gelled, swept-back silver hair. Restraint, she told herself. Practice restraint. Because truly, out of all her educators, Principal Jiang was the only one who had never insulted her, which was ironic considering that he wielded more influence than those who had. It would matter very little if the man before her were to change out of his velvet cloak, which was the deepest hue of purple she had ever seen, and into a pair of polka-dot overalls. Having the blood of Hades running through his veins, the old man before her was ruled by the planet of riches, power, and transformation⸺ if one spoke the language of the cosmos.

“Your response, though irreverent, was not unwarranted.” Principal Jiang states after a prolonged silence, during which he caressed his silver bear which ended in a sharp point just an inch below his chin. His serious black eyes look up at her. “However, if I were to let your attitude go unpunished, such leniency on my part would arouse suspicion. That cannot come to pass. Both your place and my position as Principal of Olympia would be viewed with more scrutiny than you can possibly fathom, child.”

With the fear returns the cold, and she rubs her palms over her jeans. “Will I receive another demerit?”

“Perhaps not a demerit,” He says in that brittle, old voice of his, “But a task to allow Professor Orlova to revel in the illusion of having forced a punitive measure upon you.”

Well, that was significantly better than earning yourself a demerit. But the fact remained that her record would be littered with punishments and misdemeanors, one after the other.

“And my record?” She swallowed. “Will I be able to get a decent-paying job if I get in any more trouble?”

Principal Jiang’s pensive expression and the silence conveyed that he was at least considering her words and not just waving them off.

“That remains to be seen.” He told her.

Y/n bit her tongue, curbing her pleas for help. His answer would have to suffice for now.

“It seems proper that I let you know,” His voice, though just as brittle as before, is now nuanced with sympathy, “That if everything were up to me, I would not allow for this. What was decreed by the Gods centuries before you were born, holds value to this day. It may not be what we wish for, but the truth of it remains. They govern us because we remember they exist, and they exist because they never let us forget. That is why the Statute of Realms remains; so that neither can live without the other.”

For a minute or two afterward, Y/n stared at the old man before her, dissecting his words in her mind. Sometimes she wondered whether old people talked just to talk. But that couldn’t be the case with the old man before her. On numerous occasions, namely, her being sent to his office or festivities, he would listen while others rambled away. Whenever he spoke it was always with a purpose and held meaning.

Taking the silence and the way he turned his gaze to the stack of papers on his desk as a dismissal, Y/n stood from the chair.

“Have a good day, Principal Jiang.”

As she left the building, Y/n had another thing to ponder such as why the picture of Juliana Pierce was on Principal Jiang’s desk, stapled to one of the documents in front of him, and why there had been no updates since she’d been pronounced dead.

******************************************************************************************

Classes ended much the way that they began; her limbs freezing despite the faultless heating system, trying to take notes but never managing to follow the lectures for longer than five minutes, dizziness, fatigue, and an immobilizing sense of paranoia. This motley of symptoms was not news in any way. Years ago, she must have been no older than ten, Y/n had been diagnosed with anemia. It was to be expected, they had said as they drew blood from her one morning, it is only normal. So, for the longest time, she’d felt as if the gentlest current could sweep her away if she were to dive into the river⸺ she wasn’t the most athletically inclined. And honestly? She would let herself be carried.

Needless to say, Y/n didn’t bother returning to the lecture hall after leaving Principal Jiang’s office. There would have been no point in doing so. What little she knew of Liliana Orlova was enough to keep her from trying, and she had no energy to waste on lost causes. No, she’d sat on one of the benches in the corridor and waited for the next class, Advanced Radio Astronomy, to start.

At lunch, from 12 p.m. to 12:45 p.m., Y/n didn’t bother to occupy her usual spot. Staying in one place was a crime against her body when it came to the cold, but so was moving too much. So, she had to alternate between pacing and sitting, something she couldn’t do in the presence of other people. Not when she’d been kicked out of class three hours or so before that. There would be no end to the rumors. She didn’t want to hear any of it. That’s why she’d grabbed a chocolate bar from the ‘candy store’ and an apple from the fruits section, and left right after. As much as she craved a warm bowl of soup and the soft bread fresh out of the oven, Y/n knew her breathing would turn into wheezing once the jeering began.

There was only one more class after, Celestial Mechanics, which, along with Advanced Radio Astronomy, was mandatory to get a degree in Astrophysics, and around 02:30 PM it was time for her to head to the Training Center.

Now, this building was special in that it was positioned somewhat separate from the main ones on campus and resembled a box with three separate compartments. Calling it spacious would be a severe understatement considering that each ‘compartment’ stood at 20 meters in height with an area of around 10000 square meters. These parameters made the building nothing short of enormous. In every remaining aspect, it was identical to the others with its cream coloring, the vaulted ceiling, the columns near the walls that provided support, and the frescoes above.

Impeccably organized was another way to describe the building. Not all three compartments were of the same layout, but they did have a few elements in common. For example, the mats for wrestling were laid out on the left and the archery unit stood farthest from the entrance, bows, and quivers arranged neatly on shelves just outside the shooting area and range. The first floor of Compartment A (Alpha) focused mainly on hand-to-hand combat (that was meant literally) while the second was furnished with nets and ropes for climbing, acrobatics, and gymnastics. The three floors of Compartment B (Beta) dealt more with blades; swords, knives, daggers, axes, polearms, spears, scythes, and so on. Compartment C (Gamma) consisted of three floors, each with various simulation chambers that one could customize for combat.

Y/n spent much of her time admiring the architecture, weaving the wildest of stories, and observing the other students as they trained with weapons and sculpted their bodies. Sometimes she even took the opportunity to start early on her reading. What else was she to do when she was barred from participating? Well, not exactly. From her first day on Camp Jupiter, after they’d let her scrub the dirt, blood, and gore off of her, it had been made plain to her that her priority was to provide them with her blood. It didn’t matter if she was weak and couldn’t train, leaving her in possession of no skills whatsoever. She was an Old Blood before she was a warrior.

Keeping all of the above in mind, it became obvious then that training was out of the question. Especially on days when she could barely stand or even sit. In all honesty, there was nothing she wanted to do more than sleep. Right there. On the bench. Hugging her knees as she lay on her side.

So, what reason could Professor Hinsen, son of Mars and one of the Overseers, have to be telling her to join the training? It wasn’t like him at all. She knew that for certain not because she was his favorite student but because the last time that she’d asked him to train her he’d basically told her to shut her mouth and fuck right off. Him being a tall, rugged man in his forties, with deep taupe brown hair cropped close to his scalp and a scar running along the length of his bulging neck, had certainly discouraged her from approaching him after that.

Yet, there she was, sitting on the bench with her legs crossed and her Hematology book nestled between them.

“What?” This was her first question to him since that day. “But why?”

One of the veins on his neck became visible as he grunted, “Just get up and do as you’re told.”

Y/n didn’t need to be told twice. Closing her book, she rose from her comfortable seat and dusted off her faded black sweatpants, the closest thing she could afford to the actual training uniform. As she stood there, looking anywhere but the man next to her, she was overcome with the urge to ask.

“Are you going to instruct me?” Y/n hoped her voice sounded steady. Professor Hinsen barked out a laugh as if the mere notion of it was absurd. Y/n frowned, and before she could inquire further as to what she was supposed to do, a figure manifested at the edge of her vision. A man of average height, though still towering over her, with tawny brown skin and hair at least five shades darker that curled just an inch past his ears, slowly made his way toward the benches. It wasn’t that she didn’t know who he was. They had simply never been in each other’s presence before as he didn’t teach any of the courses she took.

“I will.” He stated, and for a moment Y/n had forgotten her previous question entirely. The man held out his hand for her to shake. “Khalil Hajjar, son of Minerva, Professor of Tactical Operations and Military History.”

I know who you are, Y/n wanted to say as she shook his hand. Although, upon meeting his analytical gaze, she suspected he knew. He released her hand.

Not wasting any time, Professor Hajjar asked, “Do you have any skills? Griffith, that’s enough.”

The other man, who had started to laugh at the presumption that she would be skilled at anything, only roared with laughter at his colleague’s reproach. What was he? Five? Was he that overjoyed to know that she was the least capable in the room? Professor Hajjar paid him no mind, and Y/n decided to follow his example.

“Not really.” She answered honestly.

Hajjar stared at her. “If you didn’t, then you wouldn’t be in this camp to begin with.”

“I’m not here because I’m good at something.”

He almost seems startled at her instantaneous answer. I’m here because I’m good for one thing, she wanted to correct him.

Chest rumbling with laughter, the five-year-old man patted Hajjar on the shoulder. “This one is all yours.”

Once Hinsen had disappeared down the corridor leading to Compartment B, Hajjar focused his critical gaze on her. It felt as though she was being probed on all fronts.

“Do you truly believe you’re not skilled at anything?” He asks her.

Ashamed but accepting of this aspect of reality, Y/n replies, “Yeah, I do.”

She didn’t know how long he kept studying her. What she could tell, however, from his impassive expression was that he didn’t take her words at face value. Hajjar neither distrusted nor swore by her account completely, which Y/n would have usually thought a wise thing to do. But at that moment, as they stood facing each other in that large room filled with individuals far more accomplished than her, she would have preferred for him to take her word for it. Better than anyone else, Y/n knew the depth of her incompetence.

“Follow me,” Hajjar tells her, and she does.

While on their way to their unknown destination, she takes the time to take stock of her surroundings. On one of the mats to the right, a girl with flaming red hair had pinned another boy to the ground and had a knee pressed to his back. A second later, the roles were flipped. He made as if to bang the back of his head with her face, a decoy of a move. In reality, he hooked both of his legs around her neck, caging her in. The move required extreme flexibility and core strength, but it was worth it in the end. The girl released the hands that pinned his arms against his back. She clawed at his calves but he yanked her backwards only to release her at the last moment. Before she could rise to her feet, the boy pulled himself up just so he could press his knee at her throat.

On another mat to the left, two girls battled with one another with their arms tied behind their backs. The taller girl sent a kick flying and the other ducked, swiping her leg across the floor. The bigger girl fell down with a thud. Still to the left, on the next mat over, two boys were going at it in full swing. They pulled no punches even as their knuckles bled. Neither was willing to yield. Entranced by the people training on the mats, Y/n almost bumped into Hajjar’s back when he halted.

“Stay here.” He told her without looking. “I’ll be back.”

And stay there she did. While walking, she could at least pretend that she was just passing by, that she wasn’t trying to observe. But standing there, rooted in place, analyzing other students’ matches felt odd. It wasn’t until she truly looked around her that Y/n realized why that was. Never before had she stood in the middle of the room. Always on the bench, barred from training, she’d always been outside looking in. From here, she could smell the sweat, could hear their labored breathing, could sense the exertion it took to be that good. It almost felt as if all that time she’d spent observing from the bench, she had been doing so with one eye closed. It made her want to run.

The students surrounding her, both younger and older than she was, clad in their black and gray skintight training uniforms were far more intimidating from up close. Though she attended classes with them regularly, it was only then that she understood the disparity between them and her. It started from the basics, the uniform, and up to their abilities. She missed her bench.

In an attempt to shake off the tension wound around her muscles; Y/n searched the compartment for Professor Hajjar. She found him speaking with a boy three mats ahead to the right. They seemed to be discussing something, and she could hear none of it from where she stood. It didn’t help that the pair wrestling on the mat closest to her to the left decided to end their match with a triumphant cry. Despite being unable to hear, she could see the way a trio of boys looked at her. Two of them, the tallest of the bunch stood on the mat but weren’t sparring. It didn’t seem like they had any plans of the sort either. No, they regarded their friend and Professor Hajjar with curious eyes and whispered among themselves, glancing at her from time to time. It wasn’t those two that worried her, though they certainly carried an intimidating air. No, it was the third person standing just outside the outer margins of the mat. With his sleek black hair that went just a bit past his shoulder, those defined features, and that flawless posture, he could have been a god. Without a doubt, he was the closest thing to it. The problem was that he was staring right at her.

Y/n looked away at once. She wasn’t a dimwit. Nor was she inclined to forget. That was the same boy she’d caught staring at her during the Hematology lecture. She didn’t remember ever having been in such close proximity to him. It had cold sweat pooling on her forehead. Her hands had become clammy from the nerves. The more violently she tried to wipe it off on her sweatpants, the more anxious she became. Every nerve in her body was screaming at her to bolt for the exit. So distraught was she that she didn’t notice Professor Hajjar walking over with the boy in tow.

“Y/n, this is Lee Minho, son of Hermes.” He introduced them while the boy stood there looking at her with a blank expression. “He’ll be your sparring partner throughout today’s training session.”

The boy, Minho steps closer. “Hey.”

Not knowing what to say to him, Y/n chose to speak with Professor Hajjar instead. What did he mean by ‘sparring partner’? Did he truly intend to have them go against each other? Had he not heard what she said back by the benches?

“I just told you I-

“Have no skills. I know. I heard you.” Hajjar repeated, and though he was not rolling his eyes, Y/n could feel it. Maybe it’s the way he’s standing there, utterly confident that this is the right thing to do and she’s the short-sighted little fool who couldn’t see it. “But I need to see it for myself so I can decide how to proceed from here on out.”

He lifted a finger and Minho stepped onto the mat. Though begrudgingly, Y/n does follow suit, taking off her shoes before she does.

“Oh, and Minho,” She heard Professor Hajjar say behind her, “Try not to break her bones.”

They stood at a distance of around 3 meters, and now that they were both facing each other on the mat, Y/n took note of his appearance; coffee brown hair and eyes to match, pronounced upper lip, and a high nose bridge. He wasn’t tall, per se, but that didn’t mean much in a fight. That much she knew. His muscles, though not stretching his training uniform taut like those of some of the children of Ares and Mars, were well-defined in their own right. His thighs, in particular, looked nothing short of lethal. It wasn’t uncommon for children of Hermes and Mercury to possess the ability of enhanced speed, which only became full-fledged once the muscles had been exerted beyond comprehension.

Minho raised a dark eyebrow. Realizing he’d caught her studying him, Y/n looked away and then back at him.

“Now what?” She asked.

His hands formed into fists, positioned on both sides of his head as his elbows stood just a tad wider apart. Both his legs were slightly bent, the right one more so than the other.

Tucking his chin in, he said, “Now you get into position.”

After a prolonged beat of painfully awkward silence, Minho straightened and looked at Professor Hajjar in confusion then back at her.

“You don’t know how.” He finally stated. Y/n simply stared ahead, ignoring him, and before she could turn to ask Hajjar to reconsider the whole thing, she heard Minho say, “Well, try to keep up.”

There was a whoosh, like the sound of an arrow flying right past you, and then she realized it was just her head swinging to the left like one of the speed bags she’d watched students hit repeatedly. It didn’t end there. As if to humiliate her further, her own body betrayed her as she knelt, hands cupped over her nose. Oh, Y/n thought in a daze, oh, fuck, my nose! Until her knees hit the ground, she hadn’t realized he’d kicked her in the face and blood was now gushing out of her nose. It was so cold. Everywhere she touched but especially her nose, was so fucking cold. So why did it burn like hell?

“Get up,” She heard Professor Hajjar order and turned around to glare at him. How pathetic she must have looked. The man didn’t so much as flinch. “The match is not over yet.”

It was at that moment that Y/n understood. He wouldn’t end the fight until she demonstrated something. What that thing was, she had no clue.

Her lips parted so she could breathe. What came out was a wheezing sound as some of the blood started to coat her teeth. Swiping her teeth along her upper teeth, Y/n removed her hands from her nose and placed them on the mat. It occurred to her that they might find this disrespectful and gross. None of that mattered when she could barely find the strength to climb to her feet and then found her vision worsened as she tried to stand properly. Everything switched in and out of focus.

She glared at Minho. He’d messed her up with one kick and there was nothing in his face to convey remorse. Not that Y/n expected anything of the sort.

Deciding it was better to go along with the charade, Y/n formed two fists and tried to mimic his hand placement from before. A poor imitation but it would have to do. This time, Minho’s lips quirked up just a little.

Realizing she wouldn’t throw the first punch, he lunged forward and she sidestepped. He was going easy on her no doubt. As a son of Hermes, he’d have no trouble blocking her evasive attempts. She didn’t see how she’d be able to outmatch him anyway. Her nose continued to bleed profusely as he all but flew across the mat, never doing more than grazing her skin. It hurt to the point that she’d rather tear it off with her nails.

“Don’t just dodge.” He told her at one point. Y/n was out of breath while he seemed to be breathing normally. “Try to get a hit in.”

Inhaling through her mouth, she cupped her hands on her knees, “I can’t.”

“Then what can you do?”

His irritation took her off guard and she stared up at him somewhat shocked. Most would seize the opportunity to humiliate their opponent, driving home the fact that they were far superior in skill. Most would revel in the sadistic joy of hearing the bones of their adversary crunch under their feet. The pleasure was heightened if the enemy was an Old Blood.

Y/n swiped at her nose with the back of her hand again and winced. It vexed her, his annoyance. She’d revealed the truth of her incompetence before stepping onto the mat. Had he not taken her seriously? Or did find the depth of her ineptitude so utterly irredeemable that even the fact that she was an Old Blood couldn’t deter him from expressing his frustration? Whatever the reason, Y/n wanted him to shut the fuck up.

Perhaps sensing her irritation was a response to his, he smirked right before swiveling on his heel and sending his kick flying up to her face. In the short time that she’d been watching the students hone their skills in the Training Center, she’d been able to memorize some of the most commonly used moves and countermoves. But none of them were of much use if it was your first time trying. If she were to stand there and try to block him, she’d only end up getting her forearm bruised. Even shattered. No one would heal her. Knowing this, she bent down.

Pure, unadulterated pain exploded across her back and she dropped on the mat like a fly. It felt like her vertebrae had severed ties with the spinal cord and become one with her front. For a moment she thought her lungs had squeezed through the thin openings between her ribs and spilled out like minced meat. This wasn’t Y/n’s first time experiencing such immeasurable agony. But she had yet to get used to it.

As if to elevate the torture, Minho pressed his knee between her shoulder blades. Her eyes prickled with tears as her mouth let out a silent cry.

“What have you been doing all this time?” He asked.

Her voice sounded weak as she answered, “None of your business.”

“You observe.” His mouth was near her ear now. “I’ve seen you do it. So why don’t you put that knowledge into practice?”

Struggling to breathe or even afraid to do so in case she ruptures something, Y/n settles for scratching at the mud with her blood-caked nails. He just wouldn’t let her go, digging his knee into her spine as she squirmed like a worm on the sullied carpet. Gods, how they must have been enjoying the sight of him besting her like it was nothing. How weak she must appear to them.

“Get off of me.” Y/n hated how wheezy her voice rang to the ear.

Her words seemed to have no effect on him. Neither did he release her, nor did he torment her by pressing his knee further into her injured back.

“That will be it for today, Minho.” Professor Hajjar said.

At the older man’s dismissal, the boy rose to his feet and stepped off the sparring mat. Y/n was slow to do the same, the pain had buried itself deep and her flesh was sure to bear the coloring to prove it. The blood had thinned to a trickle but the throbbing remained. She could just imagine the flecks of blood painting a grotesque image of herself in the middle of Compartment A.

She hunched over for a while, with only her palms and knees to steady her, and then heard a snickering sound not that far from where she was. Upon lifting her gaze, she met those of Minho’s friends, the ones who had been whispering amongst each other and glancing at her earlier. Only now they were unabashedly doing so. There was no reserve in the way they watched her. All they did was snicker and jeer as she coughed blood that had struggled to come up to the surface from when Minho had slammed his leg flat against her back. As blood-tinted saliva slid out of her parted lips, Y/n caught sight of the other boy. He was sizing her up the way a butcher did cattle as they sharpened their blades in preparation for slaughter. He sharpened his dark gaze across her features, cutting into them with a slight smile of self-satisfaction.

Y/n looked away and reached for her shoes. She was conscious of the eyes on her as she put them on.

“Are you angry?” Professor Hajjar asked when she’d climbed to her feet.

She began to scratch off the dried blood on her face. He offered her a wet wipe which she accepted.

“Yes.” She answered, sounding nasal.

“At him? Or at yourself?”

Y/n’s head snapped in his direction to see his analytical gaze trained on her.

“At you.” She emphasized.

Hajjar hummed, almost pensive, and in the meantime Y/n was violently rubbing off the stains. Each movement shot pain across her chest and spine, which she ignored in favor of preserving what remained of her dignity. What had transpired minutes before had been beyond mortifying.

“Those three boys you saw,” Hajjar began to speak in a voice lower than before. Even though she refused to look at him, Y/n felt as though she was staring right into the mockery that they’d made of her. “They’re Minho’s friends, some of the most lethal warriors on Camp Jupiter, and they were laughing at you. Your defeat is their amusement. Do you want it to keep happening? Do you want to remain weak and pathetic, a monkey in a circus? Is that how you want to be seen and remembered?” She opened her mouth to argue but soon discovered that no words form. Hajjar waited and when he received no response, continued, “If your goal is to stay as you are, frail, malnourished, and wretched, then you should know that you’re not getting your wish.”

A million responses brewed in her mind. Acidic. Bitter. Scathing. Violent.

Thinking he won’t hear her with all the usual noise, Y/n mumbles, “It’s unfair.”

“What is?” He said, and her gaze zoomed up to his face. “Speak your mind.”

Under any other circumstance, she would have apologized profusely and walked off, dreading the moment that she’d receive the news of having become homeless. Every word she said would be reflected in their treatment of her. It was nothing stellar, but what little she had could be taken away. She and Luna couldn’t afford to badmouth the laws, the government, least of all the Pantheon. They were to be grateful above all else.

But anger had a way of nibbling at her until nothing remained but to let it out.

“It’s unfair that I’m always miles behind.” She clenched her fingers around the bloodied wet wipe. “From the beginning, everyone, everyone including you, professor, has forbidden me from training. You told me that you’d have no use for someone like me on the battlefield. And now, when I’ve finally accepted it, you decide you’ve had enough of me being frail, malnourished, and wretched. It’s unfair that you get to change your mind.”

Hajjar stared at her, silent, offering a nod while tapping his fingers as he crossed his arms over his chest. Then he spoke.

“Everyone, including yourself, looks at you like you’re a meal. Look at them.” He tilted his head to the side, eyes trained over her shoulder. She turned slightly to see the boys from before training in pairs. The two snickering boys were on one mat and Minho was against the other boy on the one right after. They were a flurry of movement, a blur. But they weren’t the only students Professor Hajjar was referring to. The entire Building is filled with such students. “Do you see that, Ms. L/n? That’s the product of years of training. If the weakest of them were to attack you, you’d stand no chance. No chance against their hand-to-hand combat skills. No chance against their inherited abilities⸺ abilities they’ve been honing under ruthless tutelage. If they come for you, you are dead meat.”

Biting back a string of insults, Y/n shut her eyes and then turned to face him again.

“Then what am I supposed to do?” She snapped and pointed at the mat. “You saw me back there. I was-

“For the past few weeks,” He began in a calm tone that forced her to listen (the man sounded reasonable in anything she said), “I have been coming up with a program. It starts with the basics of every kind of training until you decide what your fighting style and weapons of choice will be. You will need to have more than one, yes. As far as your diet is concerned, there will be adjustments. I am aware of your financial situation, but there will be no more skipping meals in the dining hall because you cannot afford some of the better choices. No more having chocolate as a substitute for a nutritious meal.”

Y/n scoffed and swiped her hand across her forehead to wipe off the sweat, accidentally brushing her wrist against the bridge of her nose. The swelling had progressed for the duration of their talk.

“You don’t seem to understand my financial situation, professor.” She stressed. “That’s what I can afford, so that’s what I’ll eat. Unless you’re suggesting I steal which-

“I will have a word with Principal Jiang, and try to come to an agreement.” That and the committed expression on his face forced her suggestions of theft to a halt. “Other members of the academic staff will surely disagree, which is an understatement, as I am certain you understand. But they’re not the only ones we have to worry about.”

Y/n looked around her. “The other students.”

“They won’t be happy about this,” Hajjar said, nodding. “Once your training begins, many of them will make it their mission to make it as unpleasant as it can get if not more.”

“Can’t the higher-ups just increase my allowance or something? Then I could make proper meals for my sister and me and-

“An Old Blood being granted special privileges?” Hajjar gave her a pointed look. “That would only make matters worse.”

Y/n’s jaw almost hit the floor in disbelief. That was such bullshit.

“Special privilege?” She said, incredulous. “They all get large amounts of money each month.”

That was the truth. Governments all around the world paid exorbitant sums of money for the demigods’ services, and as the students of Olympia University were considered up-and-coming warriors, they, too, received significant payment. On top of that, many of them already were already signed under organizations, institutions, and companies. For example, some were modeling for high-end brands while others had gone into tech. Whatever the talent, it was certain to be channeled in a productive manner. They could leave or stay, and always prosper. Such wasn’t the case for her and Luna. They would never get to leave the Camp, forced to serve until their very last breath.

Roaring laughter pulls Y/n out of her trance of resentment.

“I never said compared to them Ms. L/n.” Hajjar clarified and she only glanced up at him for a second before looking down at her knuckles. There was still some blood left. “Old Bloods have always lived in poverty. If privileges were to be granted to you when your antecedents had none, much like you at the moment, that would signal change. Not everyone likes that. The Gods certainly do not.”

For the first time since they’d been properly introduced, Y/n looked at the older man with genuine curiosity, though still tinged with confusion and acrimony.

“Why are you going out of your way to help me then?” She asked. “You’re one of them too.”

Hajjar looks at her too. But his is a look of understanding, or something akin to it. A look of acknowledgment. There is less condescension in it than she has seen in an adult for the past five years. It reminded her of Chiron and she wanted to grate her brain against scorching hot pavement for it.

“What was the first thing the Council of Elders and the Senate did once Juliana Pierce was pronounced dead?”

The change of direction almost gave her a whiplash and she stared at him, rigid. How was their previous topic in any way related to the mystery murder of Juliana Pierce? In the end, Y/n decided to just go with the flow of the discussion.

“They said that they would be investigating the matter thoroughly.” She answered.

Hajjar nodded.

“And has anything come of this investigation?” He gestured with his hands in the space between them. “Have they divulged the particulars, any novelty?”

“Not to my knowledge,” Y/n replied slowly.

“Why do you think that is?”

Just what kind of answer did he seek to hear from her? Y/n let out a sigh of exhaustion.

“They could be trying to cover it up.” She said, scratching her temple. “It’s only one student, after all, and there hasn’t been a murder since.” She paused, looking at him only briefly before she slid her gaze to her left. “Or they could be trying to come up with a way to frame it on someone.”

That seemed to please him a little, the light in his dark brown eyes shining a bit brighter. He was probably relieved to discover that she wasn’t the clod he’d initially taken her for.

“I will leave you to deliberate about what we have discussed.” He said, and before turning to leave, added, “Do not presume to evade your upcoming training, Ms. L/n.”

She watched him walk straight towards the exit and, in less than a minute, he was out of the Training Center. With his departure, the sense of being watched returned in full force. This time it was just one, however, and it ruthlessly drilled holes into the back of her head. No part of her felt safe and when she turned to catch the culprit in the act, he didn’t look in the least surprised. It looked like he had wanted her to react- like he had wanted her to know it was him.

Seeing as they were nowhere in sight, his friends had to have relocated, but that didn’t matter when his presence alone was this overpowering. As he slipped each finger into his black leather archery gloves, never breaking eye contact, Y/n felt as though she was the deer caught in the headlights. Everything about him unnerved her. From the way he rotated his wrist to his exemplary looks, the boy was his own warning sign. Thankfully, he turned and headed toward the area designated for archery practice without another glance her way. She could finally breathe.

After scanning her surroundings one last time, Y/n headed back toward the benches, gathered her belongings, and marched out of the building. Absentmindedly, she cupped her right hand over her swollen nose and grimaced. They must have found her downright horrid to look at. Especially that boy. Hopefully, they would never have to speak with each other.

******************************************************************************************

Luna and she lived in a cramped apartment, the appliances of which were dysfunctional for the most part and the furniture half-broken. There was no TV in their house as they couldn’t afford to purchase one, so they had no way of watching the news or having a movie night like she’d heard the other students do. This made it all the more difficult for them to bond with their peers. Not that the other campers were dying to, anyway. They didn’t own a laptop to complete their assignments or a phone for communication so every task was completed by hand. They received any grim news by post and did their assignments and projects by borrowing books from the libraries of their respective institutions. But the absence of these ‘luxuries’ paled in comparison to the scarcity of food in the house.

From the moment she and Luna had been given this rat’s nest to live in, there had been several nights, one after the other, that they’d gone to bed on empty stomachs. As a fifteen-year-old, with a four-year-old to care for, Y/n had had a lot to learn in terms of management. She’d spent her entire life until then caged, locked, and kept in such solitary confinement that the workings of the outside world were but silhouettes of the truth, so the task of raising a preschooler who didn’t fully trust her but needed her, had been strenuous to complete. Or ‘handle’ might be the better term. The books Chiron had lent her for study, and the fairytale picture book he’d gifted her on her 15th birthday, weren’t of much use. Geography hadn’t helped her and neither had science because above all else she lacked social skills. Above all else, she found human beings the most callous. Alien creatures amongst which she was the most peculiar.

She’d learned to ration food, skipping at least one meal every day, preferably dinner, and always reserving food for Luna. If there was one crumb of bread left, it was Luna’s. If there was none, then Y/n would beg the restraint down the block for some leftover bread. The quality mattered nothing. It could have stayed on the shelves for a week for all she cared. All that mattered was that Luna didn’t huddle beneath the sheets holding her starving belly.

Of course, whenever they received their monthly stipend, Y/n made sure to set aside the money for the bills and staple food such as potatoes, flour, oil, eggs, milk, and frozen or canned beans. If they were lucky enough to find some cheese on sale, then she seized the opportunity at once. It goes without saying that the eggs, canned or frozen beans, and the rare cheese were for Luna only as that was the only way to ensure the younger girl survived. The only thing Y/n had consumed for years was plain bread, occasional boiled potato (they couldn’t afford to fry them), milk, and water.

She wasn’t stupid. She knew what the malnourishment was doing to her body. She could feel herself wasting away one day at a time. Cracked nails, dull frizzy hair, pallid skin, sickly frame, visible ribs, hipbones, and collarbones, perpetual nausea, constant fatigue⸺ these were things she’d accepted to an extent.

When she came home today, after having picked up Luna from school, she didn’t dare have dinner upon seeing only half a bun and a glass of milk remained. The thought of allowing herself more at Luna’s expense was enough to make her fold in on herself. It made her anxious to think about having more, despite wanting so. She even dreamed of it often; stuffing her face with fried eggs, cheese, fries, sausages, and literally any kind of dessert. The alarm clock always brought the feast to a disillusioned end.

This time it wasn’t the rusty clock on the floor next to her that startled her awake. Luna’s whimpering was enough to jolt Y/n out of dreamland and she was violently pulling off the covers in a hurry to get on the bed to comfort her little sister. Only, when she rose to her feet, Luna wasn’t there. Panic swelled in her chest at first and then she found her in the corner of the cramped bedroom, knees pushed against her chest as she rocked back and forth. Her small hands were pressed against her ears, almost clawing at the shell. Y/n rushed to her and took the younger girl’s hands in her own.

“No!” Luna screeched, freeing her hands to cover her ears again. “No! No! No! Leave me alone!”

The rising panic prevented Y/n from thinking clearly. Her sister was in pain, terrified out of her wits for whatever reason, and she could do nothing but join in the screaming.

“Luna, what’s wrong?!” But the younger girl shook her head rapidly before pressing her forehead to her knees. Y/n wrapped her arms around her sister’s wispy frame. “Luna, you have to tell me. Please, you have to tell me so I can help you!"

But all Luna did was whimper and continue to shake her head. “It’s so cold. So cold. So cold!”

Y/n rubbed her hands up and down Luna’s arms and calves, trying desperately to generate some heat, but the shivers simply refused to cease. Her frustration bubbled to the surface as she stroked at a bruising pace. Luna recoiled away from her touch and nestled further into the dark corner. Her eyes were still screwed shut, tighter than before. Y/n wanted to fling all of their belongings across the room but there were so few of them to begin with. The sour concoction of fatigue, hunger, the throbbing on her face and body, and the awareness of her worthlessness was skewing her judgment. When she managed to calm her breathing, she understood that she could either soothingly coax the truth out of the whimpering girl or waste the night by staying awake and crashing at a random location during the day. Faced with these two options; Y/n sat in front of Luna on the cold floor, legs pressed against her front as she caressed the little girl’s hands. The little girl’s eyes fluttered open, wary of what she might see if she opened them too quickly.

“Hey, little moth,” Y/n said as if in greeting and pressed the tip of her nose, “You look so little sitting here.”

At that, Luna scowled and indignantly said, “I’m not little.”

“But look at you.” Y/n poked her cheek teasingly and then her ribs and then her nose again, watching her sister squirm until she finally gave a little squeal of mirth, “So little.”

When Y/n stopped teasing and instead rubbed Luna’s small hands for warmth, the little girl’s big brown eyes bore into hers.

“Is that why I’m so cold?” She asked in an unsteady voice.

Y/n didn’t know the answer to that. She was older than Luna by more than a decade, had experienced both the biting cold and sweltering heat, and only Chiron had cared to provide her with blankets that didn’t improve her condition much. She’d learned to sleep through it, shivering even in her dreams. But did the cold ever stop hurting?

She gave Luna a small smile.

“Maybe.” She said, easing Luna’s hands inside the frayed sleeves of her nightwear, watching as the fingers curled bunched around the hem to form a stump. Then she moved on to her feet, massaging them as gently as she could. “The smaller you are, the more sensitive you are. When you’re grown, pain doesn’t make you cry easily.”

There was a gleam of uncertainty in Luna’s flitting gaze as she muttered, “But she was crying.”

Y/n halted, and for a few dreadful moments she could hear nothing over the ringing in her ears⸺ not the engine of the motorbikes at such late an hour, not the whistling of the spring wind, not the occasional shout that her neighbors responded to with profanities of their own, not even Luna’s sniveling. Nothing mattered more at this moment than what her little sister had just confessed. Never before had displayed abilities of this nature. For a long time, it had seemed as though she possessed none other than the cloak of darkness she so often draped over her form when anxious, panicked, or terribly hungry. One especially cold night with the wind rattling their sorry windows, bundled up under two incredibly frayed blankets, Luna had asked Y/n if she could do anything with the darkness, and the latter had answered that she could. How it had delighted the 5-year-old, her eyes glinting with excitement as she asked for a display. Y/n had apologized, saying she couldn’t do anything special, only hear what the shadows whispered and listen as the darkness came alive. One look at the disappointed pout on Luna’s face and Y/n had known, as they lay in bed, shivering with their arms around each other, that she would never be able to make her sister proud.

“What?” Y/n asked, and Luna glanced at her before looking down at her feet, clearly avoiding her elder sister’s questioning gaze. She couldn’t. Y/n wasn’t planning on letting her, so she clasps her hands around Luna’s calves, and massages the flesh underneath the tattered clothes. “No, look at me, Luna. Who was crying?”

Finally, the truth bursts out of the girl like water from a dam, “The girl! She was cold! She was crying!”

What girl is she talking about, Y/n thought. But there was no time to dwell on it with how Luna had begun to sob, snot running down her chin. Y/n opened the drawer next to the bed and pulled out a handkerchief she had been gifted four years ago.

She used it to wipe Luna’s nose clean as she tried to calm her down, “It was probably just a dream-

“But I wasn’t sleeping.” It was said in such a small, feeble voice that Y/n almost had to puzzle to the pieces together for the meaning to come in full. Luna herself looked startled and ashamed at her abrupt admission, her eyes wide like those of a spooked animal. Met with Y/n’s silence, the little girl wiped at her eyes with her stumps. “I’m so hungry, I’m sorry. I can’t sleep. I’m sorry. She was screaming and I-

“Do you know where she is right now?” Y/n blurted out the question as she gently helped Luna to her feet and led her to the bed. “Can you tell me?”

Luna sat there at the side of the bed, still wiping at her eyes. Even in the darkness, lifted only slightly by the scant golden hue emitting from the lampposts outside, Y/n could tell the skin around them was red and tender.

“Will you go there?” At her big sister’s stillness, Luna’s expression morphed into one of fear. She launched her shivering body forward and wrapped her scrawny arms around Y/n’s middle to prevent her from leaving. Y/n tried to gently detangle herself, but the girl’s arms tightened. “No, no, don’t leave! Don’t leave! Please, don’t leave!”

This was going to be harder than Y/n had initially thought. Luna wasn’t used to being alone. Y/n had learned during their first few days inhabiting the same space that the little girl loathed the thought of being left alone. That’s why she subconsciously used her powers; so that the shadows might keep her company. If Y/n went to the market, Luna would, too. If Y/n sought refuge in the sunflower fields, it would be while holding Luna’s hand. Even at school, where the nine-year-old spent the majority of her time as an outcast, there was always an adult nearby to keep an eye on her. She was never out of someone’s sight.

Tonight, that would change.

“I have to know what’s going on. I have to know why you’re…” She shut her eyes momentarily, slowly unfastening Luna’s arms from around her. She looked into her big, dark irises that looked up at her, pleading. “I’ll be back, okay? I’ll be back sooner than you think. I promise. But you have to tell me.”

Luna was quiet for a few moments that felt like an eternity at a standstill. When she was ready to talk, her eyes screwed shut once more, removing the present from her sight.

“I saw a fountain. And then- and then stairs.” She hiccupped, and, seemingly trying to recall the events in greater detail, her face scrunched up as if she’d tasted something bitter. Her hands came up to cover her ears, leaving whatever warmth they’d accumulated while bunched up in the sleeves. “There was a big statue.”

Instantly, Y/n pulled Luna into her chest and rocked her back and forth.

“Alright, alright, little moth. Calm down,” She shushed, gently stroking the back of Luna’s head. “It’s alright. It’s alright. Everything’s fine, you’ll see.”

Luna sniffled. “What if you don’t come back?”

Y/n took a deep breath and kissed her temple. Then she eased her sister beneath the blanket, adding her own since she wouldn’t need it for the night.

“Here. You wait for me here, okay?” She instructed, and Luna nodded. Her eyes were the only parts of her peeking above the hem. Y/n put on the thickest hoodies she owned and the jeans she’d worn during the day. Before heading out the door, she turned to Luna once more, “Don’t move, okay? Wait here for me. I’ll be back soon.”

The night air was always crisp in New Rome, regardless of the season. But it being March, the month with the most unpredictable weather of all, it meant she could be going home drenched from head to toe despite it being only a bit humid outside. But the weather was far from being her biggest concern at the moment. No, there was something else in the air. Something foul yet clinical, far removed from the world. The darkness shivered but it did not speak. The streetlights flickered as she all but sprinted up north in the direction of the inner city.

Luna had described the setting using but three objects but that had sufficed. Only one part of New Rome fit that description, but it took 45 minutes by subway to get there, and there was none at this late hour. She looked at her watch to confirm the time; 1:54 AM. Still, she had to try and get there, hopefully not before other people or that would make her a prime suspect if what Luna had seen had indeed happened. She didn’t have the luxury of stopping to catch her breath or gag from exertion and fatigue. Those things she could do back home when she returned.

The farther up north she ran, the more alive the world appeared. Barracks turned into rundown apartments which in turn evolved into skyscrapers. Each time Y/n had come here from age fifteen to eighteen on school trips with her classmates, the inner city had seemed all the more gargantuan, as if expanding. Later, she’d learned that such was indeed the case. New Rome was thrice the size of New York and far better equipped to defend itself against foreign attacks. By the time she turned forty, its borders might have stretched to the size of France. All of this while most humans outside remained none the wiser.

She took several turns to get to her destination, though never straying far from the main road. She wasn’t the most familiar with the nooks and crannies of the city and could easily get lost. But when she got to the destination, she wished that she had.

What had once been a place of magnificence, was now a site of crucifixion. A young woman’s body, probably around her age, remained suspended in the air only thanks to the tip of Jupiter’s lightning which jutted out of her abdomen. The fountain surrounding the gargantuan marble statue resembled less a spot of relaxation and more a pot in which blood had come to a boil and sprayed the crimson hue all over the stairs below. The roaring of the engines of vehicles was reduced to an afterthought as the people gathered around the edges, never daring to climb up the steps. There was screaming but Y/n couldn’t tell if it belonged to a toddler or an adult. Not that it mattered. At one point, everyone was either shrieking for help or screaming at others to call for the ambulance and authorities. Others fled from the scene, horrified at the sight before them.

Because it wasn’t just the death of the young woman that had terror spreading throughout the crowd like wildfire through a forest that hadn’t felt a drop of rain in months. It was the distorted limbs, bent at inhuman angles. It was the sight of her eyes or lack of them. The skin of her upper torso had been flayed and where her heart had once beaten, there now existed nothing but emptiness. Enough muscle had been left intact so as to prevent the organs from spilling. Her lips were open in a scream, one that had likely gone unheard. Part of her long black hair clung to her skin and the rest followed the direction of the wind. Whoever or whatever had done this to her had not done her corpse the courtesy of preserving her dignity in death. She was completely bare from head to toe. A morbid spectacle. Luna had witnessed this. Luna had heard her screams and watched her cry. For some reason, the darkness had wanted Luna to keep her eyes and ears open for the crime. Or hunger had. Perhaps both. And for Luna’s wellbeing, that had to remain a secret between the three of them. In fact, she had to get away from there as fast as she could, before her presence registered.

With this thought in mind, Y/n took three steps backward, still taking in the gruesome sight of the dangling corpse, and turned around to bolt in the direction she’d come from. Before she could take off properly, her feet were held hostage by some invisible force on the ground. It took a few moments for her to realize it was the shock.

Before her, stood the young man she had wished she would never have to speak to mere hours before. He stood there, no more than six yards to the right, apart from the rest as he beheld the crime scene. His dark eyes appeared to hold no emotion, but the way he gulped told Y/n he wasn’t entirely unaffected by the grisly picture. He looked different than he did back at the Training Center, too. Dressed in a simple white shirt with sleeves that reached just two inches above his elbows, washed-out jeans, and plain white trainers, he looked no different from a bystander who had just come across something vile and stopped to look.

Maybe it was the way he immediately found her eyes (as if he’d expected her to look at him) and stared back at her. But there was something in those irises of his, something almost predatory. A gleam so cuttingly uncaring and methodical. It wasn’t studious like that of Seungmin or analytical like that of Professor Hajjar, things she could comprehend and get accustomed to. No, his gaze resembled that of a serpent, one that withheld more than he revealed.

Before she knew what she was doing, Y/n sprinted right past him. She felt him stare as she rounded the corner and it burned against her back all the way home.

Chapter 2>>>

#hyunjin x reader #hwang hyunjin x reader #hwang hyunjin skz #hwang hyunjin #minsung #hwang hyunjin angst #enemies to lovers #hwang hyunjin enemies to lovers #child abuse #starvation #child neglect #human sacrifice #human experimentation #hanging #suicide

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