Percy Jackson: An Endless of All

As I left Orpheus on his own accord. He went on to pass the barrier that protected the camp. The first thing Orpheus saw was the pine trees, tall and proud, swaying above the protective border. Then came the cabins, the forest, the shimmering blue of the lake. It felt like stepping into a dream, though he knew this was the Waking World.

Chiron, in his centaur form, greeted him warmly.

"You must be Orpheus," he said, his tone calm and fatherly. "We've been expecting you."

Beside him stood a sharp-eyed girl from Athena's cabin, who gave Orpheus a polite nod. She took him on a tour of the campgrounds — the armory, the archery range, the mess hall, the climbing wall (with real lava), and of course, the Hermes cabin, where all unclaimed demigods stayed until their godly parent revealed themselves and claimed them. If they ever did. Which just means they are deadbeat parents.

"It's always a bit crowded," she said, "but you'll be welcome here."

And he was.

The next few days passed as he was having fun. It was a new experience for him being apart from his Father who given birth to him. Also, the surroundings were different as well. Different in a good kind of way, becuase the waking world and the dreaming have there charms.

From time to time, he would look back to see if his father was there but he wasn't. However, he had a gut feeling, his father was still looking out for him. Which I did from time to time.

He made friends with fellow demigods in Hermes's cabin, which I was happy to see. All that matters is that he was happy, healthy, and having a good time, which I could tell when I watched from my throne in the dreaming.

Orpheus learned during his time at camp that he excelled in archery, his movements fluid, focused, and his skill seemingly instinctual.

He picked up sword training quickly, not the strongest, but agile and clever, weaving between his opponents like a shadow.

He practiced basic magic, secretly weaving it with the dream-energy passed down from you — minor illusions, glimpses of emotion.

But he kept that hidden. Just as you instructed. Best not reveal all your tricks in one go. Plus, never no your emeines are watching.

On the seventh night of being at the camp, the entire camp gathered around the great central fire, where Hestia tended the flames quietly, her warm presence radiating peace.

Dinner was lively. Demigods laughed, traded stories, and roasted marshmallows over divine fire.

Then Chiron stood.

"Before we close the night, young Orpheus has asked to share something with us."

Orpheus stood, a little nervous, but calm. In his hand, he held a simple lyre, crafted from dreamstuff before he left the Dreaming — a gift from you.

And then… he sang.

In Ancient Greek, his voice rang out:

Of love — for his father, who raised him in twilight and dreams.

Of sorrow, for the burden all demigods carry, hunted by monsters for being born.

Of dread, for all the demigods who lose their lives trying to find a safe space and on quests.

Of courage — the will to fight for another day, for one another.

Of hope — that even those born from divine could still shape the world with beauty.

His voice was not mortal.

It shimmered through the air, a vibration that resonated with the soul.

Campers dropped their food. Some wept openly. Chiron blinked away tears. Hestia sat still, hands clasped, a soft smile on her lips.

Above the camp, the stars shifted, as if they too paused to listen.

In Mount Olympus, the song echoed through the halls.

Apollo, seated among the gods, went silent, heart pierced with awe and pride.

He stood, raised his hand, and his symbol — the golden sunburst lyre — appeared above Orpheus's head in radiant light.

In the Dreaming, within your throne room, the melody shimmered like memory and starlight.

You watched from your obsidian seat, surrounded by your creations.

The music swept through the realm like a river of grace.

And without a word, your sigil appeared in the air above Orpheus — the Helm of Dreams surrounded by swirling golden sand.

Two symbols.Two truths.Two fathers.

One Greek God. And the other an Endless.

As the final note faded into the embers, the camp was silent.

Then… applause.

Thunderous, euphoric applause.

Chiron stepped forward, tears glinting in his wise eyes.

"Demigods of Camp Half-Blood… tonight, you have witnessed something rare and sacred.

This is Orpheus, son of Apollo, god of light, prophecy, truth, music, poets, healing, and civilization.And son of Dream, Lord of the Dreaming, the Endless, who watches over sleep and stories.

Bow your heads."

One by one, every demigod knelt, in awe not just of Orpheus's parentage, but of his song. His soul.

Even those who didn't understand the language of the gods felt the truth in their hearts. All demigods understood Ancient Greek, but his song reached the mortals as well, which they didn't understand, but took the song in kind.

After that, all in the camp went on to prepare for bed. However, Orpheus was moved into Apollo's cabin, where he was welcomed by his new half-siblings — some excited, others wide-eyed, but all curious.

They stayed up late asking questions, laughing, listening as he sang small tunes to lull them to sleep. Once, his head rested on the grass and hay hay-filled pillow. He closed his eyes to be welcomed into my realm as his dream.

Back in the Dreaming, I watched from my throne. One leg crossed, head resting on your hand. A small smile on your lips.

Your son was shining.

He was thriving.

I had watched him grow from a mewling babe to a confident young demigod. And now he walked among others — not as a godling, not as a prince, but as a boy with a gift and a destiny that can ruin him or bring him greatness.

And yet… my heart ached.He was farther than he'd ever been.And growing more into the waking world each day.