WORLDS BEYOND ( pjo )

𝐢: blood is thicker than water

The labyrinth was endless. That was something Ethan was completely sure of, disappearing into it, and intending to use it as an escape from the war. He didn't feel guilt for it; people left their countries all the time during the first and second world wars when it was becoming too much for them. Ethan wasn't like the idealistic demigods, who believed that the gods would change, and that the gods would start loving them out of the blue; he wasn't like the angry demigods who saw nothing other than for Olympus to be razed and for the land to swallow the gods. He wasn't stupid either; he knew that there definitely were demigods who were hesitant to pick a side or another, but as far as he knew, he was the first one to make a decision to withdraw from the war altogether. Demigods were born with an natural urge to fight, as in the ancient times, and their primal instinct would, of course, be to participate in the war—this applied for all of them: pacifistic children of Demeter, intelligent children of Athena, bored children of Aphrodite, sunny children of Apollo, calm children of Hephaestus—none were spared of the godly blood running through their veins, ordering them to fight.

Ethan was no stranger to these urges. As a demigod, he was born with an arm that was meant to wield power, and use it for everything he could. He had thought long and hard of his decision, arguing with the parts of him that called him a coward for not fighting. That was something that the Trojans and the Greeks shared—the spirit of war. In a way, war was something inevitable for demigods, a curse laid to the ruins of the gods, forever to be held by every sworn breath. It was not an easy feat to deny that part of himself what it was promised.

But if anyone could do it, it'd be Ethan. He had always had an affinity for knowing balance, for knowing when the scales tipped and when they did not. He could grasp the concept of probability, and estimate it, far better than anyone else could. It wasn't something he put much thought to, but it had always been a way he'd use to display the odds, and decide what option would be best.

Of course, to balance the odds of each side winning the war would be a fool's errand. It would only prolong the inevitable end the Fates had spun for them and it would result in many more lost. Not many people at camp, no matter which side of the war they were on now, were unkind to him. He did not wish them death personally. The balance he was looking for, even if it was selfish, was for himself. And what better way to achieve balance then to not choose a side at all?

The labyrinth was a maze, only living. Ethan had done his fair share of research on it; he hadn't even tried to try and learn how to navigate it, seeing as how it seemed rather useless to him, he'd just went in blindly, as far as he was concerned, and let his balance guide him. At first, his goal was to find a way out, with the help of a little glowing blue triangle—a delta symbol—where he'd get himself somewhere far, far away from Manhattan or New York, and settle down nicely, maybe flip burgers or something. But the longer he was in the labyrinth, it felt more and more like something was whispering in his ear, telling him to stay.

The only thing he really felt bad for, while walking around the labyrinth while nibbling at a sandwich he'd packed, was for being dishonest to Kia about going to look for that kid. She had looked as him so confidently, like she was completely at ease with the thought of Ethan going to look for the kid, and finding him, too, that Ethan couldn't help but pay attention to the uncomfortable pit in his stomach that formed whenever his mind would trace back to it.

Kia. Ethan wouldn't say that she was the only person at camp who'd ever been nice to him, because she wasn't, but the way she treated him wasn't something he had felt often. She treated him like he was... there. He had heard from others mumbles that she was a daughter of a god named Morpheus, but he expected for that to be all he'd ever know or hear about her. He hadn't expected her to treat him like a friend despite barely having talked, or laugh with him when he said something dryly funny.