The walk from New Jersey to the woods was long and confusing. Phoebe and I talked, I told her about how I ended up in Jersey —minus Circe, Carol, and Ganymede, I didn't wanna give her any ideas.
The good thing about being a cloud nymph is I don't produce fatigue chemicals as much as a human or demigod. The bad thing is that when I do it feels like my muscles are being melted.
So here I am, five miles from the nearest city, carrying two thirds the weight of a twenty-five foot tall bull, as a cuckoo kept pecking at my head.
... maybe I should've taken my chances going alone.
"Ow- can you please stop?" I asked the bird, trying to swat her away.
The cuckoo continued relentlessly as it picked at my hair. I could hear Phoebe snickering ahead of me.
"What?" I asked, walking closer to her. "What's so funny?"
Phoebe's look of amusement disappeared as she turned to me.
"Nothing," she said, her lip twitching. "Just enjoying the sound of you and your momma bird bonding."
"Momma bird?"
The cuckoo cawed in my ear, flapping its wings as it landed and nestled into my hair.
Phoebe gestured at my head, "momma bird."
I blinked at her, then looked up—or tried to—at the fluttering bundle of feathers tangled in my curls.
"I am not its mom," I said flatly.
Phoebe gave me a look. "Tell that to her. She looks pretty committed."
The cuckoo nestled deeper, a little warm lump that shifted every few seconds to preen or squawk. I could feel her claws through my hair, like she was trying to build a nest.
"I don't even like birds," I muttered.
Phoebe snorted. "Liar."
I opened my mouth to argue, but I hesitated. It wasn't that I disliked birds. It's just... they creep me out man. They keep following me, even before I left Circe's island, the birds there would follow me or try to lead me places. The crows near the bath houses. The vultures near the storm drain. This cuckoo.
"She imprinted on you or something," Phoebe went on. "I've seen wolves do that with Hunters sometimes. Usually they pick the ones who smell familiar to them, like food or their home."
"Great," I said, adjusting the slabs of meat on my shoulder before it slipped. It was still warm. Still bleeding a little. "I smell like home and raw steak. Exactly the vibe I was going for."
Phoebe turned away, letting out a throaty laugh. I felt a strange warmth in my chest. It had nothing to do with the hike. It was just... nice. Like when I'd hang out with the nymphs.
Wait— no— don't become friends with the Hunter. She's threatened to stab you. She's going to stab you.
"Why are we walking anyway?" I asked, trying to change the subject. "Shouldn't you guys have like, wolf sleds? Or, I don't know, ravens?"
"Ravens?" She echoed, "we haven't used those since the Gigantomachy, and that's because Iris was missing."
"I'm brainstorming."
"We usually don't bring kids to camp," Phoebe said. "Usually if someone is coming to camp they are a new hunter and when we get new hunters they come to us, and usually they aren't boys."
"Why?"
Phoebe paused slightly, "most male hunters we've had ended sadly... and there was the whole thing with Genghis Khan."
I raised a brow, "Genghis Khan? Who's that?"
"You don't know who Gen—" Phoebe paused slightly. "Right, raised on an island."
Phoebe cut through a branch before inhaling, "he was a conquerer who killed so many people the ozone layer changed. Which isn't great for a group of hunters, can't hunt if there's nothing left... also the fact he slept with everything."
"Everything?" I asked, confused.
Phoebe slowly turned to look at me, her eyes sunken and tired. "Everything."
"Oooookay, then." I said, not wanting to learn what else he had done.
We continued to walk, the trees getting thicker as we marched deeper into the woods.
They were tall, old trees—thick-trunked and moss-slick, rising so high the canopy blurred into a green-gold haze. The further we walked, the more the air changed. It smelled colder, sharper, like clean water, crushed pine needles, and something I just couldn't place.
Phoebe seemed to relax the deeper we went, her gait looser, like the forest was absorbing her weight.
I didn't feel that. If anything, I felt like a lotus in the desert —confused and unfamiliar with my surroundings.
I hadn't really gotten to let the whole 'banished from my home of a year by the woman who welcomed me' settle in. It shouldn't have hurt, I've been running from island to island since I was a toddler ...
So why did this hurt so much?
I was ripped from my thoughts as the cuckoo chirped from my hair. Loudly.
"Stop that," I demanded, tilting my head to the side to dislodge her. She just dug in tighter, fluffing her wings and pecking the same spot like she was looking for a secret door.
"She's grooming you," Phoebe said without turning around. "Might want to get used to that. Birds don't do that unless they like you."
"I'd rather she didn't," I muttered. "I don't like being touched."
"Tell her that."
"I have. Repeatedly."
"Then she doesn't care."
I sighed and adjusted the meat again. My arms were beginning to ache. The bull had smelled worse the longer we carried it, its scent clinging to my skin like a curse. Blood and fur and something deeper—something born in the sea and stamped into earth.
"Are we close?" I asked.
"Sort of. You'll feel it when we get there."
"What does that mean?"
Phoebe glanced back. "It means we're close enough that Artemis might be watching."
I tensed. Immediately.
"Relax," she said. "You're not a threat. If she thought you were, you'd be a jack rabbit by now."
"That's comforting."
"It should be."
We kept walking. The shadows stretched longer between the trees, the light softening like it was being filtered through moonlight even though the sun was still up. The forest began to hum, low and steady, like a heartbeat buried deep in the soil.
I stepped on a patch of moss and suddenly felt it—like falling through water. Like a breath caught in my throat.
"Oh," I whispered.
Phoebe smiled. "Yeah. That's camp."
It didn't look like much at first. No walls. No gates. Just an invisible threshold we'd crossed, where the forest shifted from real to something I'd never felt before. I could see shadows between the trees—girls moving fast and silent, flashes of silver, quick hands with bows. A few wolves padded in the underbrush, quiet as breath.
And then I heard it—laughter.
Phoebe stopped and turned to me. Her face was serious now.
"Okay. Listen. They're gonna be weird about you. Don't take it personally."
"I don't take things personally."
"Don't." She repeated flatly. "They're protective. Suspicious. Some of them are older than cities. You? You're a ten-year-old boy with a bird in your hair and a hunk of dead monster on your back. You'll look like trouble before you look like help."
I frowned. "I'm not trouble— mostly."
The cuckoo flapped her wings again and shrieked, like a war horn. From the trees ahead, several figures turned. One of them raised a hand, and I saw a flash of light.
Phoebe squared her shoulders.
"You ready?"
"No."
She glowered. "I'll do the talking then."
And with that, she led me forward.
The tree line cleared to reveal several girls. The most prominent ones were a girl —about twelve, maybe thirteen years old— with shoulder-length raven-black hair and striking silver-grey eyes that seemed to radiate energy.
When we were about twelve feet from the silver-clad figures ahead, Phoebe stopped short. Her hand shot out and caught my arm, pulling me gently but firmly down into a kneel beside her.
"Lady Artemis," Phoebe said, voice dropping into something careful but warm. Respectful, but not stiff. "I am overjoyed to see that you all are well."
The air around Artemis seemed to shimmered with quiet command. The wolves at her side stilled. The bow slung across her back seemed to hum with presence.
She didn't smile, not really, but I saw the flicker of content in her eyes as they swept over Phoebe. Beneath the goddess's unshakable calm, I could feel the depth of her concern, hidden behind discipline.
"Thank you, Phoebe," Artemis said, her voice gentle but edged with steel. "It seems your hunt was fruitful."
Phoebe nodded once. "Yes, my lady."
Another girl stepped forward beside Artemis, tall and elegant, with ink-dark curls and a circlet of silver braided into her hair like a crown. She looked like she belonged in a mural—not just from the way she held herself, but from the way she spoke.
"We art gladdened beyond measure to see thee returneth whole, Phoebe," she said, gaze slipping toward me like a knife unsheathed. "Yet 'tis apparent thou bringeth with thee a blood-spattered stray."
... Is she speaking Shakespearean?
"This is Diomedes," Phoebe said before I could answer. Her tone was patient. "He helped me kill the Cretan Bull. He even treated my wounds after I was hit during the fight." Under her breath she whispered, "even if it was unneeded."
I whispered to her, "you were concussed."
She sighed, turning slightly red from embarrassment, "shut up."
The girl paused. Her expression softened just slightly at Phoebe's words. Then, just as quickly, her mouth thinned and the light left her eyes again.
Artemis stepped forward. The rest of the Hunters lowered their weapons as she lifted one hand, her presence alone cutting through the air like frost.
"You may rise," she said—not unkindly, but with a general's finality. Not a suggestion. An order.
Phoebe and I stood. I shifted the bloody slabs of meat off my shoulder and laid them beside the folded hide she carried.
"I thank you for aiding Phoebe," Artemis said, nodding to me. Her voice was calm and cool. "But I must ask—why was he brought here?"
Phoebe hesitated. Just for a second. "He helped slay the bull. I thought it right he shared in the spoils, you can see he is visibly distressed ... and he's alone, my lady. He has nowhere else to go."
That was more than just a report. There was something behind her words. A tension. A choice she'd made.
Artemis studied me. Her gaze was sharp, assessing—like she could read everything written in the blood and sea-salt staining my skin.
"You are not wrong," she said.
I followed her gaze to myself and immediately regretted it. My chiton was shredded, my arms stained with gore. My hair—well, a bird was still living in it. I smelled like monster guts, saltwater, and swamp rot.
"Why could he not slice a piece of the flesh and bathe in the river??" The mural girl suggested.
"I believed it would be best for him to present his spoils on his own, he has nowhere else to go so it would not be much of a problem." Phoebe reasoned, brushing her fiery red curls out of her eyes.
Artemis hummed, still looking at me.
"Is that correct?"
I nodded, "I kinda woke up here three hours ago? I don't exactly know where things are."
"Mm." Her gaze sharpened for half a breath, then softened again. "I see."
Zoë stepped forward, her voice low. "My lady, surely thou dost not intend to bid him entry. We already have two other males to contend with."
Wait, two males? There were other boys here?
"Zoë," Artemis said, voice like silver drawn across a whetstone. "The least we can do is be hospitable."
Zoë's lips pressed into a flat line. She lowered her eyes. "As thou dost desire, mine lady.."
She turned to me, her expression unreadable.
"Let us but hope thou art not like the daughter of Ares whom they did bring.," she muttered.
She led us into the camp.
It was smaller than I expected, more like a clearing stitched together by silver tents and firelight. Girls moved like shadows between trees—some polishing weapons, others boiling herbs or brushing down wolves. There was laughter, quiet and fierce. The air shimmered faintly with magic, and the moonlight filtering through the trees felt alive.
It might've been cozy—if not for the dozens of eyes tracking my every step like I was a wounded fox in a henhouse. Or maybe a wolf.
The cuckoo squawked again in my hair.
Phoebe walked beside me. "You're making a great first impression."
"Should I wave?" I asked, slightly nervous.
"Probably not."
"Fair enough."
The first place on the tour we were taken too was the makeshift infirmary.
Zoë turned to Phoebe and I, "Thou shalt be tended by Miriam; prithee, cause her no discomfort, boy."
"I didn't plan on it," I said. I get being protective of your friends, but I don't think someone covered in black blood and guts would make a thousand year old doctor uncomfortable.
Zoë nodded curtly, "Then all shall be well."
With that we were led into the infirmary.
It smelled like thyme, honey, and rubbing alcohol inside the infirmary—clean, warm, and not entirely unpleasant. A few small lanterns cast golden light on the canvas walls, and baskets of bandages were stacked along a low shelf. In one corner, an older Hunter with an apron and streaks of silver in her brown hair was crushing herbs with a mortar and pestle.
She looked up as we entered, her hands still busy. "Phoebe," she said, smiling. "You look like you lost a fight with a brick wall."
Phoebe did an iffy motion with her hand, "not far off. The wall got in the way of my fight."
Then her eyes found me.
They didn't widen. They didn't narrow. They just... settled.
"And you," she said, "look like you picked a fight with a slaughterhouse."
"I won," I said, wiping black blood off my face. "Mostly."
Miriam arched her brow but didn't comment. She gestured to two cots near the back. "Sit. Strip. Not all the way, just enough for me to get to the wounds. And please, boy, don't faint. I've had enough drama for one moon."
"Yes ma'am," I said, complying with whatever she'd ask.
I pulled the tattered remains of my chiton over my head and dropped it beside the cot, then sat down and tried very hard not to wince as the cool air hit the bruises blooming along my collarbone from when I fell off that roof.
Phoebe eased down onto the other cot beside me. Miriam moved between us like a seasoned battlefield medic—efficient, firm, but not unkind. She cleaned the worst of my wounds in silence, the cloth warm and steady against my skin.
Then—
"Hold still," she said, and pressed something into a gash on my side.
The moment it touched me I let out a pained yelp.
"What is that stuff?"
"Asclepius brand extra strength iodine, it helps remove any possible bacteria the monster could leave."
I gritted my teeth. "Why does it feel like it's eating me alive?"
"Because it is."
Phoebe chuckled under her breath. Miriam gave her a look, then moved on to her, sucking her teeth at the sight of the semi healed gash on Phoebe's head.
Phoebe groaned as Miriam placed some of the iodine on her head.
"I'm fine," Phoebe complained.
"You're bleeding from the head, Phoebe." Miriam retorted as she bandaged her head. "Forgive me if I don't trust your sense of proportion."
Phoebe scoffed, "Semantics."
"Accuracy."
Miriam moved away again to fetch fresh gauze, muttering to herself about young hunters and their recklessness.
How old is this woman if Phoebe —the self proclaimed thousand year old girl— is young to her.
"So Miriam," Phoebe said, sitting up to get a better look at her. "Zoë mentioned two other males were in the camp."
Miriam sighed, "yeah, two came from Camp-Half-blood with a daughter of Ares. A son of Hermes and Zeus's youngest."
Zeus? He had a kid? Weren't they forbidden? There were some nymph's on Circe's island who's celebrate the day it happened. They had fireworks and everything.
Phoebe seemed to know who Miriam was talking about as her face flashed with pity.
"He's still alive?" She asked, a look of pity on his face. "Good. I'm glad he's recovering from what happened."
Miriam came back, wrapping Phoebe's head. "I wouldn't say he's recovered, from the way he looked and acted I say he isn't far from becoming a Mania."
A Mania? What happened for him to be driven mad? Should I ask who they're talking about? They're talking about him in front of me so it doesn't seem that private. I'll just ask his and the other guys names.
"Who's—"
My question was cut off by the flap of the tent swinging open.
In stepped a young man, maybe sixteen or seventeen, dust and sweat streaked across his sandy-blonde hair and tanned face. His blue eyes were sharp but tired. He wore a bright orange tank top—torn at the sleeves and smudged with ash—emblazoned with the black letters C.H.B. over a horse-shaped silhouette.
"Sorry to barge in," he said with a lopsided, impish smile, holding up a hand wrapped in unraveling bandages. "My wrappings are kinda... falling apart."
Miriam barely looked up from Phoebe, her tone flat. "Sit down next to the cloud. I'll deal with you in a minute."
"You're the best, Miriam." He grinned and wandered over to my cot, moving with a kind of casual confidence that almost looked like he was floating.
He didn't speak at first. He just sat on the stool beside me, elbows on his knees, eyes occasionally flicking my way as Miriam's steady hum filled the tent. It was like he was waiting for something.
Eventually, I broke the silence.
"What's your name?" I asked, more curious than cautious, though something about him made my skin prickle. He had this strange... pull. A kind of invisible gravity that reminded me of Hylla and a few of the women on Circe's island—I could never pin what it really was, but it always reminded me of this one book I found in Circe's library. Coral, something.
He blinked, clearly surprised I'd said anything. "Huh?"
"It's Luke," Phoebe answered for him, wincing as Miriam applied salve to her shoulder. "Luke Castellan. Son of Hermes."
Hermes. I repeated the name silently. It was still strange to hear these guys use the Greek names of the gods. Was it a mainland thing?
"Yeah, he's my father," Luke said, voice flat. He didn't look proud about it. Noted. Probably a sore spot.
Then, he turned to me. "Sorry to ask, but... are you a cloud nymph? I don't think I've ever met a male one before."
I tilted my hand side to side. "I think so? I haven't met any others like me. The female ones I've talked to said I probably am."
Luke nodded slowly. "That's... weird."
My face fell. "Gee, thanks."
Luke's eyes went wide with embarrassment. "No—I didn't mean weird bad weird. I meant like... cool weird. Rare. Like a shiny Pokémon or something."
"What's a pokémon?"
Luke scratched the back of his neck, looking like he wanted to melt into the floor. "Never mind."
Phoebe coughed to cover her laughter, but failed spectacularly. She looked between the two of us with clear amusement. "You're doing great," she told him dryly.
"Thanks," Luke muttered under his breath. "Really appreciate the support."
Miriam stepped in then, towel in hand. "Hold out your hand, Castellan. Let's fix that mess."
Luke obeyed, offering his wrist. The gauze had come undone, revealing angry, raw skin beneath. Miriam worked quickly and without sympathy, but Luke didn't visibly flinch.
"Did you get burned?" I asked, watching the pink shimmer of healing skin.
"Yeah," Luke said, as if it were nothing. "Laestrygonians. My sword missed the giant's hand and I got grazed by a fireball."
"Laestrygonians?" I echoed. The name tickled something at the edge of my memory, but I couldn't place it.
Luke nodded. "Me and my friends were cutting through an alley. Two of the brutes jumped us. Got a second-degree burn for my trouble."
"Oh, Zoë mentioned a daughter of Ares and a second guy," Phoebe said, more alert now.
Luke nodded. "That'd be Clarisse. The second guy's my little brother."
"Where are they now?" I asked.
"Clarisse is probably out sparring with some of the Hunters. My brother's probably asleep in one of the tents."
"Your brother?"
"Not blood," Luke clarified, leaning back a little. "He's a son of Zeus. But he's mine anyway."
"What's his name?"
"Jason," Luke said, a faint grin playing at the edge of his mouth. "Jason Grace."