AN: This fic, The Prodigal Son, is the first in a 6-book series. This series, Heroes and Legacies, is designed so it can be read as either the sequel to The First Legion Series or on its own. If you haven't read my other series, don't worry, you won't be lost (though you could read that series, anyway ;) Being the first book in the series and because it's a completely OC fic, it's a little rough around the edges, but it should smooth out by book two. I've posted information about this series, my other fics, and upcoming fics on my profile, if anyone's interested.

Thanks for reading, enjoy, and be sure to check out my other fics.

-dmac

Disclaimer: I do not own PJO or HO.

1. A Change of Plans

I woke from my nightmare drenched in a cold sweat. I'd had nightmares before, but nothing like this. For five straight nights I'd had the same dream, and it was beginning to freak me out.

"Chase!" I heard my dad yell my name from somewhere downstairs.

I rubbed the sleep out of my eyes and rolled out of bed. I slipped a tank on with my pj pants, then headed downstairs to see what my dad wanted.

"Chase, are you up?" my dad called out.

I ran my hand through my mop of black hair as I made my way into the kitchen where Dad was pouring himself a cup of coffee. I've never understood why my dad thinks he needs coffee. He was wired anyway without all the caffeine, but me, I could sure use a cup. I sat down on a stool at the breakfast bar and yawned.

"Not sleep well?" Dad asked as he handed me a cup of coffee. Apparently, it was obvious I needed one.

"Not really," I told him, then I took a drink of the steaming-hot beverage. "I've been having weird dreams the last few nights."

Dad sipped his coffee and looked at me like he was looking at himself thirty years ago, which wasn't hard, I suppose; I looked so much like him. We had the same messy, black hair, the same athletic build, and the same perpetual sarcasm, but I inherited my creepy gray eyes and my overanalyzing mind from my mother.

Speaking of my mother, "Where's Mom?"

"She had to run to the office for a minute," Dad said.

No surprise there, she's a bit of a workaholic. Saturday mornings aren't even off limits for her to make a quick trip to her architecture firm to check up on all her current projects.

I was still sipping my coffee when I felt something cool and wet touch the top of my foot. I looked down to see the dog nudging my foot with his nose. "You need to go for a walk, boy?" I asked our dog, and he whimpered, which I took as a yes.

"Chase, if you grab a paper while you're out, I'll cook you some pancakes," Dad bargained.

That was a no-brainer. Dad made the best pancakes in the world, well, except for maybe Nana's.

"Sure," I smiled as he handed me a couple bucks.

"And we can talk about your dreams over breakfast," he added.

I nodded to my dad, then walked to the front door where I slipped on my shoes and grabbed my Mets cap off the rack. Now, I know what you're thinking: Mets? What the hell? But Mom had this stupid Yankees cap she never let me wear, and for good reason I discovered, so I wore a Mets cap. I clipped the leash onto Iolaus' collar and led my twenty-pound white terrier out the door.

I say he was my dog, but Dad actually bought him for Mom. When she finally decided to give up on getting pregnant again after three years of trying everything and calling Hera things that should never ever be repeated, Dad brought home a puppy. It was a nice gesture, and Mom loved the dog to death, but somehow I'd been stuck with the responsibility of taking care of him. Don't get me wrong, he was a cool dog, a little firecracker, but a Westie…not the breed I would've picked. I would've gotten a Great Dane or a Doberman, a big dog. I mean, not as big as Dad's hellhound, who, by the way, didn't live with us in our Brownstone here in Manhattan.

I grabbed the Saturday copy of the Times, and after the dog did his business, we went back home. When I walked in the door, I noticed Mom was back from the office. I unclasped the leash from Iolaus' collar and hung it on the rack by the front door, along with my baseball cap. Mom and Dad were talking in the kitchen, and I overheard some of their conversation.

"Did he say what the dreams were about?" my mom asked my dad.

"We're supposed to talk about it over breakfast," he told her.

"Percy," Mom sounded worried. "If…if the dreams…"

"I know," Dad sounded worried, too. "It may be time to send him to camp."

"I think it is," I said as I walked into the kitchen and kissed my mom on the cheek.

"Why do you say that, sweetie?" Mom asked, and I really wished she'd stop calling me sweetie, already. I wasn't five anymore.

"I'm dreaming about monsters," I said as I sat down to my stack of freakishly blue pancakes. They were delicious, but they were…blue. "I've been dreaming of a girl about my age, probably fourteen or fifteen. She's being attacked by a big dragon-snake thing, and I think I'm supposed to stop it from happening."

"Do you recognize the girl?" Dad asked.

"Never seen her before," I sputtered almost incoherently as I devoured my pancakes.

"Don't talk with your mouth full," Mom ordered, and Dad chuckled as I finished chewing my food.

"Sorry, Mom," I apologized. "Anyway, I don't think she's a demigod like you two. I think she's a mortal, a clear-sighted mortal."

"Like you," Mom said.

I may be the son of two demigods, but that doesn't make me a demigod. And just because my parents are two of the legendary heroes of Olympus, Percy Jackson and Annabeth Chase, doesn't mean I inherited any kind of godly powers from them, because I most certainly didn't. I'm a mortal: no powers, no ADHD, no dyslexia, none of that demigod stuff, except for the ability to see through the Mist, and as far as I know, all descendents of demigods have clear sight. I wasn't a troubled teen, either, although, I did get into my fair share of it. Having clear sight created some awkward situations at times, usually making me out to be a trouble-maker or just a complete fool.

"Do you want to go to camp, son?" Dad asked me.

What I wanted to say was no, not really. I'd wanted to try out for summer baseball. I played second base for my school's junior varsity team, and I loved baseball. Being summer break, baseball season at school was over, but I'd hoped to get picked up to play on a summer team. I guess that wasn't going to happen now.

"I don't really have a choice, do I?"

My parents never lied to me about who they are and who my godly grandparents are. I knew all about the demigod life and Camp Half-Blood. I'd actually visited camp on a few occasions when I was younger. My parents would tell me of their adventures and quests as bedtime stories. They warned me over and over that this day might come, that I might one day be a camper like they were, and when the dreams began, I knew that day was finally here, I knew my life was about to change forever.

My mom had a concerned look upon her face; what mother wouldn't, "Well, I guess you should start packing. We'll take you to camp tomorrow."

I almost choked on my pancakes. Tomorrow was...soon, too soon.

After I finished my breakfast, I went up to my bedroom to pack my duffle bag. Tomorrow. I'd only been on summer break for a week. I didn't get to hang out with any of my friends or do any of the stuff I had planned to do this summer. As I packed my bag, I got the feeling it was time to stop making plans.

I finished packing my bag, then showered and put on jeans, a t-shirt, and sneakers. There was something I had to do before I left for camp, someone I had to say goodbye to. I grabbed my cell phone (being mortal, cell phone usage wasn't risky for me) and sent Nic a text: Meet me at the park in 20.

I walked back into the kitchen where Mom was cleaning up the mess Dad had made; he wasn't a neat-freak by any stretch of the imagination. "Mom, I'm going to the park for a little while," I told her.

"Okay, be careful."

"Always," I waved to her then put my cap on and walked out the front door.

I walked the few blocks to the park and sat on a bench to wait for Nic. Only a few minutes had passed when I saw the blue-eyed girl walking up the path toward me. Nicole Taylor, one of my best friends and my best girlfriend- wait, friend that's a girl, not girlfriend...at least, not yet. Nic and I had become friends right after she started at my school two years ago. She was my age, fourteen and was athletic like me. She played volleyball and was a cheerleader, though she said the only reason she was a cheerleader was because she got the best seat at the games, the sideline. And even though she didn't cheer at my baseball games, she never missed one.

"Hey, Chase," she smiled as she tucked a stray piece of her long, blond hair behind her ear. "What's up?"

She sat down on the bench beside me, and I said, "Well, I've kinda had a change of plans for the summer."

"Oh, yeah? What's changed?" she asked.

"Mom and Dad got me into this summer camp, and I leave tomorrow."

She raised an eyebrow, "Camp?"

"I know, it sounds lame," I said, and it does sound lame.

"What kind of camp?" she asked.

"It's a baseball camp," I lied.

Nic was a normal mortal; she couldn't see through the Mist. She knew nothing about the gods, demigods, or monsters, and I intended to keep it that way.

"Well, that's great, Chase," she grinned widely. "I know how badly you want to play ball this summer."

Gods, I hated lying to her, "Um…yeah."

"So, is this camp here in the city?"

"No, it's in Long Island," I told her.

"Oh," disappointment was noticeable in her voice. "How long will you be gone?"

"All summer." I hoped it would only be for the summer. I probably should've been hoping I'd survive the summer. "I'm sorry, Nic," I sighed. "I know we had a lot of stuff planned."

"It's okay, Chase," she put her hand on mine. "I know how much baseball means to you."

"Right," I muttered. Did I mention I really, really hate lying to her?

"Come on," she said, pulling me up off the park bench. "Let's go get milkshakes." She knew me too well. A chocolate milkshake was my ultimate weakness.

We left the park and went to the ice cream shop we always go to. I got a chocolate shake, as always, and she got a pineapple shake. She got a different flavor every time. We spent the rest of the afternoon just walking through the city and talking. I was dreading tomorrow, and she kept my mind off the impending doom that was about to become my life.

When I made it back home around five o'clock that evening, I sat on the front steps of our home for a while. I wasn't ready to go inside and hear the speech about camp that I knew my parents were going to give. I'd been sitting there for about half an hour, just watching people walk by and thinking about what camp would be like, when Dad walked out the door. He sat down next to me and swiftly reached up to knock my cap off my head. I knew it was coming, and I blocked his attempt.

"Nice reflexes," he grinned.

"Foresight," I laughed and shook my head. "You always try that."

"Anticipation and response," he nodded. "Quality hero skills."

"You really think I'll be a great hero, like you?"

"I know you will."

"I wish I was that confident," I sighed.

I didn't have any godly powers like him or Mom. I was really unsure why I was even having dreams about a monster; I was nothing special, really. The only fighting skills I had were what Mom and Dad had taught me over the years.

"When I first went to camp, it took awhile for my confidence to build," Dad admitted. "I was totally clueless that first summer. It was pretty humiliating. At least you know all about camp life already."

"That's about the only thing I have going for me."

"Chase, I'd really hoped this day would never come. I prayed to the gods that you wouldn't have to live the kind of life your mother and I did, but you have to play the cards the Fates deal you, and I think they have big plans for you, son."

Big plans, for me? Well, that was cryptic. I got the feeling Dad knew something I didn't, that he was holding something back.

"What do you mean?" I asked him.

"Oh, I just…" he paused. "I just think you'll do great. Like father, like son, huh?"

When he backpedaled just then, I knew he wasn't telling me everything, but I knew better than to push him, because he wouldn't tell me. He'd make me figure it out on my own, like he always did.

"I'll try to make you proud, Dad."

"I'm already proud," Dad smiled and nudged my shoulder with his own.

Mom stuck her head out the front door, "Are you boys hungry? Supper's almost ready."

Dad and I stood up off the steps and walked into the house for the last supper we'd share together as a family for a while.