The location Jake's map led them to did not look important.
That, more than anything else, made Clarisse uneasy.
They stood on a narrow Roman side street where the buildings leaned close together, their stone walls stained by centuries of rain and neglect. Between a shuttered café and a souvenir shop selling plastic gladiator helmets was a small storefront with a faded wooden sign.
PARCEL & DOCUMENT SERVICES
Same-day delivery available
Clarisse stared at it.
Then she stared at Jake.
Then she stared at the sign again.
"You're joking," she said flatly.
Chris crossed his arms.
"This is it?"
Teddy tilted his head, squinting at the windows.
"It smells like paper," he said thoughtfully. "And… magic. Quiet magic."
Jake didn't respond to Clarisse's tone. He simply folded his map, slid it into his jacket, and walked straight toward the door.
"Trust me," he said. "Hermes never puts important things where they look important."
Clarisse muttered something unflattering about Hermes' taste and followed anyway.
The bell above the door chimed as they entered.
Inside was exactly what the sign promised.
A small, cramped parcel shop. Shelves stacked with boxes. A counter with a battered register. A bored-looking man sitting behind the desk, flipping through paperwork.
Clarisse scanned the place, muscles tense.
"This better not be a prank."
Jake stepped forward, posture straightening subtly—no longer just a camper, but something closer to an envoy.
"I am Jake," he said clearly. "Son of Hermes."
The man behind the desk looked up.
His eyes changed.
Not glowing. Not dramatic. Just aware.
"What can I do for you," the man asked calmly, "Jake, son of Hermes?"
Clarisse stiffened. Chris glanced at Teddy, who was suddenly very interested in the way the air hummed faintly around the counter.
Jake didn't waste time.
"We need information," he said.
The man studied him for a long moment, then stood.
Without another word, he walked around the counter and opened a narrow door set into the side wall—one Clarisse was certain had not been there a second ago.
"Come in," the man said.
They stepped through.
And the world expanded.
The moment the door closed behind them, the cramped shop vanished.
They stood on a metal balcony overlooking a massive interior space—easily the size of an aircraft hangar. Conveyor belts crisscrossed the floor below, moving thousands of crates in precise patterns. Strange machines hummed and clicked, stamping symbols onto boxes that shimmered briefly before fading.
People were everywhere.
Hundreds of them.
Men and women in identical uniforms moved with practiced efficiency, calling out codes, checking manifests, redirecting shipments. Magical sigils glowed faintly along the walls, layered over modern steel and stone.
Clarisse let out a low whistle.
"…Okay," she admitted. "That's impressive."
Chris' eyes narrowed.
"Those aren't mortals."
Jake nodded.
"Demigods. Most of them."
Teddy looked down at the workers, wide-eyed.
"Why aren't they scared?, there are lot's of demigods in one place," he said quietly.
"They don't have to be," Jake replied. "This place is invisible to monsters. Hermes designed it that way."
The man who had let them in gestured for them to follow him down a ramp.
"This is one of Hermes' relay hubs," he explained as they walked. "Parcel service on the surface. Information exchange underneath. Messages, relic movements, location updates. And for demigods who don't have a safe place to go—work."
Clarisse frowned.
"So Hermes just… hires them?"
"Gives them purpose," the man corrected. "Shelter. Protection. Normalcy, as much as that word applies to your kind."
Chris nodded slowly.
"Better than getting hunted."
They stopped at a glass-walled office overlooking the floor. Inside, a large table was covered with maps, glowing screens, and stacks of scrolls written in half a dozen languages.
The man turned to Jake.
"What information do you seek?"
Jake took a breath.
"A Hestia temple," he said. "One that's been overrun by monsters. Somewhere in Europe. Somewhere that should be safe—but isn't."
The man's expression shifted, just slightly.
"That narrows it down," he said.
Clarisse leaned forward.
"So you know something."
"We know movements," the man replied. "Things being redirected. Shrines going quiet. Supply routes cut off where they shouldn't be."
He tapped a screen. A map of Europe flared to life.
"There was a Hestia sanctuary," he continued. "Not public. A hearth-keep, maintained by mortal families for generations."
Teddy's pendant warmed.
Jake noticed immediately.
"Where?"
The man zoomed the map.
"The temple is not in a city," he said. "It's isolated. Perfect for an ambush."
Teddy swallowed.
"Can you take us there?" he asked softly.
The man looked at him then—really looked—and something like unease flickered across his face.
"Yes," he said. "But you should know—once you go, the protections end. Hermes' reach stops at the door."
Clarisse smiled grimly.
"Good. Wouldn't want it easy."
Jake closed his eyes briefly, then nodded.
"Then give us the route."
The man pressed a sequence of runes.
A new map formed.
They didn't leave the Hermes safe heaven empty-handed.
Not even close.
As the four of them stood near the exit, demigods began approaching them one by one. Older ones. Veterans. Men and women who carried themselves differently from campers. Their movements were calmer, their eyes sharper, their auras quieter but denser, like embers that had learned not to flare.
"You're going after a hearth temple?" one of them asked, a woman with streaks of silver in her hair and a scar across her jaw.
Jake nodded.
"Yeah. Somewhere remote."
She snorted softly.
"Figures. That's how it always starts."
She reached into a satchel and pulled out a leather-wrapped bundle, pressing it into Jake's hands.
"Throwing knives," she said. "Enchanted. They always come back. I don't need them anymore."
Jake blinked.
"…Thank you."
She smiled faintly.
"Bring them back in one piece. Or don't. Just survive."
Another demigod approached Chris—broad-shouldered, older than the rest, his eyes carrying the weight of someone who had buried friends.
"Shield charm," he said, handing Chris a bronze disk etched with runes. "Activates once. Blocks anything short of divine force."
Chris swallowed.
"I—"
"Don't thank me," the man interrupted. "Use it."
Clarisse was next.
A former Ares kid—older, scarred, unmistakably hardened—tossed her a spear wrapped in cloth.
"Balanced for close combat," he said. "I outgrew it."
Clarisse caught it easily, eyes bright.
"You sure?"
He smirked.
"I've got better."
Then came Teddy.
And it was like a dam broke.
They knelt in front of him. Smiled at him. Ruffled his hair. Treated him not like a child—but like someone about to walk a road they recognized all too well.
"This one saved me once," a demigod said gently, placing a small charm shaped like a hearth flame into Teddy's palm. "Keeps fear away. Or reminds you why you're brave."
Another handed him a wooden token carved with strange symbols.
"Emergency signal. One use."
A third simply pressed a pouch into his backpack.
"Drachmas," she said. "More than you should ever carry—but you'll need them."
Teddy's eyes were wide.
"…Thank you," he said softly, bowing his head the way Harry had taught him.
By the time it was over, his enchanted backpack was noticeably heavier—but still looked no different from a normal child's bag.
Clarisse exhaled slowly.
"Okay," she muttered. "That's… a lot."
Jake adjusted the strap of the backpack Teddy was wearing, checking the seals.
"They see him," he said quietly. "That's why."
Chris nodded.
"They know what kind of quest this is."
Outside, parked neatly along the curb, waited their transport.
A dark, unassuming sedan old and just enough that it hummed softly under Jake's touch.
The demigod who had offered it leaned against the hood, arms crossed.
"Bring it back," he said casually. "No scratches and preferably no blood."
Jake gave a half-salute.
"You'll get it back. In one piece."
The man's smile was thin but genuine.
"Good luck."
The doors shut. The engine purred to life.
As they pulled away from the parcel service, Rome faded behind them—not in grandeur, but in quiet inevitability.
No more safety nets.
No more hidden sanctuaries.
Clarisse stared out the window, cracking her knuckles one by one.
"So," she said. "Everyone clear that once we hit that location, there's no turning back?"
Chris nodded.
"We clear the temple or we don't come back."
Teddy hugged his backpack closer, feeling the weight of gifts, of expectations, of futures that didn't belong to him yet.
"…Daddy would hate this," he murmured.
Chris glanced at him.
"Yeah?"
Teddy nodded.
"He'd still let me go."
Silence followed.
The car cut through the countryside at a steady pace, tires humming against the asphalt as Italy slowly shed its ancient stone and crowded streets behind them.
Inside the vehicle, the mood was tense but focused—Clarisse watching the road ahead like she expected it to explode, Jake navigating by instinct and map both, Chris silent and thoughtful in the passenger seat, and Teddy in the back, hugging his backpack like it was a lifeline.
None of them noticed the shadow that moved with them.
High above the road, where the clouds thinned and the air bent subtly around magic, an enchanted flying carpet glided soundlessly through the sky. Its weave shimmered faintly, bending light and presence alike, rendering it invisible to mortal eyes, monsters, and even most divine senses.
Standing upon it was Harry Potter.
His coat fluttered gently in the wind, eyes fixed on the car below. Every movement of the vehicle, every shift of Teddy's aura, every subtle ripple in the world around them—Harry felt it all.
He had not wanted to do this.
Letting Teddy go had been one of the hardest choices he had ever made. Every instinct screamed to keep his son close, protected, sheltered from a world that had already shown far too much cruelty. But he had lived that life himself—isolated, friendless, caged by fear—and he refused to give Teddy the same hollow childhood.
So he let him go.
But that did not mean he would leave him unguarded.
Harry's jaw tightened as memories resurfaced—Neville's worried face, the hurried explanation, the storm-tossed flight to Britain.
Lightning, Neville had said. Too much lightning. The plane nearly went down.
Harry had known immediately.
Zeus.
Subtle, as always. Never overt. Never something that could be proven.
And that was when Harry had decided.
He told Neville to delay them. Two days. Enough time.
Enough time to prepare.
Now he followed them from above, silent as a thought, present as a promise.
I won't interfere, he reminded himself. Unless I have to.
The road curved sharply ahead, winding through a stretch of countryside that felt… wrong.
Harry felt it before he saw it.
The land ahead pulsed with crude, violent intent. A gathering of heavy, brutish minds. Hunger. Anticipation.
Cyclopes.
Harry's eyes narrowed.
Below, the car slowed slightly as Jake frowned at the map.
"You guys feel that?" Jake asked.
Clarisse's grip tightened on her spear.
"Yeah. Like something's waiting."
Chris glanced out the window.
"Ambush."
Teddy swallowed, his pendant growing warm against his chest.
Harry exhaled slowly.
So that's how you're playing this, he thought grimly. You knew they were coming.
Ahead of the car, the road narrowed between rocky embankments and low hills—perfect terrain for a trap. Massive shapes shifted behind boulders and trees, one-eyed giants clutching clubs, spears, and chunks of stone. Their excitement buzzed in the air; they were ready for demigods.
Ready for blood.
They never saw what hit them.
Harry raised one hand.
Magic poured out—not wild, not explosive, but terrifyingly precise. A layered spell, ancient and modern interwoven: compression, displacement, and banishment woven together into a single silent command.
The air above the ambush collapsed.
There was no sound—no thunder, no explosion. Just a sudden, impossible pressure that crushed inward, folding space itself like paper.
The Cyclopes vanished.
Removed.
Their ambush site was left empty, the ground scorched faintly where enormous bodies had been forcibly displaced miles away into the sea, mountains, and deep ravines—alive, broken, and very far from the road.
Harry lowered his hand.
The spell unraveled itself, leaving no residue, no trace that magic had ever been there.
Below, the car rolled forward.
Jake blinked.
"…Huh."
Clarisse leaned out the window, scanning the hills.
"They were here," she muttered. "I swear they were."
Chris frowned.
"Trap got cold feet?"
Teddy pressed his forehead to the glass, confused.
"I thought… I thought something bad was going to happen."
Teddy's pendant pulsed once—then calmed.
Harry's shoulders eased a fraction.
Not today, he thought. You don't get him today.
The carpet drifted higher as the car passed safely through the stretch of road, the danger already erased from existence.
Harry did not smile.
This was no victory.
A quiet, unseen correction to a game he had never agreed to play.
Far above, lightning flickered faintly in distant clouds—restless, frustrated.
Harry's gaze hardened.
"You're getting impatient," he murmured. "That's good."
The carpet turned slowly, keeping pace as the road stretched onward toward the hidden temple, toward lies woven into prophecy, toward a trial meant to break a child.
Harry followed.
And if the world dared to push too far—
He would remind it why some fathers were feared more than gods.
Author's Note:
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