The Gamer of the Sea (PJO x DXD)

I had weird dreams full of barnyard animals. Most of them wanted to kill me. The rest wanted food. Typical.

I must've woken up several times, but I forced myself to stay groggy, half-conscious, because it was easier to let them think I was just a messed-up kid rather than someone who could snap awake at will. I remembered soft sheets under me, the faint smell of cedar, and someone spoon-feeding me what tasted like Blue Cookies that had been reincarnated as honey.

When I cracked my eyes open, a girl with curly blond hair was leaning over me. She smirked as she caught a drip on my chin with the spoon. Her eyes weren't unkind, but sharp like she was studying me, grey eyes huh, that makes it easy to guess her parent.

When she saw I was awake, she whispered, "What will happen at the summer solstice?"

I already knew what she meant. I'd could pieced enough together from the gods' behavior plus the fact Hecate told me. But letting her know that would raise questions I wasn't ready to answer. So instead, I let my throat rasp as if I barely understood English. "What?"

She frowned, glanced toward the door, and leaned closer. "What's going on? What was stolen? We've only got a few weeks!"

Stolen? Oh, I knew exactly what. But that wasn't the card I wanted to show—not yet. So I blinked at her like some clueless half-conscious kid and mumbled, "I'm sorry… I don't…"

The lie slid out smooth. It wasn't even a full sentence, but it sold the image: Percy Jackson, out of his depth, clueless about the storm he was standing in.

Someone knocked on the door. The girl stiffened, then shoved another spoonful of pudding between my lips before I could "accidentally" say more.

The next time I woke, she was gone.

Instead, a husky blond guy stood silently in the corner. At first glance, he looked like the kind of dude you'd expect to see carrying a surfboard down Venice Beach—until you noticed his eyes. Not just the two on his face, but a dozen more scattered across his forehead, cheeks, the backs of his hands. All of them unblinking. All of them watching.

I could've sat up. I could've demanded answers. But I didn't. I let my body sink deeper into the bed, let my eyelids droop, and played my role: the boy too broken and too tired to put the pieces together. The boy who knew myths like bedtime stories, not battlefield manuals.

Let them believe that for now.

————————-

When I finally came around for good, there was nothing weird about my surroundings, except that they were nicer than I was used to. I was sitting in a deck chair on a huge porch, gazing across a meadow at green hills in the distance.

The breeze smelled like strawberries. There was a blanket over my legs, a pillow behind my neck. All that was great, but my mouth felt like a scorpion had been using it for a nest. My tongue was dry and nasty and every one of my teeth hurt.

On the table next to me was a tall drink. It looked like iced apple juice, with a green straw and a paper parasol stuck through a maraschino cherry.

My hand was so weak I almost dropped the glass once I got my fingers around it.

"Careful," a familiar voice said.

Grover was leaning against the porch railing, looking like he hadn't slept in a week. Under one arm, he cradled a shoe box. He was wearing blue jeans, Converse hi-tops, and a bright orange T-shirt that said CAMP HALF-BLOOD. Just plain old Grover. Not the goat boy.

So maybe—just maybe—I'd had a nightmare. Maybe my mom was okay. Maybe we were still on vacation, and we'd stopped here at this big house for some reason. It was a fragile thought, but I held onto it anyway, like if I wished hard enough I could make it real.

"You saved my life," Grover said. "I … well, the least I could do … I went back to the hill. I thought you might want this."

Reverently, he placed the shoe box in my lap.

Inside was a black-and-white bull's horn, the base smooth from being slashed off, the tip splattered with dried blood.

"The Minotaur," I said. Then I caught myself and added, "Asterion."

Grover's ears twitched. "Um, Percy, it isn't a good idea—"

"That's what they called him, right? In the old myths?" I pressed. "Asterion. The monster born of a queen and a bull, locked away in the Labyrinth, fed on sacrifices until Theseus finally killed him. Half man, half bull—except he didn't stay dead, did he? He never stays dead."

Grover shifted uncomfortably, his eyes darting away. "You've been out for two days. How much do you remember?"

"My mom. Is she really…"

He looked down.

I stared across the meadow. There were groves of trees, a winding stream, acres of strawberries spread out under the blue sky. The valley was surrounded by rolling hills, and the tallest one, directly in front of us, was the one with the huge pine tree on top. Even that looked beautiful in the sunlight.

My mother was gone. The whole world should be black and cold. Nothing should look beautiful.

"I'm sorry," Grover sniffled. "I'm a failure. I'm—I'm the worst satyr in the world."

He moaned, stomping his foot so hard it came off. I mean, the Converse hi-top came off. The inside was filled with Styrofoam, except for a hoof-shaped hole.

"Oh, Styx!" he mumbled.

Thunder rolled across the clear sky.

He struggled to get his hoof back in the fake foot.

All that meant was my mom really had been squeezed into nothingness, dissolved into yellow light.

I was alone. An orphan.

Grover was still sniffling. The poor kid—poor goat, satyr, whatever—looked as if he expected to be hit.

"It wasn't your fault," I said.

"Yes, it was. I was supposed to protect you."

"Did my mother ask you to protect me?"

"No. But that's my job. I'm a keeper. At least… I was."

"But why…" I suddenly felt dizzy, my vision swimming.

"Don't strain yourself," Grover said. "Here."

He helped me hold my glass and put the straw to my lips.

I recoiled at the taste, because I was expecting apple juice. It wasn't that at all. It was chocolate-chip cookies.

Liquid cookies. And not just any cookies—my mom's homemade blue chocolate-chip cookies, buttery and hot, with the chips still melting.

Drinking it, my whole body felt warm and good, full of energy. My grief didn't go away, but I felt as if my mom had just brushed her hand against my cheek, given me a cookie the way she used to when I was small, and told me everything was going to be okay.

Before I knew it, I'd drained the glass. I stared into it, sure I'd just had a warm drink, but the ice cubes hadn't even melted.

[Observe]

[Nectar-Drink of the Gods]

Item Type: Consumable/Healing

Origin: Olympian

Description: A drink of the gods, said in some myths to bestow immortality. In reality, its power is restorative, not eternal. Nectar rapidly heals wounds and replenishes vitality when consumed by demigods. To each drinker, it manifests as the taste of their favorite food or drink.

Effects:

• Restores 15% of max health and stamina instantly.

• Replenishes 0.5% of max health and stamina for 30 seconds.

• Overconsumption risks Incineration (death by divine overload).

Restrictions: Cannot be safely consumed by mortals.

Note: The edible counterpart to Nectar is called Ambrosia, carrying the same properties in food form.

————————

Before I knew it, I'd drained the glass. I stared into it, sure I'd just had a warm drink, but the ice cubes hadn't even melted. So this is Nectar, huh.

"Was it good?" Grover asked.

I nodded.

"What did it taste like?" He sounded so wistful, I almost felt guilty.

"Chocolate-chip cookies," I said after a pause. "My mom's. Homemade."

Grover sighed, his ears drooping. "And how do you feel?"

"Like I could throw Nancy Bobofit a million yards." The words slipped out before I thought.

"That's good," Grover said quickly. He still looked nervous. "But don't push it. You couldn't risk drinking any more of that stuff."

"What do you mean?" I frowned.

He took the empty glass gingerly, as if it might explode, and set it on the table. "Come on. Chiron and Mr. D are waiting."

I pushed myself to my feet, legs wobbling but steady enough. Grover offered to carry the Minotaur horn, but I shook my head. I'd paid for that souvenir the hard way. I wasn't letting go of it.

We stepped out onto the wraparound porch. The breeze hit me first—fresh, sharp, salty. My lungs drank it in like it was medicine. The porch opened to a view that stretched down a valley and out to the water, glittering less than a mile away. The ocean.

My heart thumped, steady and strong, the way it always did near the sea. No matter what had happened, no matter what I'd lost, I could drown the entire area in minutes if I tried.

Down at the end of the porch, two men sat across from each other at a card table. The blond-haired girl who'd spoon-fed me pudding earlier leaned against the rail, arms crossed.

The man facing me was small but porky, with a red nose, watery eyes, and curly hair so dark it was almost purple. He looked like one of those baby angels from paintings—what were they called? Cherubs. Yeah. Except this cherub had hit middle age, gotten dumped in a trailer park, and picked up a Hawaiian shirt patterned with tigers. He would've fit right in at one of Gabe's poker games… except he'd wipe the floor with Gabe and laugh while doing it.

"That's Mr. D—" Grover began.

"Dionysus," I cut him off.

The man stilled, a card half-raised in his hand. His eyes narrowed, shifting to me. "Excuse me?"

"God of wine, madness, and theater. Son of Zeus. Punished to stay here," I said before I could stop myself.

[Observe]

[Dionysus]

Level: 98

Title: God of Wine and Madness | Lord of Revelry

HP: 72,400 / 72,400

SP: 42,400 / 42,400

MP: 64,800 / 64,800

Stats:

STR: 1,900

AGI: 2,336

VIT: 3,620

INT: 2,336

CHA: 1,820

LUC: 140

Authorities:

Authority of Wine (A Rank): Enhances beverages; intoxicates mortals/demigods; manipulates magical properties of liquid.

Authority of Grape-Harvest (A Rank): Controls vines and crops; enchanted produce; regenerative effects via fruits of the vine.

Authority of Festivity (B+ Rank): Boosts allies' morale; subtly distracts enemies in chaotic or celebratory conditions.

Authority of Madness (A Rank): Induces hallucinations, irrationality, or extreme emotional states in enemies; synergizes with Ecstasy effects.

Authority of Religious Ecstasy (A Rank): Blesses or curses mortals/demigods via ritual wine offerings; amplifies rituals invoking his name.

Authority of Theater (B+ Rank): Manipulates appearances, scenery, and narrative perception; grants tactical advantages through dramatic effect.

Wisdom of Dionysian Tradition (A Rank): Extensive knowledge of revelry, festivals, rituals, and manipulation of emotions; can guide mortals and demigods in divine ecstasy practices.

Immortal Physiology (Unique): As an immortal god, cannot die from aging; high resistance to physical trauma and toxins.

Personal Skills:

Clairvoyance (B Rank): Can perceive events and positions at a distance, limited foresight of chaotic situations.

Mind's Insight (A Rank): Understands motivations, weaknesses, and patterns of mortals and demigods; predictive in strategic planning.

Ritual Conductor (B Rank): Improves the potency and efficiency of divine rituals; synergizes with wine, festivity, and madness.

Magic Resistance (A- Rank): Blocks A- rank or lower magic, reduces all magical damage by 70%.

Divinity (A Rank): Full divine spirit; naturally high resistance to mortal constraints, enhanced authority over domains.

—————————————

Grover's jaw dropped. "You… you knew?"

I swallowed, realizing how insane that sounded. "I mean… it wasn't that hard to guess." I gestured awkwardly. "The Hawaiian shirt—loud, flashy, like you don't care what anyone thinks. The can of Diet Coke—ironic for the god of wine, right? The nose, a little too red for someone who hasn't been drinking. And the colors, purple and tiger stripes, classic Dionysian flair. Add it all up, and…" I shrugged, trying to look casual.

For a heartbeat, silence.

Then Dionysus leaned back, his expression unreadable. The corners of his mouth twitched, though I couldn't tell if it was amusement or annoyance. "Hmph. So the brat can reason. How charming."

Grover still looked like I'd just told him I could juggle planets. "That's… that's not normal deduction, Percy."

"Maybe not," I muttered, gripping the Minotaur horn a little tighter.

"Anyway you already know Chiron…" grover said.

The Latin teacher turned and smiled at me. His eyes had that mischievous glint they sometimes got in class when he pulled a pop quiz and made all the multiple-choice answers B.

"Ah, good, Percy," he said. "Now we have four for pinochle."

He offered me a chair to the right of Mr. D, who looked at me with bloodshot eyes and let out a long, weary sigh.

"Oh, I suppose I must say it. Welcome to Camp Half-Blood. There. Now, don't expect me to be glad to see you."

"Uh, thanks." I scooted a little farther away from him because, if there was one thing I'd learned from living with Gabe, it was how to tell when an adult had been hitting the happy juice. If Mr. D was a stranger to alcohol, he was a satyr.

"Annabeth?" Mr. Brunner called to the blond girl.

She came forward, and Mr. Brunner introduced us.

"This young lady nursed you back to health, Percy. Annabeth, my dear, why don't you go check on Percy's bunk? We'll be putting him in cabin eleven for now."

"Sure, Chiron," she said.

She was probably my age, maybe a couple of inches shorter, and a whole lot more athletic-looking. Her deep tan and curly blond hair made her almost exactly what I'd imagine a stereotypical California girl would look like—except her eyes ruined the image. gray, like storm clouds, pretty, but intimidating, too, as if she were analyzing the best way to take me down in a fight. Clearly, the same girl from earlier.

She glanced at the Minotaur horn in my hands, then back at me. She said, "You drool when you sleep." Then she sprinted off down the lawn, her blond hair flying behind her.

"So," I said, anxious to change the subject, "you, uh, work here, 'Mr. Brunner'."

"Not Mr. Brunner," the ex-Mr. Brunner said. "I'm afraid that was a pseudonym. You may call me Chiron."

"Okay." Totally confused, I looked at him.

"I must say, Percy," Chiron said, "I'm glad to see you alive. It's been a long time since I've made a house call to a potential camper. I'd hate to think I've wasted my time."

"Wait—what do you mean by that?" I asked, frowning. "Wasted your time? That's the stupidest thing I've ever heard. What's the point of checking on me if you weren't going to do anything? And what would you have done if I'd died?"

Chiron sighed, leaning back slightly. "Nothing. Absolutely nothing. I can't stop the dangers that find demigods, Percy. I can only watch, guide, and prepare those who survive. Checking on you… it wasn't about saving you. It was about making sure you knew someone believed in you. That's the point. Even if I couldn't intervene, I wanted to see that you had the chance to live and make it through on your own."

I shook my head. "So… all that running around, all that effort, and if I had failed, you'd just shrug and move on?"

Chiron's calm gaze met mine. "Exactly. It's the world we live in, Percy. We prepare, we guide, we observe… but we cannot always protect."

I clenched my jaw, weighing my words. "Alright. I'm letting this one slide. But seriously… you might want to work on your introductions next time."

I let the comment hang in the air and dropped the subject, because facing Chiron and Dionysus at the same time without accidentally killing everyone in camp would be next to impossible. Best not to push my luck.

"Grover," Mr. D said impatiently, "are you playing or not?"

"Yes!" Grover trembled as he took the fourth chair, though I didn't know why he should be so afraid of a pudgy little man in a tiger-print Hawaiian shirt.

"You do know how to play pinochle?" Mr. D eyed me suspiciously.

"I'm afraid not," I said.

"I'm afraid not," he repeated, narrowing his eyes.

"I'm afraid not," I repeated.

He leaned forward slightly, and I felt it—the prickling pressure of his divine curiosity. His gaze wasn't just on me anymore; it was probing, trying to reach inside my mind, my memories, my very soul.

I stayed perfectly still. Let him try.

[The Reveler Who Rules The Party is attempting to Observe your Existence]

[Observation has Failed due to the Cloak of The Wise One]

A few seconds passed. Then a frown. Then confusion.

His eyes widened. His jaw twitched.

He had expected to stroll through my thoughts like a leisurely walk in the park, and instead… there was nothing.

"You… what?" Dionysus finally muttered, the words barely out before he stopped, stunned. His hands twitched as if he wanted to grab something, but there was nothing to grab.

I kept my expression neutral, repeating his earlier question like a parrot: "You… what?"

The god froze, blinking rapidly. I could almost hear the mental gears grinding as he tried to process it. Surprise, disbelief, irritation—every emotion flashing across his face like lightning.

Then he leaned back, muttering under his breath. "Well… that's… unexpected."

I gave him a warning glance, sharp enough to sting but subtle enough to seem casual: "Work on your introductions, if you want to meet me properly."

And I dropped it. Dealing with Dionysus in a bad mood wasn't on my agenda today.

"Well," Mr. D finally said, settling into his chair, "it is, along with gladiator fighting and Pac-Man, one of the greatest games ever invented by humans. I would expect all civilized young men to know the rules."

"I would expect all civilized young men to know the rules," I repeated, flat and steady, yeah never mind what I said.

———————————

After a few games of Pinochle.

Mr. D waved his hand again, and the wineglass changed into a fresh can of Diet Coke. He sighed unhappily, popped the top of the soda, and went back to his card game.

Chiron winked at me. "Mr. D offended his father a while back, took a fancy to a wood nymph who had been declared off-limits."

"A wood nymph," I repeated, still staring at the Diet Coke can like it was from outer space.

"Yes," Mr. D confessed. "Father loves to punish me. The first time, Prohibition. Ghastly! Absolutely horrid ten years! The second time—well, she really was pretty, and I couldn't stay away—the second time, he sent me here. Half-Blood Hill. Summer camp for brats like you. 'Be a better influence,' he told me. 'Work with youths rather than tearing them down. Ha! Absolutely unfair.'"

Mr. D sounded about six years old, like a pouting little kid. I couldn't help muttering under my breath, "That's the stupidest thing I've ever heard."

Chiron's eyebrows lifted at my comment, but he didn't intervene. I made a mental note to keep my distance—Dionysus might be a whining little god, but he was still a god.

I let it go, though, giving him the warning in my head to maybe work on his introductions next time. Observing the camp around me, I noticed the kids moving in patterns, the satyrs keeping a discreet watch, and the way the sunlight hit the white marble buildings. Everything here had purpose, rules, and rhythms, even if Dionysus didn't always seem to respect them.

"I believe I win."

"Not quite, Mr. D," Chiron said. He set down a straight, tallied the points, and declared, "The game goes to me."

I expected Mr. D to vaporize Chiron right out of his wheelchair, but he just sighed through his nose, as if being beaten by the centaur was routine. He got up, and Grover rose too.

"I'm tired," Mr. D said. "I believe I'll take a nap before the sing-along tonight. But first, Grover, we need to talk—again—about your less-than-perfect performance on this assignment."

Grover's face beaded with sweat. "Y-yes," he stammered. Mr. D turned his gaze toward me. "Cabin eleven, Percy Jackson. And mind your manners."

He swept into the farmhouse, Grover following miserably.

"Will Grover be okay?" I asked Chiron.

Chiron nodded, though a slight shadow crossed his expression. "Old Dionysus isn't really mad. He just hates his job. He's been… grounded, I guess you could say, and he can't stand waiting another century before he's allowed to go back to Olympus."

I watched Dionysus retreat, noting the little flinch of annoyance that crossed his features whenever he thought Chiron might have one up on him. The camp seemed calm now, but I had the feeling even a minor spark could set the whole place ablaze if Dionysus ever lost patience again.

"So… Chiron," I said, "let me ask the million-dollar question. Who… who am I?"

Chiron smiled, his eyes warm. "Well, that's the question we all want answered, isn't it? But for now, we should get you settled in cabin eleven. There will be new friends to meet, and plenty of time for lessons tomorrow. Besides, there will be s'mores at the campfire tonight, and I simply adore chocolate."

He rose from his wheelchair with a stretch. "What a relief," the centaur said, shaking out his arms. "I'd been cooped up in there so long, my fetlocks had fallen asleep. Now, come, Percy Jackson. Let's meet the other campers."