The top of the lava rock wall at Camp Half-Blood wasn't exactly the ideal place to meet a god. 

It towered hundreds of feet above the ground, from where the strawberry fields seemed the size of a hand and the demigods like dots. Built like the edge of a cliff, the plateau was built more so as a place for one to grab with one's hand if one needed a quick anchor point in a moment of danger— less so as a place to hang out. 

Naturally, Percy used the plateau as the latter. The climb up was long, exhausting, and hot. The lava coursed up every second as though filling a pot with water. However, unlike the relatively-harmless liquid, Percy found himself scrambling up the wall in fear of the lava.

When the son of the sea finally reached the top, he lay there for a second, panting. I can never get used to this.

The afternoon breeze floated over Percy's sweat-drenched clothes. He quickly unbuckled his climber's helmet, which smelled like a dog had pooped in it, and chucked it over the ledge. I hope it breaks into a thousand pieces.

That wasn't the reason Percy was up there, however. Despite the lack of monsters, life in camp below was stressful—even more so that he had a group to supervise. Unfortunately, the said group was filled with immature hooligans who didn't give a crap about serenity. 

"That's not nice," a familiar voice scolded, as though reading his thoughts. It came from his right—but that didn't make sense. There was nothing except air around him.

The son of the sea craned his neck from his prone position—and found a handsome god floating a few inches from the plateau, a blinding smile on his face.

"Lord Apollo," Percy greeted. "I would bow, but . . . I can't." The lower portion of his legs were dangling precariously. One wrong move, and he'd be plummeting back toward the ground.

"Don't be ridiculous," Lord Apollo dismissed. "I think I've told you enough times not to be formal toward me."

Percy gave him a blank stare. "You almost killed me in a duel."

"I thought we were past that!" Apollo exclaimed, hurt. "Besides, it's not every day an Olympian drops by to talk."

I would rather be ignored, Percy wanted to snap back, but bit his tongue. Instead, he asked, "What business do you have with me?"

Apollo shrugged. "Well, I saw you lying here while I was driving the sun chariot, so I thought you must be lonely."

"No offense my lord, but think about this for a second," Percy said slowly. "All the demigods are at lunch right now, and instead of joining them, I decided to climb a tower on the other edge of camp—all by myself. What part of that makes you think I'm lonely?" But then a thought occurred to him. "Wait. You're not lonely, are you?"

"I see nothing gets past you," Apollo responded, grinning sheepishly.

"Why me?" Percy had to ask. "There's got to be hundreds of people lining up to look at you. Heck, I personally know that one of your children would love it if you visited her."

That was his best attempt at being polite. In contrast, what he was thinking was: Of course it's me. Out of everyone in the darn world, it had to be me. WHY CANT THE GODS GIVE ME A BREAK?!!

"Even so . . ." Apollo sighed, thankfully appearing not to have read Percy's thoughts. "I've been trying to uphold that promise you made us swear, but it's tiring. You don't know how much patience it takes to deal with everyone trying to kiss up to you . . ."

Isn't that the only thing gods like about their responsibilities? Percy wondered, watching the sun god with suspiciousness.

" . . . but you're different. From the first day you stepped foot onto Olympus, I could feel that the only reason you deferred to Father was that you knew your life had value. You had no fear. At first, I pinned it up to your youth." Apollo looked down, as if ashamed. "But maybe it's time for us immortals to change. Talking to you, Perseus, makes me feel like I'm discussing with an equal being that will critique me for any fault that you find—and would do it without hesitancy. Talking to you feels like I can finally open those gates of my mental walls to someone who will value me as who I am—and not because of my power."

There was a bit of silence. "So," Percy finally responded, "do you want me to denigrate you based on your faults? Or do you want to talk like real humans?"

"I would prefer the second," Apollo admitted. "But as the poetry god, I felt like sharing my knowledge with my dear friend."

Percy nodded in understanding, the god's last sentence shooting over his head. As he processed it, however, the son of the sea froze. "Wait. We're friends?"

"Of course. How could we not be?"

"But you're a god," Percy pointed out. "And I'm a demigod. Most importantly, I don't want to be your friend." 

Politeness filtered out the last sentence for the demigod, however. Thus, Apollo mistook his words as hopelessness for their future. "Nonsense! Such class disparities cannot cut the bond of friendship. I am your friend, and you are mine. Nothing can ever come between us."

"How about we be acquaintances?" Percy tried. "I've heard it's best to start slow."

"I am your friend!" Apollo declared. "This is an irrevocable fact. We both know—in our hearts—that our friendship was inevitable."

Speak for yourself, Percy thought—but there wasn't anything he could do. Apollo was an Olympian; if he told Percy to fall onto his sword, the son of the sea would have no choice but to listen. In comparison, a friendship, although not ideal since any immortal that merely existed was his enemy, was better than renouncing his life meaninglessly.

Apollo seemed to pick up on this inner battle. "Now that it's settled, we can talk. But . . . how, er, do friends chat?"

You poor, poor soul, Percy thought as he glanced at the god, pity washing over his brain. "Usually, you would ask how they're doing."

"Then, how are you doing?" Apollo asked.

"Not too well," Percy admitted. "It feels like my life is about to fall apart."

"You came here because you needed some time alone," Apollo guessed, understanding. "Don't tell me you're going to give up on Artemis."

"I don't want to, but it's hard to convince myself that my plan will help." The words tumbled out of his mouth like he was talking to one of his closest informants. "Serena is down in the dumps right now; her sword skills aren't improving, and I don't know how to talk her out of her mood. But then there comes the problem of Nico and Alina."

"I thought you liked Nico."

"I do—but not when he's with Alina. I feel like tearing out my hair every time I hear Alina flirting with him." Percy sighed. "And then I'm still not used to Nico blushing at her compliments. It truly doesn't seem like there's any hope in this group."

Percy fell silent and closed his eyes, relieved. It felt like he threw off a weight that was pinning him down. He assumed that silence would help—but maybe he just needed to confide to someone. 

"Do you know how the hunters were before you met them?" Apollo asked.

Percy thought about that for a second. "Well, they probably hated men for existing—and I imagine that the hunters would be hand-picked by Artemis . . ." He trailed off when Apollo shook his head.

"Out of the ten starting hunters," Apollo said with a nostalgic smile, "eight of them had been in a relationship while also having membership in the hunt."

"What!?" Percy exclaimed disbelievingly. He shook his head, thinking about the time he met Artemis' former hunt—before they died. "There's no way. They were too passionate for that to happen."

"Passionate?" Apollo repeated. "Let me tell you a secret: Only two weeks after banding in the hunt, Artemis felt like giving up since none of the hunters were living up to her expectations."

The son of the sea had never heard of this information—but in retrospect, it was probably to hide the weak past of the hunters, as the group heavily relied on fear to drive potential enemies away.

"What did she do?" Percy asked.

"She confided in me, of course!" Apollo said. "As her dear older brother, I told her not to give up."

"You're not older," Percy pointed out.

"You didn't have to say it out loud," Apollo said, hurt.

"Sorry. But Lady Artemis actually listened to you?"

"I know it doesn't seem that way, but she and I were very close back in the day. As a result, I spent a lot of time around the hunters," Apollo replied sadly

Upon hearing this, Percy spat out dozens of questions about the hunters: their organization, weapons, training times, morale boosters, food, and more.

 He desperately needed advice—but unfortunately, Apollo had none. "What—do you think I have a photographic memory?" Apollo responded amid protests from Percy about his unhelpfulness. "I forgot."

"Get out of here," Percy ordered Apollo. "You're useless."

Apollo's eyes flashed with anger—he was an Olympian with an ego, after all—but the god tamped it down. "What was the reason for insulting the god of medicine?" Apollo asked.

"That's how you talk to friends," Percy said simply.

Immediately, Apollo cheered up. "You can call me useless as many times as you want," he cheered.

I might take you up on that offer, Percy thought, watching with morbid interest as Apollo's anger—as well as his life—flashed before his eyes like a ray of sunlight. 

"I can tell you one thing," Apollo said in a serious tone—switching emotions once again.

"What?"

"You've been training the same two people for the past several months. A bigger sample size couldn't hurt. Recruiting more people will help with your frustration. "

"I could, but there's nobody promising," Percy sighed. "I've been looking for Zeus-knows-how-long."

"Then you've not been looking hard enough."

Percy straightened. "Do you have someone in mind?"

"I do." Apollo had a playful glint in his eyes. "But information comes with a price."