The Demigod Diaries

'''Rated PG to PG-13 (final rating not yet determined) for future violence/etc. Themes of sexual maturation, and in particular puberty, may come into play due to factors with certain gods.'''

'''WARNING. SPOILERS FOR THE VERY END OF THE LAST OLYMPIAN.'''

Disclaimer: I do not own Camp Half-Blood or any characters which are recognizable within, they belong to Mr. Riordan. All Greek figures not specifically outlind within the standard canon provided by Mr. Riordan have been developed from information provided within in Greek mythology.

Summary:

The Demigod Diaries - Seventy years ago, the new Oracle came into being. Seventy years ago, the next Great Prophecy was made. Nearly thirteen years ago, Erin Mitchell was born. But she knows nothing of the Prophecy: all she wants is to be claimed.

[A story of seven new heroes, in which the main character doesn't always save the day and isn't always the most powerful.]

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Chapter One: All that is Gold Does Not Glitter

I always knew I was different. I know, I know – that’s how all dramatic stories seem to start. I was such a different, special snowflake. I saved the world. I was a hero to all!

…No, not really.

My “different” was more just little things. Swirling letters messing. Extra conferences with teachers because I was disruptive. Sharp, bird-like things with talons chasing after me.

Which, in the demigod world, really isn’t all that different.

So I had absolutely no trouble fitting in at Camp Half-Blood. In fact, it was the only place I’d ever felt accepted – except for one teeny, tiny little fact.

I had yet to be claimed.

I know, I know. It’s selfish. The gods are busy, they have all sorts of immortal dutys… blah blah blah. I get it, I really do. But you’d think after the great stories of the past – after the promise they had made – it wouldn’t be nearing the end of my second technical summer. Granted, Hermes cabin wasn’t bad. It was a bit disorganized, even without constant travelers; loot littered the floors, and by ‘loot’ I mean things of all shapes, sizes, colors, and uses – the children of the God of Thieves tended to grab whatever they could get their hands on.

That was one thing I’d learned at camp: keep you stuff locked and on you at all times, at least until you were claimed.

My hands flew to my pockets, patting them down out of instinct; everything seemed to be there – not that I had many possessions – but after having a few of the only possessions I owned snatched when I first arrived I leaned you could never be too careful.

With a quick sigh of relief, I stood from my position on a tree stump. I had timed the day well over the summer; the dinner conch blew, and I headed off to eat.

“Oy, Erin!”

I whipped my head around just in time to side step; Rea was running after me at an alarming pace, and had I not she would have barreled me over. Again.

Rea was a good-natured girl and all, and I do mean that quite literally; she was a daughter of Dementer, and had a green thumb to boot. I’d once tumbled into bushes this summer during capture the flag, effectively killing them, but one touch from her and they sprung back as if I’d never trampled them. People, on the other hand, she was terrible with, and so she could never do any good with the injuries she caused me.

“Yeah, yeah, I see you,” I grumbled. Despite this, my face lightened. “What’s up?”

“Where’d you slip off to this afternoon?” So, so like Rea: jump right into the questions and what she wanted to know, with no care for how I felt about it.

“Sitting,” I admitted. It wasn’t a secret, though I always felt as if I had to keep it that way. “You know… sitting.”

Rea eyed me as if this wasn’t what she had been expecting to hear, but I ignored the look; I sat every day in the evenings if I didn’t have something else in that slot of my schedule, had every day for all of the time I’d been at camp – all three months this year, and two and a half weeks the previous one – so she shouldn’t have found it odd.

“Come sit with me at dinner tonight?” Rea asked, her tone hopeful. I looked at her, arching an eyebrow.

“Uh… no?”

Her face fell.

“I didn’t mean it like that,” I explained, hands moving in circles as I attempted to reason, “but you know we’re not allowed to.” Rea shrugged.

“Has anybody ever tried, though?” she asked. Before I could wrack my brain, we had arrived at the dining pavilion and she scuttled off, a dark aura hanging over her.

With as much reluctance as always, I sat down at the Hermes table. It wasn’t a bad place, as I’d mentioned before – they were probably the friendliest kids at camp, always welcoming as long as you didn’t try and stop their raids, and if you didn’t feel like talking one of them always managed to keep the conversation going. A good thing, considering the fact that I was in absolutely no mood for talking. My conversation for the night ended with a muttered offering to the gods – with only a small, very small (okay, maybe not so small but nobody seemed to mind) mention of wanting to be claimed – until I was all alone again.

Thursday nights were relatively uneventful, as always. Exciting things happened on Fridays, which meant people generally attempted to get to bed at a reasonable hour. Hermes cabin was always louder than the others, more active, but I settled into my corner bunk with ease and drowned it all out.

It was late when I woke next, as opposed to early; a glowing clock across the room informed me it was just a tad past three.

I wanted to walk.

I have no idea why; I generally slept well, despite the constant threat of being pick pocketed. Camp was one of the only safe places I’d ever lived, and with everything going on it never tended to be too hard for me to slip into dreamland and stay there. If I did wake I was rarely restless, so this sudden urge just to move was both invigorating and terrifying.

I knew the Harpies were on guard. I wasn’t stupid, they always were, even though the camp hadn’t had security problems in nearly seventy years according to Chiron. But this urge – it was too much.

As quietly as possible, I removed my covers, donned the shoes I kept under my bunk, and slipped out the door of the cabin. The grass was trampled underfoot, dirt kicking up in cloud as I walked. I had no clue where I was going, but my feet seemed to have some idea as they carried me this way and that. The night was quiet, though not eerily silent, and I sent a quick prayer out of habit in hopes that the Harpies wouldn’t get me. I’d been lucky so far, but I was well aware just how easily they could pick up on a sent.

Eventually my brain caught up with my feet, and I realized exactly where I was heading: the dinner pavilion. It seemed an odd place – I wasn’t hungry, and I had never made a point to hang out there before – but my feet tread the same path I walked day after day up to the pavilion, and before I could determine why, I had stopped right where the pillars started.

It looked totally, absolutely normal.

So why did it feel so different?

“Erin.”

My heart nearly jumped into my throat; the blood in my veins was torn between running cold in fear or rushing so fast it nearly spurt out of my body. Willing with all my might, I turned to see who had spoken.

No one stood. I stared, into the distance at first and then up and then all around me, but there was no sign than anyone aside from myself had been there. Only once I turned around did I find any difference in the scene around me.

A doll lay on one of the furthest tables, reserved for one of the minor gods or another. It mimicked my appearance, right down to the scar I had above my eyebrow from a confrontation with some rocks as a child. In its hand was a small, golden goblet.

I must have taken it with me, because the next morning it lay beside me when I woke.

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