Chapter Text
Kyra hoists her satchel up as she walks down the courtyard. Cold sharp wind blows against her cheeks and the dense canopy of leaves bears down on her as her mind races.
The Labyrinth shouldn’t still exist. It has been a long time since it has been built. Why would it appear now and in the center of camp, right when there is a war looming over them?
It can’t be a coincidence. Nothing is ever coincidence for children of the gods.
Despite what Lee has been telling their siblings, there isn’t a possibility of war. There is going to be a war. She has foreseen it— the mass destruction of Manhattan. The Great Prophecy is in motion. Thalia Grace is no longer a contender, with her initiation into the Hunters of Artemis. But Percy and Nico- the new kid, still are.
She’s seen it, a blurry figure leading an army against the troops of monsters. Arrows, thunder and lighting raining down like fireworks as shouts and roars of battle echoes; it plagues her dreams. And then right as Luke and Percy both swing for the killing blow, fate of the world hanging in the balance over who will yield first, she wakes up in a cold sweat.
Kyra tried to ignore it then, pretended the dreams were just nightmares. An overactive imagination going wild. Not all of her father’s children can peer into fate, most can’t even. She just happened to be one of the unlucky ones.
Lead weighs down her chest.
She can’t tell anyone about her visions, otherwise she will end up like Halcyon, and more people would die. Tears sting the corner of her eyes, blurring the students she walks past. What will happen to her and her siblings? Will they all die?
She takes a deep breath and blinks through her blurry vision. Still, she must do what she can. The future is not yet set. Her visions could just mean collateral damage, not complete destruction of the Western Civilization.
Her left foot catches onto something on the last step of the stairs and she yelps as she comes crashing down onto the hard grassy floor. Her ankle twings. Dust flies up and into her eyes. She pulls herself up and feels blindly for her bag, one arm rubbing her eyes. The clink of vials draws her mind to a stop. Her eyes would have widened if it hadn’t be powdered with dust. The Whimsy potion! She was planning to submit it early to Slughorn before she gets her excused absence! Has it been broken?
“Looking crusty, musty and dusty, aren’t you, shoelace?” Kyra groans internally. Not now! Footsteps circle her. She counts four. There was a small clank somewhere four feet above her on the left and swishing on the right. The footsteps are even and strong, no sense of weakness. The full moon is a week ago. Remus Lupin must still be recovering.
She opens her eyes and looks up.
James Potter and Sirius Black sneer down at her.
”Look what we have here, James. A rat that crawled itself out of a sewer.” Sirius Black, in all his glory consisting of a raunchily worn shirt, messy ebony hair, glinting-steel grey eyes and cruel smirk.
”Hello, Shoelace.” Potter kicks her bag away from her reaching hands. Kyra hisses as his boot scrapes her fingers.
Anger swirles in her gut before the guilt clouds it into a simmering numbness as grey eyes loomed over her.
Smell of sulphur, sparks glinting off blades, deep ragged breathing, terrified dove grey eyes—
Ah.
She is jolted out of her thoughts by a sharp pain. A sharp throb snakes up her leg. Shit. Is it broken? Her mind scrambles for a moment before realizing the level of pain is not high enough for it to be broken or sprained. The bell rings, signaling the time.
Faintly, she hears Black mutter “Let’s go.” With a disgusted curl of their lips, they turned and walked away, leaving her in the dust.
Blinking the last of the damp-fear-blood-sulphur, she grabs her satchel and feels around for her pack of vials.
Thank Apollo, her vials were not broken. With a whispered prayer, the sun shone a little brighter. She smiles as her scraped and bruising ankle tingled with a sunshine-home-heal warmth before the throb disappears. The unique mix of healing hymn and warmth.
Being a protector of Hogwarts is a thankless job, she thinks as she dust her skirt off.
Besides what was she; an American witch-demigod, doing at Hogwarts- a British wizarding school anyway?
Most demigods are usually born to Muggle parents, but some gods has affairs with witches and wizards as well, creating the need for experienced wizard-demigods to be enrolled in Wizarding schools. While Wizarding Schools has a modicum of protection for demigods, there’s always a risk of monsters roaming just around the edge of the barriers. And magic doesn’t work on monsters as effectively as Celestial bronze. Apparently, Ilvermorny has more than enough American demigods to watch out for late-blooming demigods among in their midst whereas Hogwarts has none, their five demigods graduating, dropping out, transferring or dying within the same year. What charming prospects for her future.
So Hogwarts offered her, Malcolm Pace and Katie Gardner full scholarships to attend their Wizarding school when they turned 11, as well as a guaranteed position in any field they chose to study in.
Kyra accepted, knowing she is the only child of Apollo currently at camp that is also a witch. It’s much safer for the demigods when a healer and a combatant is on standby in case of any nasty monster surprises. It also didn’t hurt that her older brother Will is going to medical school and having one less child to support for their education would be easier on her mum.
She sighs, looking up at the white stone ceiling blankly and feeling distinctly exhausted. She’s just shy of 15 but when you're a demigod, it’s rare to get time to grow up, to enjoy school or have lighthearted fun. Sometimes she looks at the students of Hogwarts, smiling and joking with friends, their biggest concern is a potions exam or a hard transfiguration paper… .
She snaps back to reality, shaking down her sleeve to read her watch.
15:07
Fuck , she swears under her breath as she makes a dash towards the Headmaster’s Tower. They had arranged to meet in front of Dumbledore’s Office at 3.
”Where were you?” Katie demands when she stumbles up to the pair of them, panting. All those sausage rolls were definitely not good for her health. “You’re late!”
“Mar— puff —auders,” Kyra huffs out. She rests her hands on her knees, blinking the sweat out of her eyes.
“Kyra, are they still bothering you?” Malcolm’s thunderstorm grey eyes peer into her own worriedly. His hand is raised towards her, as if wanting to assess her for anything amiss. Protectiveness has always been written in every sinew of Malcolm’s body, as if being the eldest of the three demigod students at Hogwarts means he is their leader. In a way, he is.
”Don’t worry about me,” She says with a well practiced fake smile. They have better things to worry about than some petty schoolyard bulling, Apollo knows she does. Honestly its barely a blimp compared to everything else. That’s the honest truth, and maybe if she repeats it enough it will feel true too.
She gazes up at the black and golden statue of the griffin that blocks the entrance to the Headmaster’s Office. The sculpture looks down at them with beady eyes and she suppresses a shiver. For all that other students think that griffins are magnificent, Kyra hopes she never has to fight one. Malcolm steps forward in front of the griffin.
“Lemon Drops,” he murmurs. The sculpture creaks, then rotates slowly counterclockwise, revealing a small staircase. Kyra ignores the feeling of claustrophobia as she descends behind Malcolm and Katie, missing the warmth of the sun already. She shivers thinking about the darkness of the winding paths of the Labyrinth.
“Ah hello, my children. What may I do for you?” Stepping into Headmaster Dumbledore’s office is like walking into a hurricane of mismatched items. Charms, books and trinkets that bounce off candlelight lie splayed in organized chaos. Kyra has to blink several times to refocus her gaze on the wizened old man with long gray beard. His eyes twinkles as he peers at them over his half-moon spectacles.
“Professor.” Malcolm draws himself up. “We need to go to Camp Half Blood. We have heard news of an impending attack on the camp. We must return to aid in the defenses.”
Dumbledore smiles. Kyra has the niggling feeling he already knew. “I am assuming you three will not be returning in time for your final exams?”
The three exchange a glance. Malcolm takes a deep breath. “I do not think we will return in time for our finals, Headmaster. If we could take them early, that would be great.”
Dumbledore waves them off. “You are more than welcome to take them anytime, as long as it is before your next year. I will inform your teachers that you are excused from the rest of your classes.”
None of them know if they would all make it through the battle. Yet, seeing Dumbledore, an old wizened demigod, a son of Hecate, gives Kyra hope that it is possible to grow old. He must have gone through just as many battles during his own lifetime.
Malcolm dips his head. “Thank you professor.”
Kyra raises her hand, “When is the soonest we can leave?”
Dumbledore gestures towards the crackling fireplace. “As soon as you are ready. The Floo portal is always ready for you.”
Katie runs a hand through her brown mousy hair. “Any updates from camp?” She asks as they strode up the stairs leading to their dormitory. “Beckendorf and the others are getting ready for defenses. Annabeth and Percy have already gone into the Labyrinth and we are organizing patrols to monitor the entrance to the maze in Zeus’s Fist.” Malcolm’s voice is tight, worry for his older sister evident. Ananbeth’s kidnapping was just a year ago.
Kyra’s head reels at how fast developments occur. Dionysus away on business, the Labyrinth reappearing and strategically being positioned near the heart of the camp, Quintus, their new swordsman trainer, a new prophecy and the increasing attacks on the borders…
Everyday, she wakes up and wonders if today is the day the war will begin. Will there be a definitive herald to war? A surprise attack? Her eyes sting from the dust and debris in her vision. Her throat seizes. Fear has been a constants companion for the past year, ever since Zeus’s lightning bolt was stolen and now, it feels like a cook that weighs her down until her bones break.
She shakes her head in an attempt to clear the muddiness.
No. Focus on the present.
She must do whatever it takes to prevent war from taking her siblings and friends.
They pack quickly, and lightly. Professor McGonagall and Madame Pomfrey, respective daughters of Athena and Apollo, siblings of Malcolm and Kyra see them off alongside Headmaster Dumbledore. “Good luck, demigods.” Professor McGonagall says. Her wizened face is solemn.
The fireplace crackles and green powder lights up in a flurry of sparks against their skin as she yells:
“Camp Half-Blood!”
Coughing and stumbling out of the Big House’s fireplace is never ideal but the Floo network is the fastest way to get to camp. With how dire the situation is, there is no time to waste. When her vision clears and the dust has been coughed out of her lungs, she looks around. Chiron’s office looks the same as the last time Kyra has seen it; pinochle cards stacked neatly in a corner, a bookshelf spanning the wall; a wheelchair near the door. Simon the leopard gives their little dust-covered group a friendly purr before closing his eyes. Do animate stuffed heads need to sleep? Kyra does not know.
Kyra stands up and dusts herself off. The bright morning sunlight filtered from the window into the room. The warmth of the sun, the rumble of noises—the campers— coming from outside, the smell of eucalyptus from the infirmary two doors down the hall takes her breath away. She’s home.
Katie opens the door and they step out. Some campers milling about the hallway stare at them, a few coming over to greet them. Lee laughs as Kyra throws herself at him. Her big brother squeezes her in a big bear hug before lifting her up. Kyra giggles, kicking the air beneath her feet. She misses these hugs that Lee gives, and eagerly anticipates them every time return to camp was close.
“Hey, sunbeam.” Lee ruffles her hair as soon as he sets her down. His golden hair glints in the sun. “How have you been?” he nodded at Malcolm and Katie.
“Hi.” Malcolm has a bit of red spreading across his nose. He blinks several times and shuffles on his feet, his hand coming up to scratch the back of his neck. “I have been fine, considering—” he makes a sweeping gesture with his hand, “---everything.”
Lee’s eyes cloud over as he nods. “Right, things aren’t looking great.” When he faces Malcolm, his eyes are bright and easy again, “but Annabeth will be just fine. She’s a smart one. Now,” he turns to Kyra with a cheeky grin. “There are alot of people who have been waiting to see you again. Come on!”
They stop by their cabins with their luggage. Will is the first and only one she sees and he barrels into Kyra and sweeps her up in his arms. Kyra breathes in the eucalyptus scent of her brother, the herby scent Cabin 7 and its inhabitants seem to carry with them everywhere. Her brother hugs her extra tight and it is apparent he is worried about the dangers that lie ahead. But when he pulls back, he still gives her a sunny smile and a reassuring squeeze, and he and Lee update her on what is going on in the camp while she is gone as she unpacks. Midway through their catching up, the door opens again and two more of her siblings tumble in. Kayla runs into her arm with the force of a charging Golden Ram and Michael gives her a smirk from where he leans against the wall, watching Kayla pelt her with questions about what Hogwarts is like. Lee kisses her temple and gives her hair a final ruffle before making his way out of the cabin, probably back to the Infirmary to finish up some charts. Something passes between the look he shares with Michael that Kyra doesn’t have the time to decipher before Kayla tugs her sleeve insistently.
Kyra hasn’t had much of a chance to bond with her little sister; she had only appeared in camp two weeks before her third year started and she is bursting at the seams with questions about her magical school.
“Can you make pigs fly? Is it possible to bring back the dead? Can you magick your hair blue?”
“Yes, no, and definitely yes.” She brings out her wand and spells the ends of Kayla’s hair a cobalt blue and her nine year old sister shrieks in delight. She runs out to show Miranda Gardner her new hair, Michael ruffling her hair fondly as she skid towards the door.
“No,” he says pointedly, when Kyra turns on him, her wand outstretched towards his direction, a teasing smile playing on her lips. “No,” he repeats, wagging a finger at her, a stern look on his face. She pouts, but relents, tucking her wand back in the pocket of her jacket. Michael is not someone you can cross—he would probably put burs in your bed. The last time the Stolls put neon green box dye in his shampoo, they accidentally got maimed with arrows during archery practice. Strange, no one was thinking. Michael Yew never misses.
“You owe me an archery competition.” Michael punches her shoulder, nearly knocking the folded clothes out of her hands. “I want to see how much you retained.”
Kyra rolls her eyes. “You don’t have to worry about me, I have been practicing in my spare time.” She folds the clothes into her trunk, closes it, and pushes it under her bed, next to her brother’s. It has been so long since the two of them get to share a bunk bed again. She catches Will’s poorly hidden smile in the corner of her eye as she sits down on her bed, appreciating how the mattress bounces. She looks up at her two brothers staring down at her.
“Never hurts to be prepared.” A dark cloud passes over Michael’s brown eyes and Will’s lips stretch into a small frown at him. But before Kyra can question it, Michael reaches around her and claps her on the back hard. “Clean up quickly, I can hear people out there waiting for you. Will,” he addresses their brother, “you and me in the archery range. I want you to shoot ten rounds. Let’s go.”
Will groans but he gets up and the two of them leave. When they open the door, Kyra sees a flash of familiar pale blonde hair. Michael’s annoyed “gods, give her a minute.” causes the blonde hair to disappear and a series of giggles follow. Not the golden hair that belonged to most of her siblings, nor the dirty blonde of Clarisse. Kyra recognizes the giggles as those of Kelly, Dove, and Silena. Which means—
Kyra quickly checks her appearance in the bathroom. She dabbles a bit of Holly’s lipgloss on her cheeks and lips and sprays Gina’s honeysuckle perfume—Kyra has always liked that scent and she and the rest of her siblings have absolutely no shame using it without asking for their sister’s permission— a couple times. With a final look over in the mirror, she rushes out the door.
A flash of blonde hair, a glimmer of violet eyes, and Kyra is tackled into the grass. The distinctly familiar scent of strawberries and grapes fills her nose and Castor looks down at her, a wide grin unfurling on his lips, making his eyes crease up adorably. “Hi.” he breathes. Warmth blooms from her chest to her cheeks and Kyra is sure her face was splitting from smiling so hard as well.
“Hello, you.” She wraps her arms around his necks and pulls him down as she tilts her face forward so his lips meet hers. For a moment, everything dulls into white noise, background sensations. All she can sense, feel, taste is soft lips and grapes.
When they separate for air, all she sees is a sea of violet. They stay in that bubble for a while, until whistles and giggles rang out from around them. Dove yells at them “Go get a room!” Her sister, Silena Beauregard shoves at her, but her eyes filled with mirth.
Castor helps her up. “Come on,” her boyfriend grins as he leads them to the Arena, where yells and shouts get louder. “Clarisse’s on a rampage right now. Woke up on the wrong side of the bed. She’s beating people up.” Kyra laughs and lets him pull her away. She missed this. She missed him, them spending time together. For a moment, she’s just back
The clang of metal and the scent of dust swarms the air. A small crowd gathers in the largest combat ring, where Clarisse and two of her brothers circle each other, their faces grimed with sweat and dust. There’s a small nick on Clarisse’s cheek, the blood shiny by her crackling electric spear. Her brothers are worse for wear. Tristan, with strawberry blonde hair and close set eyes, scowls as he swings his sword arms.
She spots Travis and Connor in the corner of her eye, talking to Katie. Well, Connor is rambling about one thing or the other to Katie whose mouth is set in a scowl like they annoy her but the soft line of her brow is apparent to anyone with eyes.. Travis stares at Katie with a glint in his eye like trying to capture every microexpression on her face, cataloging what sets her face in a certain way.
She rolled her eyes at the three before turning her attention back to the fighting ring. An unfamiliar middle aged man —perhaps early forties— stands at the edge of the ring, arm crossed, observing the three Ares kids. A metal sword hangs at his belt.
Cold washes over her like someone dumped a bucket of ice water on her head. Goosebumps rise over her arms. Tangy sharp metal explodes in her mouth. Something about his stance and his narrowed eyes makes her stomach twist. Then, just as it appears and the chill and taste of mental slips away. She hopes it wasn’t a sign.
“That's Quintus.” Castor is at her side, pointing at the man. His hands snakes up her back and he hangs them over her shoulders. Her shoulders instantly untenses. “Our new swords instructor. He’s good. Chiron likes him.” Kyra slowly nods. If Chiron likes him, then what happened was just anxiety. Many things have happened in camp over the past few years. Any newcomer raises her guards— any one of them could be Luke’s spies. But Castor’s hand slips into hers, and the worries dissipate.
The sun is still high up in the sky, and the warmth washes away any lingering dampness Scotland’s weather and whatever premonition has set into her bones. She breathes in the scent of freshly cropped grass, the metal singing in the air and the strawberries that lined the valleys of the camp. She’s home.
Just then, a dryad cries out.
A lone blonde figure stumbles out from between the woods, covered in soot.
The fighting stops and everyone turns towards the direction of the newcomer. Annabeth’s grey eyes glitters in the sun— with tears. Kyra’s stomach drops.
Chiron pushes his way through the throngs of demigods crowding in on her. “Make way, everyone. My child,” he kneels next to Annabeth, who had crumpled to her knees. Lee makes his way towards her as well, Will not far behind him with a first aid kit. “Where’s Percy?”
Annabeth lets out a sob.
“He’s—. Percy, he’s—”
It feels as if someone has yanked the world out from under her feet. No, no, nononono—
“He’s gone.” Annabeth whispers.
The camp erupts into chaos.