[Third Person’s PoV]

The Next Day…

The train screeched to a stop near Denver, where Lucian and the others were forced to disembark. The cool morning air greeted them as they stepped onto the platform. Though Lucian hadn’t slept in days, he moved with practiced ease, his face betraying no exhaustion.

“Ugh, I miss a proper shower,” Annabeth groaned, her nose wrinkling in distaste.

Lucian glanced at her, confused. “What? I’ve been using cleaning spells. You should be fine.”

Annabeth rolled her eyes. “Of course you would say that. Sure, I’m clean, but it’s not the same. It feels weird not having a proper shower.”

Grover rubbed his stomach, his face twisted in hunger. “I’m more hungry than anything else…”

Thalia gave Lucian a pointed look. “We haven’t eaten since McDonald’s yesterday.”

Lucian dramatically ran a hand through his hair and sighed theatrically. “Ah, the woes of being everyone’s sugar daddy~”

Clarisse recoiled in disgust. “Ew. Don’t ever call yourself that. You have no idea how gross that sounded.”

“Wh-? Rude!” Lucian exclaimed, clutching his chest in mock offense.

Annabeth smirked teasingly, leaning closer to Lucian and locking her arm around his. “Well, you can be my sugar daddy~”

“EW!” Lucian jumped away from her, his face twisted in horror. “Why the hell would you say that!?”

Annabeth blinked, surprised by his outburst. Before she could reply, Lucian turned to Clarisse, shivering as the realization hit him. “Oh gods… I get it now. That was disgusting!”

Annabeth, glaring at him for the dramatic reaction, delivered a swift kick to his shin. “Ow!” she yelped immediately, regretting the move. She hopped on one foot, wincing in pain. “By the gods! I forgot how durable you are!”

Lucian snorted, crossing his arms with a satisfied grin. “That’s what you get. And don’t ever call me that again.” He chuckled softly, clearly amused by the situation.

Annabeth rubbed her throbbing foot, kicking it back and forth to ease the pain. She shot Lucian a murderous glare before turning away, choosing to ignore him as they continued toward the nearest diner.

Once they were seated, Percy let out a sigh, resting his arms on the table. “I promise to pay you back,” he said, his tone sincere.

Lucian furrowed his brow in confusion. “What are you talking about?”

“For everything on this trip. You’ve been covering the costs. It doesn’t feel right. So, I’ll pay you back,” Percy said, his expression serious.

Lucian shook his head, dismissing the idea with a wave of his hand. “I appreciate the thought, but don’t worry about it. You’re good.”

Before Percy could respond, the distant roar of a motorcycle cut through the air. The sound grew louder, causing Grover to jump in alarm.

“Was that a monster?” Grover asked, eyes wide with panic.

“Something worse…” Lucian muttered, his eyes glowing faintly as he scanned the surroundings.

“What could be worse than a monster?” Percy asked, his confusion mirroring Grover’s.

The diner’s door chimed as it opened, and the heavy thud of boots echoed inside, casting a tense, ominous atmosphere over the room.

“A god…” Lucian said quietly as a man stepped into view. He was wearing a black leather jacket, matching pants, and a pair of sunglasses. His presence was overpowering, making everyone at the table sit up a little straighter.

Clarisse’s eyes went wide with recognition, her voice catching in her throat. “D-D-Dad?”

Ares scoffed, mockingly imitating her. “D-D-Dad~? It’s Father or sir, young lady.”

“Right… sorry, sir,” Clarisse mumbled, clearly embarrassed by the encounter.

Percy’s expression soured instantly, not like Ares’ first expression, and the god’s smug demeanor wasn’t helping.

Ares turned his attention to Grover, motioning with a tilt of his head. “Move over, Satyr.”

Grover didn’t hesitate, pressing closer to Percy to make room for the god of war.

Lucian smirked, glancing at Thalia. “I see the punk style runs in the family.”

Ares chuckled, nodding toward Thalia. “Heh, damn straight. Nice jacket, kid.”

Thalia smirked, clearly enjoying the banter. “I could say the same. Mine’s lion’s pelt. Yours?”

“Italian leather,” Ares puffed out his chest, grinning as he tugged on the collar of his jacket proudly.

Percy, growing impatient, narrowed his eyes. “What’s the god of war doing here anyway?”

Ares’ grin widened as he leaned in. “Sightseeing. Not every day you get to see seaweed and brimstone make a kid, and my little sis here rounding out the new Big Three generation. Gotta say, I’m impressed.” He turned to Lucian with a smirk. “I’ve already met Uncle Brimstone’s brat a few times, but I figured I’d come get a closer look at you two.”

Percy’s disdain was evident as he scoffed. “You’ve had your look. You can leave now.”

“Percy…” Grover warned, his voice shaky.

Ares leaned in closer, flashing a wicked grin. “I like a kid with some attitude. Got some balls on you, huh?” He lowered his sunglasses, his glowing eyes locking with Percy’s. “But I hope you know who you’re talking to, little cousin.”

“Yeah, yeah. You’re Clarisse’s dad. Ares. God of war,” Percy said with thinly veiled annoyance.

Ares smirked, pushing his sunglasses back up. “And don’t you forget it.”

Turning to Clarisse, Ares leaned forward. “Hey, brat. I need you to do something for your dear old dad.”

Clarisse blinked in confusion. “What is it?”

“I left my shield behind when I was on a date with Aphrodite. I need you to retrieve it for me.”

“That’s not happening,” Percy interrupted immediately, crossing his arms.

Ares’ eyes darkened as he glared at Percy. “What?”

“Clarisse is on a quest with me. She’s not your errand girl. If you want your shield, go get it yourself,” Percy said firmly.

A tense silence settled over the diner, the air thick with challenge as Ares sized Percy up, his eyes flashing with dangerous amusement.

“Listen here, you bastard child—” Ares said, his aura surging as he leaned closer, the air around him thickening with power.

The diner went silent. Patrons trembled, some instinctively dropping their trays and falling to the floor, arms wrapped around their heads in terror.

“That brat is my kid! That means I get to order her however I goddamn please! So I say she’s getting my shield for me; that means she’s getting my shield for me—no questions asked!”

Percy, undeterred by the oppressive presence of the war god, glared at Ares, his jaw clenched. “You’re right; she’s your kid! But that doesn’t give you the right to treat her like property. She’s a person, not a dog you can command.”

Clarisse sat at the table, her gaze cast downwards. She felt a mix of admiration and shame as she listened to Percy stand up for her, but the weight of her father’s presence kept her silent. She would have defended herself against anyone else, but confronting Ares was different.

Closing her eyes, she took a deep breath. “Percy, drop it.”

“What? No—” Percy froze, startled by the pleading look on her face. That along with her calling him by name, not using a sea-related nickname like usual, hit him hard.

Clarisse then turned to Ares, her expression serious. “Don’t worry, Father sir. I shall retrieve your shield with haste.”

Ares scoffed and ruffled her hair, a twisted grin spreading across his face. “Excellent! I like it when my kids are obedient.”

Bang Clatter

Percy slammed his fist on the table, utensils rattling.

“Got something to say?” Ares asked coldly. “If you do, I’d choose your next words wisely; they may very well be your last.”

“No, this table is just very slammable…” Percy shot back, matching Ares’s cold demeanor. He leaned closer, eyes narrowing. “However, the table isn’t the only thing…”

“Hmp. You’re lucky to meet someone as generous as me. You made that comment to another Olympian, and you’d be toast already.” Ares then turned his attention back to Clarisse. “The water park is a mile west on Delancy. You can’t miss it. Look for the Tunnel of Love ride; my shield should be there.”

Clarisse nodded in response, and as Ares stood up to leave, a shadow slithered up, forming a hand that pressed against Ares’s chest.

“What’s the meaning of this?” Ares asked, eyebrows raised in confusion.

The shadow hand sat palm-up, hovering ominously.

“The Helm.” Lucian calmly demanded

“Excuse me? What the hell are you talking about?” Ares snapped, annoyance creeping into his voice.

Lucian’s eyes glinted coldly, turning blood red. “I’m not stupid, and I know you aren’t either, so you know exactly what I’m talking about.”

Ares narrowed his gaze, still feigning ignorance. “I’m still a little lost here. What are you talking about?”

Lucian took a deep breath before exhaling, retracting his shadow hands and offering a seemingly friendly smile. “Nothing. Just a little test to see if you had it. You can never be too careful, am I right? Haha,” he chuckled, shaking his head as if the whole exchange were a mere jest.

“Ah, I see… One of the oldest tricks in the war books, lie to your enemy into thinking you had them,” Ares replied, his tone lightening slightly.

“Exactly.” Lucian snapped his fingers. “And it looks like I was wrong; you don’t have it. I sincerely apologize for that.”

Ares scoffed, amusement flickering across his features before he turned to walk away. But as he did, the smile faded, replaced by a flicker of unease.

“What the hell was that about?” Thalia asked, confusion etched on her face as she looked at Lucian.

Lucian frowned, his eyes still cold. “That was his easy way out. However, he failed to appreciate it.”

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