The Path Of Glory (Annabeth Chase x Male Reader)

61. Lost In The Dark

Nothing caps off a perfect birthday morning like a long taxi ride with a boy trying to explain something isn't his fault.

Of course it wasn't Percy's fault that he'd been attacked by two empousai. But why had he chosen to rush on the East 81st right when Y/N felt that his day was getting great?

"Any word on Luke?" Percy asked at last.

Y/N grunted and shook his head. Really, the world gave all it got to ruin his day.

When they'd fought Luke on Mount Tamalpais last winter, he'd survived a fifty-foot fall off a cliff. How? No idea. Now, as far as Y/N knew from Chiron's telling, he was still sailing around on his demon-infested cruise ship while his chopped-up Lord Kronos reformed, bit by bit, in a golden sarcophagus, biding his time until he had enough power to challenge the Olympian gods. In demigod-speak, you call this a "problem."

"Mount Tam is still overrun with monsters," Annabeth said. "I didn't dare go close, but I don't think Luke is up there."

"What about Grover?" Percy said.

"He's at camp," Y/N said. "We'll see him today."

"Did he have any luck? I mean, with the search for Pan?"

Not at all, Y/N thought. But instead, he said, "You'll see."

As they headed through Brooklyn, Percy used Annabeth's phone to call his mom and tell her that he was fine.

They rode in silence after that. The city melted away until they were off the expressway and rolling through the countryside of northern Long Island, past orchards and wineries and fresh produce stands.

Y/N's thoughts wandered, flowing in a circle that always came back to what the empousa had been talking about—the camp burning, his friends imprisoned. Why had Kelli exploded into flames?

He knew monsters never truly died. Eventually—maybe weeks, months, or years from now—Kelli would reform out of the primordial nastiness seething in the Underworld. But still, monsters didn't usually let themselves get destroyed so easily. If she really was destroyed. . . .

The taxi exited on Route 25A. They headed through the woods along the North Shore until a low ridge of hills appeared on their left. Annabeth told the driver to pull over on Farm Road 3.141, at the base of Half-Blood Hill.

The driver frowned. "There ain't nothing here, miss. You sure you want out?"

"Yes, please." Annabeth handed him a roll of mortal cash, and he decided not to argue.

Y/N, Annabeth and Percy hiked to the crest of the hill. The young guardian dragon was dozing, coiled around the pine tree, but he lifted his coppery head as they approached and let Y/N scratch under his chin. Steam hissed out his nostrils like from a teakettle, and he went cross-eyed with pleasure.

"Hey, Peleus," Y/N said. "Keeping everything safe?"

Last year Peleus had been six feet long. Now he was at least twice that, and as thick around as the tree itself. Above his head, on the lowest branch of the pine tree, the Golden Fleece shimmered, its magic protecting the camp's borders from invasion. The dragon seemed relaxed, as if everything was okay. Below them, Camp Half-Blood looked peaceful—green fields, forest, shiny white Greek buildings. The Big House sat proudly in the midst of the strawberry fields. To the north, past the beach, the Long Island Sound glittered in the sunlight.

Y/N just wished the tension in the air wasn't there; it was as if the hill itself were holding its breath, waiting for something bad to happen. And he knew that it was going to happen. His only questions were when and how.