THALIA GRACE

The forest is quieter than you expected.

Even with the soft rustle of leaves in the night wind and the distant hoot of an owl, there’s a tension that hangs over the trees—a subtle weight that makes your pulse quicken. You’re used to being prepared, of course, but nothing has really prepared you for this. Not the stories, not the warnings, not even the oath you took to join the Hunters.

The silver light of the moon slants through the branches, bathing the undergrowth in shifting patterns of shadow and pale luminescence. You step carefully over roots and rocks, boots barely making a sound on the forest floor, trying to blend into the darkness. Your breath is steady, measured, though your hands curl and uncurl at your sides.

And then you see her.

A silver-eyed girl leaning casually against the trunk of an ancient oak, arms crossed. The faintest smirk pulls at her lips, a mixture of amusement and challenge. Her dark hair is braided intricately, a few strands shifting in the wind, catching the moonlight just enough to glint with a hint of silver. The circlet resting against her forehead shines faintly, a symbol of the bloodline she carries and the power she embodies.

You freeze for a second, unsure whether to step forward or retreat.

She tilts her head, observing you with a gaze that seems to pierce through hesitation, through uncertainty. And then she pushes off the tree with deliberate ease, landing silently on the forest floor, boots barely disturbing the leaves beneath her.

“So,” she says, voice calm but edged with a confidence that makes you inhale sharply, “you’re the newbie.”

Her eyes sweep over you, scanning from head to toe, noting every detail with the precision of someone who has spent years mastering both war and survival. “I hope you know what you’ve signed up for. Immortality, eternal sisterhood, and a whole lot of monster-slaying.”

You swallow. That’s a lot to take in. Immortality sounds amazing in theory, but eternal responsibility, endless battles, and a life of constant vigilance? You’d been ready for danger, yes. But danger on this scale—constant, relentless—was something else entirely.

“I… I think so,” you manage, voice steady despite the way your hands threaten to tremble. “I’ve trained. I’ve prepared.”

She smirks wider, and it’s a dangerous smirk. Not cruel, not threatening, but sharp enough that you feel it like a small electric charge on your skin. “Training’s good,” she says slowly, pacing a small circle in front of you. “Preparation’s good. But nothing can really prepare you for what’s out there. Not monsters. Not betrayal. Not… this life.”

Her eyes flick toward the shadows beyond the trees, then back to you. The weight behind that look makes the forest feel colder somehow, as if the night itself is aware of the stories she’s hinting at.

“I’ve seen what happens to girls who underestimate it,” she continues, voice dropping just slightly. “Healers, warriors, even experienced Huntswomen—they all make mistakes. Some never recover. Some… don’t get a second chance.”

You nod, trying not to let the nerves show. You want to prove yourself—to step forward and claim your place among the Huntresses—but the edge in her words claws at your confidence. She’s testing you. You can feel it.

Then, almost suddenly, her posture relaxes. She tilts her head again, smirk softening just a fraction. “Stick with me,” she says, voice warmer now, “and you might just survive your first hunt.”

There’s a pause as she studies you, as though weighing the truth in your eyes, in your resolve. And then she takes a step closer, boots silent, movement fluid and sure. “Welcome to the Hunt.”

The words hang in the air like a promise—and a challenge.

You glance down at your hands, adjusting your grip on your weapon, taking in the feel of it as though this is the first time it has ever belonged to you. The night around you is dark, but the moonlight catches the edge of the blade, casting a faint silver glow. It feels heavier than it should, laden not just with steel but with purpose, responsibility, and the weight of the life you’ve chosen.

Her eyes flick to your weapon, then back to your face, and for a moment you wonder if she’s measuring something beyond skill—something like character, or willpower, or courage.

“First hunts are tricky,” she says softly, almost conversationally, but there’s an undercurrent to her voice that makes your stomach tighten. “The forest hides things. Predators. Monsters. Even… whispers that aren’t what they seem. You’ll need to trust yourself more than anyone else.”

You nod, trying to anchor yourself in your own readiness, in the training that brought you here. “I’ll try,” you say, and the words feel inadequate, too small for what this night represents.

She laughs then—low, melodic, edged with mischief—and it echoes through the trees like a warning and an invitation at the same time. “Try?” she repeats, raising a brow. “No. You will. Or you won’t make it. There’s a difference. And if you’re lucky, you’ll have me around to show you which is which.”

Her smirk widens as she tilts her head again, eyes glinting silver in the moonlight. She steps back slightly, signaling the unspoken rules of this night: watch, follow, learn, survive. “Come on, newbie,” she says. “Time to see what the forest thinks of you.”

The wind rustles through the trees, carrying with it the faint scent of damp earth, pine, and something faintly metallic—blood, maybe, or just the promise of the hunt. You inhale sharply, gripping your weapon tighter, chest rising and falling as adrenaline sharpens every sense.

She falls into step beside you, movements so fluid, so confident, that it’s impossible not to notice the difference between her and you. But it isn’t discouraging. Not really. It’s motivating. Driving you to match her pace, match her instinct, even if you know you’ll stumble.

“Pay attention,” she murmurs, voice almost a whisper now, carried in rhythm with your steps. “Everything out here can kill you. And some things,” she adds, glancing briefly over her shoulder with that sly, teasing edge that doesn’t ever quite leave her expression, “might be worse than death.”

Your pulse hammers, a mixture of fear and exhilaration, but beneath it all, there’s a thrill you can’t ignore. A spark of belonging, of purpose. You realize, as the shadows deepen and the night presses in around you, that you’ve never felt more alive.

And though you’re still new—still learning, still untested—you know one thing:

With her at your side, with Thalia guiding, teaching, and teasing, you might survive.

And maybe—just maybe—you’ll do more than that.