There's a special kind of irony in getting a ride from the god who killed you.
Even more ironic? Only confirming it when he accidentally brags about his divine powers while you're trapped in a semi-truck doing seventy on a Wyoming highway.
Want to know what's REALLY ironic? Losing your only weapon by stabbing it into the eye socket of a dragon, then having to continue your quest completely unarmed.
This is that part of my story.
Buckle up.
The Wake-Up Call
I woke up to someone nudging my shoulder.
"Kid. Wake up."
My eyes cracked open. Early morning light. Truck stop parking lot. The smell of diesel and coffee.
A man stood over me—weathered face, maybe fifties, trucker gear. He held two coffee cups.
Right. The guy who'd offered me a ride last night. Sacramento. Said he'd leave at six AM.
"You're here," I managed, sitting up and trying to look less like a disaster. Every muscle hurt. My ribs were still healing from the Sybaris fight two days ago.
He handed me a coffee.
I took the coffee gratefully. Hot. Strong. Exactly what I needed.
He studied me for a moment—taking in the bags under my eyes, the dried monster dust in my hair, the way I winced when I moved.
"Rough night?"
"Every night's rough lately."
Something shifted in his expression. Understanding, maybe. Or pity. Hard to tell.
"Come on. Long drive ahead. You can sleep in the truck if you need to."
I grabbed my stuff and followed him to his semi.
The Truck
It was a standard semi—red cab, long trailer, the kind you see on every highway in America. Nothing special.
Except.
I climbed into the passenger seat and immediately noticed the rearview mirror.
Hanging from it, swaying gently, was a caduceus.
Not a cheap plastic one. Not a fuzzy dice wannabe. An actual, detailed, golden caduceus—the staff with two snakes intertwined around it, wings at the top.
The symbol of Hermes.
Okay, I thought. That's... specific.
I stared at it.
The trucker noticed. "Like it? Got it in Greece."
"Greece?"
"Long time ago. Family heirloom." He started the engine—a rumble that shook the whole cab. "Sentimental value."
"Uh-huh."
He pulled out of the truck stop and onto the highway, heading west. The sun was rising behind us, painting the sky in shades of orange and pink.
Could be a coincidence, I told myself. Lots of people like Greek mythology. Doesn't mean—
For about thirty minutes, we drove in comfortable silence.
Then I heard it.
"He'sss watching usss..."
I froze.
Looked around the cab. Just me and the trucker. Radio off. No one else.
Must be hearing things, I told myself. Exhaustion. Stress. Mild PTSD from watching people get eaten.
Ten minutes later:
"Think he knowsss?"
"Of courssse not, he'sss obliviousss."
My head snapped to the rearview mirror.
The caduceus.
The snakes.
Did they just... move?
I stared at them.
They froze mid-sway.
I kept staring.
They stayed very, very still.
Okay, I thought slowly. So either I'm hallucinating from exhaustion, or this guy's mirror ornament has TALKING SNAKES.
Either way, not good.
Twenty minutes later:
"Martha, ssstop talking!"
"YOU ssstop talking, George!"
The snakes were DEFINITELY arguing.
With each other.
In the rearview mirror.
I slowly turned to look at the trucker, who was very carefully keeping his eyes on the road.
"Your rearview mirror ornament," I said slowly. "Is talking."
"Is it?"
"Yes."
"Huh. Weird."
"VERY weird."
"Probably the altitude."
"We're in Nebraska. It's FLAT."
"Atmospheric pressure?"
"THEY'RE HAVING AN ARGUMENT!"
He turned up the radio.
I stared at the caduceus.
The snakes looked back at me.
Busted, their expressions seemed to say.
Suspicion Confirmed (Afternoon)
We crossed into Wyoming around noon.
By this point, I was pretty sure I knew what was going on.
The caduceus. The talking snakes (Martha and George, apparently).
But I needed confirmation.
The trucker drove like someone who'd been doing this for a very, very long time. Too long, maybe. His turns were too precise. His lane changes too smooth. He wove through traffic like he could see three seconds into the future.
Which, given what I was starting to suspect, he probably could.
"You do this for a living?" I asked, trying to sound casual.
"Something like that."
"You're really good at it."
"Millennia of practice."
Pause.
"...you said millennia."
"Did I?"
"Yes."
"Meant to say years."
"You said millennia."
"Slip of the tongue."
Sure it was.
The snakes (when he wasn't paying attention):
"He'sss catching on."
"Obviously he'sss catching on, you won't ssstop talking!"
"I'm not the one who—"
"I can HEAR you," I said to the mirror.
The snakes froze.
"...he can hear usss."
"We're ssso fired."
Hours passed. We drove deeper into Wyoming. Mountains in the distance. Desert stretching out on either side.
And no dragon.
That clinched it.
We'd been driving for hours. Through three states. No attacks. No Sybaris. Nothing.
That wasn't luck.
That was divine intervention.
"Hey," I said, breaking the silence.
"Yeah?"
"Nice weather we're having."
He glanced at me. "Sure is."
"Clear skies. Open road."
"Peaceful" he said.
"Yeah. Peaceful." I gave him a long look. "Especially peaceful for someone who had a forty-foot dragon hunting them two days ago."
He said nothing. Just kept driving.
"Where's the dragon?" I asked directly.
"What are you talking about kid? dragon?"
"The forty-foot nightmare that's been hunting me since Ohio.It hasn't attacked once."
"Lucky, I guess."
I gave him a flat stare. The kind that said I don't believe you and we both know it.
He sighed.
"Maybe it got tired," he tried.
My stare intensified.
"Maybe it's... taking a break?"
Stare.
"Maybe—"
"Dragons don't get tired," I said. "Especially not when they're hunting for revenge. And they definitely don't just disappear for no reason."
He said nothing.
"You're keeping it away somehow," I continued. "Normal mortals can't do that."
"Who says I'm normal?"
"Are you a demigod?"
"Nope."
"Then what are you?"
He smiled slightly. "Just a guy who's really good at his job."
Infuriating. Absolutely infuriating.
But I was tired. Exhausted, really. And he was helping me, even if I didn't know why.
So I let it go.
For now.
The Slip
The sun was starting to set. We'd been on the road for almost twelve hours.
My legs were cramping. My back hurt. I was hungry, thirsty, and running on maybe three hours of sleep in the past two days.
But we were making good time. Colorado border soon. Then Utah. Then Nevada. Then California.
Then San Francisco.
Then... whatever came next.
The trucker had been quiet for the last hour. Just driving, lost in thought.
I stared out the window, watching the landscape roll by.
Then, super casually—like I was asking about the weather:
"So. Olympian."
"How's traveling and commuting these days?" I continued, still looking out the window. "Working out for you?"
There was a pause.
Then, like he was responding to an old friend, completely on autopilot:
"Oh, it has its perks."
I turned to look at him.
He was still staring at the road, completely relaxed.
"Cross-dimensional travel, instantaneous messaging," he continued. "Can cross time if necessary, bypass traffic completely."
He actually chuckled.
"Like Need for Speed but with actual divine power—"
He stopped.
Froze.
Oh no.
I watched realization dawn on his face in real time.
OH NO.
The snakes lost it:
"DID HE JUSSST—"
"HE TOTALLY DID—"
"HERMES YOU IDIOT—"
"WE'RE SSSO FIRED—"
The trucker's head turned.
Slowly.
Like a horror movie slowly.
Hands still on the wheel. Eyes still on the road.
But head turning toward me with the inevitability of a glacier.
His eyes met mine.
I stared back.
"Hermes," I said flatly.
"...kid—"
My hand went to my sword bag.
"YOU."
The Confrontation (Emergency Pull-Over)
He pulled over immediately.
We were in the middle of nowhere—empty Wyoming highway, desert on both sides, mountains in the distance. No witnesses. No help.
Perfect place for a murder.
I was out of the truck before it fully stopped, yanking my greatsword from the bag.
Hermes stepped out the driver's side, hands raised.
"Okay. Let's not do anything rash—"
"YOU KILLED ME!"
"I know—"
"TEXTING AND DRIVING!"
"I KNOW!"
I charged.
Sword raised.
Every ounce of rage I'd been bottling up for weeks—about dying, about being thrown into this world, about six people getting eaten because of MY pride—all of it focused on the god standing in front of me.
I swung with everything I had.
Hermes didn't dodge.
Didn't block with divine power.
He just... raised his hand.
Thumb and index finger.
My blade came down—four feet of celestial bronze, all my strength behind it—
And stopped.
CLANG.
Caught between his thumb and finger like a toothpick.
I stared.
He held my greatsword—this weapon that had killed dozens of monsters, that weighed twenty pounds, that I'd swung with all my demigod strength—between two fingers.
Effortlessly.
A subtle shimmer of divine energy rippled around his hand. Not flashy. Not showy. Just... there. A reminder that he was a god and I was not.
"Let. Go." I pulled on my sword.
It didn't budge.
I pulled harder. Braced my feet. Used both hands. Channeled everything.
Nothing.
The blade might as well have been welded in place.
Hermes just stood there, holding my sword between thumb and finger, looking almost bored.
"You done?" he asked.
"LET GO OF MY SWORD!"
"No."
His voice wasn't cruel. Just firm. Final.
"You want to stab me. I understand. But we're not doing that."
"You KILLED me!"
"Yes."
Just that. No excuses. No deflection.
"You—" I blinked. "What?"
"Yes, I killed you. I was careless. Texting while flying my chariot through dimensional barriers." He said it matter-of-factly, like stating the weather. "Stupid thing to do."
The divine energy faded. He released my sword.
I stumbled backward, could strike now if I wanted.
Hermes wasn't defending himself. Wasn't backing away. Just... standing there.
Waiting.
I raised my sword.
He watched me.
The moment stretched.
I... couldn't do it.
My arms shook. The blade lowered slightly.
"Why?" My voice came out wrong. Too quiet. "Why did you kill me?"
"I told you. I was careless."
"That's IT?!"
"What else would you like me to say?"
"That you're SORRY?!"
He tilted his head, considering. "Would that help?"
"What?"
"If I said I'm sorry. Would it bring you back? Undo what happened?"
"I—no, but—"
"Then what's the point?"
I stared at him.
He stepped closer. I didn't back away.
"I've lived for millennia," he said. "Done countless things. Caused countless consequences. Some good. Most bad. Some catastrophic."
His eyes met mine. Ancient eyes. Tired eyes.
"What happened to you was tragic. Unfair. My fault."
Not apologetic. Just... honest.
"But I can't undo it. I can only move forward. As can you."
"So that's it?" My voice was shaking. "Just... accept it?"
"What's the alternative? Rage forever?"
"YES!"
"Will that help?"
"It'll make me FEEL better!"
He almost smiled. "Fair enough."
Silence fell between us. Highway empty. Wind blowing. Sun setting.
Finally, he spoke again.
"You want my acknowledgment? You have it." His voice was steady, powerful. Divine. "I killed you. Carelessly. Stupidly. It was wrong."
He paused.
"But I am a god. And gods don't apologize the way mortals expect."
"Then what DO you do?"
"We acknowledge. We sometimes try to make amends."
He gestured between us.
"Which is why I'm here."
The Truth (Sort Of)
We got back in the truck.
Drove in silence for a long time.
Finally, I couldn't take it anymore.
"Why are you really helping me?"
He glanced at me. "Multiple reasons. Some I'll share. Some I won't."
"That's not an answer."
"It's the only one you're getting."
Infuriating. But I was starting to understand that was just... how he was.
"The dragon," I said. "Sybaris. You're keeping it away."
"Yes."
"How?"
"Divine influence. I'm... encouraging it to hunt elsewhere."
"Can you kill it?"
" Yes and No. It's nearly invincible."
"Then how do I beat it?"
He was quiet for a moment.
"Fire. Hot enough to match the sun itself."
"I... might be able to do that. Eventually."
"You're Surya's blood. If anyone can, it's you."
Another long silence.
"San Francisco," Hermes said. "You're going there for a reason."
"Can't tell you. Quest stuff."
He nodded. "Say no more."
More miles passed. The landscape shifted from Wyoming plains to Colorado mountains.
"Be careful," he said eventually. "Where you're going. What you're facing."
"What do you mean?"
"Not all enemies wear obvious faces."
I turned to look at him. "You know something."
"I know many things."
"About Alcatraz?"
"Can't say. Quest business."
"But you DO know something."
"Can't interfere directly. Rules."
"You're ALREADY interfering! You're giving me a RIDE!"
"Technicality." The corner of his mouth twitched. "Helping a traveler is what I do. I'm the god of travelers and roads."
I wanted to strangle him.
Hours later, near the Colorado-Utah border, he spoke again.
"I have a son."
I glanced at him, surprised by the sudden shift. "I mean... yeah. Of course you do."
He gave me a look.
"What? You're an Olympian. That's kind of the whole thing, right? Lots of godly kids running around."
"This one's... different. Special."
"Okay?"
"He's at your camp."
My stomach dropped slightly. "Do you even know how many kids are in your cabin back at camp?"
Hermes turned to look at me.
Long silence.
Then, quietly: "Yeah. I do, kid."
Another beat.
"Yeah. I do."
There was weight in those words. Sadness. Something I couldn't quite identify.
I realized my snark had hit harder than intended.
"Sorry, I didn't mean—"
"Don't. You're not wrong to ask."
Awkward silence.
"I have many children," he continued, eyes back on the road. "Across the ages. Across the world. I know each one."
"So why is this one special?"
His hands tightened on the wheel.
"Because he's the one I failed the most."
That was all he'd say.
I didn't push.
The Dragon Returns
We'd been driving peacefully for hours.
Sun was setting over the Utah desert—all red rock and endless sky.
Almost beautiful.
Then the ground shook.
"I hate dragons," Hermes sighed and muttered.
"What?"
I looked in the side mirror and my blood ran cold.
Sybaris.
More monstrous than I remembered. Angrier. Moving FAST across the desert highway.
"I thought you were keeping it away!"
"I WAS!" Hermes' hands tightened on the wheel. "It's pushing through! It wants you MORE than it fears me!"
The dragon roared—a sound like continents breaking—and CHARGED.
"This is bad."
"I NOTICED!"
Hermes pressed the gas. The truck surged forward.
But the dragon was faster.
It plowed through traffic like bowling pins, sending cars spinning off the road. Getting closer. Closer.
I made a decision.
"Pull over!"
"WHAT?!"
"I said PULL OVER!"
"That's suicide!"
"It's going to catch us anyway! You can't interfere then at least give me fighting room!"
Hermes looked at me like I'd lost my mind.
Which, fair. I probably had.
But he pulled over anyway.
The truck skidded to a stop on the shoulder. I grabbed my sword and jumped out.
"GO!" I shouted. "Get clear!"
"Kid—"
"I'll catch up! Just GO!"
He hesitated. Actually hesitated.
Then drove off, leaving me alone on a desert highway with forty feet of murderous dragon.
Why am I like this?
The Eye Socket
Sybaris stopped twenty feet away.
We faced each other. Dragon and demigod. Sunset behind us, painting everything blood-red.
But something was different this time.
The amusement was gone from its eyes. The playfulness. The sport.
Now there was only rage.
And hunger.
You challenged fate, its eyes seemed to say. You made this personal.
Now you die.
It lunged.
I dove right, hitting the asphalt in a roll.
The dragon's jaws snapped shut where I'd been standing, teeth scraping pavement with a sound like nails on chalkboard.
I came up on one knee, sword ready.
Sybaris' tail whipped around—I saw it coming this time, jumped—
The tail whistled past underneath me.
I landed, immediately threw myself sideways as the dragon's head struck like a snake.
Too fast. Way too fast for something that big.
Its claws gouged the highway where I'd been a second ago. Four parallel trenches in asphalt.
I swung at its foreleg. Blade connected—CLANG—scales like steel plates. Not even a scratch.
"Still can't cut through!"
The dragon's tail came from my blind spot. Caught me in the ribs before I could dodge.
I flew twenty feet. Crashed into a guardrail. My armor had manifested automatically—golden light, Kavach blazing—absorbed most of the impact.
Most. Not all.
Pain exploded through my side(Again). Something cracked. Ribs, probably.
Getting up hurt.
The dragon advanced slowly. Taking its time. Savoring this.
I tried fire. Channeled everything I had. Hurled flames at its face.
The dragon didn't even blink. Fire splashed off scales like water.
Not hot enough. Need sun-fire. Don't have it yet.
"Okay," I gasped, backing away. "Think. THINK."
Can't pierce scales. Can't burn through. Getting weaker. Dragon getting closer.
"Every armor has weak points."
Luke's voice in my head. From training.
Weak points.
Eyes. Mouth. Joints.
Places without scales.
The dragon opened its mouth—preparing to breathe poison—
And I saw it.
Its eyes. Vulnerable.
Unprotected.
There.
That's the shot.
"Come on then!" I shouted, lowering my sword slightly. "You want me? COME GET ME!"
The dragon tilted its head, suspicious.
I spread my arms. Made myself an easy target.
"I'M RIGHT HERE! What, are you SCARED?!"
That did it.
The dragon's pride wouldn't let that stand.
It charged.
Jaws open wide. Teeth like swords. Poison breath already pouring from its throat.
Moving fast. Faster than before.
I waited.
Counted in my head. Three. Two.
Dragon almost on me, close enough to smell its breath (rotten meat and sulfur)—
One.
I dropped flat. Hit the highway on my stomach, rolled under the dragon's body as it passed overhead.
Scales passing inches above my face.
Came up on the dragon's right side.
Its momentum carried it forward. It was turning, trying to locate me, head swinging around—
Its right eye exposed.
Right there. Few feet away. Moving toward me as it turned.
NOW.
I planted my feet. Sword hilt in both hands. Every muscle coiled. Sword raised parallel to the ground. Both hands gripping tight. All my weight. All my strength. Everything I had.
And I Stabbed as hard as I could.
The dragon's eye tracked my movement. Saw me coming. Started to flinch away—
Too slow.
"THIS IS FOR THOSE SIX PEOPLE!"
Two-handed Thrust strike. Perfect form.
All my momemtum behind it.
Into the dragon's right eye socket.
The Loss
The sword sank in.
Deep.
Through the outer membrane of the eye. Through jelly. Into the socket behind it. Soft tissue giving way.
SQUELCH.
The most disgusting sound I'd ever heard.
But it WORKED.
Sybaris' roar shook the desert.
Not a threatening roar. Not a hunting roar.
A roar of pure, absolute AGONY.
The dragon thrashed. Head whipping side to side, trying to shake me off.
I held onto the sword with everything I had. My only anchor. If I let go, I'd fall, and then—
The dragon's head snapped violently to the left.
My grip slipped.
I fell. Hit the highway hard. Rolled.
Came up on my knees, looking for my sword.
It was still there.
Embedded deep in the dragon's eye socket. Bronze blade buried nearly two feet . Four feet of celestial bronze sticking out of the dragon's face like the world's most brutal piercing.
Blood—golden and viscous—poured from the wound.
The dragon was screaming. Head thrashing. Trying to reach the sword with its claws but unable to get the angle.
"YES!" I pumped my fist. "Take THAT you—"
The dragon's head whipped toward me.
One eye destroyed, bleeding, sword embedded.
The other eye locked onto me with pure, crystallized HATRED.
Then it ran.
Not away from me.
Away with my sword still in its face.
"WAIT!" I started running after it. "MY SWORD!"
The dragon was faster. Way faster.
It crashed through the guardrail, plowed down the embankment, across the desert floor, moving at speeds nothing that injured should manage.
Getting smaller. Smaller.
"NO NO NO—THAT'S MY ONLY WEAPON!"
In seconds it was a speck in the distance.
Then gone.
Taking my sword with it.
I stood alone on the highway, covered in dragon blood, breathing hard, staring at the empty desert.
"...oh no."
Hermes' truck pulled up beside me.
The window rolled down. He looked at the destruction—broken guardrail, blood everywhere, four-foot-deep claw marks in the asphalt.
Then at me.
"So," he said. "That was... impressive and stupid."
"It took my sword."
"I noticed."
"My ONLY weapon."
"Yep."
"The sword Beckendorf made for me. The one I've been training with for weeks."
"Uh-huh."
"Is currently embedded in a dragon's eye socket."
"That appears to be the situation."
I stared at the empty desert. At the trail of blood disappearing into the distance.
"I'm going to need a new sword."
"Probably."
"And I'm never getting that one back."
Hermes was quiet for a moment.
"Well," he said finally. "The good news is you hurt it badly. Dragon's probably going to spend the next few days trying to claw that sword out of its face."
"And the bad news?"
"Whether it succeeds or not, it's going to be REALLY mad."
"It's already really mad."
"No. Right now it's injured and furious. If it gets that sword out and heals? It's going to be personally mad."
"There's a difference?"
"Oh yes." Hermes smiled grimly. "You'll see."
Night Drive (The Aftermath)
We drove through the night. Nevada. Desert on all sides. Stars overhead.
I stared out the window, replaying the fight in my head.
Lost my sword.
Hurt the dragon.
Made it even angrier.
This quest was going GREAT.
"You did well," Hermes said, breaking the silence.
"I lost my weapon."
"You survived a dragon that's killed heroes before."
"Barely."
"Still counts."
I leaned my head against the window. Everything hurt. Ribs were screaming. Armor had saved me from the worst of it, but I'd still taken a beating.
"Can't sleep?" Hermes asked.
"Not really."
Every time I closed my eyes, I saw it.
Sometimes it was the six people. Crunch.
Sometimes it was the dragon. My sword in its eye. That scream.
Sometimes it was just emptiness. My hands reaching for a weapon that wasn't there.
Around 3 AM, Hermes asked again.
"Can't sleep?"
"Not really."
"The people on the bus?"
I nodded.
"That wasn't your fault."
"I tempted fate. Challenged the universe. They died because of my pride."
"Sybaris killed them. Not you."
"Sybaris came because of ME."
Silence.
"You're right," Hermes said. "It did."
I appreciated that he didn't try to make me feel better with lies.
"What do I do with that?" I asked quietly.
"Carry it. Learn from it. Don't let it happen again."
"How?"
"Stop challenging fate. Stop being proud. Stop—" He paused. "Actually, you know what? That's not going to work."
"What?"
"You're Karna's blood. Pride is literally in your DNA. You can't just stop being proud any more than you can stop having fire."
"So I'm doomed to get people killed?"
"No. You're doomed to struggle with it. To have to actively fight against your nature."
He glanced at me.
"That's what makes it a fatal flaw. It's not something you can just get rid of. It's something you have to manage. Every day. For the rest of your life."
"That sounds exhausting."
"Welcome to being a hero."
Sacramento
We rolled into Sacramento in the early afternoon.
The city sprawled out around us—palm trees, urban sprawl, California heat.
Almost there.
Hermes pulled into a truck stop. Cut the engine.
"This is where we part."
I looked at him. "Divine law?"
"Divine law. Can't interfere directly with quests. This was already pushing it."
He reached into his pocket, pulled out cash. Fifty dollars.
"Take it."
"I can't—"
"You're nearly broke and weaponless. Take it."
I took it.
"San Francisco is an hour from here," he said. "Bus will get you there."
I grabbed my duffel. Lighter than it should be. No sword weighing it down.
Turned back before leaving.
"Your son. The one at camp."
Hermes looked at me.
"I think I know who you're talking about."
His expression shifted. Just slightly. But I caught it.
"Do you."
"Counselor of your cabin. Blonde. Scar on his face. Best swordsman I've ever seen."
Long silence.
"If something happens..." I continued. "If he's in trouble..."
"Save him if you can."
"Not stop him?"
"Save him. There's a difference."
"And if I can't?"
Long silence.
"Then at least you tried."
I nodded. Started to leave.
"Kid?"
I looked back.
"The dragon. Sybaris."
"What about it?"
"Fire. Hot as the sun. That's how you beat it."
"Can I do that?"
"You're Surya's blood." He smiled slightly. "You tell me."
The snakes added their goodbyes:
"Good luck!"
"Don't die again!"
"And if you sssee the bosss'sss kid..."
"Tell him we missss him."
Hermes silenced them with a look.
I walked toward the bus station.
Behind me, I heard the truck start up. Drive away.
When I looked back, it was gone.
San Francisco
The local bus dropped me at Fisherman's Wharf just as the sun was setting.
San Francisco spread out before me—hills covered in Victorian houses, the bay glittering, fog rolling in.
And there, in the middle of the bay, dark and ominous:
Alcatraz Island.
The Rock.
Where the dragon was imprisoned.
Where the answers were.
I stood on the wharf with fifty-three dollars (spent some on the bus), no weapon, and a dragon that now had a very personal reason to want me dead.
Okay, I thought. Let's review.
No sword.
Fire doesn't work.
Dragon wants revenge.
Have to infiltrate a prison island.
Fight unknown enemies.
Save a different dragon.
All without a weapon.
I paused.
Why am I like this?
No answer came.
I pulled out my remaining money. Bought the cheapest binoculars I could find from a tourist shop. Spent the last of my cash on a sandwich.
Then I found a spot on the wharf and watched Alcatraz.
Tour boats during the day. Normal tourists.
But as the sun set, I saw them.
Figures in the closed sections. Moving in windows that were supposed to be empty. Young. Athletic.
And orange shirts.
Camp Half-Blood colors.
My blood ran cold.
"The traitor's shadow marks the start."
They were here. Demigods working for... what?
I watched until full dark.
Then found an abandoned warehouse in the Tenderloin district. Broke in through a broken window. Set up in a corner.
Laid out everything I had:
Duffel bag with one change of clothes Two squares of ambrosia (used one healing from the dragon) Half bottle of diluted nectar Fifty-three dollars Documents No weapon
"This is fine," I said to the empty warehouse.
It was not fine.
Tomorrow, I'd need to scout properly. Find out what was happening on that island. Figure out who was there. Make a plan.
A plan that didn't involve a sword I no longer had.
I lay down, using my duffel as a pillow.
Stared at the ceiling.
Thought about the prophecy:
Where Ares' beast lies bound in night — Alcatraz, definitely.
The shattering lord awaits the fight — No idea who that is yet.
Fire must face what breaks apart — Great. My fire that doesn't work.
The traitor's shadow marks the start — Demigods on that island. Traitors.
Free the scales or join the fall — Save the dragon or die trying.
Before destruction claims it all — Time limit I don't know.
"One week," I whispered to the darkness. "Maybe less. To save a dragon. Stop traitors. Fight someone called the shattering lord. All without a weapon."
Pause.
"And there's a forty-foot revenge-driven dragon with my sword in its face coming for me."
Another pause.
"I'm going to die. Again."
Sleep didn't come easy.
When it did, I dreamed of fire. Of a sword embedded in scales and blood. Of six people screaming.
And of something else.
Silver eyes in the darkness.
A bow made of moonlight.
And a voice, ancient and cold:
Males are not welcome here.
I woke up gasping.
Dawn was breaking over San Francisco.
Today, the real quest began.
And I was so, so screwed.
END CHAPTER 13