The Gamer of the Sea (PJO x DXD)

(This Chapters mostly the same as Canon)

Once I got over the fact that my Latin teacher was a horse, we had a nice tour, though I was careful not to walk behind him. I'd done pooper-scooper patrol in the Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade a few times, and, I'm sorry, I did not trust Chiron's back end the way I trusted his front.

We passed the volleyball pit. Several of the campers nudged each other. One pointed to the Minotaur horn I was carrying. Another muttered, "That's him."

Most of the campers were older than me. Their satyr friends were bigger than Grover, all of them trotting around in orange CAMP HALF-BLOOD T-shirts, with nothing else to cover their bare shaggy hindquarters. I wasn't normally shy, but the way they stared at me made me uncomfortable. I felt like they were expecting me to perform on command.

I looked back at the farmhouse. It was a lot bigger than I'd realized—four stories tall, sky blue with white trim, like an upscale seaside resort. I was checking out the brass eagle weather vane on top when a ripple of pressure brushed against me.

Not sound. Not sight. Just a shift in the air, the way moisture bends around something that shouldn't be there. My senses prickled—the unmistakable impression of weight, size, and something old pressing against the world. I glanced up just in time to see a shadow draw back from the attic gable window, the curtain twitching shut.

Whoever was up there wasn't just watching. They were heavy. Ancient. And their presence had the kind of divinity that made the hairs on my arms stand on end.

I pointed toward the gable window. "What's up in the attic?"

Chiron followed my gesture, and for the first time since the tour started, his smile slipped.

"Just the attic," he said carefully.

"Somebody lives there?" I pressed.

"No," he replied, with a finality that left no cracks to pry at. "Not a single living thing."

He wasn't technically lying. I could tell that. But the curtain had moved, and the pressure I'd sensed still clung faintly in the air like mist after a storm. Whatever it was, "not living" didn't mean nothing.

"Come along, Percy," Chiron said, his tone lighter now, but just a little too forced. "Lots to see."

We walked through the strawberry fields, where campers were picking bushels of berries while a satyr played a tune on a reed pipe.

Chiron explained that the camp exported the crop to both New York restaurants and Olympus itself. "It pays our expenses," he said. "And the strawberries take almost no effort."

Apparently, that was thanks to Mr. D. Fruit went wild around him, though grapes were off-limits. So strawberries it was.

The satyr's piping shifted the field in subtle ways. I could feel the tiny presences in the soil and grass scurry in panic, insects fleeing in every direction like soldiers breaking ranks. It was a reminder that even the smallest scrap of magic could warp the world if given focus.

I glanced at the farmhouse in the distance. Grover was still inside, no doubt getting dressed down by Dionysus. My instincts told me he'd be fine. Shaken, maybe, but not broken. Satyrs weren't fragile—not the ones who survived long enough to become Keepers.

Chiron sighed as he shrugged off his tweed jacket, draping it over his equine back. "Grover has big dreams," he said at last. "Perhaps bigger than are reasonable. To reach his goal, he must first show courage worthy of them. By succeeding as a Keeper—bringing a camper here alive—he may yet prove himself."

I didn't answer. I just tightened my grip on the Minotaur's horn. Grover had tried. That counted for something, no matter what anyone said.

"Is he going to be okay?" I asked.

"I hope so," Chiron said. "But it is not my place to judge. Dionysus and the Council of Cloven Elders must decide. I fear they may not see this mission as a success. Grover lost track of you in New York. Then there is the fate of your mother… and the fact that he was unconscious when you carried him across the boundary. The council may not call that courage."

I scowled. That was unfair. Grover had done everything he could, and if anyone deserved blame, it was me for slipping away at the station. Still, arguing wouldn't change a council's verdict.

But I remembered the way Grover had thrown himself between me and danger more than once. The way his presence felt—sturdy, steady, alive. Small? Maybe. But not weak.

"He'll get another chance," I said, more firmly than I felt.

Chiron's expression tightened, almost regretful. "That was Grover's second chance, Percy. The council gave it reluctantly, after what happened the first time—five years ago. I warned him to wait longer before trying again. He's still small for his age…"

I tightened my grip on the Minotaur horn. Small or not, Grover didn't run. That counted for more than councils or elders.

As we got closer to the forest, I realized just how massive it was. The woods ate up at least a quarter of the valley, with trees so tall and thick you could almost believe nobody had set foot in there since the Native Americans.

"The woods are stocked, if you care to try your luck," Chiron said. "But go armed."

I could feel them—hundreds of weapons scattered around camp, some iron, some bronze, a few tingling with faint enchantments.

"Stocked with what?" I asked. "Armed with what?"

"You'll see. Capture the Flag is Friday night. Do you have your own sword and shield?"

"My own—?"

"Yes," Chiron said. "I'm fairly sure you do. After all, you still have the pen from the museum, don't you?"

I didn't answer. Instead, I almost asked what the more magical demigods—children of gods like Hypnos or Hecate—fought with. Spellbooks? Staffs? Or did they just stand around blasting fireballs? But I decide to wait, so I let the question die and followed Chiron as the tour rolled on.

We passed the archery range, the canoeing lake, the stables (which Chiron gave a disapproving look I couldn't quite read), the javelin range, the sing-along amphitheater, and finally the arena where Chiron said they held sword and spear fights.

"Sword and spear fights?" I asked.

"Cabin challenges and the like," he explained. "Not lethal. Usually. Oh, yes, and there's the mess hall."

He pointed to an outdoor pavilion framed in white Grecian columns on a hill overlooking the sea. A dozen stone picnic tables sat in rows. No roof. No walls.

"What do you do when it rains?" I asked before I could stop myself.

Chiron looked at me like I'd grown a second head. And yeah, I knew Hekate had already told me about the barrier and how it worked, but the words slipped out anyway.

"We still have to eat, don't we?"

I decided to let it drop.

Finally, we came to the cabins. Twelve of them, nestled in the woods by the lake. They were arranged in a U, two at the base and five stretching up each side.

And without a doubt, they were the strangest, most mismatched collection of buildings I'd ever seen.

Except for the fact that each had a large brass number above the door odds on the left, evens on the right the cabins looked absolutely nothing alike.

Number nine puffed smoke from its chimneys like a mini factory. Number four had tomato vines climbing its walls and a roof made of real grass. Number seven looked like it had been hammered out of solid gold, gleaming so bright in the sun it was painful to stare at.

They all faced a central commons about the size of a soccer field, dotted with Greek statues, flower beds, fountains, and even a couple of basketball hoops (finally, something I could relate to).

In the middle of the field sat a massive stone-lined firepit. Even though the afternoon air was warm, the hearth still smoldered, its flames licking lazily at the air. A girl who couldn't have been more than nine was tending it, poking the coals with a stick like it was the most natural job in the world.

At the head of the U stood the pair of cabins marked one and two. They looked like his-and-hers mausoleums, big marble boxes with thick columns out front. Cabin One was the bulkiest of the twelve. Its polished bronze doors shimmered like a hologram, lightning bolts flickering across them when I shifted my head. Cabin Two was more delicate, its columns slim and wreathed in flowers and pomegranates, peacocks carved elegantly into its walls

.

"Zeus and Hera?" I guessed.

"Correct," Chiron said.

"Their cabins look empty." And inside, from the faint sense of stale air I picked up, I'd bet they hadn't been cleaned in, oh, the last fifty years.

"Several of the cabins are," Chiron admitted. "That's true. No one ever stays in One or Two."

Okay, so each cabin belonged to a different god. Like mascots except the mascots here could probably kill you if you got on their bad side.

I stopped in front of the first cabin on the left, Cabin Three.

It wasn't high and mighty like Cabin One, but long and low and solid. The outer walls were rough gray stone, studded with seashells and chunks of coral, like someone had torn it straight out of the ocean floor and set it down here.

I took a step closer, and without thinking, peeked inside the open doorway.

"Oh, I wouldn't do that—!" Chiron started, but too late.

The salty tang of the ocean hit me instantly. It wasn't just a smell. It was a pull, like the tide brushing against my skin. I felt the faint echo of waves, the pulse of water magic coiled into the walls themselves.

Inside, the cabin glowed faintly, like sunlight filtering through abalone shell. Six bunk beds were neatly arranged with silk sheets turned down, but untouched. No dust, no footprints, nothing. The place didn't feel abandoned. It felt… waiting. Expectant.

And underneath that was something heavier—a loneliness that pressed against my chest. It was the kind of silence you got when the sea was calm, but you knew it was only because the storm hadn't arrived yet.

It was feeling nice until Chiron's hand landed gently on my shoulder.

"Come along, Percy."

I didn't bother to argue.

Most of the other cabins were crowded with campers.

Number Five looked like a warzone. Bright red paint had been slopped on like someone had hurled buckets of blood at the walls. Barbed wire coiled along the roof. Over the door hung the stuffed head of a wild boar, and its glassy eyes followed me like it was just waiting to come alive.

Inside, the air buzzed with aggressive energy. Campers—boys and girls—shouted over each other, arm-wrestling on tables while rock music pounded from an old speaker. The loudest of the bunch was a girl around thirteen or fourteen, her XXXL CAMP HALF-BLOOD shirt almost swallowed by a camo jacket.

She caught sight of me and sneered like I'd just tracked mud into her territory. For a split second she reminded me of Nancy Bobofit—if Nancy had traded cafeteria food fights for trench warfare.

I kept walking, careful not to step on Chiron's hooves.

"We haven't seen any other centaurs," I said after a while.

Chiron's smile thinned, and his voice carried a hint of sorrow. "No. My kinsmen are… a wild and barbaric folk, I'm afraid. You may find them in the wilderness, or perhaps at major sporting events. But not here. Not in a place like this."

There was something heavy in his tone, like he wasn't just talking about wild cousins, but something he didn't want to name.

"You said your name was Chiron," I pressed. "Are you really the Chiron? Trainer of Hercules and all that?" Still trying to play the oblivious teen.

He smiled faintly. "Yes, Percy. I am."

"But… shouldn't you be dead?"

That stopped him. For a second, he almost looked amused, as though the question itself was an old companion. Then his expression grew more thoughtful, almost tired.

"I don't know about 'should be.' The truth is, I cannot die. Eons ago, the gods granted me my wish—that I might continue the work I loved. To teach heroes, as long as humanity needs me. That was my gift… and the price I paid."

His voice drifted, and I felt the weight of years in it—centuries piled on centuries. A life stretched so far it had stopped feeling like life.

I thought about doing one job for three thousand years. Teaching. Watching kids come and go, succeed or fail, live or die. It wouldn't even make my Top Ten Things to Wish For list.

"Doesn't it ever get boring?" I asked.

"No, no," he said. "Horribly depressing, at times. But never boring."

"Why depressing?"

Chiron's ears twitched as if he hadn't heard, though I was pretty sure he had. His gaze lingered somewhere far ahead, on things I couldn't see.

"Oh, look," he said instead, forcing brightness into his voice. "Annabeth is waiting for us."

The blond girl from the Big House was sitting cross-legged in front of the last cabin on the left number eleven reading.

When we reached her, she looked up and gave me a once-over, like she was still trying to figure out how someone like me could exist.

My eyes flicked to her book. The title jumped out immediately—Greek. Not modern, either. Ancient script. The kind of thing that should've been a headache to anyone else, but the words slid into meaning without me even trying. Columns, blueprints, temple diagrams—it looked like a full architectural manual.

"Annabeth," Chiron said. "I have masters' archery at noon. Will you take Percy from here?"

"Yes, sir."

"Cabin Eleven," Chiron told me, gesturing to the doorway. "Make yourself at home."

The cabin looked like the most normal one at camp, a plain wooden bunkhouse—if normal meant peeling brown paint and a threshold worn thin by thousands of feet. Over the doorway hung a symbol I recognized instantly: a winged staff with two snakes coiled around it. The caduceus.

Inside, it was a madhouse. Boys and girls everywhere, crammed in far beyond the number of bunks. Sleeping bags piled across the floor in messy heaps. The whole vibe felt more like an evacuation shelter than a cabin.

Chiron stayed outside—the door was too low for him anyway—but the second the campers spotted him, the chaos settled. Everyone stood, bowing in a way that told me just how much respect he carried here.

"Well, then," Chiron said. "Good luck, Percy. I'll see you at dinner."

He trotted off toward the archery range, leaving me at the cabin door. But before he left I used

[Observe]

[Chiron]Race: Centaur (Immortal)

Title: The Immortal Sage of Heroes

Level: 100

STR: 2,800

VIT: 4,000

AGI: 4,950

INT: 5,650

CHA: 340

LUC: 150

SkillsMagic Resistance (B Rank): Blocks magecraft B rank or lower. Very hard to harm with ritual spells or advanced magecraft.

Mind's Eye (True) (A Rank): Centuries of combat and teaching give Chiron unmatched insight. He can analyze opponents' abilities, battlefield situations, and determine optimal strategies.

Clairvoyance (B+ Rank): Far-reaching vision and limited future sight; synergizes with Mind's Eye.

Divinity (B+ Rank): Divine aptitude from being the child of the Titan King Kronos and a Oceanid, currently diminished in modern times.Wisdom of Divine Gift (A+ Rank): Innate and acquired wisdom granted by the gods. Enables expert proficiency in healing, combat strategy, training, and battlefield awareness. Can diagnose conditions, provide remedies, and grant skills to others with permission. Limited to mortal-era Greek techniques; cannot replicate foreign or modern powers.Immortal Physiology (Unique): As an immortal god, cannot die from aging; high resistance to physical trauma and toxins.

BackstoryChiron is an immortal centaur, son of Kronos and the Oceanid Philyra. Unlike most centaurs, he avoided brutish instincts and became the mentor of heroes, including Asclepius and Achilles. Known for his wisdom, patience, and moral integrity, Chiron dedicates himself to guiding mortals and demigods, combining combat mastery with deep knowledge of healing and strategy

———————————————————-

The kids inside had already stopped bowing. Now they were just staring at me—measuring, weighing. I knew the look. I'd seen it at every new school: Who's this guy, and how fast will he sink or swim?

"Percy Jackson," Annabeth announced. "Meet Cabin Eleven."

"Regular or undetermined?" someone asked.

Annabeth answered for me: "Undetermined." The cabin groaned. I didn't flinch.

A guy stepped forward. He looked older, maybe nineteen. Broad-shouldered, tan, athletic—easygoing, like someone who could surf or sprint for miles without breaking a sweat. His short-cropped sandy hair and orange camp tank top fit the casual camper look, but the scar running from under his right eye to his jaw made me pause. That, plus the way his fingers twitched slightly as he reached out, told me he wasn't just friendly—he was cautious too.

"This is Luke," Annabeth said. Her tone softened, almost proud. She looked at me like she wanted to see my reaction. I didn't give her one. I kept my distance, letting my instincts read him. Hermes kids had a reputation—I wasn't about to trust him immediately.

"He'll be your counselor for now," she added, and I nodded politely, keeping my senses sharp.

"If you're wondering why they put you in this cabin," Luke said, "it's because Cabin Eleven takes all newcomers, all visitors. Hermes, our patron, is the god of travelers."

I glanced down at the tiny section of floor they'd assigned me. No luggage, no clothes, no sleeping bag—just the Minotaur horn. I set it carefully in the corner, aware that Hermes was also the god of thieves. I didn't want anyone treating my stuff like it was fair game.

I scanned the campers' faces. Some were sullen and suspicious, some grinning stupidly, some watching me like they were already plotting a prank—or a pickpocket attempt.

"How long will I be here?" I asked.

"Good question," Luke said. "Until you're determined."

"How long will that take?" I pressed.

The cabin erupted in laughter. I kept my expression neutral, letting them underestimate me if they wanted.

"Come on," Annabeth said, grabbing my wrist. "I'll show you the volleyball court."

"I've already seen it," I replied.

"Come on."

She tugged me outside. I could hear Cabin Eleven laughing behind me, but I didn't look back.

Once we were a few feet away, Annabeth said, "Jackson, you have to do better than that."

"What?" I asked, raising an eyebrow.

She rolled her eyes and mumbled under her breath, "I can't believe I thought you were the one."

"The one?" I repeated, my heart skipping a beat. "You mean… like… the one you're going to—"

Annabeth shot me a sharp look. "No! Not like that. I mean… never mind."

But I couldn't shake the thought. For a moment, I actually wondered if she meant what I thought she meant.

She shook her head, exasperated. "I thought you might be capable, that's all. Don't get the wrong idea."

"Uh… right," I said, trying to keep my voice steady, though I knew that wasn't what she meant.

I felt a presence nearby, then a husky voice yelled, "Well! A newbie!"

I looked over. The big girl from the ugly red cabin was sauntering toward us. She had three other girls behind her, all big and ugly and mean-looking like her, all wearing camo jackets.

"Clarisse," Annabeth sighed. "Why don't you go polish your spear or something?"

"Sure, Miss Princess," the big girl said. "So I can run you through with it Friday night."

"Erre es korakas!" Annabeth said, which I understood was Greek for 'Go to the crows!' though I had a feeling it was a worse curse than it sounded.

"You don't stand a chance," Annabeth added.

"We'll pulverize you," Clarisse said, but her eye twitched. Perhaps she wasn't sure she could follow through on the threat. She turned toward me. "Who's this little runt?"

"Percy Jackson," Annabeth said, "meet Clarisse, Daughter of Ares."

I blinked. "Yeah, that checks out."

Clarisse sneered. "You got a problem with that?"

"No," I said, trying to hold myself back from insulting her. I could crush her in a second if I wanted, I thought. Every fiber of my muscles was ready, but I held back. "It explains the dumbass comment."

Clarisse growled. "We got an initiation ceremony for newbies, Prissy."

"Percy."

"Whatever. Come on, I'll show you."

"See, you can't even remember my name," I quickly said.

"Clarisse—" Annabeth tried to say.

"Stay out of it, wise girl."

Annabeth looked pained, but she did stay out of it. I didn't really want her help. I was the new kid. I had to earn my own rep.

I handed Annabeth my minotaur horn and got ready to fight, but before I knew it, Clarisse had me by the neck and was dragging me toward a cinder-block building that I knew immediately was the bathroom.

I was kicking and punching. I'd been in plenty of fights before, but this big girl Clarisse had hands like iron. Still, I knew I could take her out with one shot if I needed—her strength and weight were nothing to me. I restrained myself, letting her think she had control.

She dragged me into the girls' bathroom. There was a line of toilets on one side and a line of shower stalls down the other. It smelled just like any public bathroom, and I was thinking—as much as I could think with Clarisse ripping my hair out—that if this place belonged to the gods, they should've been able to afford classier johns.

Clarisse's friends were all laughing, thinking I was helpless. If I wanted, I could send her flying across this room with a single push, I thought, keeping my hands at the ready.

"Like he's 'Big Three' material," Clarisse said as she pushed me toward one of the toilets. "Yeah, right. Minotaur probably fell over laughing, he was so stupid looking."

Her friends snickered.

Annabeth stood in the corner, watching through her fingers.

I let Clarisse bend me over on my knees and start pushing my head toward the toilet bowl. I strained to keep my head up. I was looking at the scummy water, thinking, I will not go into that. I won't.

I waited for the perfect time as Clarisse's hands twisted my hair, and I felt the tiniest pulse of air around her grip. My own hand twitched, and the water in the air responded. Streams of moisture—from the toilets, showers, and even the thin film of humidity around the room—flowed out of her hands as if drawn by a hidden current. In an instant, I was transported along that stream, my body dematerialized into the air, passing past faucets and pipes, my feet materialized, landing lightly next to a toilet on the far side of the bathroom.

The blasts of water followed, twisting and bending in midair, aimed precisely at Clarisse and her friends. They curved and recoiled deliberately, avoiding me completely, skimming past my arms and legs without a single drop touching me.

Clarisse's grip on what she thought was my I like hair loosened as a geyser of water hit her square in the face, toppling her onto her butt. The other girls lunged forward, and six more controlled streams of water shot from the toilets and showers, spinning them around and pushing them out of the bathroom like rag dolls. Every splash, every push, had been drawn from the water she'd inadvertently supplied and guided by the currents I willed into motion.

As soon as they tumbled out the door, flailing and soaked, the tug in my gut faded, and the water stilled.

The bathroom was flooded, but I stood in a dry circle at its center. Not a drop had touched me. Annabeth, dripping and wide-eyed, stared at me in shock.

"How did you…" she began, trailing off, unable to find the words.

"I don't know."

We walked to the door. Outside, Clarisse and her friends were sprawled in the mud, and a bunch of other campers had gathered around to gawk. Clarisse's hair was plastered to her face, her camouflage jacket drenched and smelling like a swamp. She glared at me, pure hatred radiating. "You are dead, new boy. You are totally dead."

I shrugged, grinning. "Aw, don't pout, Clarisse. You look like a drowned rat that got into a mud wrestling contest with a skunk."

Her friends had to hold her back, dragging her toward cabin five while her boots flailed like she was trying to stomp a small country flat.

I couldn't resist one more jab. "Seriously, you might want to invest in a shampoo commercial before trying to attack anyone again. Or a hazmat suit, your call although I doubt either of them will fix anything."

Annabeth stared at me. Multiple feelings were evident across her face surprised, disgusted, even amused.

"What?" I demanded. "What's with the face? Thinking about what a genius I am?"

"I'm thinking," she said, trying to hide a smile, "that I want you on my team for capture the flag."