A/n I know Hestia isn't very well known, but she is the oldest of the Greek Gods, and also kept her virginity like Artemis that should clear it up

A/n I know Hestia isn't very well known, but she is the oldest of the Greek Gods, and also kept her virginity like Artemis that should clear it up. I hope. Wish you like you. R&R and all that good stuff.

Hestia was 9 months pregnant. She had given up her virginity to defeat Kronos. As had Artemis. Hera had broken her vows to Zeus to help out the cause.

Damn that Luke and Nico. If Luke hadn't shot Percy and killed him, Hestia wouldn't have to go through childbirth. Then, out of hatred for Percy, Nico sided with Kronos and slaughtered the Ophiotaurus (A/n Did I spell that right?)

Hestia lay down on the soft grass, waiting for the pain that was sure to come. Her abdomen lit up in pain, and she knew from the 10 other times her water had just broken. She began to push fervently, trying to go as fast as possible to end the pain.

She pushed for 15 minutes, until the head of her baby plopped on to the ground. A minute later the rest of it came out, revealing it to be a boy.

Hestia quickly got up, wrapped the boy up in a blanket that appeared from nowhere. She wiped him off, then called the messenger goddess Iris.

"Drop him off to his father, that Native American Shaman," whispered Hestia, throat raw from yelling out in pain from childbirth. "Tell him to name my boy Ptolemos, or Cole, Wildfox.

& 13 Years Later &

Cole Wildfox woke up in his father's tipi. His wiry frame was diminished by the hand-woven blanket that covered him. He pushed off the blanket, revealing the tiny but powerful body that was Cole's. Cole's arms and legs were small but looked strong, like he had iron bars for bones.

His mysterious eyes, brownish orange on the outside with a pool of grey in the center, flashed furiously. He turned around, ominously awaiting the test his father was sure to spring on him.

It was his 13th birthday. In Indian customs, it was the day when a shaman would begin to be trained. His father was a shaman, and so he must keep up appearances. The shaman of the Cherokee knew his son would go on to more divine things, but of course the rest of the village would not know that.

There, out of the corner of his eye he saw it. A flash of polished wood. Cole through himself to the ground, barely dodging the arrow rubbed in poison. The feathers rolled over Cole's coppery Indian skin, and he let out a sigh of relief.

Cole knew he had won. Even though all he had to do was dodge an arrow, it had seemed scary enough. Cole guessed the Indians didn't want to kill all of their shaman prospects with too many tests.

Applause erupted from his father's hands, resounding out of the shadowed corner in the tipi. "Congratulation Wildfox," called the Shaman, Crazyfeather, calling Cole by his Indian name. "I am sorry I had to do that. For soon, I will send you to New York to Camp Half-Blood."

Cole already knew his heritage as a demigod, although he didn't know which goddess was his mother. Crazyfeather only knew her as Redmoon, describing the night he had meet the "divine one."

"Shaman, why must I go, I understand I am half-blood. What is so important about this?" asked Cole, furious at his father for trying to separate himself from his son. Cole was normally calm, but when moved he was quick to speak and quicker to act. However, Ptolemos was still intrigued.

"I send you not because I do not love you, but for your mother's letter that asked for your help upon your 13 year. You do not know it, but an evil has taken over the world. We are too far out of nowhere for the monsters to have yet reached us," patiently explained the 35 year old shaman. "Kronos has only ruled us for 20 years and they are just now finishing off the cities and the technologies."

"Fine, I shall go," Cole said, accepting his father's motives were true, which turned out to be quite a talent for Ptolemos. "But I will not like it, and neither will the village," he added.

"I know," the Shaman acknowledged. "I told them last night you would leave after your test. They accepted it, knowing your half-brother will make just as good a shaman as you. Moreover, they also said that they say miss you greatly, and gave me a gift for you."

Crazyfeather took out a clump of hair out of one of his many medicine pouches. "This is a wolverine claw. I know you can value the rarity of a wolverine claw. I laid spells upon it, so it should be lucky," the Cole's father cleared his throat. He pushed it into Cole's pouch that was wrapped around the young demigod's leg. "Now go, and bring this village, myself, and your mother pride."

Cole hopped over to his father, and hugged him hard, squeezing the oxygen out of the old shaman's lungs. "Thank you, Crazyfeather," nearly cried Cole, pushing his face into his father's stomach to keep away the tears. "I will never let you down, you, or my divine mother."

Crazyfeather pushed the half-blood away and said, "Go get packed. You are leaving in one hour on a train to the Big Apple."

Cole ran over to his ground blankets, pulling over his hand-made bag. Then, with a loud, way too flashy bang, his bag filled up with city-boy clothes from his goddess mother.

Nike shoes, of course. (Support your local Greek God shoe-maker, not Reebok) His mother got him look like a country boy. Slightly baggy Levis with a detailed belt, and a plain orange shirt, with aviator classes.

Wildfox changed quickly, and then slid the pack onto his back. Then shouting a quick good-bye to his friends, he ran to his father. The tall, dark, green eyed Shaman awaited his son with a chestnut pony.

The small horse wasn't large but it would be able to get him the 50 miles to the Albuquerque. He jumped on, and kicked the horse in the side, which promptly started off.

"Wildfox," yelled Crazyfeather. "Here take my blowpipe and stash of darts, just in case you get attacked on the way. (A/n Review Question: What monster should attack Cole in the next few chapters? If you have a winning idea, you get a choice of your name in the story.)

Cole caught the presents easily, clipped them onto his belt, and wiped away a tear. He yelled out his thanks, then charged out of the village. After a while he checked out the hand carved blowpipe, which he couldn't understand why his father had given him, as he had been a horrible shot.

He took inventory of the darts; there were 15 of them, each topped by an odd metal. It looked like bronze, but did not seem to have the same qualities.

Cole rode off into the sun, estimating that he was going 10 miles an hour, so he would be there in about 4 hours. Cole tried to keep his mind blank, not thinking about the wonderful people he had left behind. Instead he was heading off into a evil world of darkness.

After 4 hours Cole finally reached Albuquerque. He lost the horse in the subs, and headed for the train station. Of course, once he stepped into the station, Wildfox plunged into the evil world.

"Stop there, Ptolemos Wildfox," growled an evil, icy voice. "It is time for you to be devoured."