Lucas sat cross-legged near the bow, one hand trailing in the water as the sailboat cut a gentle line across the darkening sea. Milo rested opposite him, knees pulled to his chest, damp curls clinging to his forehead. His eyes were half-lidded with exhaustion, but flickers of curiosity still danced behind them.
"You didn't tell me your name."
The satyr blinked, then rubbed his nose with a small, sheepish laugh. "Didn't really get the chance. Between being tied up and almost eaten."
Lucas nodded. "Fair."
The satyr offered a hand, crooked fingers and chipped nails, the palm still stained with ash. "Milo. Milo Thornbush.
Lucas clasped it, his grip firm. "Lucas Thorne."
Milo's brows lifted. "I recall hearing that name somewhere...Who's your divine parent?"
"Hecate," Lucas said simply.
Milo whistled low. "So that's why the name is familiar, the demigod who Olympus is worried about."
That caused Lucas to let out a wry chuckle.
"You came here for Pan, right?"
That caused Milo to freeze, "How do you know?"
Seemingly jumping to his own conclusions, hope started growing in Milo's eyes, but Lucas shut him down before he could start.
"The golden fleece. It is said to radiate energy not too different to Pan's causing the confusion of him being here and leading many satyr to their deaths."
"...So Pan isn't here?"
Lucas shook his head, the atmosphere too heavy for words.
Milo hung his head, depressed. It was a few minutes before he spoke.
"Thank you."
That reaction was a surprise to Lucas. Milo continued.
"The council of the wild has been searching for Pan for eons, many satyrs searched this sea believing him to be here but never returning. Now I can bring this information back, allowing everyone to understand what happened to the past searchers of Pan, and stop any more coming and dying."
Milo raised his head, eyes still wet with tears but genuine gratefulness filled them.
"So on behalf of the satyrs thank you."
Lucas didn't respond. He was watching the horizon.
Milo noticed. "You alright?"
The answer didn't come. Instead, Lucas slowly stood, gaze narrowed. The waves had begun to churn, slow at first, then violently. The sail cracked overhead. The clouds had thickened without warning, and the smell in the air had shifted from salt to static.
"This isn't normal," Lucas murmured.
"What?" Milo sat up straighter.
Lucas' eyes flared. Veil Sight.
The world shifted. But there was no illusion. No monster cloaked in shadow. No magic twisting the air. Just raw, unrestrained divine power flooding the area, manipulating both the sea and sky.
Lucas gritted his teeth. "This isn't natural weather. This is revenge."
Milo paled. "Whose?"
"There are only two gods who can move the sea and sky like this," Lucas said. "And only one of them has a reason."
Realization hit Milo like a fist, causing his face to turn even paler. "You killed Polyphemus…"
Lucas nodded.
Lightning split the sky. Thunder boomed, rattling the ship's frame. The wind screamed through the rigging as waves rose like towers. The boat bucked, nearly throwing them both overboard. Lucas caught Milo by the arm, dragging him to the center deck.
Milo yelled over the wind, "Can't you do something?"
"I can't fight a god," Lucas snapped, voice calm despite the storm.
He dropped to one knee, fingers fumbling with the leather straps of his satchel. He pulled free a sealed envelope: worn, thick parchment, the seal unbroken since the day Steven handed it to him.
He broke it open. Inside was a ticket.
Aeolus Flights - One-Way, Divine Priority.
Lucas didn't hesitate. He ripped it clean down the middle.
The world howled.
Wind converged into a vortex beside the ship, and from it stepped madness clad in flight attendant blues and golden aviators. Aeolus, the wind god, grinned too wide, too wild. His cap was tilted at an angle, and his breath smelled like ozone and champagne.
"Welcome aboard!" he sang, voice far too cheerful. "You've got fifteen seconds to tell me where, or you'll be rerouted to the bottom of the Mariana Trench!"
"Can you take us both back to Camp-Halfblood?" Lucas asked, caught off guard
"Ooh, no can do, I'm afraid. One ticket, One passenger. So you will have to leave the little satyr behind." Still the same smile.
"No." Lucas declared.
This caused Aeolus to lose his smile, demeanor changing to a wrathful one before returning immediately to the flight attendant persona.
"You don't decide little demigod. One ticket for one passenger, that's the deal. Be warned, argue again and even the favor I owe your mother will be revoked."
"I mean, I will not leave him alone."
Aeolus stared. The grin didn't leave his lips, but it froze as he understood what Lucas was saying.
"Are you serious?"
Lucas nodded once.
The god tilted his head, as if seeing Lucas for the first time. "You'd give up your chance to escape… for a satyr?"
Lucas' voice was quiet, unwavering. "Take him back to Camp Half-Blood. Make sure he's safe."
The wind god stared at Lucas, seeing the depths of his eyes, and looked away. Then, slowly, his grin twisted. Not mockery. Something close to admiration.
"You're madder than me," Aeolus muttered. Then louder, "Fine!"
He flicked his wrist. A surge of wind wrapped around Milo, lifting him gently into the air.
The satyr struggled. "Wait, what? No!"
"You're not dying here," Lucas said.
Milo's eyes shone, but before he could protest again, he was gone, swept into the sky like a leaf on a breeze.
Aeolus lingered a heartbeat longer. His gaze turned back to Lucas.
"Good luck," he said softly. No grin. No madness. Just a man staring at a child who had made a god flinch.
Then he vanished.
A final gust of wind ripped across the deck as the sea rose to claim the ship.
Lucas braced himself as the mast snapped, the deck splintered, and the world flipped. The last thing he saw before the water closed over him was the storm splitting open like an eye, bright and judging.
Lucas smiled.
Then...
Darkness.