There was so much tension in the air, it felt like my backpack—the one Apollo had prepared for me with a demigod survival kit—weighed about fifty kilos. And it only had the basics. Still, there I was, standing in line to enter the most ridiculously huge and modern stadium I'd ever seen in my life... and that includes the time I stood in the Roman Colosseum, in ruins and on fire.
This stadium sparkled—of course it did—and it also floated. It had columns that shifted shape depending on your angle of view. It probably took the gods ten minutes to build it, complete with a blink and a bit of epic background music.
Apollo stood beside me, and it annoyed me how calm he looked. Like we were heading to a picnic, not to a competition designed by deities with too much free time and zero sense of danger. Meanwhile, my palms were sweaty, and a little voice in my head kept whispering, "you're going to die."
A minor god I didn't recognize was in charge of checking our stuff. They were patting us down like we were entering a mythological airport. I wouldn't have been surprised if they had made me go through an ambrosia detector or confiscated my sword for "exceeding 100ml of blade."
"All clear," the god said without really looking at me, handing back my backpack.
That was when I realized I had to say goodbye to Apollo.
It wasn't long or dramatic. But it was... nice.
"I believe in you, Percy," he said, placing a hand on my shoulder. "No matter what happens, I'm already proud of you."
And that, coming from a god who usually never takes anything seriously, sort of broke me. I just nodded, swallowing every sarcastic reply I could think of.
I walked through the entrance tunnel into the stadium, floating torches lighting the way, magical murals displaying scenes from past heros. Most champions were met with cheers, but when I stepped onto the field... the roar was different. They cheered like I was a celebrity, as if I was going to do something incredible.
I hoped I would. I just had no idea what that would be.
I walked among the other demigods until I saw a figure that made me stop.
Thalia.
She was a bit off to the side, arms crossed, as serious as ever, but her gaze was distant. When she saw me, she gave one of those small, rare smiles she only used when she thought no one was watching. I walked up and stood beside her.
"Hey, pinecone face," I said by way of greeting.
"Hey, kelp head," she replied, and though her tone was dry, I heard the relief in her voice.
We stayed silent for a moment. There was no need to say anything. We were both nervous, tense. Not that we'd ever admit it.
While we waited, I started looking around. That's when I realized how many of us there were. Seriously, where had all these demigods come from? After the wars, Camp Half-Blood had felt more like a ghost camp. But now... it looked full. And everyone was ready to compete.
I recognized a few faces. Some old friends, others I didn't care about. But my eyes stopped when I saw her.
Hazel.
Daughter of Pluto. Or, well, in this case, champion of Hecate.
The whole champion representation thing was way more complicated than it seemed. Apollo had explained it, but I had nodded while thinking about pizza. What I did understand was that Hazel was dangerous. Powerful; she controlled metals, shadows, could manipulate the Mist... basically, a nightmare army at her command.
I like her, she is a nice friend, but that doesn't change the fact that now we were rivals.
And not just her. Hazel could team up with Nico (they were siblings, after all). Or with Frank. And according to Apollo, Lou Ellen—even though she represented Athena— because she was a daughter of Hecate. Any of those three combinations were bad news. For me, and for everyone else.
I had gone over all of this a thousand times with Apollo. Studied combinations, patterns, possible alliances. He had drawn maps, diagrams. It felt more like a military strategy class than training. And I had memorized everything. Well, almost everything.
And yet, standing there in the middle of the stadium, with no idea what the challenges were or what the rules even were... I felt like none of it mattered.
Because, of course, nothing says "welcome to chaos" like a tournament styled after god-run games.
And for some reason, I had agreed to join. Well, it was clear Apollo's little speech about a shining future had convinced me. Me, the guy who had fought titans, monsters, even gods... convinced by a motivational talk. Embarrassing.
Before I could seriously regret everything or yell something, the sky above the stadium lit up with a trail of colors. Iris descended like she was on a world tour: flying on a rainbow, wearing a shimmering jacket that reflected light in all directions, and holding a mic that looked like it had been decorated by a child.
"Welcome to the first Tournament for the Crown!" she shouted with excessive enthusiasm. Her voice echoed through every corner of the stadium, probably thanks to magic, though I wouldn't rule out Hephaestus installing divine speakers in the pillars.
The crowd roared. The gods looked delighted. Us demigods... not so much.
Iris started a speech worthy of an Olympic TV host: a new era for champions, heroes would become legends, the Fates already weaving new stories into their tapestries... Meanwhile, I was just trying not to throw up from sheer stress.
Then came the important announcement:
"And now... we reveal the first trial of the tournament!" she declared, turning with drama. "This stage is titled Path to Hero."
More cheers. And I just wished it were called Path to Home.
"The champions must cross... Daedalus's Labyrinth!"
That dried my mouth instantly.
I'd been there and survived. But I'd never forgotten it. The Labyrinth wasn't a normal physical place: it was semi-conscious, created by Daedalus himself—or Quintus, as we knew him at Camp Half-Blood—and it stretched beneath all of North America. It shifted constantly and was full of monsters, traps, and paths that could make you lose your mind... or your life. It had been destroyed, but to our misfortune, it had reformed.
"Your mission will be to find the entrance to the Garden of the Hesperides, hidden on Mount Tamalpais."
Another shiver. I knew that place well too. It was where the new Mount Othrys had risen, the titans' HQ during the second war. I had been there with Grover, Thalia, and Zoë on the mission to rescue Artemis. The place where Zoë died, where we fought Atlas, and where pain came in ways I couldn't describe.
"But there is a hidden aid!" Iris continued. "Inside the labyrinth, there are forty copies of Ariadne's thread, the only object that can guide someone 'safely' through its passages. Only those who find one and reach the Garden alive will move on to the next stage. Of course, it is forbidden to reach the goal by any other means than the Labyrinth..."
"That is, if Ladon doesn't devour you before you cross the threshold," I thought. Because of course, the dragon that guarded the garden was still there. The one that spit venom and had a hundred heads. Fantastic.
Quick math. Forty threads. Over a hundred demigods. That meant more than half of us would be out—or worse.
Iris raised her hands and shouted like she was hyping up a festival:
"Let the race begin!"
She snapped her fingers.
And suddenly... the stadium vanished.
I blinked.
No more golden columns, no gods thrilled by the idea of watching us die. Now, the air was damp, dark. Rough gray stone walls and roots hanging like giant cobwebs. The floor beneath my feet creaked.
Again.
I sighed, adjusted the strap on my backpack, and tried to recall everything I had learned the last time I was here. I knew the Labyrinth could create illusions and that the only way to navigate it without a thread was with a mortal's clear sight. Meaning if I didn't find a thread, I was screwed. And time didn't work the same down here.
But I also knew something even more important: I wasn't going to let this place kill me while the gods enjoyed the show.
I drew my sword, Riptide, and started walking.
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