We set up camp in a marshy clearing near the main road, surrounded by evidence of local kids' partying—a mess of soda cans and fast-food wrappers strewn across the ground. After gathering some food and blankets from Aunty Em's, I dried them off using my powers. We decided to take turns keeping watch, and I volunteered for the first shift.
Annabeth wasted no time in curling up on the blankets, already lost in peaceful slumber. Clarisse, on the other hand, leaned against a tree with her spear at the ready.
"Go ahead and sleep," I told her. "I'll wake you if there's any trouble."
She nodded but kept her eyes open, her gaze fixed on something in the distance. "You're different from most of us," she remarked.
"I am? How so?" I inquired.
"I don't know; you just are. Yet, somehow, I know I can trust you to lead us safely through this quest."
"Aw, I didn't know you cared," I teased, flashing her a grin.
She shot me a glare and retaliated by throwing an acorn at my head. "Shut up, Prissy!"
"Hey, I was just kidding around," I muttered, rubbing my head where the acorn had struck.
"Vlakas," she muttered under her breath.
A strange breeze swept through the clearing, momentarily masking the stench of garbage and swamp. It carried the scent of berries, wildflowers, and pure rainwater—a nostalgic reminder of things I'd never known.
"So, what's the deal with Grover?" I asked. "Back at camp, he was always muttering about some searcher's license and how he failed."
"The God of Wild Places disappeared two thousand years ago," Clarisse explained. "A sailor off the coast of Ephesos heard a mysterious voice crying out from the shore: 'Tell them that the great god Pan has died!' When humans got wind of it, they believed it and have been plundering Pan's kingdom ever since. But for the satyrs, Pan was their lord and protector of the wild. They refuse to believe he's dead. In every generation, the bravest satyrs dedicate their lives to finding Pan. They explore the wildest corners of the earth, hoping to locate him and awaken him from his slumber."
"And Grover wants to be a searcher."
"It's his lifelong dream," Clarisse replied. "I heard both his father and uncle were searchers."
"Hmm, sounds intriguing."
Clarisse shook her head. "No searcher has ever returned. Once they set out, they vanish. They're never seen alive again."
"Not in two thousand years?" I asked in disbelief.
"Nope."
"But he still wants to go," I marveled. "Do you really think he could be the one to find Pan?"
"Who knows? All satyrs are consumed by the idea of finding Pan, and Grover is no exception."
I stared at the orange-tinted sky, contemplating how Grover could chase a seemingly hopeless dream. Around midnight, Clarisse insisted that I get some sleep while she kept watch.
In my dreams, I found myself in a dark cavern, standing before a vast, gaping pit. Gray, misty creatures swirled all around me, whispering like tattered smoke—spirits of the dead. They tugged at my clothes, attempting to pull me back, but an irresistible force compelled me to the very edge of the chasm.
The pit stretched wide and appeared infinitely black, its depths immeasurable. A sense of something enormous and malevolent trying to ascend from the abyss gripped me.
"The little hero," a voice echoed from deep within the darkness, tinged with amusement. "Too weak, too young, but perhaps you will do."
The voice carried an ancient, cold weight that wrapped around me like sheets of lead.
आप पढ़ रहे हैं
The Lightning Theif
फैनफिक्शनI was a soldier who died in World War 3, and expecting to finally rest I didn't expect to meet the ones who govern the world, the are granting me a new life and who am I to say no when I get wishes? This story is an inspiration from The Conqueror, G...
