The Big House was unusually silent.
Percy sat on the creaky couch, arms crossed, tapping his foot against the floor. The Oracle hadn't spoken in weeks, not since the last quest ended in disaster. But Chiron had called them here—him, Annabeth, and Grover—because something had shifted.
"Why us?" Percy asked again.
Annabeth rolled her eyes. "Because we're the only ones dumb enough to say yes."
Grover didn't laugh. He looked worried. "There's something wrong with the wild places. I can feel it. Like they're going… hollow."
Just then, the door to the attic creaked open. Chiron's hoofbeats echoed softly as he entered. "She's ready. One of you must go see her."
The three exchanged glances. Percy sighed and stood. "I'll do it."
Climbing to the attic felt like walking into a thunderstorm. The air was thick, buzzing with something ancient and watching. The room was dusty, filled with relics from quests past. And in the center sat the Oracle of Delphi—a shriveled mummy with a crown of laurel leaves and empty eyes.
Percy stepped forward. "Uh… hi?"
The air snapped like a whip.
The mummy's mouth opened, and green mist spilled into the air, twisting like vines. The room darkened, and the voice came—not hers, not Percy's—but something older than the gods themselves.
When summer's warmth first kisses the land,
Born of the Wild and granddaughter of grain,
Seek the Wild where none remain,
Through haunted glade and harvest plain.
Three shall tread the silent field,
To wake the Wild, or keep it sealed.
Where ivy coils 'round stone and bone,
The sealed one waits beneath the throne.
Where mountains hush and giants sleep,
The forest hides what gods would keep.
Beware the path where silence grows,
For death walks where the green god goes.
The mist evaporated. Percy stumbled back.
He ran downstairs, heart pounding. Annabeth stood the moment she saw him.
"Well?" she asked.
Percy swallowed. "We're going on a quest."