Lucas sat cross-legged on the edge of a quiet parking lot, Harold cradled in his hands. The pavement beneath him was cracked, moss creeping through its seams, and the sky overhead had just begun to turn from black to blue. Morning hovered in that quiet space before night truly turned into day.
Harold let out a soft wheeze and shifted his weight. The creature had grown rounder since their journey began; less lean, more content. He had once been the pet of the three sirens Luke had slain, but now he belonged to Lucas. Or maybe Lucas belonged to him. They hadn't worked out the details yet.
"You're a weird one, you know that?" came a voice behind him.
Lucas turned, standing in one fluid motion. A boy around his age, maybe a little younger. Sharp features. Japanese descent. Dark hoodie and scuffed shoes.
"Ethan," the boy introduced himself. "Ethan Nakamura, my mother told me to join you."
"Mother?"
"Nemesis."
Lucas nodded slowly. That made sense. He hadn't expected her to send someone. But now that he thought about it, it was a logical move. Nemesis probably had more important stuff than waste effort where a proxy would do.
"She's satisfied with your trial," Ethan said. "Medusa answered. Apparently, you made a good impression."
Lucas looked back down at Harold. "I didn't go there to impress anyone."
Ethan gave a noncommittal shrug. "Doesn't matter. You passed. She sent me instead of sending me to Camp. Said I'd be better off helping you for now."
Lucas raised an eyebrow. "You okay with that?"
"I don't care either way," Ethan said. "Just tell me where we're going."
Lucas pulled a folded page from his satchel. Coordinates. Noted by hand in violet ink, sent from Hecate during one of her wordless dream-visitations. Four locations.
"New York," Lucas said. "Every site's in the state."
Ethan nodded. "Then let's move."
...
The first location was deep in upstate New York, a disused train station at the edge of a fading industrial town.
The station house stood like a ribcage, its roof partially collapsed, vines crawling through shattered windows. The rails were rusted, but they still carved through the trees like veins. The Mist gathered thickly around the area, veiling it from mortal sight.
"This feels… right," Lucas murmured.
Ethan walked the length of the platform. "It's big," he admitted. "Plenty of space to build. The tracks could be repurposed. Transit lines, maybe even a Mist-safe rail route."
"No towns nearby," Lucas added. "No one to disturb us. No one to notice."
They stood in silence a moment longer, taking in the decaying grandeur.
Then they moved on.
...
The second site was nestled in a coastal glade, north of Long Island. They approached it just after noon. The sun was high, the wind briny and sharp with salt.
"It's beautiful," Ethan admitted. "Almost like the Camp I was described."
"Not far from it either," Lucas said.
But he hesitated. "There's a problem. The sea's too close."
"Poseidon?" Ethan asked.
Lucas nodded. "He doesn't favor Hecate. And if he turns hostile, this place could become a front line."
They lingered only a little longer, then stepped back into the open world.
...
The third site was deeper inland, nestled in the southern reaches of the Catskill mountain range. It was already dusk by the time they arrived. Trees towered above them, untouched by mortal hands for decades.
"This place…" Lucas breathed.
It felt pure.
Lucas liked the stillness here. But as he walked deeper into the glade, he started to frown.
"It's too far," he said finally. "Too remote. The sanctuary needs to be a haven, not a secret. People need to be able to find it."
Ethan didn't argue. Just turned back toward the road.
...
The final site lay in the heart of Manhattan, hidden behind ivy-covered brick just beyond Gramercy Park.
Lucas stood before it as the sky shifted from indigo to black. The building wasn't grand. Four stories of time-worn architecture. The windows were dusty. The front gate rusted.
But it was familiar.
The moment Lucas crossed the threshold, he felt it: the pulse of something old. Something deeply magical.
The doorframe held nearly-erased sigils, the kind that welcomed students and kept out harm. The wards were faint now, but still pulsing. Lucas reached out and touched the wood. A tremor passed through his fingers, like a sigh of recognition.
"She tried here," Lucas said quietly. "This was once a school Hecate had run, one dedicated to teaching all who came magic, demigod, mortal, even monsters. But it had failed"
Ethan stepped beside him. "What happened?"
"The first world war, it split the students into factions, and they turned on each other. Eventually it was shut down and as no one took interest in magic again, it was forgotten."
Lucas stepped through the entrance. The floors groaned, but the air was clean.
"This could work," he said. "It's close to Olympus. Close to Camp. But not a challenge, not hiding either."
...
They stood on the roof a few minutes later, silent, the city flickering below them.
Ethan finally asked, "So which one?"
Lucas thought back through them all: the bones of the station, the serenity of the glade, the loneliness of the mountains, the memory of the school.
Then he shook his head. "Not here."
Ethan raised a brow.
"The first site. The station," Lucas said. "It's removed, but not unreachable. It's big. It's honest. No legacy to inherit. Just space to build. A beginning."
Ethan gave a sharp nod. "Then let's start."
"I will need some help designing the place."
"You got anyone in mind?"
"Yeah, a certain birthday girl."