❝ Does being a Child of Hermes automatically make you good at flirting? Or was that just a skill you picked up? ❞
Andromeda Jackson knew she was not cut out for the demigod life, and that was before she heard about her death from the creepy oracle i...
─── i feel like my friend is trying to kill me during a sword fight
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𝔏ife at camp wasn't actually as terrible as I feared it would be. It was a bit weird to be getting lessons from satyrs, nymphs and a centaur that I'd almost called dad three days earlier. It was a lot to process.
Each morning I took Ancient Greek from a son of Athena called Malcolm, and he caught me up to date on myths as I read massive tomes of Ancient Greek. Weirdly enough, I actually enjoyed the reading because for the first time, the words weren't unreadable.
The rest of the day, I'd rotate through outdoor activities with the Hermes cabin, looking for something I was above average at. I was decent at archery, but not enough to be a child of Apollo, my thievery skills were non-existent and I did not have a green thumb at all.
They also kept trying to make me footrace an exceptionally fast tree.
I finally got to meet the campers from the Ares one, including the cool looking girl known as Clarisse. It took them a moment to warm up to me (they had to throw me around the arena a couple of times) and then they were very welcoming. They were the ones who most treated me as normal.
The senior campers and counsellors were also watching me, trying to decide who my dad was but they weren't having an easy time. I was slightly decent at everything, but not at one in particular.
"Jack of all trades, master of none is better than a master of one." Luke had told me, leaving me confused for a good few minutes.
But, I did like camp. I liked the morning fog over the beach, the smell of strawberries in the air, and the calls of the monsters in the woods at night. I enjoyed sitting at the large tables, I enjoyed being able to fit in with Eleven.
I just wished that I could feel a connection with my dad, but nothing.
I steered well clear of the topic of my mum, knowing that I fell down into a rabbit hole of grief, turning the scene over and over in my head to see if I could have done something differently.
Thursday afternoon, three days after I'd arrived at Camp Half-Blood, I had my first sword-fighting lesson. Everybody from Eleven gathered in the big circular arena, where Luke would be our instructor. I'd been told multiple times, by different people, that he was the best so some part of me was excited.
We started with basic stabbing and slashing, using some straw-stuffed dummies in Greek armour. Luke patrolled through us, watching and correcting form, but other than that he didn't say much.
