“Uf… uf… uf…”

  Clarisse was hidden between the rocks inside the cave, which, luckily, had several tight crevices that allowed her to stay out of Polyphemus’ sight. At that moment, the Cyclops was roaring and smashing everything in his path, trying to find her, fully aware she had nowhere to escape.

  Her breathing was heavy, uneven. The pain in one of her arms did not help; it was still dripping blood and bent in a direction that looked very wrong.

  Meanwhile, Grover, right beside her, lying on the ground, stirred slightly as he came to, aching from the blow he had taken earlier.

  “Shh,” Clarisse whispered, pressing a finger to her lips so he would not make a sound.

  Grover nodded quickly before opening his eyes fully. Even in the faint light slipping through the crack, he could see how bad it was. And how she endured an absurd amount of pain without a single complaint.

  Grover moved closer and began checking if there was anything he could do.

  He glanced around, searching for anything useful. But there was nothing. They were trapped in a narrow crevice, pressed together, barely able to move, while the sound of objects being hurled by Polyphemus echoed not far away.

  Then Grover looked at the dress he was wearing, the same one he had used to supposedly trick the Cyclops. Without hesitation, he tore at it, ripping fabric to use as a tourniquet.

  But Clarisse simply met his eyes and shook her head.

  “To hell with it,” she muttered in a tired tone, letting out a short laugh, almost amused… or perhaps self-mocking.

  Grover quickly tried to quiet her, afraid Polyphemus would hear now that they had finally managed to hide.

  “You know… the prophecy I got really hit the mark,” Clarisse said suddenly, making Grover stop and look at her in confusion. “I did not pay attention because I really wanted to please my father. But… in the end I only struggled for nothing.” She let out another laugh, this one clearly heavy with self-pity.

  “Don’t say that. How bad can it be?” Grover tried to encourage her, finishing tightening the fabric around her arm as a tourniquet.

  She looked at him for a moment, a faint mocking smile on her lips.

  “Everything you attempt will fail as long as it does not come from you. You will fail to fulfill the mission given by the one you wish to make proud. You will fail to follow your true path because you do not know what it is. And you will fail to prove who you are when you do not even know yourself. And you will die among the rocks when you stand closest to finding what you truly need.”

  She spoke in that neutral, distant tone that always came with prophecies.

  Grover looked at her seriously.

  “Well… yes, that sounds bad. But from another perspective—”

  Clarisse cut him off.

  “It was right,” she said. “Look where we are now.”

  She fell silent for a second, then sighed.

  “You know… I’m really jealous of Aquabrain.”

  “Aquabrain?” Grover asked, confused. Though it was obvious who she meant. He understood almost instantly. “Oh… Percy.”

  “His father accepted him the moment he arrived at camp. Mine took years to even acknowledge me. And it felt like he only did it because he suddenly remembered I existed. He gave me a spear as a reward for being his daughter. Basically a medal for getting another mortal pregnant. After that, I never heard from him again.”

  Her voice did not tremble, but it hurt.

  “Meanwhile, Jackson was accepted by his father within a week. He got his first quest right away and completed it perfectly. He found a master powerful enough to stand against the Olympians. And not only that… he has the nerve to reject his father with confidence. Without hesitation. While I cannot even complete a task my own father gave me. Even with his help.”

  She let out a long breath.

  “Tell me… why do we try so hard?” she asked with complete seriousness, as if she truly expected an answer that could save her from that feeling.

  Grover looked at her in silence for a moment. He seemed to have no answer.

  That earned him a small laugh from Clarisse, as if she had expected it. She turned her head slightly toward the darkness.

  The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement.

  But Grover spoke.

  “You don’t need to try that hard, Clarisse. No demigod does.”

  His tone was soft, but his expression remained serious.

  “I probably shouldn’t say this, since my job is to be a guide, but…”

  He looked at her while finishing the tourniquet. Then he raised both hands over Clarisse’s wound. A golden light began to flow from his fingers, slowly wrapping around her broken arm.

  The magic was steady and firm.

  It was the same spell Percy had taught him some time ago, during his first quest. The same one that technically belonged to someone considered an enemy of Olympus. That was why Grover had never used it before.

  He had used the flute, yes. That was different. An external tool. Something that barely crossed the line.

  “I may look young… but I’ve seen campers push themselves so hard for their parents that they did not even manage to keep their lives. Many of them died trying to prove their worth. And in the stories, not every hero was lucky enough to live a glorious life, or even reach old age.”

  The golden light intensified slightly.

  Clarisse’s wound stopped bleeding. It still looked bad. But at least she would not bleed to death.

  “They say heroes are selfish. Mr. D says it all the time. But when from the moment you’re born you’re hunted by monsters, sent on deadly trials few return from, and constantly trying to become something just to earn a little attention from your parents… I don’t think being a little selfish is such a terrible thing.”

  He gave her a small smile.

  Clarisse stared at him for a few seconds. Then she let out a faint smile of her own as she closed her eyes.

  “You really sound like an old goat,” she said, a faint hint of relaxation in her voice.

  “Hey, I’m almost thirty in human terms. I may look young, and in satyr years I’m still considered young, but I’ve got life experience,” he replied quickly, a note of complaint slipping into his tone.

  Before they could continue, the sound of Polyphemus smashing nearby rocks echoed through the cave. Grover covered his own mouth at once and kept channeling the golden light into Clarisse’s arm. Her eyes were closed as the wound healed painfully slow. Slow, yet steady.

  Meanwhile, strategies were already forming in his mind. Ways to face the giant Cyclops. Ways out. For now, that was his priority. With just a little more selfishness.

  …

  KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK

  Percy stood in front of Circe’s office, his face serious as his hand tapped lightly against the door.

  “Come in,” Circe’s voice answered from inside, as smooth as ever.

  Percy relaxed his expression slightly before opening the door and stepping inside.

  The beautiful woman stood by the cages, placing food inside them while humming a soft tune. The guinea pigs seemed almost hypnotized; without complaint, they formed neat little lines to receive their portions.

  Percy stopped in the middle of the room, calm.

  “It’s interesting,” Circe said without looking at him, still feeding a completely black guinea pig with messy fur and worn, yellowed teeth.

  “What is?” Percy asked evenly, his gaze never leaving her.

  Circe turned her head slightly, smiling.

  “That you do not fall under my charm. When you first arrived, your defenses were barely holding. Now not even a trace of my song seems to affect you. Interesting, considering how young you are. You should have fallen at my feet almost immediately. Perhaps it’s those runes in a foreign language covering your body. Or perhaps that lovely tiara,” Circe said, her smile as sweet as honey… and as dangerous as venom.

  “Maybe it’s because you’re not my type. After all, there’s quite an age difference between us,” Percy replied calmly.

  “Yes… the sarcasm. The foolish smile. And that look that seems incapable of harming a fly. It makes everyone trust you. It makes them think you’re harmless. And when they least expect it, their heads are rolling across the floor, aren’t they? You’re far more intelligent than you pretend to be,” Circe said as she walked calmly toward her desk.

  Percy watched her closely.

  “Someone once told me the same thing before sending me on a mission to save his son,” he answered calmly. “Still, I’m not surprised you noticed. You do the same thing, don’t you? Gain their trust… and then turn them into animals,” he added, glancing around as several of the creatures began staring at him, as if silently begging for help.

  Circe tapped her nails lightly against the desk, that unbreakable smile still on her face.

  “So then, Mr. Jackson. What is it you want, and why are you here?” she asked.

  “I was thinking of stealing it. But I’m not as skilled as my master in that area. So it’s better to be direct,” Percy said calmly before his expression hardened. “Give me the object that allows passage to the Sirens. In return, I’ll simply leave with Annabeth as if we were never here.”

  Circe studied him for a few seconds. Her smile widened slightly.

  “And if I refuse?” she asked, resting her chin on her hand, clear challenge in her tone.

  Percy held her gaze. His own smile slowly spread as his hand drifted toward his waist.

  “Ah… yes. The selfishness of heroes at its finest,” she said, amused.

  Suddenly, before Percy could reach the pouch at his belt, he sensed something and frowned. He looked at Circe… then turned.

  Another identical woman stood right beside him.

  Percy jumped back, ready to counter an attack. But before he could act, golden dust was blown straight into his face from yet another Circe standing exactly where he had landed. She exhaled from her palm with perfect precision.

  Instantly, Percy felt the world around him growing larger. Or rather… he was shrinking rapidly, his body sprouting fur.

  Until only his clothes, Annabeth’s tiara, and the Greek tiara fell to the floor with a soft metallic chime.

  From within the pile of fabric emerged what looked like a blond and white guinea pig, staring in confusion as it squeaked,

  “Squeak! Squeak! Squeak!”

  The other Circes vanished, leaving only the one behind him. She crouched down and picked him up, a faintly mocking smile on her lips.

  “Oh, little one. You still have much to learn if you wish to face a sorceress,” she said lightly as she walked toward the cages and tossed him inside.

  Several guinea pigs were eating and looked at him attentively. A few even seemed to shake their heads in disappointment.

  Circe gave him one last glance before her eyes shifted toward the tiara lying on the floor. She moved her hand slightly, and the object flew into her grasp.

  “Interesting item, truly,” she murmured, examining it carefully.

  “GRRROOOAAARR…”

  Suddenly, confusion crossed Circe’s face. She seemed to hear something in the sky. For a brief instant, a shadow passed over the island.

  Then it was gone.

  Circe shrugged lightly and returned to her desk. She kept studying the enchanted tiara as she slowly began lifting it toward her head.

  Percy continued squeaking furiously from inside the cage.

  But something in his tiny eyes showed more than anger.

  There was focus.

  Expectation.

  Before Circe could place the tiara upon her head, the door knocked again, softly.

  Percy’s gaze tightened at once as he turned toward the door.