The Sun Without Stars Solangelo

The Cold

Nico's POV

Shadow traveling felt different somehow.

After departing from the fields of Asphodel, Nico looked for a way out of Hades' domain without using his power. Since he'd encountered Nyx, his abilities seemed to be feeding off of those around him and it started to scare him.

The more he consumed the darkness and the more space it took in his body, the less Nico felt that he recognized the person inside him.

Before leaving, Nico wondered whether he should speak to Jason, a trip that would take him less than half an hour. Every time he went to visit him, though, the guilt only heightened, and part of Nico was afraid that Jason would know what he had become, somehow. 

Jason cared for him, and it felt unfair to torture him even in death with his problems; however, when Nico did return, he would probably end up visiting the blond-haired demigod who always knew how to go about a situation.

Nico tried the Doors of Orpheus, but the entrance seemed to be blocked from the interior by a boulder that hadn't been there before the quest.

Hades.

When it became clear that, without using a substantial amount of power, no one could enter or exit, Nico found himself calling upon the hunger that racked his body.

It felt easy, in a way, to manipulate the shadows. Unlike before where he'd simply melt into them, they seemed to bend and warp towards him, entering him as if he were a void sucking them in.

When he called upon them, he felt the memories resurface and, like the sound of a malfunctioning computer, the buzz of Nyx's beetles resonated from his chest. As his vision swamped in the murk, he felt his body dissipate and rearrange itself to be compatible with the transportation method. Just as quickly as it began, his body resurfaced from the deep, inky substance, tearing itself from the shadows.

The first sensation that returned to Nico was the cold. His surroundings were frigid and his now frail body shivered.

He couldn't be back in the river Acheron, could he?

You fear their voices because they know of your guilt.

They know what you are.

While his vision had not returned yet, Nico tried to think logically. Though, he wasn't doing a great job, considering he had crumpled to the floor clutching his head in both hands. Other than the constant uttering of the cacodemons, Nico didn't hear any other voices, which had to mean that he hadn't accidentally shadow traveled back to Tartarus.

He didn't know if it was possible to shadow travel that long of a distance, but he doubted he would try anytime soon.

His eyes finally cleared, but they began to burn from the reflection of bright white.

Was this snow? It couldn't be this cold already; he couldn't have been gone for that long. The ice numbed the burning sensation from his rotting flesh, though, so he wasn't complaining.

When he thought of it, though, it made sense. The time he had spent cooped up in Nyx's palace had seemed like forever, so it was likely he had spent more than just a few weeks there. Just the idea of that place made Nico want to retch.

With his clothes in tatters, he began to walk without direction. His legs would sink right through the soft layer, making the journey slow and painful.

Any sign of where he might be was covered by the blanket of ice and snow that continuously precipitated. Nico sat down every couple minutes, thankful that imminent danger wasn't on his tail for once. Nothing could follow his footprints here, either, since they were covered by the downpour in mere minutes.

It felt like a miracle that the road had been snow plowed recently. He came across a yellow "Deer Crossing" sign and finally recognized his location. He was only about ¾ mile from the Long Island Beach near Camp Half-Blood.

What Nico wondered, though, was why he hadn't been able to enter Camp Half-Blood via shadow travel. It had worked before, and he didn't think he was lacking the power to make it there after using Sisyphus' threads.

That was a problem for later or never at all considering he wasn't ever going back after he got the figurine back and a couple blocks of ambrosia.

Shoving his bloody hands into his pockets, realizing that the tips of his fingers were turning blue, he trudged forward on the street, where the snow wasn't as deep.

When he caught sight of the arch where the camp's name was written in Greek, he changed direction, heading for the end closest to where his cabin was–easy entrance and quick exit. He assumed it would only take him a couple minutes to gather his items and then he would shadow travel down to somewhere warmer, most likely a convenience store.

Walking through the woods turned out to be much more difficult that he'd originally thought. There were monsters left and right posted and rowdy, as if awaiting something.

What happened here?

When he'd circled around ¼ of the border's circumference, he decided to enter, practically feeling the warm temperature from inside camp.

His body rebounded, reflected by the protection.

This had to be a sick joke.