Chapter Text
Camp Half-Blood
Year: 2000
Rin Nakamura sat in front of her vanity, small legs folded neatly beneath her as her father combed through the dark silk of her hair. His fingers were patient, winding each strand into something intricate, and beside them, her little brother perched on the table, babbling to himself as he mimicked their father's movements with exaggerated concentration.
He plucked Rin's goose-shaped hair clips from their tray, pressing them haphazardly into his own dark locks, and every now and then, he would surreptitiously shove one into her mouth, grinning as he awaited her reaction. Every time she scowled, batting his hand away, he collapsed into a fit of giggles, and even when the cheap paint chipped from her favourite accessories, she forgot to be angry.
She was seven years old, and the only blood she had ever tasted was the kind that came from the molar knocked loose from her mouth earlier that day.
That was the truth, so long as she believed it to be. And when her eyes met her father's in the mirror, she knew it would be his truth as well, until she told him otherwise. He would not question why he had returned from work to find her scrubbing blood from her school uniform, the water in the basin blushing pink.
If she told him it had been an impromptu nosebleed, he would nod and believe her. If she said nothing at all, he would accept the silence. He never pried; she did not want to worry him, and in this way, they sheltered each other.
Rin prodded at the gap between her teeth with the tip of her tongue, wincing at the rawness of it, the way it pulsed and throbbed. It was a pain she could control, like pressing against the bloom of a fresh bruise just to feel the ache. It reminded her that she was real.
Above her, her father's voice was lilting as he asked about her day, and Rin smiled because he did, and because pretending was easy when it was for him. She spun false tales of clasped hands and laughter, of friends who pulled her across the playground in a golden blur of warmth and belonging.
She did not tell him the rest.
She did not tell him how her afternoons were spent tracing endless circles along the cracked asphalt, pretending to find meaning in the patterns, pretending she was not alone. She did not tell him how her classmates snickered when she muddled her letters every time she was made to read aloud. She did not tell him because he had spent so many hours teaching her, and she did not want him to think it had been a waste.
She did not want him to think she was a waste.
She didn't think she could stand it if her father left, too. But he wouldn't, of course, and she would not blame him for an act he had not committed yet. He was trying his best.
Like now, as he finished twisting one side of her hair into a neat and lovely braid—unlike her. Then he smoothed his hand over the untouched half of her head, lingering fingers caught between past and present. A wistful smile ghosted his lips when he told her that she reminded him of his mother.
His gaze flickered toward the framed photograph perched on the vanity, and Rin's followed. She did not remember much of her grandmother, only that her hair had been the most remarkable thing about her—long as a river, an obsidian sky threaded through with starlight, spilling past her waist like an endless night.
Rin had vowed never to cut her hair after that summer spent in her grandparents' home, and her father was more than happy about it. He patiently unravelled knots, taming wild strands, tying, twisting, braiding, like her hair was sacred, and perhaps, to him, it was.
Her father spoke of his mother often, but there was never a mention of Rin's mother. There were no pictures of the elusive woman in their house, and every time her little brother brought it up, her father's expression pinched, like he'd swallowed a lemon.
Today, he wouldn't let her keep her secrets, and when he asked about her nosebleed again, he did not accept her casual dismissal. He unravelled her silence thread by thread, and it was not nearly as pleasant when someone else pressed against a fresh bruise.
When he told her that he already knew about the fight with the neighbour's boy, she shrugged. If he already knew, then she wasn't going to tell him.
She wasn't going to tell him that the boy had it coming. That he deserved it for calling her names, for tripping her in the hallways at school, for shoving her face-first into the gravel at recess every chance he got. She wasn't going to tell him that today, in return, she had bitten him so hard, it had dislodged one of her own teeth.
He had drawn first blood. She only returned the favour.
Because Rin Nakamura did not know how to forgive—a wicked thing, her teachers often said, for a child to hold a grudge like an oath. To carry so much venom in a body that had barely learned to carry itself.
But she could not help it.
Her father had always found it amusing, but today, there was a weariness in him when he brushed his lips against her hair. And maybe she imagined the words he muttered under his breath, barely more than a sigh, slipping through her fingers before she could grasp them.
You are just like your mother.
And then he was gone, leaving her with half of her hair still neglected over one shoulder, leaving her to catch her brother as the little boy let out a wail and wobbled precariously on the edge of the vanity.
The world took on a hazy, dreamlike quality, and the edges of her bedroom melted away into the ether, the walls dissolving until the only thing left was the screaming toddler and the little girl who kept looking for a father who would never return.
The next time Rin opened her eyes, she was older. How much older, she could not say—time had lost its edges and its numbers—but perhaps not old enough to die. Except that was exactly what was happening. Of that, she was certain.
The air was wrong. It reeked of smoke and crushed stone and something fouler—ash, death, the sweet-sour rot of things that had once been alive. It clotted in her lungs, thick and unyielding, each breath a labour she did not remember agreeing to. Or perhaps it was not the air at all. Perhaps it was the pain. Perhaps it was her own blood, congealing inside her, filling her chest until there was no room left for breath.
Everything hurt.
She was slumped against cold stone, folded sideways into herself, and the chill of it seeped into her bones, anchoring her to the ruin. In her narrow field of vision lay devastation. Shattered columns, their ribs exposed; statues torn apart mid-reverence, faces sheared away, limbs strewn like offerings gone wrong. It looked like a temple after a god had lost its temper. Or a museum. Or a battlefield. None of it made sense, except for the part where she was dying, and her hands were wet with proof.
Then came the figure looming over her, cloaked and indistinct, its shape bleeding into the smoke. Its face was obscured, but somehow she felt its attention settle on her. It almost seemed worried, and the thought was both absurd and terrifying all at once. Concern had no place here.
Or maybe it wasn't worried at all. Maybe that tenderness was something her mind had invented, a last mercy conjured by a lonely consciousness that did not want to die unseen.
The figure knelt, and its very real, solid fingers pressed into her fatal wound, probing as if she were a cracked vessel being inspected for usefulness. As if her pain were a measurement. She screamed, or thought she did, her body arching uselessly against the stone as agony tore through her, bright and merciless.
No. The concern was definitely imagined. Whatever this was, it was not kind, and the last thing she saw burned into her mind like an afterimage was a single golden eye, luminous and unblinking.
Rin was twelve when she jolted awake in an unfamiliar room, her mouth filled with copper and grief, silent sobs tearing through her like the remnants of a disaster that had not finished with her yet. The air in the room felt heavy, and for a moment, panic clutched at her chest until recognition dawned. She was in a large cabin, the walls adorned with the faint glow of moonlight filtering through the windows. Bunk beds lined every side, and she was curled up on a sleeping bag laid out on the floor.
Her younger brother lay in peaceful slumber beside her—no longer the infant from her dreams. The rhythmic sounds of his breathing offered a soothing contrast to the remnants of the harsh memories that still lingered in her mind, and she took a moment to let the realization settle.
They were at Camp Half-Blood. The monsters were real, and everyone was dead.
It felt ridiculous to feel such childlike loneliness in a room so full of people that they crowded every corner and every space on the floor, but for Rin, she might as well have been the only person there.
At least, Ethan was still here, even if he probably hated her, and Rin turned to smooth a hand through her little brother's hair. Choking back a sob, she glanced around the cabin, careful not to disturb the sleeping figures scattered across the bunk beds. The room was filled with the hushed symphony of steady breathing, and she watched the slow rise and fall of chests in the dimly lit space.
It didn't take long for her to notice the empty bed adjacent to her sleeping spot. The sheets were thrown aside haphazardly, a detail that she registered with momentary curiosity, and though she strained to remember who was supposed to occupy that bed, the memory eluded her.
With a deep breath, she silently pushed herself up from the sleeping bag, attentive enough not to disturb her brother. Ethan let out a grunt of discomfort when she pulled away from his side, but his eyes remained mercifully closed.
The cabin door creaked as she slipped out, and the silver light of the moon cast a serene glow on the camp, lending an otherworldly quality to the surroundings. When she paused in the doorway, her eyes were drawn to the caduceus overhanging the cabin door, and it made her sick.
A surge of urgency seized her, a desire to escape the stifling darkness. Even standing at the threshold, it was as if the walls were closing in, suffocating her, and she couldn't shake the feeling that she needed to break free.
Without a second thought, she whirled around and fast-walked away, desperation fueling her steps. As the frigid air rushed past her face, she broke into a run, the rhythmic pounding of her feet on the ground echoing the tumult within her.
Tears streamed down her face, but the wind swept them away, leaving her cheeks cool and damp. She didn't know where she was going, but her feet carried her with an unspoken purpose. The camp border emerged soon enough, an invisible line that she could sense rather than see. There was no clear demarcation, but as Rin stepped across, she felt a subtle drop in air pressure, a minute but discernible shift that signalled the transition from one realm to another.
The grave she found was small. Too small. Just a shallow mound of dirt, unmarked save for the haphazard arrangement of stones meant to keep the wind from scattering the earth. It sat at the edge of the border, where the land turned barren and brittle, where nothing could take root. A fitting place for a failure.
Rin barely had time to stagger forward before her body convulsed. She retched violently, her stomach twisting itself inside out, bile burning its way up her throat. Her hands clawed at the ground as she heaved, her nails splitting on the stones, her knees digging into the dirt. It wasn't enough. It would never be enough. The sickness spilled from her mouth and her eyes, drowning her.
She had killed her sister.
Not with her hands, not with intent, but with her indifference, her exhaustion, her stupid, selfish relief. Her infant sister had been inconsolable during their journey to Camp. She had screamed and screamed and screamed, and Rin had only wanted silence. Just one breath free from the reality where her father was dead, their lives uprooted, and their lineage apparently tied to some mythical being. The goat-boy accompanying them had told her to leave the child behind because she was not the same as them, but Rin was not going to abandon her only sister to the fucking foster system that killed children in its own misbegotten way.
In hindsight, she probably should have. A sick mortal baby might have fared better in foster care than with a bunch of demigods on the run from carnivorous monsters.
When the wailing finally ceased, Rin had felt gratitude. She hadn't thought to check, hadn't considered that silence could be anything other than a blessing. But babies weren't supposed to simply stop like that. She had been carrying a cradle-sized cadaver to the camp the whole time, and she hadn't even known.
Wiping her mouth with the bottom of her shirt, Rin stood, but before she could take another step, a sudden yank at her collar brought her sharply backward. A startled gasp escaped her lips as she stumbled back within the secure confines of the camp's protective barrier, and she turned, wide-eyed, to see who had pulled her away from her sister's grave.
"You're not supposed to be out there," came a boy's stern voice.
Standing behind her was a fellow camper; at least, that's what Rin assumed from the garish orange of his camp t-shirt, his face masked by the shadows of the large pine tree he stood under. He was significantly taller than her, but that didn't stop her from giving him an indignant scowl.
"Let go."
Despite her squirming, his grip on her collar remained ironclad, as if he was afraid she'd run back out the moment he unleashed her.
"It's not safe out there," he amended, his tone softening when he noticed her tear-stained face.
"I didn't ask," Rin spat, drawing a chuckle from him.
The boy's features became clearer when he stepped forward—an earnest face framed by a head of brunette curls—and he appeared no more than a year or two older than her. A sense of familiarity lingered, yet she couldn't quite place him, and a subtle smile graced his lips at her confusion.
"I'm Luke," he said pleasantly.
Rin's eyes narrowed in suspicion. "Let. Me. Go."
"Can't do that unless you promise not to go and do something stupid."
"Who are you calling stup—"
"Myself," he interrupted quickly. "It would be stupid of me to let a new camper get lost out in the woods. You're new here and wouldn't know your way around. We're all supposed to watch out for each other here."
"I won't get lost," Rin gritted out.
"You will."
"Fine, then, I won't run."
"Swear it."
"I swear it." She said whatever the guy wanted her to say so he could finally let go.
"Swear it on the River Styx," Luke said smugly, as if he knew something she didn't.
"The fuck does that even mean?" she demanded.
"Language, Nakamura," he chided gently, and she bristled.
"How do you know my name?"
"I'm a little offended you don't remember me, considering I was the first person to introduce myself this morning when you arrived."
Rin grimaced. She was not particularly amiable when she had arrived, but recognition dawned as she recalled their brief encounter. "Whatever, just let go. I'm not some dog on a leash."
"You haven't sworn yet."
She rolled her eyes. "I swear I won't run off and get myself mauled to death out in the creepy forest. Happy?"
Satisfied that she wouldn't flee, Luke released her, and Rin brushed off her shoulder aggressively. He didn't seem finished with her, though, and when he extended a hand for her to shake, she took it reluctantly.
"It's okay, I understand," he said. "I'm sorry for what you had to go through."
"What would you know about that?"
"Everyone knows. This hill has seen a lot of tragedy." His eyes flitted to the pine tree behind them, and she followed his gaze, making a note of a familiar sentiment that crossed his face before he sealed it away, replacing it with forced cheerfulness.
"What we haven't seen is a demigod take to a harpy's wings with a pen knife and come out a victor, though," he continued. "You've given everyone much to talk about."
"I don't want people talking about us," Rin retorted instinctively.
"Can't really stop it, but you'll get used to it soon enough."
"I won't. We'll be going home soon enough."
The pitying look Luke sent her way made her want to claw his eyes out. She would not be pitied, even though they both knew she had no home to return to.
"This is your home now," he insisted.
"Forever?"
Luke's optimistic smile wavered as he scrutinized her. There was something about the way she asked the question, so ridiculously naive that a part of him wanted to laugh. Regardless, he wasn't going to be the one to tell her that there was no forever for the likes of them. Demigods were lucky to make it to adulthood if anything.
"It's not so bad. I arrived just a few months ago with..." he paused, glancing at the pine tree again. "Anyway, Camp is great. You'll love it here."
"I won't."
He couldn't help the snicker that burst out of him then. "Gods, you're far too stubborn for your own good. Maybe Ares is your dad."
"My father is dead," Rin returned flatly.
"Right... I'm sorry. But hopefully, you'll get claimed by your godly parent soon. That should make things a bit clearer for you."
"Sure," she agreed bitterly, her gaze distant. "So I can make her answer for what she let happen."
"That's not—"
"She's God, isn't she? I thought God was supposed to be omnipotent, all-knowing, all-powerful. What good is being God if you cannot protect your own children?"
Luke took a step back, startled by her ferocity. "Your mother is not God. She's a god. There's a difference. And she did protect her children. You and your brother made it safely to camp, didn't you?"
"My sister did not."
"I heard your sister was mortal. Mortals aren't allowed past the borders."
Rin's lips curled in disgust. "If you tell me I should have left her behind, I will punch you."
"Duly noted." Luke raised his hands in surrender. "But I wasn't going to say that. We can never leave family behind. I get that, and I am sorry for what happened. The gods can be... mortals aren't as relevant to them sometimes."
Neither were demigods, if he was being honest, but he wasn't going to say that on her first day here. She'd learn it for herself eventually.
"You're saying that my so-called mother was prioritizing my brother and me, then?" Rin demanded. "Who cares if Emmie wasn't her kid? It doesn't mean she deserved to die! She was only three."
"That's not—"
"I don't want to hear it! If my mother has the guts, she will show herself, and if she doesn't, then I'll hunt her down myself."
Both a childish rage and a childish oath, but it flooded Rin until her very pores seeped with compulsion. One couldn't hunt down a god, but she'd be damned if she didn't try. Or perhaps she'd damn herself trying.
Luke cast his eyes skyward, suddenly weary. He didn't know why he defended an unknown deity, not when he held a grudge against the gods himself. They had wronged him, they had wronged his mother, they had wronged Thalia, and yet he still found himself speaking on behalf of this new girl's mother.
Perhaps it was because there was something dark in her vow, a declaration of retribution, and he wondered if her godly parent wasn't some minor deity of war after all, adjacent to Ares himself.
"I understand it's tough," he began cautiously. "But you're not alone in this. Many of us here have faced similar tragedies, and we're here to support each other."
"Support is good, but answers are better. And I won't rest until I get them!" Rin's eyes blazed with tears and determination both, and Luke found himself a little in awe.
They could be friends, he imagined, if she stuck around long enough. Would it be so selfish to wish that she remained in the Hermes cabin? It had been lonely since Thalia, but in this new girl smouldered the embers of something he recognized in himself.
She reminded Luke of Thalia, too. They had the same stubborn temper. Or maybe he was just grasping for straws in his ongoing grief.
The night air crackled with tension as he gently grabbed Rin's arm, intending to guide her back toward the cabins. However, he did not expect her to wrench her arm free and glower at him.
"I can take care of myself," she snarled. "I don't need a babysitter."
Luke's smile remained unwavering. "I know," he acknowledged good-naturedly. Yet, he continued to pull her back toward the cabin. "But you can't have your answers if you're sleep-deprived or eaten by a monster."
Rin sneered at him again, and he found that he was already becoming accustomed to her small range of expressions. Despite her protests, she didn't resist further, and a reluctant acceptance settled over her. A realization that perhaps, in this unfamiliar and perilous world of gods and monsters, a measure of caution was warranted.
When they reached the cabin, Luke released her arm, offering a pleasant nod. "Get some rest. Tomorrow is a new day."
"No."
"No, you will not rest, or no tomorrow is not a new day? Because I hate to tell you, but being a demigod doesn't exempt you from the laws of nature. Apollo still has a job to do."
"Shut up."
"Rin. Sleep," he nudged her inside, ruffling her hair and darting away before she could swat at him.
Rin did not question why he remained outside, even though she was sure now that he was the mysterious occupant of the empty bed beside her. Nonetheless, though he annoyed her endlessly, she could not deny that in the span of their conversation, he had proven himself to be someone she could mildly tolerate.