(POV: 3rd Person)
The sun illuminated the clearing where, only a few hours before, a brutal battle had transformed everything into a landscape of utter destruction.
The old rest stop had completely vanished beneath a layer of vegetation so dense that its walls could barely be recognized. Vines climbed up the concrete pillars, twisted around shattered windows, and forced their way through the cracks in the masonry. Fresh leaves had grown over the rusty signs, concealing letters that no one would ever be able to read again without brushing the branches aside.
The abandoned, dust-covered fuel pumps were tightly enveloped by roots and tiny flowers. The roof, which had previously been exposed to nothing but wind and snow, now sustained an uneven layer of moss, leaves, and flowering branches, as if winter had been violently replaced by spring.
The roots breaking through the ground were not fragile, newborn, or delicate tendrils. They were robust, twisted, and covered in a coarse, irregular bark, with small patches of moss clinging to the dampest spots.
In certain sections, roots the size of tree trunks had completely hoisted the asphalt, fracturing it and shoving it to the sides. In others, they intertwined beneath the surface to form a living web that anchored the gas station, with the new growth binding directly into the ancient pine forest that—unlike this small oasis—remained heavily buried under the winter snow.
Tiny flowers grew straight out of the coarse bark of these roots. Some possessed thin, translucent white petals that resembled small stars. Others were vibrant violets with golden centers and petals that curved outward, as if they were drinking in the sunlight. There were also flowers of a blue so intense that they seemed impossible to find in a normal forest.
None of them looked as though they had been planted by human hands.
The small grove Caleb had forged did not merely alter the landscape; it was beautiful, but the most striking transformation was the ground itself, which had been completely replaced by dark, damp earth. The soil had a soft, uneven texture, blanketed by small fallen leaves, moss, and fragments of bark, looking as if asphalt had never existed there. The Lamia's frozen ice had melted, creating shallow pools between the roots that reflected the forest canopy and the filtering sunlight. Some pools had leaves floating on the surface, while others were crossed by trickles of running water that kept soaking the grass, which had grown tall around the fissures of the parking lot.
It wasn't a perfectly uniform lawn, but a wild mixture of thin and thick blades, some vibrant green and others turning almost golden under the weak sunlight.
The stench of sulfur and rotting flesh from the bus victims had been completely smothered by the intense perfume of wild rose bushes and heavy red buds. The fragrance was overwhelming, easily overpowering the scent of ash, and the bushes grew in abundance close to the area where the passengers' bodies had vanished.
Dense thickets of rose bushes occupied the ground, their thorny branches intertwining amidst the tall grass. Some flowers were still tightly closed buds; others had already opened their petals, revealing shades that ranged from rich red to dark crimson.
The new growth stood as a living monument to the memory of the blood that had stained that ground. The earth had absorbed the final remnants of the slaughter, and where there had once been nothing but dead matter and ice, there now existed roots, leaves, and flowers.
Lying flat on his back in the center of this reborn grove, Caleb Thorne looked like the very definition of a discarded piece on the battlefield.
A refreshing breeze brushed against his face, causing the emerald-green strands of his long hair to flutter against the blades of grass that seemed to embrace him. His undone ponytail exposed a firm, tense jawline that made him look older than his years.
However, the rest of his body narrated the pure terror of the battle. The blood vessels in his eyes had ruptured completely due to the divine power overload; the emerald green of his pupils now swam in an ocean of blood, and crimson tears streamed continuously from the corners of his eyelids, staining his temples and sticking to his neck.
His tears seemed to refuse to dry, and the heavy guilt he carried in his soul looked far more painful than the physical wounds on his body.
Caleb caught the scent of mint, and his body suddenly felt warm and comfortable. He wanted nothing more than to sleep. The floating screen of his system materialized right in front of him; Caleb stared at it with wide eyes and, with a subtle sideways smile, closed his eyes and drifted off to sleep.
Far away, at the edge of the clearing, Artemis stared at that suffering child. Her divine eyes were so silver they resembled liquid mercury, displaying a genuine surprise in the face of that unusual phenomenon.
"At his age... how is it possible?" the goddess murmured, carefully observing Caleb. He was shirtless, and the bandages Clarisse had wrapped around his torso were heavily caked in blood. "How is he still alive?" she questioned herself in a whisper, realizing he had just fallen asleep.
Artemis is a goddess; she has been alive for an incredibly long time. At the edge of the grove where she stood, some of the pine trees remained dark, their branches damaged and heavy with snow; everything out there was normal. But looking inside this small sanctuary Caleb had brought to life, the grass was vibrant green and the flowers were wide open.
Butterflies, small birds, and dragonflies were beginning to materialize, while in the dampest areas near the station, she could see small patches of moss blanketing the roots. Unobtrusive fungi grew near fallen logs, and fresh leaves mingled with the remnants of the vegetation, interlocking with the dense forest behind the rest stop.
The tree beside the bus caught her attention in particular. It was the exact same tree that had been charred during the battle. The trunk still preserved some marks of what had transpired, but they no longer looked like raw, open wounds. The old bark had peeled away in flakes, revealing a healthy layer underneath. One of the thickest branches extended directly over the bus, while others spread throughout the space above the parking lot, forming a sprawling canopy.
Artemis stared at the mortal transit bus. Its windows were shattered. Some of the metal frames had been completely covered by leaves; others served as an anchor for flowering branches that extended deep into the vehicle.
A particularly thick root passed right beneath the frame, sustaining part of the bus's weight. Others split around the tires, enveloping them without entirely crushing the vehicle's chassis.
Violet flowers grew amidst the iron wreckage. There were tiny white flowers near the windows, climbing vines with rounded leaves clustering along the doors, and a few broad-leafed plants projecting outward from the structure.
The vehicle was still recognizable as a bus, but it had been entirely incorporated into the grove. She raised an eyebrow, sharing her vision with one of her eagles.
From a greater distance, the grove looked like a vibrant island of spring completely surrounded by winter.
The trees formed an irregular wall around the old gas station grid, but what surprised her most was the noticeable difference in temperature. Outside the grove, the air remained freezing cold, but inside it, Artemis could feel the humidity and a gentle warmth radiating from the soil and the light filtering through the leaves. It wasn't the work of her irritating brother, but a genuine sensation that this space had recovered conditions favorable to life.
The scent of wet earth, tree bark, freshly grown grass, and flowers hung heavy. Beneath it all was Caleb's raw divine power. Artemis stared down at the resting boy, and his image suddenly became translucent in her eyes. Deep within her memory, a laugh echoed—irritating, yet intensely nostalgic. A memory she had spent centuries trying to forget.
Artemis felt a connection so deep between Caleb and nature that the goddess herself could note his pain echoing through the grove. Behind her, Zoë Nightshade snapped her tongue with disdain.
"My lady, for what reason art thou concerned for this boy?" Zoë spoke, her voice bitter, glaring at Caleb with a deep hatred. "Wilt thou not punish him? After all, he used thy august presence as a shield to deal with the monsters."
"Dost thou not see, Zoë?" Artemis asked, never taking her silver eyes off his body.
Zoë merely lowered her bow and turned her back in silence.
"Why is he lying down and bleeding? What did this idiot pull off in such a short time?" Clarisse asked, letting out an irritated sigh, though secretly impressed by the magnitude of the grove in front of her.
Without saying anything more, the goddess turned her back and began walking back toward the camp.
Zoë remained in place, staring at the grove and at Caleb's body. At that moment, her eyes gained a stronger glow. It was as if an invisible curtain opened before her vision, revealing the depth of what the demigod had done there, even without being aware of it.
She no longer saw a simple, patched-up grove. She saw wild life pulsing, and she could hear the very air singing with joy as it touched the blood-stained face of Caleb, who slept peacefully. Every tree, leaf, and blade of grass moved in complete harmony around him, protecting him.
Zoë contemplated a sanctuary overflowing with divine power that exhaled a hostile wildness against her. However, what shocked her most was realizing that the origin of it all was the boy himself. For the second time in centuries, she was seeing a demigod who wasn't taking something from the world, but rather generating life. And that made her clench her fists in a silent frustration.
The sudden snapping of a branch made Zoë draw her bow. With impressive speed, she notched an arrow, ready to strike whoever was behind her, but stopped abruptly upon noticing Clarisse La Rue standing there. Beside her, Luke Castellan raised his hands in a sign of truce.
"Calm down, we only came after our friend," Luke said, forcing a diplomatic smile.
"I don't know... I think he must have pushed himself way past his limit. I should have kept an eye on him," Luke answered, his voice tight with concern, while watching Zoë's movements with extreme caution.
Clarisse took a step forward, determined to walk over to Caleb. However, before she could even set foot on the edge of the clearing, Zoë pulled her firmly by the arm. The daughter of Ares stared at her with pure hatred in her eyes.
"What's your problem? If you want to fight, just say it, you idiot!" Clarisse snapped, feeling her blood boil.
"Thou wouldst lose. Look at the ground in front of thee and thank me," the Hunter replied with a mocking smirk, pointing her index finger down.
Clarisse looked at the soil she had almost stepped on. Exactly where her footprint would have sunk, twelve-inch thorns were slowly receding into the damp earth until they vanished completely.
"What is the meaning of this?" Luke asked, surprised as he stared at the living trap.
Before Zoë could answer, a tremor occurred, making Luke and Clarisse shiver. The ground inside the grove began to pulse with thumps that resembled a heartbeat. Luke felt as if several hidden eyes were glaring at him, wanting to kill him.
Zoë snapped her tongue, uncomfortable with the fact that a demigod had this kind of relationship with nature.
"Thy friend hath performed something dangerous... terribly dangerous. He is broken and feeling a profound pain, and this grove is now protecting him," Zoë answered bitterly. "Since thou art here, take care of him."
The Hunters' lieutenant turned her back, attempting to conceal her own emotions, but Luke noticed her tightly clenched fists. She passed them in a cutting silence, returning to the camp.
"Idiot..." Clarisse muttered, tossing her curly brown hair to the side and fixing her gaze on Caleb. "YOUR GARDEN WANTS TO KILL US!"
The shout made Caleb slowly open one of his eyes.
"Seriously?" Luke asked, sighing.
Clarisse merely shrugged, but Luke could perfectly see the camouflaged panic in those brown eyes. He was surprised that she would show such vulnerability.
Luke himself felt crushed by guilt. His chest burned not only from the humiliation of being controlled like a puppet, but because this quest had escalated to a deadly level. He never expected to face two monsters so ancient and cunning. Seeing that boy, whom he had taught nothing more than a basic combat stance back at camp, fight with such ferocity terrified him deeply.
That was when Caleb Thorne's body finally moved. He dug his fingers into the grass and forced his torso upward. At the exact instant his body weight shifted, the elastic band holding his hair gave way. The long strands fell heavily over his face and shoulders, completely disheveled and caked in ash and sweat.
Behind that curtain of scattered hair, the emerald-green strands looked venomous. The blood vessels in his eyes had ruptured; his original pupils swam in a dense scarlet background, causing thick tears of blood to stream continuously down his locked jaw, dripping rhythmically onto the grass.
"It's fine... They're my friends," Caleb whispered to the grove with a weak smile, fighting off sleep.
Clarisse and Luke heard it perfectly, as if the wind itself were amplifying the boy's voice through the leaves. The tremors stopped and everything fell into a comfortable silence.
Clarisse stared at his condition, tightly clenching her fists.
"This idiot..." she said furiously, disregarding any danger.
She marched straight toward him. Luke tried to hold her back, fearing the thorns, but stopped when he saw the vegetation parted naturally for her. He followed her, startled.
When Clarisse entered the grove, she felt the warm, comfortable air destroy all the cold she had been feeling. The scent of mint was strong, yet pleasant and refreshing. Luke's eyes widened, feeling the same sensation, and his gaze shifted from fear to astonishment upon seeing his friend.
As Caleb stood up, gravity and physical exhaustion claimed their price. The white gauze Clarisse had wrapped around his torso—already saturated and heavy with a dark red—detached from his tanned skin. It slid damply down his shredded abdomen, falling undone onto the grass with the muffled sound of blood-soaked cloth.
In the center of his chest, the long, continuous slash from Luke's sword divided his torso in half. The line crossed his chest diagonally down to his waist, nearly merging with the old scar the Empousa had given him; the flesh there was swollen, protruding outward in a vibrant, aggressive pink. On the left side of his ribs, the circular, sunken hole left by Clarisse's spear pulsed grotesquely. Around the puncture that ran through his body, the heat of the electricity had seared permanent burn marks in the shape of lightning bolts onto his skin—thin, whitish lines that branched across his ribs like Lichtenberg scars.
Without the pressure of the gauze, fresh, living blood began to pour from those two tears once more, streaming in hot trickles down the segments of his abdomen. Higher up, his left shoulder displayed the hideous aspect of the Lamia's triple-fanged bite. The triangular punctures were surrounded by gray, cold, and necrotic skin due to the neurotoxin. On his right forearm, the four deep, parallel gashes from the monster's claws remained inflamed at the edges.
Caleb felt that using the Sap/Energy Drain skill had saved him from immediate death, but it hadn't spared his body from the wreckage. However, nothing was more terrifying than his right wrist: there, where his seed bracelet used to sit, nothing remained but a rigid, carbonized third-degree burn scar.
Caleb stood like a genuine phantom. The air entered his lungs with a painful hiss; his facial expression was a mask of ice, but the tremor in every part of his body didn't stop him from smirking as he noticed Clarisse in front of him. He never thought he'd see real concern in that bully's eyes.
"Now that I've found a safe spot and a solid excuse for my gamer mechanics to kick in, why won't it just let me sleep?" Caleb thought, on the verge of tears. He tried to take a step forward, but the System pinged inside his mind, forcing him to halt and look toward Leviathan, which seemed to vibrate amidst the earth, completely blanketed in flowers.
"Why are you destroying yourself like this? We have a mission, and I can't let you die just because you decided to turn this place into a cemetery!" Clarisse shot back, her voice bitter yet clearly laced with anxiety.
"It's fine... I'm gonna survive..." Caleb tried to argue, but Clarisse stepped in and clapped her hand over his mouth, locking her eyes dead on his.
"It is not fine! Stop doing these stupid things! I know you feel guilty... I do too. But we have to fight so they don't die in vain," Clarisse spoke in a low voice.
Caleb's eyes widened, genuinely surprised by the brutal vulnerability the daughter of Ares was displaying right there.
"I'm sorry for worrying you," Caleb murmured. His voice came out muffled against her fingers, prompting Clarisse to finally let go of his mouth.
"Gross!" Clarisse complained with a sideways smirk, wiping her hand on her pants to mask the tension.
Luke approached with serious steps, staring down at the boy. Their eyes met in the center of the clearing. The freezing wind whipped through their hair, while tears of frustration threatened to escape the older boy's eyes.
"Forgive me, Caleb..." Luke said, his voice cracking.
"It's fine, brother. Just help me get back to the bonfire... And I'm sorry for being irresponsible," Caleb said, feeling the exhaustion hit his muscles.
"Don't blame yourself. I was weak and didn't take this quest as seriously as I should have. You're only eleven years old and you're already in this state... I am truly sorry, brother," Luke confessed, planting himself firmly in front of Caleb.
"It's fine, I swear," Caleb tried to argue again to ease his mind, but the visual of the wreckage prevented any real calm.
Luke fixed his blue eyes on the long, keloid-like slash dividing the boy's chest in half. The son of Hermes's hands shook visibly. He, the best swordsman at camp, had almost butchered an eleven-year-old child because of a spell. The guilt corroded Luke's features, making him clench his fists with force. Yet, the absurdity that Caleb had completely altered the mystical structure of this place still hung heavy in the air.
"Caleb..." Luke's voice came out raspy, cutting through the silence of the grove. He took another step forward, his hands open. "The damage to your chest... I caused that. I couldn't stop Backbiter. The Lamia... that bitch controlled my mind like I was a mere puppet. Forgive me, seriously. You don't have to pretend you're not in pain. I failed you... I failed both of you."
Caleb didn't answer right away. His emerald-green strands swayed slowly in the freezing wind, partially covering the tears of blood that were already beginning to dry on his cheeks. The smile he tried to force to show he was okay only made his expression look even more tragic to anyone watching.
"It wasn't you, Luke. It was the Lamia," Caleb's voice came out in a low thread, accompanied by the whistling sound of air entering with extreme difficulty through the puncture in his ribs.
Upon hearing that absolution, Clarisse took a step forward, completely ignoring Luke's presence. Her brown eyes were now focused purely on the circular, lightning-shaped hole in Caleb's ribs, taking in the gravity of the blow she herself had delivered.
Clarisse's thick, calloused hand rose slowly. Her trembling fingers hesitated for a second in mid-air before gently touching the whitish edge of the Lichtenberg scar on the side of his body. The touch was incredibly light, a bizarre contrast for the daughter of Ares, who was notorious around camp for her arrogant brutality.
"Shut up, you idiot," Clarisse murmured. Her voice was cracked and her eyes bloodshot as she held Caleb's gaze from behind that curtain of scattered hair. "You don't need to play the tough guy right now. Even under the creature's control, I caught it... I saw you saving me from that wolf."
Caleb let his weak smile fade, lowering his head for an instant.
"To be honest, I think I'm a monster... I think everyone thinks so," Caleb confessed, his voice bitter and weighed down by exhaustion. "After all, Chiron never truly trained me or was even fair to me. I know I might have my share of the blame, but he should have been fair, at least."
Clarisse remained firm by his side, carrying the weight of that bitterness.
"If you were a monster, you would have left me to die to save your own skin," she shot back, her voice firm and cutting. "This mark on your ribs... I made it. And I'm gonna carry the weight of having slashed you until the end of my days, flower-boy. So don't you dare say your choices turned you into a monster."
Caleb looked down at her fingers pressing against his wounded skin. A sudden spike of warmth surged through his chest, defying the coldness imposed by the System. He cracked a weak, sideways smile.
"Nice touch, hothead. I think you're going soft," he joked, wiping away the blood that insisted on trickling from his nose with the back of his left hand.
Clarisse let out a short chuckle through her nose, her eyes glistening with tears she refused to let fall, though her cheeks turned visibly red. She gave the boy's uninjured shoulder a light slap.
"Go screw yourself, flower-boy."
Luke watched that interaction in absolute silence. The glimpse of genuine affection between the two didn't seem to belong to his world, nor to the future that awaited him. Suddenly, a voice echoed inside his mind—a deep, malevolent, ancestral voice, but one that to Luke represented his only salvation: "Dangerous... Very dangerous."
Luke felt a sharp pang in his chest at the entity's intrusion.
"He can help us, milord. Trust me," Luke replied mentally, in a silent and desperate prayer.
The voice did not reply. The son of Hermes subtly adjusted his grip on the sword hidden beneath his frayed coat. The Winter Solstice was approaching at a rapid pace. Kronos demanded the theft of the Master Bolt and the Helm of Darkness in December, and witnessing such raw divine strength manifest that way within Caleb's body ignited a definitive warning in his plans. Caleb Thorne was a variable far too dangerous for the Titan's designs; on the other hand, he remained a valuable friend and a powerful ally he did not want to cast aside.
"We need to get back to Artemis's tents," Luke intervened, breaking the trance. "The Oracle said that inside the house of madness the path shall split. The Lamia and the wolves fled because of the Hunters, but they are still tracking your axe's divine signature. If we stay put here, the blizzard and the beasts will corner us far from the camp."
Caleb looked toward the bottom of the crater, where the Bronze Leviathan lay inert, surrounded by violets that were already beginning to wither. He could feel the carbonized burn on his right wrist pulsing in perfect sync with the weapon's irritated mood.
"I'm not touching it right now," Caleb decreed, turning his back on the hole in the ground. "The bastard tried to slit my throat just because I even thought about kneeling before a goddess. Let it sit there rotting for now."
Clarisse immediately stationed herself by his side, offering her shoulder so the boy could lean the weight of his wrecked body. Caleb did not refuse the help. He slung his left arm over her neck, feeling the comforting warmth of the daughter of Ares and a metallic scent of blood and iron that made him crack a sideways smile.
"I'm going to wrap fresh gauze on you the second we get back," Clarisse said with a teasing smile, as the two looked at each other closely.
Luke let out a forced cough, prompting them both to quickly look away, embarrassed.
"Let's move," Luke called out, offering his other shoulder as support. Caleb accepted the leverage with a grateful smile.
"Let's go," the boy repeated, looking at his older friend.
The three began to walk slowly, but suddenly, a barrier of sharp wooden thorns sprouted from the soil, surrounding the entire grove and blocking their exit. Caleb raised an eyebrow.
"What are you doing?" Clarisse asked.
"Me? Nothing... Maybe the woods don't want me to leave," Caleb answered with a weak smile.
"Let him go!" a thin voice demanded from behind, startling all three of them.
Caleb's eyes went wide. Luke and Clarisse froze, completely paralyzed by the scene before them.
Nestled inside one of the rose bushes that had bloomed where the earth had absorbed the remains of the victims was a dryad. She looked like a child of about five years old, with dark-brown hair speckled with green strands, eyes as intensely green as Caleb's, and tiny rose petals growing discreetly near her temples.
Caleb was completely astonished, fearing that this child might be a victim of the massacre or that he had committed some forbidden infraction. However, the tiny creature was not a ghost from the slaughter, but an entirely new life, born in a place marked by death and shaped by Caleb's desperate desire to give something back to the world.
Even without knowing it, he had unleashed divine energy far beyond his limits, creating a wild grove that now inhabited his own consciousness. His emotional connection to that place, especially his longing to mend the tragedy and honor the fallen, generated a profound contrast: Caleb believed he was turning into a monster, but without planning it, he was participating in the birth of a pure and innocent life.
"Get away from my daddy, you wicked witch!" the little dryad screamed, furious with Clarisse.
Both Clarisse and Luke stood completely rigid upon hearing the little girl call Caleb her father.
"WHAT?!" Caleb shouted, utterly shocked and terrified, while the dryad replied with a bright, innocent smile.