I awoke to crashing waves, cold rain, and the soft creak of aging wood. There was something digging into my shoulder. It didn’t really hurt, very few external things did these past few months, but I could still feel a very unpleasant sort of pressure that I had grown very familiar with.

I felt… sore. That was the best word I could think of to describe the sensation, but it doesn’t really capture the bone-deep ache that pervaded my entire body, the constant throbbing of my muscles, and the knife-like sensation of air tickling my lungs. The closest thing I could compare it to was the horrible moments I remembered from when I’d first washed up on Calypso’s island, but more… earthy. Okay, that made more sense in my head. Think less fire and more… earthquake? Ugh.

I groaned softly, the gentle pitter-patter of raindrops splashing against my skin sending waves of soothing chill through my body. The waves beneath me moved in time with my heartbeat, rising up to cover my legs and then crashing down and sending a pleasant splatter of seawater over me. Despite the falling rain, raging sea, and the heavy fog, I was completely warm and dry, the waters around me refusing to even soak into my clothes, much less harm their prince.

I’m not quite sure how long I laid there. The pain wracking my body gradually receded minute by minute, hour by hour. Slowly but surely, the sea settled and the rain subsided. A warm trickle of sunlight fell across my face, painting the inside of my eyelids with a rosy glow. I stiffly raised a hand to shield my face and was surprised when the motion didn’t send renewed waves of agony radiating down my spine.

I sat up slowly, celestial bronze plates clinking softly against one another. Refreshing seawater tickled my toes. The tide had gone out and waves that had once reached almost up to the bottom of the pier now struggled to brush against my dangling sneakers.

Without having to open my eyes I knew exactly where I was. Massachusetts, a few hours north of Boston. A son of Poseidon was never lost at sea and sitting on a pier extending out into the bay was good enough to qualify.

On the other hand, how I’d gotten here was a much more difficult question. I had been exploring the depths of the ocean a few hundred miles off the coast of Florida and then…

“Aghh!” I winced and clutched my head, a cry of pain wrenched from my lips by the sudden stabbing pain in my skull. I could remember darkness… a woman’s voice, booming like thunder in my ringing ears… and pain.

The memories burned, each static image outlined in stabbing knives and scorching flames. Something had swallowed me, chewed me up, and spit me out… here? No, a few miles away from here, deep under the ocean. I could remember commanding the waters to bring me to shore, but that was it. A friendly pod of dolphins had dragged me most of the way and then the ocean had risen up, depositing me gently on the pier before withdrawing.

Without really thinking about it, I commanded the sea beneath me and the waves rushed to obey. I gasped in relief as a huge wave crashed over me, dousing me in a deluge of icy, refreshing seawater. The ache behind my eyes receded slightly, my migraine going from actively debilitating to simply agonizing.

I collapsed back onto the pier breathing heavily and instantly remembered why I’d decided to sit up. Bright light plus piercing headache. Certainly not in my top ten favorite sensations. I hadn’t felt this terrible since the day after our victory against the Titans. Drowning my sorrows in godly wine had seemed like a good idea in the moment, but the aftermath of so much nectar and divine spirits had left me a groaning, whimpering husk for hours.

It was almost ironic: fighting Kronos had hurt so much less than celebrating his death. I could almost see Annabeth’s crooked smile, hands on her hips as she stared down at me with her beautiful, stormy-gray eyes. ‘Why the hell did you think that was a good idea? Even a Seaweed Brain like you should know better!’

My heart clenched, phantom pain momentarily overwhelming the very real pain in my head. It had been nearly six months now, but hot tears pooled at the corners of my eyes. Oh Annabeth, I would have died for you ten-thousand times over. That wasn’t how it was supposed to end. It was supposed to be me. My choice, my soul, my life…

Another wave rushed over me, shocking me out of my downward spiral. My mind cleared for a moment and I forcefully shoved painful thoughts and memories down into the lightless depths where they belonged. I had already spent long weeks drifting in the ocean currents, lost in hopeless thoughts and wracked by pain and guilt. Now was not the time.

I struggled to my feet and opened my eyes. I needed to gather my bearings and get back to camp, or, barring that, Atlantis. I had no idea what Tartarus-cursed horror I had stumbled across, but anything that could leave me half-dead was serious bad news. I didn’t like to brag, but I’d fought a titan to a standstill and this time I’d literally been in my element. Hopefully Chiron or Dad would know something.

Looking around, I found myself standing on a dilapidated wooden dock surrounded on all sides by some of the worst urban decay I’d ever seen. On one side there was a long stretch of beach covered in debris. Bits of scrap metal, broken bottles, and a small mountain of other washed-up junk almost completely covered the sand and the crumbling concrete road running along the shoreline was littered with deep potholes and trash.

On my other side, a number of boxy, dilapidated warehouses led to what had once clearly been a busy cargo dock, complete with a number of cranes and massive concrete docks extending out into the deeper waters of the bay. The majority of the cranes looked completely inoperable, broken in places and horribly rusted. Only one in the far distance seemed to be in any sort of working order.

One of the docks was occupied by an enormous, rusting hulk extending half out of the water. The former container ship lay on its side in waters far too shallow for it. A number of empty, badly damaged containers were just barely visible on its upper deck and there were several gaping holes in its hull. I could feel its history singing to me, a proud career of two decades ended in passion and tragedy.

Support the creativity of authors by visiting the original site for this novel and more.

Where was I? I wasn’t exactly a great student––between my dyslexia and getting kicked out of every school I’d ever attended my education had been rather spotty––and geography was in no way my best subject, but I didn’t remember learning about any city like this. New England was dotted with ports, some much busier than others, but this was a massive installation that I’d never heard of. I’d spent the better part of five months swimming up and down the east coast of the United States and I would have absolutely noticed a place like this.

I turned around, intending to dive into the sea to get a better sense of where I was, and my jaw fell open as I beheld the massive structure standing proudly at the center of the bay. A refitted oil rig rose from the sea, surrounded by what was unmistakably a giant force-field––like something out of those goofy science-fiction movies my stepdad Paul loved too much.

Arches and spires gleamed oddly through the force-field, the bright morning sunlight making the entire structure shine like one giant, prismatic jewel. A glowing bridge connected it to the mainland, one long line of color supported by nothing at all, along which a small convoy of black cars inched along, each one looking barely larger than an ant from this distance. If not for the way the force-field seemed to refract the light shining through it, I might have thought that they were flying.

What in Amphitrite’s lacy panties was that? Had Hephaestus decided to move one of his workshops out of a volcano and slapped it right off the coast of some big city?

No, that didn’t feel right. There was no way he would use a disguise like this. Even the dumbest mortal wouldn’t ignore that. Rachel and Chiron had been giving me some lessons and I couldn’t feel a single bit of Mist clouding my eyesight. This wasn’t some trick of the eye or anything like that, and those cars were cars, not chariots. Somehow, this was a mortal construct. Di immortales, what was going on?

I spun around and quickly hobbled down the dock towards shore. Taking a deep breath, I stuck two fingers in my mouth and gave a New York whistle; the whistle a cabby could hear from a block away and over the ever-present din of pedestrians and honking cars.

There was no response. I reached the shoreline and leaned heavily against a half-rotten wooden fence, unreasonably exhausted by the sudden exertion.

I frowned and tried again, my piercing whistle echoing down the empty streets and bouncing off the sides of boarded-up buildings and crumbling masonry. Mrs. O’Leary had never failed to come when I called her before. She’d been one of my most constant companions these past few months, happily meeting me in every port I visited and even descending into the depths of the ocean to visit me while I stayed at Poseidon's court.

Maybe she was busy? Or perhaps the distance from here to Florida, the last place I’d seen her, was just too far for her to hear me? It was probably that. Yeah, definitely that. Or maybe it was just taking her a few minutes to get here, shadow travel was fast but not really instantaneous.

I waited for several minutes, doing my best to stretch out my sore muscles without taking off any of my armor or dropping my guard. Riptide’s pen-form was a comforting weight in my back pocket. The sword had never truly failed me, no matter what Ares had said or done.

Now that I was away from the water I realized that it was actually pretty cold, the wind blowing off the ocean biting into the exposed skin of my face and hands. I was very glad for the jean jacket and gray hoodie I always wore over my armor. In the aftermath of the war, I never really felt comfortable walking around without it, but the Mist could only do so much to hide what I was wearing from mortals. Sure, they didn’t see me decked out like a hoplite, but kevlar and cosplay were both rather distinctive regardless.

I was just considering trying for another whistle when I heard something––no, someone–– approaching. I turned around slowly, wincing in pain as my back protested the motion, and saw a sickly looking man in a ragged brown coat and too-big boots hurrying towards me.

Seeing me turn around, he sped up, a wild look in his bloodshot eyes and a strained smile on his nearly emaciated face. “You! You!” he cried out, his voice high and reedy. He reached behind him and pulled out a large handgun, brandishing it in the air in my general direction.

“Gimme your wallet, hands up in the air where I can see them!” he gasped out, “Your phone too! And, and, and that jacket you got there looks mighty nice, off, off, off!”

I stared at him quizzically. Was he… mugging me? It was hard to take him seriously; he looked like he belonged in a hospital, not out on the street. I had lived in the seedier parts of the Big Apple for most of my life, but no one had ever tried to mug me before.

“You deaf or something, stupid fucker? I said hands in the air and gimme your wallet! Now! I have a gun!” He waved his pistol violently and I was worried for a moment that he was going to shoot himself. “I’ma shoot you, man! Don’t test me!”

He was almost on top of me now and I could smell him, the stench of unwashed clothing, moldy food, and cigarette smoke reminding me unpleasantly of my old stepdad Smelly Gabe. I waved my hand through the air, trying to remember Chiron’s lessons on how to hide myself from mortals with the Mist, but nothing happened. My head was pounding, the dull thump of my heartbeat making me grit my teeth in discomfort.

The man looked desperate, hungry, and the gleam in his bloodshot eyes told me that he wasn’t really all there right now. I raised my hands slowly towards him, palms out. “Calm down,” I began, but my voice caught in my too-dry throat and I coughed loudly.

The sudden motion sent a renewed wave of pain arcing down my spine and shaking my limbs and I slumped forward, caught in a very unpleasant coughing fit. Unfortunately, that seemed to be the last straw for the man’s already fraying nerves.

There was a loud, sharp bang and I felt something slap against my shoulder. A small piece of flattened metal tinkled to the ground, bouncing several times on the cracked pavement before coming to a rest by my foot.

I straightened just in time to see the man scrambling away from me, eyes wide with fear. “Cape!” he called out loudly, his voice shaking with fear, “Cape! I diden realize you was a freaking cape! Don’t hurt me, I’m sorry man, I’m sorry!”

He stumbled, fell, crawled for several steps, then lurched to his feet and bolted away down the road, disappearing a moment later around a corner.

I stared after him, bemused by his reaction but unwilling to chase him down. I had much bigger things to worry about, like Mrs. O’Leary’s continued absence. I was mildly curious what exactly the Mist had shown him to make him react like that, but it didn’t really matter. He’d probably just remember this as a bad drug trip or something like that. It was probably whatever, even if he made a big deal of it I doubted anyone would ever believe him, nor would anything come of it.

Wiping my fingers on my sweatshirt, I stuck them back in my mouth and whistled a third time. I would give her another ten minutes and then I was jumping back in the water and taking the long way back to camp. It was less than two-hundred miles back to Long Island. Even in my current state I could make the trip in under an hour.

This time however, there was a response, just not the one I expected. A figure blasted down out of the sky like a comet and came to a sudden stop just a few feet away from me, floating motionlessly an inch above the ground. She was tall and curvy, her figure highlighted by the sleek white dress she was wearing.

Despite the weather, she was wearing a skirt that ended at her mid-thigh, though her high boots and shoulder-cape did look rather warm. Her platinum-blonde hair was held back by a gleaming golden tiara and she radiated a palpable aura of menace that seemed to fill the air around me and made my skin prickle uncomfortably.

I had no idea what goddess she might be, but knowing my luck she had probably been one of the minor ones that sided with the Titans. She didn’t feel particularly powerful––I’d met a lot of gods since the war ended and had learned a bit about how to distinguish someone who could turn me into a smoking husk in the blink of an eye from just a very immortal waste of time––but it was honestly hard to tell.

She didn’t really feel like any goddess I’d ever met, but I had no idea what else she might be. Flying plus weird spiky crown plus weather-inappropriate outfit sounded pretty goddess-like to me. I wanted to sigh. At least she probably wasn’t a monster, not that my track record with non-monsters wasn’t that much better.