July 12th
Lucas returned to Camp Half-Blood before sunrise.
The walk had been long but uneventful. After days spent wandering the mortal world, returning to camp felt... strange. Familiar, but quieter. Ethan trailed a few steps behind, his hood up, shoulders hunched like he didn't want to be noticed.
They passed the strawberry fields just as the sky began to tint gold.
"The camp looks smaller than you told me," Ethan muttered.
Lucas didn't reply.
They crossed the central grounds, early risers giving them long glances. One Aphrodiate camper waved at Lucas,
Lucas gestured toward the Athena cabin.
"I won't be long," he told Ethan. "Try not to hex anyone."
"No promises."
Lucas knocked gently on the cabin's door. It opened almost instantly.
Annabeth stood there, already dressed, her grey eyes alert despite the hour. Her hair was pulled back into a ponytail, a drafting pencil already tucked behind her ear.
"You're early," she said.
Lucas shrugged. "So are you."
She stepped aside to let him in. Inside, the cabin was organized down to the grain of the wood. Drafting tools, diagrams, small architectural models. Lucas remembered seeing similar stuff in her own room, but this was different. The entire back half of the cabin was a planning space. The front? A personal library, exclusive only to the Athena cabin and some desks which already housed some children of Athena, too busy to look up.
"I didn't know if you'd be here today," she said, walking over to her desk.
"It's your birthday," Lucas said.
Annabeth paused mid-step.
"You remembered?"
Lucas pulled a small cloth-wrapped bundle from his bag and set it on the table.
"I didn't get a chance to wrap it properly. I found them in a bookstore in town. Thought you'd appreciate some books. Even if your cabin has so many."
She unwrapped it slowly. Inside were two books: one on Greek myths, handwritten retellings, clearly old and another, worn and annotated, filled with philosophical architecture and urban theory. The first had margin notes scribbled by some long-forgotten scholar.
Annabeth traced her fingers along the cracked leather.
"These are..."
"Yours," Lucas said. "Happy Birthday"
She didn't speak for a moment.
Then: "Thank you."
Lucas leaned against the bunkpost. "I also came to ask for something."
Annabeth raised a brow. "Asking for a favor on my birthday. Great friend you are."
Lucas scoffed. "Consider it a tradition. Thalia trauma-dumped on mine, remember?"
That drew a laugh from her. She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, still thumbing the edge of the book on myths.
"So?" she asked. "What's the favor?"
"I want you to be the architect of the sanctuary," Lucas said.
Her expression shifted.
"Me?"
Lucas nodded. "You're the only person I trust to build it right."
Annabeth looked down at the books again.
She didn't say yes.
But she didn't say no.
"I'll think about it."
"That's all I ask."
She looked up at him. "Does this mean you're back?"
Lucas shook his head. "Just for the day. Then I head out again. I brought someone with me, too."
Lucas stepped aside and gestured toward the door.
Ethan had entered silently, now standing just within the threshold. He didn't look comfortable.
"Ethan Nakamura, child of Nemesis"
Annabeth crossed her arms. "So what's next?"
"I need to pick up something from the forge."
"You mean your daggers?"
Lucas blinked. "How do you know?"
"I helped sketch them."
He stared at her.
She smirked. "What? You think the Hephaestus cabin doesn't ask for help with design?"
Lucas smiled. "Thank you. For everything."
She stepped forward and, to his surprise, hugged him. Just briefly. But the gesture was warm. Solid.
"Good luck, Lucas."
He nodded once.
Then left the cabin.
...
The forge was alive with clanging by the time he arrived. He found the blacksmith who had offered to help him forge his blades. She spotted him too, greeted him with a nod, and wiped grease from her face with the back of her wrist.
"They're done," she said. "Took some work, but I think they'll fit."
She handed Lucas a long leather case. Inside were the daggers. One straight-edged, forged in celestial bronze with a faintly silvered core; the other, slightly curved, its guard designed for parrying, the grip shaped to Lucas' hand exactly. They felt balanced. Familiar. Like something he'd been missing and hadn't realized until now.
"They're beautiful," Lucas said. "Thank you."
...
As he turned to leave, a familiar figure stepped into the forge.
Mr. D.
Still in his tiger-print shirt, sunglasses perched on his head, a Diet Coke in hand.
"Well, well," Dionysus said. "The prodigal troublemaker returns."
Lucas didn't respond.
Mr. D sighed. "Kratos is pestering Olympus again. Wants more action taken against you. Keeps talking about order and enforcement, and how the camp's peace is being 'polluted.'"
Lucas raised a brow. "And Olympus?"
Dionysus took a long sip. "They're saying nothing. Which is worse."
Lucas waited, curious if that was all.
Dionysus tilted his head. "You may think silence is safety, but silence is where knives hide. Zeus is watching you. The others are mixed in opinion. And me?"
"You're giving warnings?"
"I'm watching," he said. "Not because I care. But because once, I made a promise. And I haven't forgotten it."
Lucas stood a little straighter. "You sound like you believe in what I'm doing."
"I believe," Dionysus said slowly, "that watching a fool build something noble is more entertaining than watching the rest burn it down. For now."
And then he was gone.
Lucas stood there a moment longer.
Then gripped the new daggers and stepped out into the morning light.
There was still much to do.