Lys walked to the Hermes cabin, the backpack that held his few clothes slung over his shoulder. Mount Olympus was.. magnificent. It definitely beat the streets of Manhattan, where he'd lived for years before been brought to camp. At Camp Half Blood, he'd found a home. Admittedly, it was the Hermes cabin, which couldn't really be called a home... you left your bed unguarded and turned your back, and the next thing you knew, some other newbie had nicked it. Lucky for him, he was used to sleeping on the floor. In fact, Lys could sleep just about anywhere.
It was strangely quiet up here. Living in the city, and then at camp, you grew used to noise. But up here was quiet. There weren't even any birds, it was that high up. He saw a few satyrs around, and some nymphys too, doing tasks for the gods. Lys wondered which god up here was his father. He had a few words for him. It wasn't that he resented not been claimed, that didn't bother him. No, what annoyed him was that his father had let his mother be brutally murdered by a Cyclops. The only thing he had of his father's was the ring he wore on his middle finger of his right hand, that turned into a sword. It was a very good sword, strong and perfectly balanced. Whoever made it had spnet some time on it, and had a lot of skill where weapon making was concerned.
What surprised Lys was that even up here, demigods had cabins. The place was full of grand houses, architecture that would make any human architect think they had died and gone to heaven. And yet, the demigods were packed into cabins, just like back at camp. He hoped that up here, he'd at least manage to get a bed. After all, not a lot of demigods had been chosen to come. He wondered why he had. Was it something to do with the fact that the Fates spoke to him sometimes? It hadn't happened often. The first time was when he was arriving at camp and had been attacked by a minotaur. In fact, he had been killed by it. But the Fates had appeared, when Lys was between worlds and told him he wasn't meant to die yet. They had brought him back to life and called him their champion, for some weird reason. Lys wasn't anythig special, he was just Lys. Just some kid who had a god as a parent, who had lived on the streets for a few years. They hadn't been good years, either. Living on the streets, you had to keep your wits about you. People liked to beat up the homeless, and if it was a kid, it was easy pickings. But Lys had learned to survive, to keep his head down. He had done honest work to get his food too, instead of stealing it, something he hated. Lys wasn't a theif, he knew that.
Entering the cabin, he got a whiff of perfume. The expensive stuff. It smelt of rich people. Living on the streets had taught him that. And rich people tended to be grateful when you helped them. Some could be very generous and even buy you a meal as well as giving you some money to look after yourself with. There was only one person in the cabin, a girl a few years younger than him. There was a dog as well, that he assumed belonged to her. The girl was quite pretty, he'd admit that. And.. she had some weird sign floating above her head, a dove, from what Lys could make out.
He walked to the closest bed and dumped his things down. Whoever she was, this girl had obviously just been claimed. And by Aphrodite, if the dove was anything to judge by. That would explain the perfume.
Opening his backpack, he took out his most prized possession, a book. It was Jason and the Argonauts, one of his favourite Greek myths, that wasn't a myth but had actually happened. It was an inspiration to Lys, and something in it made him long for adventure. He wanted to go out into the world and get new experiences, wanted to defeat monsters and have songs sung about him, like the heroes of old had. And as a demigod, every day was an adventure, really. But he wanted more than just the day to day stuff. He wanted something big, something that would make people remember him. Not as the street kid, but as someone who had done something worth remembering, someone who had achieved something.
On the streets, Lys had learnt to keep his head down. And he'd carried on with that at camp. He hadn't made many frieds, but it wasn't something he was too bothered about. After all, you never knew who was going to stay around or who was going to turn up mauled by a monster. It had happened a few times while he was at camp. It wasn't something he wanted to see again. That's why he didn't make friends. He didn't want to feel the pain of losing someone close to him again, not like he had with his mother.