Walk With the Shadows [ Percy Jackson OC ]

NINETEEN | Ophelia

OPHELIA DROWNED HERSELF IN DARKNESS. Blocking out the crickets and cicadas, she focused on the way the air shifted and the shadows danced. Her bare crossed legs rested against the cold stone stage of the drama amphitheater. Alone, she tried to meditate.

So many liked to say that nothing good could happen after 2am. And to those not comfortable with the void, perhaps it was true. But as Ophelia closed her eyes and breathed in the Mist and the dark, she could not help but smile. The Witching Hour fueled her.

She didn't need to open her eyes to picture reality. She could see her surroundings in her mind. Ophelia sat alone in silence where so often Apollo's children performed under the sun. Hundreds of empty stone amphitheater seats stacked upwards. Ophelia didn't need lights.

Another breath of freezing air filled her lungs. Adrenaline flooded her veins. Camp had emptied that morning. Few remained. The heroes had fled back to the real world.

Upon her breast lay a necklace with a single wooden bead. The names of loyal Half-Bloods had been memorialized forever, to be carried forward by the children of the Olympians. Ophelia released a deep breath through her nose to the count of five. She'd come out here, alone in darkness to calm down, not feed her frustration.

They deserve to be remembered. They lost their lives to a worthy cause. But what of the other side?

"I really would prefer you to leave me alone right now." Ophelia hated how loud her voice sounded in the amphitheater even at a whisper. It shattered the silence of the void. "You don't need to tell me what I already know."

You just need to know you aren't alone, Ophelia.

"I know I'm not."

Eris didn't respond. Feeling the Mist around her, Ophelia reached out her mind. Touching the Mist felt like running her hand over frost-covered grass. The chill of a dusting of snow, almost painful but not quite. A soothing sort of cold.

Camp Half-Blood rarely had need of the Mist. Pockets of it could be found in the depths of the forest, places of ancient magics hidden even from the demigods. But so rarely did Ophelia feel the kind of power that enveloped her in the amphitheater.

She missed this. She missed feeling so alive. Power coursed through every vein, muscle, and joint in her body until she worried the electric buzzing would split her. Ophelia opened her eyes.

Two brilliant golden-red torches illuminated the darkness from atop the first section of slanted seats. She stopped breathing. Hecate, skin pale as a porcelain doll and hair the same blonde as Ophelia's own, stood before her. Even from thirty rows away, she could feel the majesty emanating from her mother.

Tears filled her eyes unbidden. It had been so long. So many months, alone, with only Eris to speak to. "Mom."

"Ophelia."