Room 12 wasn't much — two lumpy beds, flickering ceiling light, and a bathroom that smelled vaguely like bleach and sadness. But it was warm, and the door locked, so we weren't complaining.
I dropped my gear by the foot of the bed and moved to the window, peeling back the curtain just enough to glance out.
Jasper was already watching.
"Something?" I asked.
"Not something," he said, nodding toward the next window over. "Someone."
I followed his line of sight.
Room 13.
The curtain on their window was cracked just like ours — and behind the glass, a pair of sharp eyes was watching usright back.
A girl.
Thirteen, maybe. Dark hair in a messy ponytail, wearing a ripped hoodie over a tank top, one leg kicked up on the chair like she owned the world. She didn't flinch when I met her gaze.
Didn't smile either.
She just stared — calm, curious, like we were animals in a cage and she was trying to figure out what kind.
She looked wild. Not in the monster sense. Just... feral energy.
She saw us watching.
Didn't hide.
Just raised one eyebrow, then disappeared behind her curtain.
I let mine fall back into place.
"Well," I said, "that's probably fine."
Jasper sat down slowly. "You think she's one of us?"
"Either that or Boise public schools got a serious discipline problem."
For most of the day, it was a low-key staring contest between us and the kid next door.
Every so often I'd pull the curtain back to check the parking lot — and there she'd be, doing the same. No attempt to hide it. Just watching, casual as anything. Sometimes she had a bag of chips. Once she flipped me off. I gave her a lazy salute back. Jasper muttered something about "having a bad feeling about this" and tried to take a nap with a towel over his face.
Eventually, late afternoon rolled in, and she finally left. Hoodie up, backpack slung over one shoulder, she walked off down the street like she had business and anyone dumb enough to ask about it was going to get decked.
"Guess that's our window," I said, pulling off my boots.
"You gonna go make friends?"
"Nah," I said, already collapsing onto the mattress. "Gonna sleep. Try not to let any divine weirdness in while I'm unconscious."
"Not promising anything."
I closed my eyes and was out within minutes.
Then the dream started.
It didn't hit all at once — it trickled in, cold and strange.
a forest — thick and dark. No light above. No path below. Just trees packed tight like bones, and somewhere in the middle of it, a roar.
Loud. Animal.
And angry.
I turned — now I was on a highway. Empty. Flat.
Dead straight into the horizon.
And barreling toward me was a wall of dust, wide as the sky, fast as a tidal wave, swallowing everything in its path.
I couldn't move.
Just watched it come.
Closer.
Closer.
I woke up like I'd just been yanked out of a freezing lake.
Sweat clung to my back, my chest, the sheets — everything was damp. My heart was thumping like I'd sprinted a mile, and for a second I forgot where I was.
Just the beige walls, the whine of a weak AC unit, and the muffled buzz of traffic outside.
"...You okay?" came Jasper's voice, half-muffled through a towel covering his face.
I sat up, rubbed my eyes, still catching my breath. "Weird dream."
The towel didn't move. "Monster weird or metaphor weird?"
"Metaphor weird," I muttered. "Mostly. Dust storm, a dark forest with some kind of pissed-off roar in the middle of it."
Jasper peeked one eye out from under the towel. "Yeah, that's not a restful nap."
"Nope," I said, swinging my legs off the side of the bed. "Got like thirty minutes of actual sleep and a free trailer for a horror movie in return."
He stretched, groaning. "You think it meant something?"
"Dunno. Probably. Don't have a psychology degree."
I grabbed the bottle of water by the bed, took a swig, and wiped my face with the edge of my shirt.
"Just great," I muttered. "I finally try to catch some sleep, and my brain turns into a mythological haunted house."
Jasper flopped back and threw the towel over his face again. "Welcome to being a demigod. No refunds."
After splashing water on my face and brushing my teeth with one of those travel-size tubes that always taste like mint and regret, I climbed back into bed.
This time, I actually slept.
No dreams. No dust storms. No forest roars or cryptic chests.
Just quiet.
Darkness.
Rest.
Until the pounding on the door.
BANG-BANG-BANG.
I groaned, rolled over, and blinked at the ceiling. "You've got to be kidding me."
Jasper stirred under his towel cocoon. "What now?"
Another BANG — loud and urgent.
I swung out of bed, crossed the room, and unlocked the door.
The second the latch clicked, it burst open.
She stormed in — the girl from next door.
Her hoodie was torn, blood streaked down one arm, and there was a nasty gash across her shoulder. She was breathing hard, knuckles scraped raw, and her eyes locked on mine like I was the only thing keeping her vertical.
"Don't ask," she snapped, brushing past me into the room.
Jasper sat up slowly. "...Okay."
She dropped onto the foot of my bed, wincing as she clutched her side.
"Monster?" I asked, closing the door behind her.
"Duh."
Then she glanced at me, blood running down her forearm, and added through gritted teeth:
"You got a first aid kit, or what?"
I grabbed the first aid kit from the bag by the dresser and dropped down to one knee beside her.
"Let me see," I said.
She hesitated for half a second, then shrugged off her torn hoodie. Beneath it was a tank top soaked with blood down one side, the cut across her shoulder raw and nasty but not deep enough to be life-threatening. Still, it looked like it hurt like hell.
She hissed through her teeth as I cleaned the wound with an alcohol wipe. "God, that stings."
"Yeah," I said. "That means it's working."
She gave me a sideways look. "You always this charming?"
"Only when I'm sleep-deprived and patching up someone who kicked my motel door in."
She didn't argue.
Jasper hovered nearby, arms crossed, watching but letting me work.
"Name?" I asked.
"Rhea."
"Like the Titan?"
"No idea. Unclaimed."
That tracked. She had the vibe — rough around the edges, independent, pissed at the world but still alive. Definitely a fighter.
I wrapped her shoulder tight with gauze, then taped it down.
She winced but powered through it. "I was hitchhiking from Spokane. Heard rumors about a safe place. Camp. You know the one.
"
"Camp Half-Blood," Jasper confirmed quietly.
"Yeah. That." She pulled the tape from between her teeth and helped hold the wrap in place. "Driver ditched me two towns back. Car blew a tire. Next morning, he was gone. Just his boots and a half-empty soda bottle."
"Monster?" I asked.
"Probably. But he looked normal until then. I've been stuck here for a week. Every night they get a little closer. Today was the first time one got bold enough to try me in broad daylight."
"You kill it?"
She smirked. "Eventually."
I sat back on my heels, tossing the used wipes into the trash. "Well. Congrats. You found some company that isn't trying to eat you."
She rolled her neck and leaned back on one hand. "Lucky me."
Rhea let out a slow breath and leaned back against the wall, one knee propped up, the other leg dangling off the edge of the bed.
I tossed the kit back into my bag and sat across from her, arms resting on my knees.
Jasper finally spoke up from the other bed. "You said you've been stuck here a week? No contact with any other demigods?"
She shook her head. "No satyr, no godly dreams, no glowing parent symbols. Just monster patrol and motel waffles."
Jasper frowned. "That's a long time to go unnoticed. Especially for someone as... obvious as you."
She narrowed her eyes. "Obvious?"
"You've got 'Ares' written all over your posture."
"Still unclaimed," she said, crossing her arms. "So screw that."
The room went quiet for a second. Just the hum of the AC and the distant sound of a truck on the highway outside.
I stood and stretched, walking to the window. Pulled back the curtain an inch and peeked out.
Empty lot.
Empty street.
Nothing unusual.
But the hairs on the back of my neck were standing up.
I sniffed the air — nothing definite. Asphalt. Hot metal. A trace of blood, probably Rhea's. But underneath that... something dry, fluffy, moldy.
"I don't think your monster problem's finished," I said.
Rhea sat up straighter. "What do you mean?"
"Something's still out there."
She grabbed her hoodie, wincing as she slipped it back on. "Then I guess we wait for it to knock."
"Or," I said, glancing back at them, "we hunt it first."
I stepped back from the window and let the curtain fall into place. The air in the room felt too still now — like something was holding its breath just outside the walls.
"Alright," I said, grabbing my jacket and slinging it over my shoulders. "Rhea, you stay here. Patch up. Keep Jasper company."
Rhea gave me a skeptical look. "You're going out alone?"
I nodded. "If something's circling us, I'm not waiting for it to take another shot. Better to nip it in the bud before it gets bold again."
"Big talk, tough guy," she muttered, adjusting her hoodie. "You sure you're the hunter type?"
I didn't answer.
Didn't need to.
I moved to the door, quietly checking the locks and hinges. My steps were light — quieter than they should've been. The weight of the suns' gift sat easy in my muscles now, like I'd been trained for this all my life.
Jasper started to say something — probably a warning, probably telling me to wait — but I was already moving.
I slipped out into the cool Boise night, shutting the door behind me with barely a sound.
The parking lot was empty.
The motel lights buzzed overhead, casting long shadows across the cracked pavement.
I breathed in.
There — that dry scent again. Tangled with old blood and ash. Faint, but close.
I kept low and moved fast, silent across the gravel, senses stretching outward.
Time to hunt.
I tracked them across two rooftops before I saw the roost.
Middle of downtown Boise, on top of an old parking garage — crumbling concrete, busted floodlights, reeking of feathers, piss, and blood. Griffons. Three of them, big ones, settled near a pile of trash and bones like they owned the place.
I moved low, silent, hugging the ledge until I was close enough to strike.
I didn't wait.
I lunged from the shadows, claws out, and tore through the nearest one before it even lifted its head — straight across the throat. Blood sprayed, and the beast let out a choking shriek as it collapsed into golden dust.
The other two were up in a flash. One took off into the air, screeching. The other came at me — fast, beak open, talons raised.
It hit hard.
Claws slashed across my chest, tore through my hoodie, and raked deep into the muscle. Hot blood ran down my ribs. I staggered, grit my teeth—
Then I snapped.
The pain didn't slow me down — it pissed me off.
I roared and slammed into it, dragging it to the roof. My claws dug into its belly, ripping straight up. Feathers and blood flew. It thrashed, but I was already on top of it, slamming my fist down again and again until it dissolved under me in a burst of gold dust and broken bone.
The last one swooped in from above, screeching like it thought it had the upper hand.
I looked up, chest bleeding, and grinned.
"Come on, then."
It dove — beak first — and I met it with a leap.
We collided mid-air. It tore into my shoulder, and I slammed my claws into its side. It shrieked as I twisted and drove both blades into its ribs, anchoring it as we crashed back onto the rooftop.
It dissolved under me just like the others.
I stood, panting, blood dripping down my arms and chest, cuts burning — but I didn't feel weak.
I felt alive.
I looked around the rooftop, scanning the nest they'd made. Bones. Shredded clothing. A few broken weapons.
And two large eggs, speckled gold and brown, nestled in the corner under a tarp.
I limped over, crouched beside them, wiped some dust from my arm, and stared.
"Huh," I muttered.
"I wonder how much protein these bad boys have?"
The walk back to the motel wasn't long, but dragging two griffon eggs while bleeding out of my side made it feel like a hike through hell.
Still, I wasn't limping, the wound was closing.
I was riding the adrenaline — chest cut up, hoodie torn, blood drying across my ribs — but my steps were steady. Calm. The city around me didn't even notice.
Halfway down the block, some guy outside a bus stop — ratty coat, holding a cup of dollar store coffee — looked up and squinted.
"Hey, man," he said, pointing at the sack. "Those ostrich eggs?"
I didn't miss a beat.
"Whole Foods. Just opened a block down."
He nodded like that made perfect sense. "Nice. Thanks."
I kept walking.
Then—
The suns came back.
My vision swam for a second — that now-familiar space behind my eyes going dark as the black suns hung in the void.
And one of them shined.
My skin stung.
The blue tattoos along my arms and chest writhed beneath my skin like ink coming to life.
Then the knowledge hit.
How to fight.
With swords. Spears. Shields. Knives. Axes. Improvised weapons. How to parry, feint, disarm. Footwork. Balance. Timing. The difference between a clean kill and a long, brutal one.
And somewhere behind it all — the memory of a woman.
Clad in golden armor, head to toe. Wings of the same gold stretched behind her, glowing. Her face hidden, her spear steady. A teacher.
She never spoke in the vision.
She just watched me learn.
When I came back to myself, I was standing outside the motel, hip shimming the door handle.
Still holding the eggs.
"…Damn," I muttered, staring down at my ink-streaked arms, the norse motif was more obvious now.
"I'm scary now."
I kicked the door open with my foot and stepped in, holding one griffon egg in each arm like they were footballs. My shirt was half-shredded, blood crusted across my side and shoulder, but I couldn't help the grin pulling at my face.
Jasper looked up from where he was sitting on the bed and blinked at the sight.
Rhea stared. Then her eyes locked on my mouth.
"Okay, what is wrong with your teeth?" she asked, pointing. "You look like you could bite through a car door."
I raised an eyebrow. "Is it obvious?"
She just kept staring, wide-eyed.
Jasper didn't even blink at the blood or the eggs.
"You got the griffons?" she asked, already putting the pieces together.
I nodded and stepped further into the room, setting the eggs carefully on the small table near the window.
"They were roosting on top of a parking garage."
Jasper looked at me again, frowning. "Griffons can fly. How'd you get them?"
"I jumped."
He squinted. "You jumped?"
"Yep."
There was a pause.
Rhea glanced between us, then down at the eggs. "Are these gonna hatch? Because I'm not cleaning up baby monster crap."
"They're not warm," I said. "Probably wouldn't have made it anyway."
She made a face and stepped away from the table. "Still creepy."
Jasper walked over, leaned down, and examined one. "And you just carried them here?"
"Had to cradle them like babies," I said, pulling off my ruined hoodie. "Real maternal bonding moment."
Rhea shook her head. "You are the weirdest person I've ever met."
"Thanks."
I flopped onto the bed with a grunt, hands behind my head.
I was tired. Caked in blood. And more dangerous than I'd ever felt in my life.
And for once?
I was comfortable.
The next morning, the motel room smelled like onions, butter, and something that definitely wasn't USDA-approved poultry.
I was hunched over the tiny, ancient stovetop by the window — the kind with the coil burners that took three hours to heat up and burned everything unevenly. I'd picked up supplies from the nearest supermarket at sunrise: onions, green peppers, mushrooms, a chunk of cheddar, some questionable deli ham, and a loaf of bread that claimed to be "artisan" but probably came from a industrial bakery.
And, of course, one griffon egg.
I cracked it into a metal mixing bowl, and the yolk was massive — rich gold, a little redder then "normal", thicker than anything from a chicken. The whites had a faint shimmer to them, almost magical-looking, but the smell? It was good. Gamey, but not rotten.
Still. Just to be safe...
I muttered the chant under my breath:
"Очисти плоть. Удали яд. Даруй пищу."
Cleanse the flesh. Remove the poison. Give food.
The yolk shimmered once, softly. Then settled. Felt right.
I poured the mix into the skillet and it sizzled like any other egg. A little darker in color, maybe, but smelled amazing once I added the onions and peppers. The mushrooms browned up nice, the cheese melted perfectly, and once I folded it all together into a heavy, golden omelet the size of my forearm, I stepped back to admire the masterpiece.
Rhea sat on the edge of her bed, eyeing it like it might explode. Jasper peeked over his book from the corner.
"You actually cooked a monster egg," he said.
"Correction," I replied, grabbing a fork. "I cooked the mother of all omelets."
Rhea sniffed the air, then slowly reached for her fork. "If I grow feathers after this, I'm kicking your ass."
"Totally fair."
I took the first bite — hot, savory, perfect.
"...Alright," I said with a grin, "someone call Gordon Ramsay. Because this is some serious gourmet shit."
CP Bank: 100cp
Perks earned this chapter:
300cp Chooser of the Slain (God Of War (2018)) [Destruction]
You have trained in the ways of the Valkyrie to the point where you now match the Queen of the Valkyrie, Sigrun, in terms of sheer skill in combat. While your physical abilities may be greater or lesser, your ability with weapons, both natural and created, now deals far more damage then they would in the hands of others.
Milestones reached this chapter:
Apes together strong!!! : Meet your first demigod: 100 cp