Lucas had been traveling for days.
Unlike the frantic pace that had marked so much of his life: monsters, trials, Olympus, this journey was quiet. Purposeful. The kind of movement that allowed him to think, breathe, and notice the world around him.
He walked more than he rode, moving through backroads, wooded edges, and forgotten towns. No monsters. No divine interference. Just the mortal world.
By the end of the fifth day, he arrived in a small southern city tucked along the river's bend. It didn't boast towering buildings or busy trains. Instead, it hummed with life in a more subtle way; bicycles and wind chimes, mom-and-pop diners, live jazz drifting from second-story windows. The people moved with that summer-warmed gentleness that had no urgency.
Lucas bought himself a drink at a modest corner café. Nothing fancy. Just black tea, steeped well. He sat under a creaking wooden awning, listening to the street vendors calling their daily discounts. The breeze was soft. The sun brushed against his cheeks.
He stayed for nearly an hour, sipping slowly and watching the world pass.
Across the street, a man sat carving wooden birds. A few children played hopscotch down the sidewalk. A pair of teenagers argued over a book series Lucas vaguely recognized.
It made him feel oddly grounded.
After finishing his tea, Lucas wandered through a secondhand bookstore two blocks down. The place was cramped, its shelves uneven and heavy with dust. He liked it instantly. He lost track of time there, thumbing through pages of mythology books, field guides, recipe manuals, and atlases.
He bought two paperbacks with half-torn covers and a weathered journal with a cracked spine. At the register, a thin man in his sixties with circular glasses rang him up.
"Passing through?" the man asked, glancing at the worn edges of Lucas' backpack.
Lucas nodded. "More or less."
"Plenty of people do. Some are looking for a fresh start. Some are trying to remember something they left behind."
Lucas smiled faintly. "I think I'm doing a bit of both."
The man chuckled and handed over the books. "Well, the road always gives you something. Even if it's not what you wanted."
Lucas thanked him and stepped back out into the late afternoon warmth.
Outside, Lucas stopped at a small farmers' market set up along the square. He drifted from stall to stall, picking up small things: dried lavender, clove, and wild fennel. To any mortal, they were simple kitchen herbs. To Lucas, they were base ingredients. Nothing that would glow in a divine sense, but useful when paired with the right rituals. He gathered them without rush, tucking each bundle carefully into a cloth pouch.
At a booth selling handmade candles and oils, he struck up another conversation.
"Lavender and mugwort?" the vendor asked, a woman with short hair and a denim apron.
"Calming," Lucas said. "Good for sleep or focus. Depends how you use it."
She raised an eyebrow. "You sound like someone who knows his herbs."
Lucas smiled. "A... friend taught me. She is good with such stuff."
"Smart woman." The vendor handed him a wrapped bundle. "Take care of yourself, kid."
He continued on until the sun began to dip.
As evening came, he made his way toward the rooftops near the edge of town, quiet spots where the river bent and the buildings tapered. He climbed up an old fire escape and settled onto a slanted roof above a closed laundromat.
The city was gold now. The light washed over brick and tile. Birds circled overhead. A few street lights flickered on prematurely.
Lucas pulled out his newly bought journal and began writing.
He didn't write anything too important. Just names. Dates. Places.
As the last light began to fade he began practicing his magic, not elaborate spells, just the basics. Movement through the Mist. Internal balance. Memory recall. He whispered incantations under his breath, checking the pacing, the cadence. Like muscle, it needed to be worked. Not for combat. Just so he didn't become distant or unfamiliar. He also tried improving some of his less used spells into ones not requiring incantations, some he wasn't talented in but seemed useful when Circe taught him so he practiced them too.
When his voice grew hoarse, he switched to enchantment design. Sketching patterns across the journal's empty pages, modifying and cross-referencing techniques he'd learned and refined since Camp. Nothing was final. Just drafts. Shapes of what might be.
The sun sank fully beneath the horizon. Heat softened into a cool evening. Someone far below strummed a guitar. A bakery closed with a metal shutter.
Lucas leaned back, journal resting on his chest.
He set up a small stove, boiling water and brought out some tea leaves, nothing special, just ones Luke had stolen from the Demeter cabin the one time he accompanied the Stoll brothers to prank the cabin at night.
He gave a small smile remembering the day after, especially when the Gardner sisters snitched to Thalia.
Lucas lay there a while longer, watching the city. Watching nothing in particular.