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salthien · 6 months

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when all was said and done, Coronation ended up leaving kind of a bad taste in my mouth, so I didn't really plan to make anything further for blball and especially not for Coronation. that being said, I did have some stuff I kind of liked from before it broke bad, so on request here's a kind-of wip amnesty for one of them.

hands, 1.4k. gen. blaseball does not leave much time for leisure, especially for its captains. elip dean of the hades tigers makes do with what they can get.

“have you thought about picking up a hobby?”

elip’s attention is slow to leave their notebook, still scribbling postgame notes at one of the empty clubhouse tables. their head lifts, eventually, then tilts, one brow arching.

“something small,” mehdi elaborates. “to keep your hands busy.”

they maintain the look, brows furrowing in a challenge.

“you fidget, eli. a lot.” a pause, and mehdi lifts a palm defensively. “don’t look at me like that. i just think it would be good for you. you don’t need to be in captain mode all the time.”

elip ducks their ears as if admonished, but their eyes are smiling as they tip their head in another unspoken question.

“you’ve got options. just something to keep your hands busy - i wouldn’t be surprised if we’ve got needles and yarn stashed away around here somewhere, or beads. paper’s not hard to come by either.”

something clicks, then, and elip’s eyes go wide as they nod excitedly.

----

it starts like this: little paper animals, folded and strewn about the clubhouse. they are imperfect; the white underside of the bright squares peeks out around uneven folds on cranes with wings that won’t sit right, crabs with lopsided pincers, frogs with short bodies and too-long legs.

there have been a few casualties, too, accidentally swept to the floor and caught by wayward heels. elip trashes the crushed ones as readily as anyone else.

“oh– shit.” vela says, prying a bright yellow crane from her cleat one day. “cap, you gotta be more careful with these little guys.”

elip looks across the dugout, shrugs once. later, though, they see vela tuck the crane under a magnet in her locker, its crumpled wing carefully smoothed out. it fills them with a warmth they can’t name long after they’ve left the stadium.

----

they don’t limit themself to paper. as the season goes on, elip swaps craft paper for colored twine, carrying beads in a hidden pocket of their skirt. despite mehdi’s protests, they unwind the first three lumpy, uneven bracelets they make to save material - no use being wasteful.

the fourth, elip presents to stevie with little fanfare. they press it into his hand - a simple thing, pale blue twine, small green beads strung into the weave - as he comes in from striking out in the top of the ninth.

“for me?” he asks, even as elip is beginning to step away. they nod, only half-looking at him, but pause as the crow’s feet around his eyes crinkle with a smile.

“captain dean, you’re too kind.”

they notice it after that sometimes, the twine fastened snugly beneath his glove. it makes them smile no matter how far they’re down on the scoreboard.

----

in the off-season, they throw themself even further into mehdi’s suggestion, whenever training and their duties as captain allow for it. one day in late summer, amaya arrives at the clubhouse to elip, awaiting them expectantly, hands behind their back and eyes bright.

“morning to you too, elle.”

when elip finally reveals their gift on outstretched palms, amaya pauses, surprised, her eyes flickering from elip’s face to the painted clay pieces cradled in their hands.

“you made these?” elip answers their question with a firm nod and lifts the little clay armaments further, gesturing to amaya with both palms.

“seriously–? they’re so cute, are you sure?”

elip rolls their eyes exaggeratedly, and amaya finally acquiesces, taking the miniature silver-and-rose painted sword and shield from their palms with a kind of fond reverence that elip won’t soon forget.

----

by the beginning of season 2, more gifts have found their way into the hands of their team, each stripe carrying a token from their captain’s creative spree. elip abandons their more complex endeavors as the season begins and they turn their focus to the game.

they wonder, perhaps too much at first, about wandering zephyr - cursed and, they hope, making the best of it. he seems happy, no matter what color jersey he wears when they see clips of him online, and that’s what matters.

but pragmatism is the name of the game, especially as players start going up in flames: they stop letting themself worry if he misses Hades, unsure if a yes or a no would bring them more peace.

when they catch one of his interviews, scrounging for news on the rest of the league as much as they dare, they linger on it just enough to notice the beaded corner of an ash-gray keychain hanging out of his pocket. a lump rises in their throat, bittersweet.

----

you only keep what you had on you when you died, say the long-dead as they fill the hall of flame with space and color and depth.

there are ways of contacting the living, but not reliably.

we’re here for you, they offer, but you’ll have to get used to this. chances are you’ll be here a very long time.

leandra doesn’t mind. she’d heard the stories of the hall and still chosen it willingly the day she’d taken the field after mondegreen’s incineration. that does not make the physical adjustment any easier - the dampness, the way her fur clings to her flanks, the way her chest aches for breath that won’t come - but she’s made her peace with that, too.

what does ease her mind is the scrap of maroon cloth she discovers in her breast pocket, surfacing a memory - elip, closing it into her hands the morning of day 79. sewn into it is a sun, pale yellow and filled in with hasty stitches. the captain had not been clear what it was for, only that she was meant to have it. they’d been quite insistent.

leandra finds herself glad for it now, running her thumb gently over the stitchwork. it is, if nothing else, an affirmation of her decision. she cannot imagine elip in the dark of the trench.

----

they don’t talk, much. derrick is fine with that. the silence is comfortingly familiar, and elip seems equally unbothered by it. they commiserate over bad games, elip might ask a question or two about the hall or about derrick himself, but mostly they seem happy to simply have him around as quiet company while they read or study games or make things, sequestered for a handful of hours in elip’s hades flat or derrick’s tiny new apartment.

on one occasion - post-finals, when elip’s in charleston for vela’s memorial - they bring a bright sheaf of paper and seat themself on the floor with it, one cowled ear tipped toward where he sits on the couch. it’s a kind of quiet intensity he hasn’t seen from them much.

aren’t those good luck? he asks in sign, the quiet too comfortable to break with his voice - it's easier, sometimes, and elip's fluency in the common languages of the league makes up for his spotty hall-earned education. elip looks up between cranes, a brightly-colored row of them lined up in a semicircle on the rug. elip's ears tip back in confusion, and derrick repeats himself.

their expression doesn’t change; if anything, they grow more confused.

“those’re good luck, right?” he says, out loud this time, and the understanding that dawns over their face is quickly replaced by amusement, their shoulders shaking with quiet laughter.

lucky, they sign with a smile, middle finger lifting off their chin, and derrick realizes his mistake before their hand can even make it back to their face to demonstrate what he’d said instead.

“y’know– fuck it. maybe i do want to know if they taste good.” he grouses with a lopsided smile, leaning back to stare up at the ceiling. once elip’s laughter subsides, they nod, signing lucky again as they set the newest crane with its fellows.

“gonna need a lot more cranes than that to help either of us, i think.”

elip’s ear flicks dismissively beneath their tichel, and they pull another piece of paper from the sheaf to their careful creases anew.

derrick doesn’t remember falling asleep, but he wakes later to find his apartment empty. the only evidence of elip’s departure is a text comprised entirely of emojis - happy face, shushing face, waving hand, sleeping face - and a small navy blue crane they’ve left in his upturned palms. he smiles faintly, leans to set it on the side table and only jumps a little bit when something crunches softly behind him.

he starts upright, turning halfway, but there’s nothing behind him except the back of the couch and another crane. a third falls into his lap with his movement, and he connects the dots at last, pulls the collar of his sweater around to find that elip has in fact filled his hood with yet more palm-sized paper birds.

derrick doesn’t believe in luck, really – but he gathers the little pile of birds onto the old side table and carefully slides the blue one into his phone case for good measure.

#blaseball #hades tigers #elip dean #velasquez alstott #mehdi caper #amaya jackson #stevenson heat #zephyr mccloud #leandra beech #derrick krueger #derrick's not a tiger but he's in there. bad pitchers club

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lixzey · 4 months

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a/n: there are scenes here from the demigod diaries, specifically the diary of luke castellan. credits to uncle rick for those scenes 💯 the characters and the pjo verse belongs to rick riordan except Amaya Williams and her father.

beta'd by the amazing @lilmaymayy 💘

If you guys wanna be added to the luke castellan taglist, just ask! Anyway, onto the story!

word count: 5.5k

luke and maya masterlist

CHAPTER ONE: THE YOUNG HALF BLOODS

LUKE CASTELLAN didn’t want to be a half-blood.

Who would want to be one? Luke had learned from a young age that he could not live a quiet and peaceful life. He was a demigod. If you think that sounds cool, think again. All those Greek monsters from the stories? They are real. Demigods are monster magnets. Monsters can sense them even from miles away.

Luke was nine when he ran away from home. His home life wasn’t exactly ideal. For as long as he could remember, he knew his mother wasn’t normal. Sure, some mothers had addictions, were abusive, and such, but his mother was on a whole new level. At the young age of three, Luke was terrified of his mother’s fits. Her stormy eyes would turn green and she would start screaming Danger! Terrible fate! in a deep, far away voice. Every time it happened, Luke would hide in the furthest corner of his closet, covering his ears while his mother screamed again and again as tears streamed down his face. He felt helpless that he couldn’t do anything for his mother. Luke prayed and prayed for someone to come and save him and his mother, but no one came. Not even his father.

Luke had known who his father was since he was four. His mother always muttered his name, how could he not understand that? Luke was a son of Hermes, he wasn't clueless like how the gods expected him to be. There was a photo at the top of the mantle of the once cozy house that Luke never got a chance to see: a photo of a happy couple with a squirming little baby, them, his once so perfect family.

Luke wondered why his father abandoned him and his mother if they were this perfect family when he was a baby? He prayed day and night to his father but as the days passed, Luke learned to resent his father—blaming him for all of his misery and for what had happened to his mother—if it wasn’t for him leaving maybe his mother wouldn’t be unstable, if it wasn’t for him he could’ve had a proper childhood, if it wasn’t for him he could’ve had a nurturing mother.

Luke would get extremely jealous of children with loving parents—the life he was deprived of—he would watch as mothers tended to their children in his neighborhood, he would watch fathers play with their children, while all he had was a broken mother and a deadbeat father.

Because of that, Luke packed up and ran away and didn’t look back. He’s come to understand that no one will ever rescue him; he has to take his fate into his own hands.

Living alone on the streets at the age of nine is harder than it looked. At first, Luke thought it would all be a great adventure, just like in the stories he heard before, but he eventually realized that living in that house—if you could even call that a house—even with his possessed mother, is safer than fending for himself.

Luke hadn’t brought a weapon with him when he left, not even one of those knives from the kitchen that had never been used and was only rusting in the kitchen drawer, and his carelessness had nearly killed him more than once. He resorted to diving in dumpsters to try to disguise his scent and never stayed in one place for long, always on the move with hardly enough time to steal a few hours—even minutes—of sleep using his backpack as a pillow.

By the second month, Luke nearly admitted defeat. He’d sell his soul to some dark god for a good night’s sleep and a hot meal. He’s exhausted and filthy, penniless and constantly on the run from monsters and well-meaning mortals alike. His backpack felt far heavier than it should and he found himself running out of breath almost every time. His clothes, which had once been bordering on too small thanks to a recent growth spurt, now hang off his thin frame, the cuffs frayed and stained beyond recognition.

Luke imagined all the normal families living in those cozy houses he once passed. He wondered what it would be like to have a home—a proper home—to know where his next meal was coming from, and not have to worry about getting eaten by monsters every day. He barely remembered what it was like to sleep in a real bed. Luke was tired of fending for his life, but eventually he managed to get the hang of living day to day with a promise to himself that he will never be like his father.

He traveled on foot, to state by state, lonely and miserable. Once, when he stopped by in a town for a while, Luke tried to befriend a mortal, but whenever he told them the truth about himself, they didn’t understand. He’d confess that he was the son of Hermes, the immortal messenger dude with the winged sandals. He’d explain that monsters and Greek gods were real and very much alive in the modern world. His mortal friends would say, “That is so cool! I wish I was a demigod!” Like it’s some sort of game and he’d always ended up leaving.

For five years Luke fought hard to survive. He shoplifted food from convenience stores and tried to fight off monsters with a pocket knife he had stolen from a family having a picnic at a park he once passed. Even though he’d never met his father and didn't really want to, he shared some of his talents. Along with being messenger of the gods, his father is also the god of merchants—which explains why he was good with money—and travelers, which explains why the so-called divine god left his mother without ever looking back at the family he supposedly built. Hermes is also the god of thieves, hence the shoplifting and stealing. It wasn’t an ideal life for a child. He was barely living, but eventually Luke just simply learned to live the life he was forced to.

When Luke was fourteen, he had met Thalia—the daughter of Zeus. The meeting had been an accident (it wasn’t). They had literally run into each other in a dragon’s cave outside Charleston and teamed up to stay alive. At first Luke was skeptical of trusting Thalia. No one else in his life had ever understood him, but she did. Thalia fighting off monsters should’ve been Luke’s first clue, that Thalia was like him—a demigod. But unlike him, Thalia had it worse. She was a forbidden kid, born out of a pact sworn on the River Styx. Luke eventually trusted Thalia and the two chose to team up to stay alive, subsequently traveling across the country while fending for themselves.

Being with Thalia made Luke feel less lonely. He finally had a friend, a friend who understood the struggles he had gone through his whole life. With her, battling monsters didn’t feel that scary anymore.

At some point, they arrived at Richmond, Virginia where Thalia followed a goat—Amaltheia. Luke didn’t understand why they were following a goat. Why were they following a goat? He didn’t know. Thalia then told Luke that it was Amaltheia who led her to him, that their meeting wasn’t by accident and decided to follow her thinking that Amaltheia was sent by her father, Zeus. Thalia could flash her blue eyes, give him one kind word, and she can get him to do pretty much anything—even though it was against his better judgment.

Amaltheia led Thalia and Luke to an old mansion. Once inside—thanks to Luke’s skills (which he isn’t proud of)—they realized that the mansion was a trap, a deadly one at that. As they were trying everything to escape, they met Halcyon Green, a demigod son of Apollo who was cursed by the gods for saving a girl’s life with his ability to see into the future. He had been imprisoned and unable to speak. A part of Halcyon’s curse was to lure demigods into being eaten by the three leucrotae—a terrifying monster that cannot be defeated by man nor god.

Luke already knew the gods could be cruel. His own father had ignored him for fourteen years. But Halcyon Green’s curse was just plain wrong. It was evil. Luke desperately wanted to find a way to rescue him and Thalia. But Hal told them that every demigod thought that at first, that they could escape, but soon realized it wasn't possible. Thalia was able to claim the Aegis—a bracelet that transforms into a replica of her father’s shield—a blessing from Zeus. After hours of searching, they discovered that the only way to defeat the leucrotae was making Greek fire.

In the end, Hal decided that he would sacrifice himself to give them time to escape. But before he did, Hal had predicted Luke's future but left him vague answers when asked about it. Hal later gave Luke his personal diary and a celestial bronze knife. Luke and Thalia successfully escaped, shaken, but nonetheless unscathed. Luke gripped his backpack close, the diary and the celestial bronze knife—the only remnants of Halcyon Green’s life—safe inside with the word Promise, that Hal had written.

I promise, Hal, Luke thought. I’ll learn from your mistakes. If the gods ever treat me that badly, I’ll fight back. Luke wouldn’t let him down like the gods damned them to be.

The two ran through the streets of Richmond until they found a small park where they cleaned themselves the best they could. Then they laid low until dark. The two didn’t bother to talk about what had happened while they wandered through neighborhoods and industrial areas. Luke and Thalia had no plan, no glowing goat to follow anymore. They were bone tired, but neither of them felt like sleeping or stopping. Luke wanted to get as far as possible from that burning mansion. It wasn’t the first time they’d barely escaped with our lives, but they had never succeeded at the expense of another demigod’s life.

Thalia suggested heading to their old camp on the James River as they shivered in the cold of the night. It would take at least a day to get there, but it was as good as a plan. The two demigods sat and split a ham sandwich as they ate in silence. The food tasted like cardboard, but they really didn’t have a choice. After the last bite, Luke heard a faint metal ping from a nearby alley. Someone was nearby.

Luke got up, pulling out the dagger Hal gave him as Thalia had her spear and shield at the ready. The two crept along the wall of the warehouse, turning into a dark alleyway that dead-ended at a loading dock piled with old scrap metal. Just then there was a loud clang, a sheet of corrugated tin quivered on the dock. Something—someone—was underneath. Luke crept toward the loading bay until we stood over the pile of metal, Thalia following closely behind. He gestured for her to hold back as he reached for the piece of corrugated metal and mouthed, One, two, three! As soon as he lifted the sheet of tin, something flew at him—a blur of flannel and dark hair. A hammer hurtled straight at his face.

Things could’ve gone very wrong. Fortunately his reflexes were good from years of fighting. Luke dodged the hammer, then grabbed the little girl’s wrist. The hammer went skidding across the pavement. The little girl struggled. She couldn’t have been more than seven years old.

“No more monsters!” she screamed, kicking Luke in the legs. “Go away!”

“It’s okay!” He tried his best to hold her, but it was like holding a wildcat. Thalia looked too stunned to move. She still had her spear and shield ready.

“Thalia,” Luke said. “put your shield away! You’re scaring her!”

Thalia unfroze. She touched the shield and it shrank back into a bracelet. She dropped her spear. “Hey, little girl,” she said, sounding more gentle than he’d ever heard. “It’s all right. We’re not going to hurt you. I’m Thalia. This is Luke.”

“Monsters!” the little girl wailed, tears staining her face.

“No,” Luke promised. The poor thing wasn’t fighting as hard, but she was shivering, terrified of them. “But we know about monsters,” Luke explained softly. “We fight them too.”

Luke held her, more to comfort than restrain now. Eventually she stopped kicking. She felt cold. Her ribs were bony under her flannel pajamas. He wondered how long this little girl had gone without eating. She was even younger than Luke had been when he ran away. Despite her fear, she looked at him with large eyes. They were startlingly gray, beautiful and intelligent. A demigod—no doubt about it. Luke got the feeling she was powerful—or she would be, if she survived.

“You’re like me?” she asked, still suspicious, but she sounded a little hopeful, too.

“Yeah,” Luke nodded. “We’re…” he hesitated, not sure if she understood what she was, or if she’d ever heard the word demigod. Luke didn’t want to scare her even worse. “Well, it’s hard to explain, but we’re monster fighters. Where’s your family?”

The little girl’s expression turned hard and angry. Her chin trembled. “My family hates me. They don’t want me. I ran away.”

Luke’s heart felt like it was cracking into a million pieces. She had such pain in her voice—familiar pain. Luke looked at Thalia, and made a silent decision right there that they would take care of this kid.

Thalia knelt next to him. She put her hand on the little girl’s shoulder. “What’s your name, kiddo?”

“Annabeth.”

Luke smiled. He’d never heard that name before, but it was pretty, and it seemed to fit her. “Nice name,” he told her. “I tell you what, Annabeth. You’re pretty fierce. We could use a fighter like you.”

Her eyes widened. “You could?”

“Oh, yeah,” Luke said earnestly. Then a sudden thought struck him. He reached for Hal’s dagger. It will protect its owner, Hal had said. He had gotten it from the little girl he had saved. Now fate had given them the chance to save another little girl.

“How’d you like a real monster-slaying weapon?” Luke asked her. “This is Celestial bronze. Works a lot better than a hammer.”

Annabeth took the dagger and studied it in awe. She was seven years old at most. What was he thinking giving her a weapon? But she was a demigod. They have to defend themselves. Hercules was only a baby when he strangled two snakes in his cradle. By the time Luke was nine, he’d fought for his life more than a dozen times. Annabeth could use a weapon.

“Knives are only for the bravest and quickest fighters,” Luke told her. His voice caught as he remembered Hal Green, and how he’d died to save them. “They don’t have the reach or power of a sword, but they’re easy to conceal and they can find weak spots in your enemy’s armor. It takes a clever warrior to use a knife. I have a feeling you’re pretty clever.”

Annabeth beamed at him, and for that, all his problems seemed to melt. Luke felt as if he’d done one thing right. He swore to himself that he would never let this girl come to harm. “I am clever!” she said.

Thalia laughed and tousled Annabeth’s hair. Just like that—they had a new companion. “We’d better get going, Annabeth,” Thalia said. “We have a safe house on the James River. We’ll get you some clothes and food.”

Annabeth’s smile wavered. For a moment, she had that wild look in her eyes again. “You’re…you’re not going to take me back to my family? Promise?”

Luke swallowed the lump out of his throat. Annabeth was so young, but she’d learned a hard lesson, just like he and Thalia had. Their parents had failed them. The gods were harsh and cruel and aloof. Demigods had only each other.

Luke put his hand on Annabeth’s shoulder.“You’re part of our family now. And I promise I’m not going to fail you like our families did us. Deal?”

“Deal!” Annabeth said happily, clutching her new dagger.

Thalia picked up her spear. She smiled at Luke with approval. “Now, come on. We can’t stay put for long!”

The trio left Richmond, headed to their safe house on the James River. The three of them fought for survival and avoided monsters together. It wasn’t much, but it was home for them—the family they built.

At some point, Thalia got injured by a monster and Luke and Annabeth wanted to rest. Given the situation, Luke decided to take the girls to his mother's house to treat Thalia’s wounds and to gather up a few supplies as Annabeth rested. There, Luke finally meets his father, Hermes, for the first time in thirteen years. Luke was angry and resented his father. He demanded to know why he had never shown up when Luke had desperately prayed while he hid from his mother when she had fits, or when he was on his own, running away from monsters. During this conversation, Hermes inadvertently revealed that he knew of Luke's fate. Luke asked about it since Hal had only given him vague answers, but Hermes refused to tell him as he had already said too much. Luke then told his father that he couldn't possibly love him if he wouldn't tell him and angrily left with Thalia and Annabeth.

Eventually they met Grover Underwood, a satyr tasked to bring them back to Camp Half Blood. A safe haven for demigods. A place where monsters and mortals can’t come. Grover led the three of them to camp, but it wasn’t exactly a walk in the park.

Monsters attacked them from left to right. All three Furies and a pack of Hellhounds attacked, Cyclopes followed, and one thing led to another. Thalia sacrificed herself so Luke and Annabeth could get to camp safely. Luke thought she was stupid to sacrifice herself, he yelled at Thalia to not do it but she was as stubborn as her father. Luke held a crying Annabeth while fighting tears of his own as they entered the barrier between Camp Half Blood and the mortal world, where Thalia breathed her last breath as Zeus turned his daughter into a pine tree.

“Don’t worry, Annabeth. I won’t let anyone hurt you.” Luke soothed the young girl in his arms, who mourned the loss of their friend—their sister. Luke vowed to himself that he won’t let the gods treat them horribly ever again.

MAYA WILLIAMS hated being a half-blood.

Why wouldn’t she? Maya grew up alone because she was one. Sure, she wasn’t chased by any monsters, but she lived with one. Her father—Oliver Williams—despised his daughter. Why? Her mother left when Maya was born, right after she was born. Oliver blamed his daughter for that. Maya had no clue on who her mother was, or why she left when she was born. When she would ask her father, he would get angry at her and hit her and yell at her to go to her room. There were times that Oliver would leave for days—weeks, even—leaving Maya with a nanny and the toys he had bought her just to leave him alone and the occasional visits from his secretary (who pitied the young girl). Maya didn’t understand why her father hated her when she only wanted to make her daddy happy.

When Maya was five, she started experiencing strange things. Like white doves flocking near her school that refused to leave how much the exterminators tried. Or that time when her grandparents brought her to the beach and dolphins started swimming towards her. Or that time when she was at the park and swans approached her as she fed the birds with her nanny. As a child, Maya didn’t pay it too much attention. She only thought that animals liked her so much that they couldn’t leave her alone. But when she turned eight, she knew she was different. Apart from having dyslexia and ADHD, she had this aura of beauty, causing everyone to like her, want her even. Aside from that, Maya could ask anyone for anything she wanted and she would get it. Like that time when her grandmother took her out to shop for clothes when she saw a pretty dollhouse that she wanted. It wasn’t because she was spoiled or anything, but when she would ask anyone out on the street for anything, they’d give it to her—no questions asked.

When Maya was six, she heard her father one night drunk in his room, crying over her mother. It was weird for Maya to see her father crying without any cameras because he was an actor, so as a curious little girl, Maya peeked into his room. She saw her father, a glass of amber liquid in his hand and a photo in the other, which Maya assumed was her mother.

“Oh, Aphrodite, why did you have to leave me?” Oliver sobbed, titling the glass to his lips. “You left me with nothing! You left me alone to raise—”

Maya ran to her room before she even heard the rest of what her father said. She packed a bag of clothes, grabbed food from the pantry, medical supplies in the bathroom, and money from her dad’s office before running away from home and never looking back. Maya wasn’t stupid. For six long years her father made it clear that he never loved her, therefore she was doing him a favor by leaving. But she understood something. Her mother’s name was Aphrodite. Her mother was the goddess of love. How did a six year old understand that? She didn’t know. It just clicked in Maya’s head—the doves, the dolphins, the swans, were somehow enough to prove that the goddess was her mother.

Maya ran through the streets of New Hampshire as fast as her little legs could carry her, determined to be as far as possible from the place she once called home. She thought it would be easy, like what she’d seen once on tv, but it wasn't—it was far worse than anything she had ever seen. Maya didn’t know what else to do. She didn’t have anywhere else to go. She couldn’t go to her grandparents, they were in Europe. Maya never felt so alone, living by herself in a world not built for little kids, especially a kid like her.

Eventually, Maya got the hang of being on the run. By the second month, she was living from state to state, asking for help—using her charm—to get by. From time to time, the thought of her father would cross her mind. Was he looking for her? Was he worried for her? Did he miss her? Maya wanted nothing more than to have her father’s love, she wanted him to find her—to wrap her in his arms and tell her he missed her and he was sorry for making her feel unloved, but she knew better than to expect that. Maya watched fathers with their little girls, wondering what she did to deserve a father like the one she had—a father so careless enough to let his own child believe that she wasn’t loved and run away from home at seven years old. She couldn’t understand how he hurt a little kid, his own kid.

And then there was the thought of her mother. It was ironic, how Maya was a daughter of the goddess of love and a man who’s incapable of loving. Maya wondered if it was some sort of joke, that she’d been born to parents who didn’t care about her. Or maybe her mother just didn’t think she was pretty enough to be worthy of being her child. It didn’t matter, because she was all alone—her mother never answered her prayers and pleas, proving all of her points. Maya was all on her own, she always had been. The happy little girl was gone, replaced by a little girl terrified by everything the cruel world tossed at her.

At seven years old, Maya has told a million lies—that came from her mother, probably—just to survive. Her clothes were tattered, flaming locks of auburn hair were matted and dirty, and skin bruised like violets from tripping as she ran away from creepy older men who tried to follow her. Maya had been on the run for two years, she had everything under control. She shoplifted from convenience stores and whenever she was caught, Maya would tell them that she lost her parents (which was true, in a sense) and had nowhere else to go. It worked like a charm each and every time, well except for that one time she ran into the police. Maya dreamed of living in peace, a place where she could be just a kid and not having to think where she’d sleep for the night or where she’d get her next meal. Given the state of how she was living, Maya knew it was impossible and maybe she had to learn to live with the miserable life she had. It was then that she held a grudge at her parents. Maya was tired of believing her parents ever loved her, because someone who loves you wouldn’t do any of this. They’re just the ones who gave her life, nothing more.

Maya promised to herself that she wouldn’t let anyone hurt her again, that she’d never be naive enough to believe that anyone could ever love her.

At eight years old, Maya met Ferdinand—a satyr who had sensed that Maya was a half blood. At first, Maya was scared. Of course she’d be scared, she was still a little girl and Ferdinand looked a lot older than her—she didn’t have great experiences with people older than her—and he had goat horns and legs.

“Don’t be scared, little one. I am a friend,” Ferdinand had explained to Maya, who hid behind a large trash can in an alley.

“Go away! I don’t wanna be friends!” Maya screamed, clutching her fraying backpack close to her chest.

“I can take you to a safer place, little one. A place where no one could hurt you.” Ferdinand explained, taking a step closer to the crying young girl. “I sense that you have been hurt before, am I right?”

Maya didn’t want to believe him. He was a stranger and strangers meant trouble. But something about the goat man felt safe. “I don’t wanna go to your stupid place! Leave me alone!”

“What’s your name?” Ferdinand asked, peering over the trash can.

Maya hesitated, tears streaming down her cheeks. “Not telling.”

“Alright, I’ll go first,” Ferdinand took the risk of walking to Maya’s side. “I’m Ferdinand. I am a satyr, protector of young demigods, or half bloods as they call children of the gods. And you are?”

Maya looked at him, eyes still glazed over with fresh tears. “Maya.”

“Well, young Maya, are you hungry?”

Maya shook her head no, but the grumble of stomach betrayed her. “Hungry,” she mumbled.

“If you’d like, you can come with me to that convenience store just ‘round the corner.” Ferdinand smiled at her, a kind genuine smile that Maya had never seen before in any other person she’s met. Reluctantly, she agreed, keeping her distance as Ferdinand led the way. Maya looked around, wondering how people are not looking at Ferdinand. He literally had goat legs and horns yet no one’s looking at him like an animal.

As soon as Maya was settled with a sandwich and juice box, she asked Ferdinand. “Why aren’t people scared of you, Mr. Ferdinand?”

Ferdinand chuckled. “It’s because of the Mist, young Maya.”

Maya raised a brow. “The Mist? Like perfume?”

“The Mist is what separates the mortal world from our world.”

Maya looked at him as if he was crazy. “What do you mean? Don’t we have one world?”

“Let me take you to Camp Half Blood, little one. Everything will make sense once you arrive.”

“Why should I go with you?” Maya asked, gripping the straps of her backpack, ready to run at any second.

“Because,” Ferdinand chuckled, acknowledging Maya’s skepticism. “There are kids like you at Camp Half Blood. It is a safe haven for young half-bloods like you. It is where the gods claim their children, young Maya.”

“You’re not lying?” Maya asked, big green eyes searching for any malice in the satyr’s eyes. She has had enough from malicious men who wanted to do unspeakable things to her. There was once this man who tried to lure her in with a good meal. When Maya declined, he tried to grab her, luckily Maya escaped—with the help of a little foot stomping and biting. It only fueled her hatred of men.

“I’m not, young Maya.” Ferdinand smiled at her. “It is our duty to protect. I promise I will not let any harm come to you as we travel to camp.”

“You promise?” Promises were never good, Maya hated promises. Promises were always meant to be broken. But this one felt like a tug in her heart, like a way to find who she was.

“On the River Styx, young one.”

Maya didn’t understand what the River Styx meant. Was it a river full of sticks? Despite her worries, Maya trusted him. The two then traveled to Long Island on foot from Massachusetts. Maya learned to trust Ferdinand, who kept her safe no matter what.

“You know, I have a nephew that’s around your age. His name is Grover, a fine protector in the making. He could be your friend once you arrive at camp.” Ferdinand mused as he and Maya—aboard his shoulders—trudged up the highway nearing Half Blood Hill.

“Really? You think he’s gonna play with me? An orphan-”

“You are not an orphan, Maya. You have a mother. I’m sure she’d claim you as soon as you step through the barrier.” Ferdinand insisted. Maya doubted that, but decided against voicing out her thoughts. She had prayed and prayed for so long, but her mother never answered, so why would she? Now that Maya was finally at camp?

As soon as Maya arrived at Camp Half Blood, she was in awe—giddy, almost. It wasn’t what Maya expected it to be. Camp was beautiful, far from the dumpster Maya had thought it to be. Every camper had necklaces, with beads indicating the years they’ve been at camp—Maya wanted one so badly and tried asking Ferdinand to make her one. There was a strawberry patch—much to Maya’s excitement, she loves strawberries and wanted to go straight to the patches. And for the main attraction, the twelve cabins, which Maya assumed one was her mother’s since Ferdinand had explained it was for each of the Olympian gods.

Maya was then welcomed by a crowd—campers of all ages, a grumbling man in a Hawaiian shirt, and half horse, half man.

“Welcome, young demigod,” Chiron greeted the young girl who was looking up at him with wide eyes. It’s not everyday that she sees another half human animal.

“Uh, what are you?” Maya asked, her hand immediately went flying to her mouth. “Sorry, I-”

Chiron laughed. “It’s alright, I apologize for not introducing myself properly. I’m Chiron, a centaur and the activities director of camp. And you are, young lady?”

“Maya,” she squeaked, eyes still wide. “Maya Williams.”

“Welcome to Camp, Maya. You’ll do great things, I know it.”

Suddenly, there was a collective gasp. Everyone stared at Maya like she’d just done something wrong.

“What did I do?” Maya asked, her lower lip trembling. She had been at camp barely a day, and she had already done something wrong. Was everything in her life always going to go wrong?

“Look down,” One of the campers said, pointing to Maya’s clothes.

Maya looked down and her eyes widened once more, she looked different. Her clothes weren't tattered and filthy anymore. Now, she was wearing a beautiful white sleeveless gown that went down to her ankles. Delicate gold armbands circled her biceps. An intricate necklace of amber, coral, and gold flowers glittered on her chest, and her hair was perfect: lush and long and flaming locks of auburn hair, braided to the side with gold ribbons. The filthy child, gone—as if she never was. Her mother had claimed her, just like that. Maya had been expecting that her mother would personally come and claim her, but she didn’t. Maya should’ve known better than to expect a literal goddess to come down and meet her child.

Chiron folded his front legs and bowed to her, and all the campers followed his example. “Hail, Amaya Williams,” Chiron announced proudly, as if she did something honorable. “Daughter of Aphrodite, lady of the doves, goddess of love!”

friendly reminder: this is how small maya was when she ran away 🤭