THADDEUS POV
A month passed like a forgettable browser scroll—quick, messy, and weirdly familiar. I wrapped up my final stretch at Yancy. And yeah, surprise, surprise… I'm transferring schools again. By now, it's basically tradition.
Luke's still off the grid, which only added to the feeling that the future's hiding something sharp behind its back. Chiron's little "destiny" talk was just the tip of a much more uncomfortable iceberg. But whatever. I'm not a chess piece—not for fate, not for Olympus, and definitely not for that plague-masked psychopath in my head who keeps trying to turn me into a weapon. Jury's still out on how I feel about that.
Here I am—back at Camp Half-Blood for one last look before I'm officially out of here.
I spotted Annabeth perched on a flat rock by the sparring arena, arms crossed as she watched Percy demolish a group of Ares kids. He ducked a swing, sidestepped another, and slammed some poor guy onto the dirt like it was nothing. The crowd cheered, obviously.
I hopped up beside her. Four weeks since the Lightning Bolt madness. Two weeks since I made the choice that'd flip my whole story on its head.
"Leaving soon," I said, swirling the golden liquid around. "Heading to the UK. Magical education nonsense."
Annabeth raised an eyebrow but didn't look at me, just offered me her flask of ambrosia. "Does Percy know?"
I took a sip—sunshine and warmth exploded down my throat. "Nope. Planning on vanishing before the guy starts sobbing or something."
She snorted. "Coward."
I grinned. "Tactician."
Percy disarmed his opponent with a swift flick of Riptide, sending the Ares kid sprawling in the dust. He turned toward us, wiping sweat from his brow, that signature cocky grin stretching across his face. "What's the word? My hair looking extra heroic today? Don't tell me Grover almost got eaten again."
Annabeth didn't hesitate. "Thad's leaving."
Percy's grin vanished. "Wait—what? When? Why?"
"Tonight," I said casually, like it wasn't a big deal. "Just wanted to make sure you hadn't gotten crushed by a sparring dummy before I ghost the continent." I raised my flask and took another swig of ambrosia, nodding toward the scattered, bruised Ares kids. "Looks like you've finally figured out which end of the sword to hold."
He rolled his eyes and tucked Riptide back into his pocket. "Couple near-death moments tend to improve hand-eye coordination. But seriously—UK? Since when do they have a Camp Half-Blood over there?"
"They don't," I said, wiggling my fingers dramatically. "They've got something better. Full-on magic school. Fewer monsters, more spell books. Probably worse cafeteria food, though."
Annabeth stayed silent, studying me with those sharp gray eyes of hers like she was trying to read a prophecy off my forehead. "You sure this is the right call?"
I hesitated. Not because I doubted it—but because I knew the answer wasn't clean. "Honestly? No. But my gut says go… and lately, it's been louder than my head."
She nodded slowly. "Shame," she murmured.
I smirked. "What, gonna miss me, Wise Girl?" I reached over and took another sip from her flask.
She gave me a sideways smile. "Big talk, Match Sticks and Ice Cubes. You're the only magic nerd around here I don't actively want to stab."
I clutched my chest in mock horror. "Such high praise. And here I thought we were friends."
"We were," Annabeth quipped, biting back a grin. "Until you evolved into your final form: insufferable."
Percy finally made it over, still catching his breath. "So… this is real? Not one of your weird fake-outs or plot twists?"
"Temporarily. Sort of," I said, rolling my shoulders. "I'll be digging into something over there—just some things I need to look into. Can't say much yet. Not until it's actually worth talking about."
Percy narrowed his eyes. "You and your cryptic nonsense. One day that's gonna come back to bite you."
"Maybe. But until then, try not to get dramatically murdered while I'm gone, alright?" I gave him a look. "And yes, Percy, I'm serious. Also… if you and Wise Girl ever decide to, y'know… do things—use protection."
Annabeth nearly choked on her ambrosia.
Percy went scarlet. "Dude—!"
"Don't 'dude' me," I said, smirking. "Annabeth's the older one here. I expect at least one of you to be a responsible adult."
Annabeth shot me a warning glare that could have cracked stone. "You're lucky you're leaving."
Percy covered his face. "I hate everything."
"Love you guys too," I muttered, shaking my head.
Then—unexpectedly—Percy pulled me into a hug. No warning. Just full-on wrapped me up like he was afraid I'd vanish mid-sentence.
"I believe you," he muttered into my shoulder. "About everything. No proof needed."
I stiffened. For a second, I didn't move. Then I patted his back—twice, maybe a bit too hard. "Alright, easy there, drama queen. Save the emotional breakdown for when the boat sails."
But still… it meant something.
And I didn't say it aloud, but I think he knew.
We stood there for a moment—three completely wrecked but perfectly mismatched puzzle pieces that somehow clicked together.
I slung my bag over my shoulder with a grunt. "Try not to burn the place down while I'm gone."
Before I could walk off, Percy yanked me into another hug—full-on, no warning.
For a moment, I stiffened like a deer in headlights. Then I gave his back two awkward pats. "Okay, wow. Touching. But if you start ugly-crying, I swear I'm tossing you into the infirmary for emotional damage."
He pulled back, laughing with a sniff. "You wish. But yeah, man... I'm gonna miss you."
Grover appeared, practically skipping into the scene with that uneven grin of his. "Hey! You sure you don't need a satyr wingman? I've got great emotional support goat energy. Limited time offer."
I ruffled his curls, earning a bleat of protest. "Tempting, but someone's gotta stick around and annoy Annabeth in my absence."
Annabeth crossed her arms. "Like either of you could even come close."
Grover gave a mock bow. "Milady, I would never dare."
Annabeth rolled her eyes, but her stare lingered on me—sharper this time, but softer too. There was something raw behind her smirk. "You better write."
I raised an eyebrow. "Or what?"
"I'll hunt you down."
I leaned in, grinning. "And then what? Drag me back to camp in chains?"
She didn't miss a beat. "Wouldn't rule it out."
I gave the trio one last glance—Percy, Annabeth, Grover. We'd made it through gods, monsters, and a hell of a lot of near-death stupidity. Somehow, against all odds, we were still standing. Well... mostly upright.
Lifting my flask with a grin, I declared, "To almost dying, ticking off gods, and Percy and Annabeth finally figuring out their tragic will-they-won't-they nonsense."
Annabeth flipped me off, cheeks burning. "You're insufferable."
Grover nearly choked on his soda laughing. Percy rolled his eyes, then his expression leveled out. "Seriously, though—don't go doing anything stupid over there."
I gave a lazy salute, smirk still in place. "Relax, Seaweed Brain. I'm always golden." I handed the flask back to Annabeth with a wink.
Truth be told, I didn't believe a word I'd just said. But hey—future-me could deal with it.
I turned to head out, but Percy's hand landed on my shoulder, stopping me.
"I'll walk with you," he said casually, like this was just another stroll. But I heard it—the quiet edge in his voice, the unspoken not-goodbye in the air.
I shrugged, shifting my bag. "Try not to eat dirt."
He snorted. "You look like you've been in a bar fight with a library. I could outrun you while reciting The Odyssey."
"Says the guy Clarisse catapulted into a canoe last week," I shot back.
We made our way downhill, weaving past cabins and campers. Some glanced up—like they knew something was changing. Maybe it was just the end-of-summer vibe. Or maybe it was me, realizing I'd miss this chaotic, half-magical, mosquito-infested place more than I'd thought.
"How long, really?" Percy asked, eyes fixed on the horizon like it might spill answers.
"A year. Maybe more," I said, adjusting my bag strap. "Depends on the investigation or if something else comes up. I'll try to be back for the big stuff—still got that Olympian trial hanging over me. And next summer, hopefully." I paused. "But yeah, a year's a long time. Things change."
He kicked a loose rock across the path. "Feels like forever."
"You'll survive," I said, nudging him. "Annabeth's enough chaos to keep you busy."
He laughed—sharp and unfiltered. "Tell me about it."
Then he grew quiet before asking, "You're sure this is your call?"
I nodded slowly. "Yeah. Someone told me to start choosing for me—not for everyone else."
"Cool," he said, smirking. "Just text Annabeth next time a hydra's got your leg."
I stretched mock-casually. "Please. I'll be buried in Tolkien lore and tea biscuits."
"You'll fold," he countered. "One week without New York pizza and you'll beg Chiron for a quest."
I grimaced. "Okay, valid point."
We reached the hill's base, our pace slowing as the Big House faded behind us. My eyes drifted to Thalia's tree, its branches rustling like it knew. Leaving camp had always been hard. But this time? It was an ending—and a beginning.
Percy noticed me pause. "Relax," he muttered, hands in pockets. "No more hugs. But... you weren't the worst friend. Even with the sarcasm."
"Especially with the sarcasm," I corrected.
He cracked half a grin. "Yeah."
Then Grover barreled down the path, skidding to a stop. "Bro! You were gonna leave without saying goodbye?"
He looked between us, eyes widening. "Wait... is this a moment? Should I come back later?"
I deadpanned. "Yeah. Real heartfelt stuff. We're about to braid each other's hair and cry. Shoo."
He rolled his eyes. "Fine. But promise you won't get eaten by some snooty British monster. And write, okay? I want the scoop on their weird magical food chain."
"Deal," I smirked.
Percy held out a fist. I bumped it. "Don't die, Jackson."
"Right back at you, Bartholomew."
"Later, nerds," I called, turning away.
One last glance—cabins, woods, sunlight across the hilltops—then I walked toward the forest.
No looking back.
---
Darren's Camaro purred proudly as we pulled up to the airport curb, the familiar scents of old leather and stale fast food lingering—gross but comforting. A weird farewell cologne.
He stopped but kept the engine running, fingers tapping the steering wheel. Then he glanced at me. "Last call. Passport?"
I slumped dramatically into the seat. "Yes, Dad. Passport, boarding pass, extra socks. You've run this checklist three times."
"And yet," he said, raising an eyebrow, "you're still you. So we're doing it a fourth."
I groaned. "Clothes? Check. Spells? Check. Emergency fake British accent—"
"Skip that." He grimaced. "You sound like a chimney sweep who lost a bet with Dickens."
"Harsh but accurate." Then, quieter: "Still think it's stupid you're not coming. The robes, the theatrics? You'd thrive. British wizards dress like they're late to Hamlet rehearsals."
Darren chuckled, his edge softening. "You know I would if I could, kid. But there's work here. Stuff I still need to clean up."
I gave him a look. "You keep saying that, but what is your job? Real talk—are you undercover? Magical MI6? Or just Batman with extra steps?"
He sighed, rubbing his face. "If I were Batman, would I still be picking you up from monster attack sites?"
"You would," I said. "If I was Robin."
He laughed and ruffled my hair. "Nah. You're more Nightwing. Got the broody aesthetic and sarcasm down."
"Still doesn't explain why you're staying."
He hesitated, staring out the windshield with a worn smile. Like it belonged to another time.
"Not this time," he finally said. "But I'll be around. Even if you don't see me."
I didn't like it. Too vague. Too final.
Before I could push, he pulled a small package from his coat—wrapped in dark fabric and tied with twine. "Parting gift."
I held it suspiciously. "What is it?"
"Don't open it until Hogwarts," Darren said. "And if anyone asks? You've never heard or even have been associated with the name Darren Wilder Corbit. Clear?"
I blinked. "Wow. Not suspicious at all."
He just grinned. "Exactly."
I shoved it into my bag, ignoring the weight behind my ribs. This goodbye felt layered—things he wouldn't say, questions I couldn't ask.
I hoisted my duffle. "If this is cursed, I'm mailing it back COD."
"Wouldn't dream of it," he said.
We stood awkwardly too long—sappy goodbyes weren't our style.
Darren rubbed his face. "Move it. Get on that plane before security flags me as your kidnapper."
I smirked. "Technically, you did kidnap me. Fifteen years ago."
He snorted. "And yet here you are, ungrateful. Snitches get stitches."
I rolled my eyes but yanked him into a quick hug—less stiff than usual. "Try not to die of boredom without me, old man."
"Try not to blow up England," he muttered, thumping my back once.
I headed for the terminal doors. Crossing the threshold, it hit—that strange tug, like gravity paused, like walking between worlds again.
The waiting area was about as thrilling as watching paint dry during a power outage. I slumped into the stiff plastic chair and flipped through a discarded magazine—stock tips and retirement plans. Like I cared. Still, it beat staring at the wall. Darren had banned my phone—"security reasons," he claimed. Whatever. I already missed my computer.
These were normal sixteen-year-old worries. But me? A wandless teen mage? Apparently that's a red flag. According to Darren, wandless magic is "not standard" and "terrifies bureaucrats." And yeah... my staff broke in that brawl with Luke. Shattered like glass. Not that it was stable to begin with.
I checked the departure board. Still an hour till my flight. Great.
That's when he sat beside me.
Not some random guy. Hawaiian shirt under a battered leather jacket, jeans, and calm beach-day energy. Except he radiated pressure—like the stillness before a tidal wave. And he smelled of saltwater.
Subtle.
I tossed the magazine aside and glanced over. "If you're stalking me, commit. Get a fake mustache, newspaper with eye holes. Something."
Poseidon—because of course it was him—laughed quietly, the sound like waves receding from shore. "Thought I'd see you before you left. Call it... paternal interest."
I crossed my arms. "Appreciated, but unnecessary."
His sea-green eyes—too knowing, too old—narrowed. "No unfinished business? No doubts?"
I smirked. "Let's be clear—I didn't stop that war for you. Not for Zeus. Certainly not for Olympus. I did it for my friends. Because that's what we do. We don't let the world burn if we can prevent it."
His lips quirked. "That's what makes you troublesome. No obligations. No ties. You simply act."
"And I intend to keep it that way," I said.
Poseidon chuckled. "I admire your commitment to mortal travel, but I've arranged... alternative transportation. Preferable to screaming infants and egg sandwiches at 30,000 feet."
I raised an eyebrow. "Alternative transportation?"
He snapped his fingers. A man materialized—tall, polished, in a tailored black suit. The stranger nodded curtly and moved toward the exit.
Naturally.
"Private jet," Poseidon said, as casually as discussing the weather.
I stared. "Private jet?"
He lounged in his chair, clearly amused. "Please. Letting my son's friend fly coach? What sort of Olympian do you take me for?" His smile widened, radiating smug superiority. "Consider it thanks. The gods owe you more than they'll acknowledge. I owe you."
I raised an eyebrow. "Since when do gods hand out IOUs?"
"Since a sixteen-year old dueled Hades in his own domain and lived to mock him," Poseidon said, his voice gaining respect. "Not many walk out of the Underworld after challenging Death himself. Especially without divine help."
I shrugged. "Wasn't planned. He started it."
Poseidon laughed—a deep, rumbling sound like distant waves. "Naturally. Still... you made an impression. Olympus is watching." His expression sobered. "You're under my protection."
"Seriously?"
He nodded. "Chiron informed me on the other details. You're anomalous—wild magic, unclear origins. That draws attention. From monsters. From older things. It's not official, but understood: you stay alive, and out of Olympus politics unless you choose otherwise."
"So the Poseidon cabin..."
"Wasn't just hospitality," he confirmed. "A message. To Olympus. To camp. To anyone trying to categorize you." He studied me. "You're not mine by blood. But that cabin's protection stands. You earned it."
I whistled. "Thanks for the divine witness protection."
Poseidon smirked. "Don't test my generosity."
I snorted. "Wouldn't dream of it. Though I won't refuse first class. Appreciated."
"Enjoy the luxury while it lasts," he said, standing. "Hogwarts won't coddle you."
"Fantastic," I muttered. "Thrilled."
His hand gripped my shoulder—weighty as the ocean's depths, an unmistakable reminder of his attention. I rose, slinging my bag, but hesitated. The unspoken question burned: Why help now?
Yet voicing it felt like prying open sealed vaults. Almost.
Still, one mystery demanded answers.
"Ares mentioned something that's been nagging me," I said, settling back as if discussing tides. "Chiron and Mr. D gave their versions. Now I want yours."
Poseidon's eyebrow lifted, mildly intrigued. I continued.
"Back when Ares tried dragging us back from the quest, he mentioned legacies in the UK. Old Olympian bloodlines still around—more magic than monster-fighting. True?"
Poseidon's grin remained, but his eyes darkened—storm clouds gathering over calm seas. "Ah. The legacies. A relic from messier times."
He drummed his fingers on the armrest, an oddly mortal gesture. "Long ago, when the West crowned kings in mead halls, when empires rose and fell on those isles, we Olympians left more than footprints. Our demigods built kingdoms, waged wars, died gloriously. Their descendants carried fragments of divinity."
The air suddenly smelled of salt and iron—ancient seawater on forgotten steel.
"Although empires crumble. Christianity rose. We faded from memory. The legacies adapted. Their power changed—thinned into magic. Rituals. Wandwork. By Merlin's time, most had traded swords for staffs."
"And Olympus allowed this?" I asked.
Poseidon shrugged, casual yet sharp. "Why chase diluted blood and forgotten names? Mortals stopped believing. We stopped interfering."
I leaned forward. "So they're just wizards now? No divine connections?"
"Connections?" He smirked. "Not as you mean. Echoes perhaps. Magic flows like water—they've learned to channel it. We still feel the ripples."
I studied him. "You're avoiding the question."
His laugh crashed like a wave. "Avoiding? No. Appreciating. Mortals keep rewriting the same story. They traded temples for schools, wrapped power in Latin and wands." His gaze intensified, the air pressure shifting. "Still the blood remains. Faded, changed, yet alive. Those isles are our monument in invisible ink. As Chiron might've told you—our branch that grew differently."
"So it's true."
Poseidon rose, his chair creaking like an old ship. "Truth ebbs and flows, Thaddeus. Don't drown pursuing it."
I stood, adjusting my bag. Too late for that.
"You're not what I expected," I admitted, leaning back. "Myths paint you as some trident-wielding tyrant. But you're just... a dad. With unreasonably good hair."
His laughter rolled like surf. "Mortals love their archetypes—wrathful god, wise elder. Yet time changes even us. Do you think I'm still the deity who flooded cities over pride? Who confused fear for respect?" He leaned in, eyes sharper than broken glass. "Watch mortals repeat history long enough, you learn to adapt or shatter."
He gazed through the terminal windows as if seeing the Atlantic beyond. "Do I wish I'd been different? Yes. Regrets anchor even gods—letting Percy grow up unaware, leaving you and you're friends to undo a mess meant to frame Percy." His voice grew heavy, uncharacteristically weary for a storm-bringer. "If I could, I'd shed divinity. Not for power or escape. Just to be human—to share bad jokes over burnt burgers at a dockside grill without war looming."
I raised an eyebrow. "You'd trade godhood for backyard barbecues?"
His smirk returned, lighter now. "Fishing. Baseball. Ketchup debates. Never underestimate simple pleasures."
The silence held weight without discomfort.
I shifted in my chair. "Mr. D and Chiron explained why British wizards split from Olympus. Why they turned away. You know that story?"
Poseidon's expression sobered. "I do."
After a pause, he continued. "It began as gradual distance. Our descendants there embraced structured magic—wands, schools, systems. They rejected prophetic chaos, monster attacks at midnight. We gods were too volatile. So they severed ties, built institutions, wrapped magic in tradition until its origins faded."
"Faded or were ignored?" I asked.
He nodded slightly. "Some remembered. Others... preferred not to."
"Still seems extreme."
"It wasn't peaceful. There were battles—some silent, some bloody. We let them go, expecting they'd either return or fade into history."
"But they didn't," I said.
"No. They changed. Became something different—less divine but equally powerful. More... precise." His gaze intensified. "Now something stirs there. We feel it. Magic shifts in ways it hasn't for centuries. Some never moved past their Dark Lord's ideology. They hide behind new philosophies, but experiment dangerously."
"With what?"
Poseidon's fingers drummed slowly. "New doctrines. Different approaches. Same old hunger for control. They'll use pretty words—trust your instincts instead. Some enemies are obvious. Others disguise themselves too well."
"So this isn't just school."
He gave a dry chuckle. "When is it ever for our kind? Especially you."
I adjusted my bag strap. "Let me guess—you're warning me to be careful."
"I'm telling you," he said, voice like the deep ocean, "to remember your roots—which is a mystery. And watch what happens when a world forgets its past."
Point taken.
Poseidon's hand lingered on my shoulder. "Any further questions?" he asked, like he already knew exactly what was sitting in my head.
I tilted my head. "This dark lord guy—who was he really? Some edgy wizard with a flair for drama?"
He shot me a look, half exasperated, half amused. "Mortals love their theatrics. Though yes—about a century ago, an orphaned boy was born. Brilliant, ruthless, obsessed with bloodlines, power, and cheating death. When he reached Hogwarts, he rose fast—charming on the outside, venom underneath. Sound familiar?"
"Too familiar," I muttered.
Poseidon continued, slower now, "He left a legacy soaked in blood. Formed a following. Terrorized their world. But the part they don't talk about as much? He had a daughter—one few knew about. She disappeared for a time. Then reemerged, fiercer than he ever was. Together, they wreaked havoc. Nearly brought that world to its knees again."
I blinked. "Wait, what? Since when does dark wizard dad come with a family tree?"
He nodded. "Most don't know. The daughter was like a shadow—struck hard and vanished faster. Until, years later, a boy was born. Fated, they claimed, to face the Dark Lord. One would fall. One would rise. When she tried to kill him as a baby, she was destroyed. Her father? Defeated in a duel long before that. Or so the stories go."
"And the girl?" I asked.
Poseidon's eyes hardened like a storm closing in. "Gone. Supposedly. Although fear? It's a weed, Thaddeus. Doesn't need much to grow back. Whispers stir. People with different ideologies, buried loyalties—they're getting bolder again."
I leaned forward. "Let me guess—the gods are 'above it all' this time?"
His laugh came sharp, bitter. "Cut off, remember? Frankly? We've have enough on our plates—our domains. Mortal obsessions with blood purity and wand techniques? Beneath us. Or so we told ourselves."
He paused. His expression shifted—no longer amused, no longer distant. "Though if this resurgence is connected to older powers—Titans, Primordials... even threads tied to you?" He shrugged. "Then Olympus might be forced to intervene again. And believe me—when gods get involved, nothing stays clean."
I sighed. "Oh, of course. More riddles. Because why be clear, right?"
Poseidon just grinned. "You'll thank me later."
And with that, his form shimmered—flickering like sunlight on waves—before vanishing completely, seafoam dissipating into the air.
Typical.
I turned, spotting the suit-clad guy already holding the jet door open. Leather seats, champagne, and the kind of luxury that felt like overcompensating for the cosmic threat I was apparently flying into.
Whatever was stirring across the sea, I had a feeling it wouldn't wait until I unpacked.