Chapter 29

Chapter 29 – Axe Me No Questions, I'll Tell You No Lies

Camp Half-Blood smelled like nostalgia, teenage sweat, celestial bronze, and ADHD.

I stepped off the greyhound bus with my duffel bag slung over my shoulder, hoodie flapping behind me, and the very distinct aura of someone who had fought through Tartarus, dined with gods, possibly flirted with a literal Muse, and still had mustard on his collar from a shawarma.

Ahead, the pine tree marking the camp border swayed like it had missed me. Or maybe it was just the wind. I was feeling sentimental.

Then—

"IT'S HIM! IT'S LIONEL!"

A horde of burly, acne-riddled war nerds exploded from the Ares cabin, charging like caffeinated rhinos. I braced.

They hit me like a human avalanche.

"BROOO YOU REALLY DID IT?"

"YOU TOOK DOWN A HUNDRED MONSTERS WITH A HUNTERESS??"

"ZOE NIGHTSHADE?! IS IT TRUE?! DID YOU—ARE YOU GUYS—LIKE—TOGETHER??"

I blinked up from the grass, now pinned under at least three Ares kids using me like a victory couch.

Clarisse walked up last, arms folded, eyebrow twitching.

"You idiots," she grumbled. "Get off him."

"BUT CLARISSE—"

"OFF."

They peeled off with military speed.

Clarisse offered a hand. "Welcome back, warhead."

I grabbed it and stood. "Nice to see your fan club upgraded to include me."

She snorted. "For now. Rumors help. Your death count helps more."

"Should I start a kill counter?"

"We already did," said one of the Ares kids, holding up a scroll with my face drawn on it and the number "148" etched in red ink.

Clarisse rolled her eyes but didn't say anything else.

We walked through camp together, past the forge, the strawberry fields, the arena, all of it humming with energy. The place felt different. A little tenser.

Then I ran into them.

"Hey!" Annabeth waved from the pavilion, book in one hand, drachma in the other. "About time you got back."

"Yeah yeah, blame the MTA."

Grover bleated a happy "yo!" from the bench, his curly horns decorated with daisy chain charms someone clearly bullied him into wearing.

"Lionel." That was Thalia, hands in her jacket, chewing gum and giving me a suspicious squint. "You're taller."

"Nope," I said. "Just stronger, I had a major arc."

And then there was Percy.

Still seaweed-haired and casually cool in that 'I didn't try to be the main character but oops I am' way. He smiled but looked… distracted.

"You good, dude?" I asked.

He nodded. "Yeah. Yeah, just—Luke's been MIA."

I tilted my head. "Really?"

"Yeah. Last anyone saw him was weeks ago. Just vanished. We thought maybe… you saw him?"

"Nah," I said, lying through my teeth with a practiced smile. "Haven't heard a thing."

Annabeth frowned, glancing at Thalia, then back at me. "You're sure?"

"Totally," I said. "Scout's honor."

"You were never a scout," Thalia muttered.

"That's what makes it convincing," I replied.

They let it drop, but I could tell the silence Luke left behind was heavier than a Minotaur's ego.

Later that week, I hit the forge.

Because it was time.

Time to build a big freakin' axe.

I found Charles Beckendorf already at the forge, hammering something that looked suspiciously like a flamethrower disguised as a toaster.

He glanced up, nodded. "Lionel."

"Beckendorf. I want a weapon."

He stopped. "You already have, like, four. And your chains."

"I want an axe," I said. "Two-sided. Viking style. Something that says 'I eat monsters and bench press titans.'"

He raised an eyebrow. "Materials?"

"I've got celestial bronze, stygian iron, drakon bone, and a tear from Ares after Artemis slapped him."

He stared.

"…That last one's probably metaphorical."

"Nope. Collected it in a jar. Smells like burnt leather and shame."

He blinked. "I'll make it. But I want naming rights."

"You got it."

We shook hands.

The forge sang with fire.

[Two Weeks Later]

The axe was done.

We called it "Oathbreaker."

Each side of the double-head was curved like a fang, glowing with faint runes. The shaft was wrapped in scaled leather from a hydra tail. It pulsed with that delicious, reckless power. 

It was perfect. Perfect. Everything, down to the last minute details.

Then came the announcement.

"CAPTURE THE FLAG!" shouted Deimos from the top of the climbing wall.

"WITH ADDED DANGER!" yelled Phobos, throwing a thunderbolt into the air like a firework.

Camp roared.

We all groaned.

See, since Dionysus had officially outsourced his job to Ares' sons, things at Camp Half-Blood had gotten… competitive. They were competent, but everything had a twist.

Last time, Capture the Flag included flame traps, fog of war spells, and a hydra that "accidentally" wandered in and was "totally not planted for challenge purposes."

Chiron, demoted to Camp Therapist (shoutout to Percy for the Poseidon favor), had only this to say during group therapy:

"Remember to breathe. And aim for non-lethal areas."

So, naturally, I strapped on Oathbreaker, summoned my chain blades, and stepped into the war zone.

"Blue team," Clarisse barked. "Me, Lionel, Beckendorf, Katie from Demeter cabin, and two Hermes kids who better not die in the first five minutes."

I high-fived Beckendorf, rolled my shoulders, and watched the red team assemble across the field.

Annabeth. Thalia. Percy. And Grover, who was once again tricked into playing because he thought it was a group hug circle.

"Capture the flag," Phobos declared. "Winning team gets bragging rights and first dibs on dining hall dessert."

"And," Deimos added, "the losing team has to clean the pegasi stables."

The camp collectively groaned.

"I ain't cleaning unicorn poop," Clarisse snarled.

"Pegasi," I corrected.

"They poop the same."

Fair enough.

A horn blew.

The forest shimmered.

Game on.

I got serious, leaping over a creek, slashing through illusion spells, and deflecting Annabeth's surprise-dagger mid-air with the flat of Oathbreaker.

"Nice block," she said.

"Nice throw," I replied.

Then Thalia came flying in like a thunderstorm in combat boots.

"Oh no," I muttered.

"Oh yes," she said, grinning.