I’m not too sure what I expected of my night, but it certainly wasn’t what I got. I had heard people at school mention that it was pretty standard for demigods to have strange dreams, but because I had been in the City for over a month, I was beginning to doubt that it would ever happen. I can tell you, it did. It was quite terrifying at first, but as the dream went on I became more and more accustomed to the world around me. I accepted the fact that this was me. And that he was my father.

The dream began in an unusual way for a nightmare, by my standards at least. I stood in a field somewhere, and I could hear a river flowing somewhat nearby. Dozens, if not hundreds, of lifeless, bloody bodies were scattered around my feet. They stretched for as far as I could see. Corpses without arms, legs, or even faces lay everywhere. Pools of blood slowly seeped through the once luscious grass, turning it a nasty shade of dark green.

There was one body in particular that struck me, however. All of the other lifeless people didn’t have any detail. Their eyes were all blank, without colour. They all had the same black hair, the only difference being that some had short hair, whilst the rest had long. They were almost silhouettes, but not so dark. There was only one distinguishing detail on their faces: the expression. Some appeared simply overcome with fear, whilst others seemed determined. Others were sad. Some happy.

This body, however, was in full colour. A pretty young woman lay at my feet, a deep, bloody gash strewn across her stomach. She had long chestnut brown hair that flowed beautifully over her shoulders and spread across the ground like a goddess’s. Her eyes were only half-open and I could faintly see a sparkling blue from beneath her eyelids. Her mouth was stuck in a forever silent gasp, it seemed. Just behind her lay another one of those bland corpses. On the other side of her stood another. It appeared as though she had died protecting the one on the ground from the one standing.

‘You’re a warrior, son,’ came a gruff voice from my right.

I slowly turned and saw a man standing next to me. His appearance created a striking contrast to his dull surroundings. The first thing I noticed was his remarkable size. He stood at what had to be at least six-foot-seven and his muscles were nothing short of huge. He looked like a bodybuilder. On steroids. He wore sunglasses that went nicely with his black jeans, combat boots and leather duster. His features were brutally handsome, with knife-scarred cheeks and an oily black crew cut. He had a large hunting knife strapped to his thigh, as though he needed to look any scarier.

‘What?’ I breathed in disbelief.

‘This is your Claiming,’ he grunted, stepping over the woman at my feet in order to face me. ‘I’m your dad.’

‘Who-’ I began, before shortly being cut off.

‘Ares. God of courage. God of war. And don’t you forget it,’ he grunted again, winking.

I began to shuffle uncomfortably.

‘What? Did you want a big fancy Claiming like Albert and Maltor?’ he said, not sounding offended in the slightest. He sounded more so angry. At me.

‘Wha- No- I- What?’ I spluttered, at a complete loss for words. ‘Where did you- What?’

‘You gotta work hard if you want something as flashy as that,’ he said plainly, pulling a cigarette and a lighter from his jean pocket. ‘They got something that big cuz they did something.’

‘What are you-’

‘I got bored of waiting. I had to Claim you,’ he interrupted me again. ‘Out of all my kids, you’re my favourite.’

He loved me so much that he didn’t let me get more than a dozen words out.

‘I bet you said that to all of them when they got Claimed,’ I murmured.

‘Don’t think I can’t hear you just cuz you murmured, kid, I’m a God,’ he said, staring down at me. Even through his sunglasses, I felt pure heat radiate from his gaze.

‘Thanks for clearing that up, Dad,’ I said, trying not to grit my teeth.

‘Think of it as a Christmas present,’ he continued, dismissing my comment by taking a long draw on his cigarette.

‘So is this just your cheap way of satisfying me?’ I said quietly. ‘What do I get next Christmas?’

‘I can try and get one of your other friends Claimed,’ Ares said before laughing heartily.

I didn’t find that joke quite so funny. I liked to think of myself as a humorous guy. I could always make people laugh, whether intentional or not. I was the funny guy of the group.

Upon realising that I had not even smirked at his joke, Ares cleared his throat and readjusted his leather duster.

‘Anyway,’ he continued, without the slightest hint of awkwardness, ‘let’s try not to let these things bother us. Here I am. I’m your dad.’

He felt far from my dad. David felt more like my dad, biological or not.

‘What did you mean, saying I was a warrior?’ I asked. Even if I didn’t particularly like him, that didn’t mean that I wanted to stand in a field of corpses trapped in awkward silence with him.

Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

‘Any child of mine is a warrior!’ he said clamping a hand onto my shoulder and causing my spirits to drop heavily. ‘But you, you’re special, Jay.’

My spirits lifted to just a little bit higher than standard. ‘What do you mean?’

‘What do you think I mean?’ he said, sounding almost annoyed, but that appeared to be standard for him. ‘You’re gonna do things that no child of mine has done for decades. You will bring new glory to the name of Ares!’

If his words had been a rollercoaster, they would not have been a fun one. Continuous ups and downs, no level track. One minute our conversation was just a Christmas present. Next, I was special. Next, I was a great warrior. Then I was just a tool to make Ares look better.

I began to realise that no matter how much time we spent together, no matter how many things the two of us did together, I would never be able to bring myself to such a low level as to call him ‘Dad’. A dad wouldn’t use his children as tools to big himself up. A dad wouldn’t disappear for twelve years, God or not, just to show up as a ‘Christmas present’.

I stared down at my right palm, slowly bringing it up to the side of my face. I hurled it into my jaw, and the pain was slow, as though I was both punching and being hit by water. I brought my fist back and repeated the action again and again. Ares just watched. After what felt like an hour but was only eight punches, he finally spoke.

‘Do you dislike me that much?’

He didn’t sound the slightest bit hurt.

‘Have you not noticed? You’re not bleeding. You’re not feeling the after-effects of being punched in the jaw. Your attempts are fruitless. You’re not waking up.’

I stared at him, my fist halfway to completing its ninth punch. My breathing was normal and steady, yet I strangely felt as though I had just completed a marathon. I had an irresistible urge to begin panting like a wild dog, but I felt calm. I quickly decided that dreams, even if they were my own, had some of the most confusing laws possible.

‘Then let me out,’ I murmured grumpily. ‘Or do you get some sick joy out of watching me do this?’

‘It is quite hum- Oh, don’t you dare bother giving me a look like that,’ he said after catching my gaze. ‘I’m the God of War, Jay. A dirty scowl like that doesn’t even tickle me.’

‘Wait,’ I asked, thinking back to something Albert had mentioned. ‘Can you help?’

‘What?’ he said incredulously.

‘Can you help?’ I repeated.

‘Help with what?’

‘Everything. You’re a God, right?’ I said, not blinking as I stared into his dark sunglasses.

He laughed again. It seemed to echo, which I found strange. Sick, even. Sick, that a laugh was echoing across hundreds of dead bodies. How could something so full of life and joy find refuge in the remnants of what was evidently a brutal fight? It was even sicker, considering that this laugh was coming from my own father.

I was still doubting that he really was my father. For multiple reasons. And these reasons combined hurt my head so much that it was a genuine worry that it might explode.

Firstly, how come this was how I got Claimed? I certainly wasn’t complaining, a Claiming was a Claiming. But everyone else had had some spectacular showcase and then it climaxed with them getting Claimed. But I had to earn that, right? I hadn’t done anything worthy enough of getting a flashy Claiming like that. I shamefully realised that I was jealous of my friends. I wanted to be like them. This jealously increased dramatically when I thought about the powers available to Peter, Ethan, and Albert, and then compared them to the powers that I thought I would get. What powers could I get as a son of Ares? I doubted that I would be able to control lightning like Peter, or fire like Albert. Maybe I was just doomed to be as violent and rude as the man standing in front of me.

And secondly, what dad would do this to their child? Just show up in a dream and say ‘Hey, I’m your dad. This is your Christmas present. Christmas is five days from now.’? I could tell you: none. Except for my dad. Yipee. I was so glad that I had a dad like Ares. Over the moon.

‘What?’ Ares said, struggling to regain his breath. ‘Were you not joking?’

I stared at him blankly, and that must have conveyed more than I ever could’ve with my mouth because his smile vanished instantaneously. A strange look coated his face and he crouched in front of me so that we were eye to eye with one another.

‘You don’t need my help, Jay,’ he said. His voice was no longer angry and gruff. It was deeper and more soothing. Soft.

‘Wh- What?’ I breathed shallowly.

‘You are a fighter,’ he assured me. ‘You simply don’t need my help. Just you wait for your moment of glory. You’ll show everyone up. Let everyone know that Jay Stewart, Son of Ares, is the bravest fighter that the world has.’

Then, as quickly as I had fallen asleep, I was awake again. My pillow felt cold and unwelcoming against my face and I rolled onto my back and stared blankly at the dark ceiling, desperately trying to process what I had just witnessed. I checked to see if there was a holographic symbol above my head like everybody else had gotten. There was not. Not even a glimmer of what could have been a symbol. Just empty space.

I sat up quickly in my bed, balling my hands into fists around my blanket. There was so much wrong with that dream. No, that wasn’t a dream. Well, it was. It was more like a meeting, or a message. You weren’t supposed to wake up from a dream feeling as empty as I did at that moment. It bothered me, the way he spoke about me as though I were nothing but a tool. The way he only wanted to acknowledge me because he saw it as a cheap Christmas present.

I suddenly realised that this was the longest train of thought I had ever had, possibly in my entire life. Even I knew that I was more of a verbal thinker. I spoke my mind. Whatever started as my inner thoughts always ended as my outer thoughts. Nobody ever questioned it or thought I was weird because of it, and I thought bitterly about how Ares probably would’ve thought it weird if he heard me speak my thoughts. He seemed like more of a do-your-thoughts guy. And by that, I mean that if he was angry he would attack. Which was certainly not my frame of mind. Maybe I really wasn’t his son.

Panicking, I abruptly thought about what my friends would say when I told them. Would they believe me? Would they call me stupid? Or think me an idiot? I had no proof to back myself up.

‘Jay?’ came my mom’s voice as she gently opened the door. Light poured into my room from the corridor and I squinted when I looked at her. ‘Are you okay?’

‘Mom?’ I said weakly.

‘Yeah?’

I leapt up from my bed and ran into her. I wrapped my arms around her tightly and tears fell gracefully down my face. I couldn’t stop. I tried my hardest to stop the flow of tears from my eyes but it seemed an impossible task.

‘I-I’m a son of Ares,’ I murmured through sobs.

‘Shh, shh,’ she soothed. ‘I know, Jay, I know.’

‘Am I really?’ I said, pulling away slightly so that I could look at her through my tears.

‘Yes, darling,’ she said, smiling at me. ‘I’m glad you got your Claiming.’

I buried my face in her pyjamas and resumed the tears. I knew for a fact that my friends would not believe me. There was simply no way they would. Me: the small and scrawny Jay Stewart, a son of Ares? Simply impossible.