The Nature of a Demigod

War Council

[Y/N's POV]

I was so exhausted.

Thankfully, I figured out I still was in the United States... But how far from Long Island I hadn't put together yet.

But I needed to keep going. I needed to get back. That same sensation that guided me back from the midwest all those years ago, it led me.

The sun crested over what I found out were the old towns of Maine. I washed up on their beaches, and endured their chilled winds, even through the day.

I could almost taste the salty, warm air of Long Island in my mind. Every step was another battle. Whatever magic Lou Ellen had unleashed on me was still aching.

I stole a backpack and some food when people weren't looking. I unclipped my bracers, and put them away, along with a few bottles of water I took from a case in a convenience store.

But that wasn't even close to the worst part of it. My silver blade was my lone light in the expansive wilderness of the east coast.

I ran into a hellhound in the forest up there. It was drawn to a wounded demigod, weakened by the ordeals of the last however long it's been. Every swing of my sword was met with the monster's onslaught. Its claws scraped against whatever was behind me as I dodged.

Even in this state, well, really especially in this state, I was a target. With gritted teeth and aching muscles, I plunged my blade into the hellhound, those flickering embers somehow still burning in me.

Maine turned into New Hampshire, which blurred into Vermont. The landscape changed as I trudged south. That tug in my gut, the instinctual pull guiding me where I knew I belonged, was my lone source of direction. The nights and the days blurred together, a fitful effort beneath the sun and the moon.

In Massachusetts, I was ambushed by a flock of Stymphalian birds, their metallic feathers glinting in the moonlight. They tried to test whatever energy I had left, but I kept pulling from somewhere deep within. The sounds made by my blade clattering against my bracer were enough for me to catch the birds off-guard.

Rhode Island was doused in an eerie silence. It was a brief respite between fights that let me breathe for only a moment. My body begged me for a single moment of rest, but if I stopped moving, I wasn't sure if I would start again any time soon.

Connecticut eventually became New York in a haze, the relentless blur of my latest travels etching into the aches of my bones. The roads were like a ribbon threaded beneath my burning feet.

The sights and the sounds became little more than a backdrop to my efforts. The monsters grew in strength and ferocity. I hadn't felt this drained since the labyrinth. But at least now, I knew there was a place I could go to be safe. I just had to get there first.

My vision blurred, the world around me, a spiraling ball of colors, shadows, and danger. I stumbled through New Jersey, the tug in my stomach only increasing in intensity. The cold meant nothing at this point as the sun rose, and I finally felt something familiar.

Finally, after days of travel, Long Island was stretching before me. Half-Blood Hill rose in the distance. It stoked the flames in my spirit, fueling what little was left of my determination. It was almost over. I pushed myself harder still.

The hill came closer and closer, the familiar trek upward exhausting enough on its own, but as it was, it seemed insurmountable. My steps faltered, the incline so steep, it demanded the last of my strength. Every inch of traction I gained felt like a victory against the pain that tried to take me over.