POV Sirius
"Aren't you happy that we're taking a walk outside for once?" Barty asked me, wrapping an arm around my waist.
I stepped back, staring at the tips of my shoes. I was well aware that mortals were far less accepting than the mythological world.
"Ah... you don't own it. Seriously, you can literally turn invisible and send them to your father with a snap of your fingers if you feel like it. Why bother?" Barty mimed the gesture.
"Hmm, I might be a little less confident than you."
“Bullshit.”
I stopped in front of a shop window displaying row upon row of donuts. It was almost noon, and I was starting to feel the effects of our long walk through New York. Barty and I had already been together for two years, and we were only 17. I knew what others thought about us: we had settled down too early, we were missing out on our youth. Yet, when the camp turned its back on me because of my father, Barty had been there, unafraid to knock on my cabin door and tend to my wounds. I appreciated both what he did for me and who he was: willing to give himself for someone, intelligent, strong.
As I was lost in the contemplation of those little pastries, I felt Barty tap me on the shoulder and hand me a small box. “But what money did you buy this with? I didn’t even see you slip away...'"
"Who said anything about buying something?" the son of Hermes said, smugly.
“You stole it? You always have the craziest ideas," I muttered, running a hand through my hair, trying to shake off the tension.
"Well, someone's gotta keep you on your toes," Barty replied with a wink, pulling me closer. "Besides, it's not like you're ever going to be bored with me around."
I cut the donut in half, keeping one piece for myself and the other for Barty. I knew he preferred the dark chocolate ones, yet he had chosen vanilla flavor. His fingers brushed against mine as he took the donut from me. We walked in silence for a moment, the busy hum of the city around us, the sounds of horns honking and people chatting. It felt strangely peaceful despite the chaos of New York. The weight of everything back at camp seemed to fade as we shared this simple moment. I slipped my hand in his, already feeling guilty for having pushed him away and for him not saying anything more.
"I don't care what they say most of the time," I muttered, breaking the quiet. "About us, I mean."
Barty glanced at me, his smile softening. "Neither do I. Let them talk.”
Suddenly, I heard someone shouting. In the crosswalk, a man had stopped and was waving frantically at the cars. He dropped to his knees, his jeans scraping against the asphalt, and took his head in his hands. His hair was tangled, matted with dark patches that were most likely mud—or dried blood. His hands were wrinkled, unlike his face. I couldn’t quite place his age.
Barty, with his more compassionate soul, rushed into the traffic, crouching down to the man's level. He dragged the man to the side of the road, but the stranger struggled against him, shouting that the apocalypse was coming. The other pedestrians rolled their eyes, dismissing him as just another drunk or someone who needed to be institutionalized. I had been institutionalized, too. And from a very young age, I had known that world-ending catastrophes weren’t just myths—or maybe they were, but that was the problem. So, unlike everyone else, I had learned to take people like him seriously.
Barty helped the man sit cross-legged against a graffiti-covered wall. He rolled up his sleeves and rummaged through his bag for a bottle of water. He was getting more muscular from all the training, and I liked knowing that we would grow together.
I hoped that the threat of living as a demigod would still allow me to spend many more years of my life with him.
"I know who you two are. You forgot to hide your bracelets," the man declared.
I cursed under my breath and shoved the bracelet into the pocket of my jacket. It was a rookie mistake. Although our scent couldn’t fool the monsters, the bracelet acted like a hook at the end of a fishing line, marking our allegiance to the camp.
"What exactly are you?" I enquired, while Barty was already ready to pull out a weapon.
“A wizard," he replied.
"What? Like Circe or Medea?" Barty raised an eyebrow. "That's pretty rare.”
"There’s no such thing in the mythological world, you already know that. And from what I can see, demigods are always the last to know when something happens..."
“Tell us," I said, my impatience growing, even though I wasn’t sure if we should trust him.
“Wizards are teaming up with a group of mortals who are starting to gain influence. They want to take the gods' place. You know how it works, everyone wants to seize their power, and in the end, they lose and end up locked in the Underworld."
"So you’re telling me that some mortals are somehow bypassing the Mist, and now wizards want to overthrow the gods?" I asked, trying to keep my voice steady.
The man nodded. "Yes. And it’s not just about taking power. It's about changing the balance. The gods have held power for too long, and some... some believe it’s time for a new order."
Barty stepped forward, his eyes focused on the man. "How do you know all this? And why are you telling us?"
The man’s lips twisted into a bitter smile. "I’m trying to warn everyone. I’ve seen it firsthand. And I know the stakes. If they succeed, the entire world will collapse. Or at least, our world."
"Well, how convenient that you just happen to run into two demigods in the middle of New York. Honestly, how did you find us?" Barty threatened, grabbing the other man's scrawny bicep.
He stopped acting tough, his face closing off. He lowered his head and mentioned a boss.
"His name and why he's having you pull this little stunt," Barty demanded, while I focused on finishing the rest of my donut. This guy wasn’t going to ruin my rare outing with my boyfriend.
"It's a woman, McGonagall," he revealed. “She's fighting to prevent the war."
“So she hasn’t picked a side? Just the side of peace?" Barty understood.
"She also wants to end the reign of the gods. They've been leading us on for too long. They’re using you too."
We took the wizard with us, who strangely didn't struggle. Without any issues, we got him into the camp: he was the son of a minor god, a river god. He hadn't inherited his father's powers and had chosen to pursue witchcraft instead.
James came over to us and helped support our prisoner, who was struggling to move. "Who is he?" he asked.
"We might have some work and an interrogation ahead of us. You should call Dumbledore. I sent him a message by Iris, but it seems like he hasn't received anything," I indicated.
I shot an apologetic glance at Barty, who touched the back of my neck and kissed my cheek before following James. Behind me, I felt Remus' gaze, the new recruit. "Oh, hey Remus," I said.