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The wind screamed like a wounded deer across the Longnecker farm, hurling fists of snow against the barn, the home, and everyone and anything unlucky enough to be caught out in it. The farm was battered by an unusually strong ström which had already dropped a foot of snow on a place used to a quarter of that at a time and it showed no sign of slowing down. Forest slammed the heavy door shut behind him. He leaned against the wood of the door and groaned. His fingers, stiff and red inside his gloves, throbbed and complained. He’d fed the animals, broken ice in every trough, checked the generators which were the brutal, necessary steps against a winter that he had to do to ensure the survival of a family farm in a world of corporations. Outside, the world was shrinking, buried under white, the temperature plunging far below zero.
The land Demeter cherished was locked in iron-hard sleep that sapped the energy of her demigod son.
The warmth of the farmhouse kitchen hit him like a physical embrace as he shoved the mudroom door open. The smell of woodsmoke, baking bread, and something richer, honeyed and delicious, filled the air. He shrugged off his frozen coat, boots leaving damp prints on the clean tile.
And there he was. Dad. He was dressed in his tried and tested blue jeans, red flannel, and suspenders that followed the curvature of his body. His hair had long since retreated from his forehead, and the wrinkles alongside his mouth suggested that he had a lifetime of smiles and laughs.
Jonathan Longnecker sat at the sturdy oak table, bathed in the soft glow of the overhead lamp. The kitchen was modern, with all stainless steel appliances, marble countertops, and warm lighting. Two glasses sat on the table. One, half-full of a deep amber liquid, rested near Jonathan’s calloused hand. The other, untouched, waited before the empty chair opposite him. In between the two glasses was a bottle of mead that Forest had made. It was from his magical crop and Forest knew it was just what he needed at this moment.
"Sit down, Forest," Jonathan said, his voice calm but carrying an uncharacteristic weight. Forest scanned his face for any signs of what was the matter. His eyes, usually crinkled with laughter lines, held a quiet intensity as they tracked his son’s exhaustion. Forest’s eyes saw that whatever this conversation was for, it was important and this caused Forest to hesitate. He only ever heard that tone from his father if someone died, if he was in trouble, or if he was about to be lectured. He pulled out the chair, the scrape loud in the stillness, and sank down into it with a thud. The warmth of the room couldn’t quite penetrate the deep chill that had settled in his bones so Forest shivered just a little.
Jonathan pulled the untouched glass towards him, poured some drink into it, before sliding it across the table towards Forest, it stopping just before the edge of the table. "Mead. Warms the soul. I can see why you enjoy making it so much. If I had half the talent you do I’d have turned this whole place into a meadery when I was young. Could’ve saved my back." He took a slow sip of his own. "Been watching you, son. You okay?"
Forest wrapped his hands around the cool glass, not drinking. He stared at the swirling liquid, avoiding his father’s gaze. “Just tired, it was a long day. Storm’s a bad one and I might’ve been out too long."
"You know as well as I do it’s not the storm, Forest," Jonathan said gently, firmly. "Not just the storm. You’re,” he paused, considering the words “fading. Like a plant starved for sun. You do the work, you smile for the boys, but there’s a light missing behind your eyes. Something’s hollowing you out." He leaned forward slightly. "It’s been building since harvest ended. Longer, maybe."
Forest flinched. Winter had always been a prison for him. A restless place that made the familiar fields feel like walls. He’d felt the earth itself pulling at him differently lately, not just for planting or harvest, but with a yearning he couldn’t name, a dormant power itching beneath his skin, feeling useless in the frozen ground. "I’m fine," he insisted, the words brittle. "Just feeling them winter blues. Everyone gets it. You do, Uncle John does."
"Don’t say his name. And like this," Jonathan countered softly. "Your mother, Demeter, she told me this might happen. When the world feels too small. When the roots feel more like chains." He tapped the table lightly. "She suggested Camp Athens, Forest. Strongly suggested it when she came to visit last. Said that it was a place where you could put down roots that might last a lifetime. Meet people like you, hell you have a half sister there Forest. Don’t ya want to meet her at least?"
Camp Athens. The name hit Forest like a physical blow. His mother’s visits in hindsight were rare and filled with cryptic words about the world of the gods and their children. She wanted Forest to join the camp. A place for people like him. A place far away, filled with things he only half-understood and mostly feared. Panic, cold and sharp, cut through his fatigue. "Camp? Dad, no. I can’t just, I can’t just leave. Not now. Look at this,” he gestured erratically up and down towards the window, where snow lashed against the pane. "The generators, the livestock, the boys and you. Who’d handle everything? If an animal got into the barn trying to get at one of the livestock, who could get there fast enough to save them?"
"Your brothers," Jonathan said, his voice unwavering. "Ben and Sam. They’re sixteen now. They may not have godly mothers but they’re strong, and capable. You’ve trained them well, Forest. Better than I ever could have. They know the land, the machines, the rhythm of this place. They know how to treat the land with respect, and they’ll even do the little offering you learned to your mother. They’ll manage the summer chores."
"They’re kids, Dad!" Forest pushed back, his voice rising with concern that grew from his own memories of his own childhood on the farm. A potted spider plant on the windowsill seemed to tremble slightly at the increased volume of his vice. "What if something happens? What if they want to leave? Or one of them gets hurt? Or,” he stammered, “or you?" He couldn’t finish the sentence. The thought of his father alone, facing the farm's relentless demands, was a terror deeper than any monster his mother’s world might hold. He was getting old, his health was not good, and Forest knew all too well that he wasn’t going to change a damn thing.
Jonathan’s gaze didn’t waver. "I’m tougher than I look, son. And this farm has weathered worse storms than a summer without you." He paused, his voice softening.
"It doesn’t matter," he mumbled, the fight draining out of him, replaced by a suffocating dread. "This is home. This is where I belong. Where I’m able to help you so," he paused as his hands shot up and his fingers spread out, “I’m staying. End of story.” His hands fell down back to the table and landed with a thud. His eyes followed them a second later, forcing tears back where they came from with sheer willpower.
Jonathan reached across the table, his large, work-roughened hand covering Forest’s cold one. The warmth was startling. "Forest," he said, his voice thick with emotion. "Look at me."
Forest reluctantly raised his head. His father’s eyes were bright, not with anger, but with profound understanding and love.
"You belong here, yes," Jonathan said fiercely. "You’re my son. This land is in your bones as much as mine. But you also belong to something else. Something bigger. Something your mother gave you. Ignoring it," He squeezed Forest’s hand. "Ignoring it is killing you from the inside out. That emptiness? That’s not them winter blues. That’s a part of you starving. And you don’t have enough space, enough training here to fully spread your roots. Listen, Forest, listen,” he paused as he downed the rest of the bottle, “you need to learn more about these gods, these goddesses, your mother. You need to get stronger. The world ain’t what it used to be when I was your age, and it’s only getting worse. Don’t you think it’s strange that your mother just started to show up as the world burns around us?”
A tremor ran through Forest. “What do you mean?"
“Something is coming, I can feel it in my bones like I felt this storm coming,” he paused, “you were being called to action, and I think your body is telling you to listen.”
Forest thought for a second, pulling his hand away and placing one on his chin. Something was always coming their way with Dad. His bones were always telling him this and usually after the fact. ‘I knew the economy was going to shit, I could feel it in my bones,’ or the ‘old Betsy was always gonna die, kid, I could feel it in my bones’ and now the latest ‘the world is in danger, I can feel it in my bones’. He was right, though, it was strange that his mother showed up when she did. Right at the start of the harvest, she tested his skills first, and then she offered him training. The training was intense, but Forest grew so much within his power as a result of it. Once he had gotten to a certain level it seemed like a different version of his mother came out. She was colder, more direct, and always seemed to be calculating something in her mind. She talked about this camp and how she wanted him there to help represent her, and to grow in skill and power. She never answered why, though. Why was it so important all of a sudden? Why couldn’t she just train him more? Half answers were all he got. Forest really wanted to know why.
Why did his mother suddenly appear? What could have caused her to suddenly seek out one of her lost children? She didn’t care to seek him out when he graduated, when his grandparents died, nor during any other monumental event in his life. So why now? And why was there something pulling him to that camp even now as he protested? The obvious answer was God fuckery but Forest was too cold to even consider it. Forest knew that his father was too stubborn to let this go. If not tonight, it would be brought up at every meal during every day until his father finally broke him down enough to get him to go. He knew the longer he fought the worse it would be on Dad, and his health. He thought he could simply wait out the offer his mother gave him, and last the six months before it expired, but his father would not allow that. Instead, he hid a smile as he figured this was a way for him to kill two birds with a single stone. Or rather, four.
“If I go I have conditions,” Forest relented with four fingers up.
“Oh, conditions? You have conditions, should I wake your step mom to hear them too,” his father chuckled, “let’s hear ‘em then.”.
“One,” he lowered the first finger, “you gotta make up with your brothers and bring them back to the farm.”
His father crossed his arms and shook his head no. Forest nodded up and down and the two continued like this for several seconds before both were nodding up and down. “Yeah you gotta do that dad, you know you were wrong, they know you were wrong. It’s gotta happen.”
“Okay.”
“Two,” he lowered the second finger, “you can’t work the field at all this harvest season otherwise I’ll be right back. I’ll tell the boys to tell on you, and you know they will.”
His father scoffed and went to shake his head no but saw Forests big blue eyes and realized he lost.
“I’ll just put parental locks on the internet,” his father protested.
[color=228B22]“You don’t know how and you’re too stubborn to learn, anyway, where was I,”[/color he paused as he pondered for a second, looking away before returning with a silent ‘oh yeah’ and looked at his father with a smirk, “three. I get to take ‘Susan’ to drive myself to the airport.”
“Boy have you lost your gotdamn mind,” his father spit in anger.
“No, but you will drive me to the airport, yes?”
“Well why didn’t you ask me that instead of asking to drive my beautiful truck and taking her from me?”
“You’re right, you’re right,” Forest paused as he held his hands up, “I don’t know what I was thinking I.. when the iron is hot, you now? Strike when the, forget it. Forget I even asked,” Forest paused as he shook his head and looked away. Suddenly, a single finger shot up. “Lastly, you need to go to the doctor as often as they tell you without me being here to force you to go. Once again, the boys will tell me if you don’t and, as we’ve established, you’re too lazy and stubborn to stop them.”
His father shook his head before he sighed, “I guess.”
“Good,” Forest said with a squint and a grin. “I guess it’s settled. I will fly halfway around the world to some godly camp and you’ll enjoy your retirement in peace. I hope you have a great birthday in a couple weeks. Without me..” The smile faltered for a second, flickering back in as he looked away, before it faltered completely. “I wanted to bake you a really nice cake.” He stood up and wiped nothing from his mouth as tears began to well once again. Reality began to weigh down his body and mind. He was about to leave everything he knew, loved, and honored for something completely different. His father, ready for a moment like this, rose with a speed missing since he was younger and quickly moved to Forest’s side.
“As a poor rednecks from Kentucky I didn’t expect much from my life,” he paused as he pulled him tight, “but with boys like you and your brothers I did alright. And I know you’ll make us proud over there, okay?”
Forest could only nod, and allow himself to be pulled deeper into the hug. The trip to Greece wouldn’t happen for a couple days so he’d have to enjoy his family time.
“Wait,” Forrest paused, “How am I going to get to Greece if I don't have a passport.”
“Yes you do, I packed it in your carry on with the mumbo jumbo for the fight in a couple days,” his dad sighed at the attempt.
“Oh. Right. That’s right. I got one three mon- hey, hey wait a minute, you already bought me a fight? What t-“
-he flight across the world was not as bad as he thought it would be. While the turbulence was a little annoying at times, it was rather calming throughout most of the fight. Even getting through customs was easier than he thought it would be, even though he apparently brought too many bottles of Mead. Despite the loss of half the mead he brought, he found his way to the other side of border control. While it took a little longer than he would have liked he was able to make his way to the taxi stand, mead included.
The drive to the location his mother gave him was another story. The taxi driver drove fast, spoke only Greek, for some reason thought Forest could as well so the two would have many conversations where the taxi driver would tell an apparently funny story and Forest could only laugh along when the driver did, usually with raised eyebrows. Eventually they made it to the location shortly before noon, and Forest exited the cab with a better understanding of that driver's exciting life than he had any right to have gotten. The man gave him his number and said ‘call me’ in his broken English. What a nice taxi driver to offer to drive all this way up the mountains if he needed a ride back to the airport. He walked through the gate without worry, his fingerprint already in the system. He found the kiosk for the cabins, picked his out, and made his way there waving awkwardly at anyone he came across. Once he got to the cabin he went inside and unloaded his stuff. In his mind he was finally ready. Ready to meet his half sibling, ready to make a mark on this godly world, and ready to finally learn what was important about him being here. As he sat down on the bed he wanted to get out there, finally, and meet everyone he could.
Seven hours later he woke up from the unexpected nap as the sounds of a party, of music and laughter filled his ears. Forest shot up and tried to wipe the saliva that soaked his cheek and stretched at the same time but somehow he could only fall back down to the bed in response. He slowly stood back up and stretched out as he tried to get his bearings straight. A party? Tonight? On his first night here? Why? It took thirty seconds for him to remember the date.
It was New Year’s Eve.
He needed to get ready.
The shower was finished within fifteen minutes. The outfit was picked out in five. And all the bottles of mead he brought were collected into a box and he was out the door a minute later still trying his best to wake up. He had brought some coffee seeds, and a pot filled with dirt with him just in case he needed the pickup later on. He followed the sounds of the party until he found his way to the activity field. With a wide smile on his face he slowed his pace as he walked through the festivities, eyes wide with wonder and awe. Were they all demigods? He wondered if they all had abilities like his. It would make sense if they did but the thought lingered all the same.
He eventually made his way to the bar where Jrsaw a bunch of people taking shots. They were much braver than Forest, he knew that much. Shots, and a party like this, would only end in forgetting its end. Suddenly, and without warning, he spotted a badass looking woman moving behind the bar. She was beauty, she was grace, but most importantly she was a [color=228B22]“Bartender,” he thought to himself. Someone who would know where he could put his Mead so that anyone who wanted some could enjoy it. The plan wasn’t a bad one, he knew no one here but he did know parties. Eventually someone might want to drink some of it and that’s when he would strike up a conversation, and maybe get acquainted with the others. He watched her for just a second before he realized that she was not in fact a bartender and was, in fact, another demigod like him.
Forest simply shrugged and placed his box of mead on the top of the bar top and pulled the bottles out and placed them within reach of the others. He had nine bottles, five traditional meads and five melomel meads. He twisted each bottle until each one had their labels facing out so everyone could see what was in each. He smiled gently at the little work he was doing all the while he was doing his best to ignore the craziness of the party. He grabbed the pot, and sprinkled in the coffee seeds, and turned back to the bottles. Eventually, he grabbed a traditional mead and turned around and watched another woman approach the bartender, remark about the unseasonable warmth, and sit down. She had a glass, yet it was empty. Forest looked at his bottle, back at the girls, back to the empty glass, and back down to the bottle. He smiled a warm smile as he looked back up at the girl. He reached behind the bar with his free hand and grabbed two glasses and walked over to the table. Forest hoped he could make a pair of friends on his first day.
“Hi I’m,” he paused as he used his eyes to point to his mead and the glasses in the other hand, “Forest,” he again paused as the words rolled off his tongue in an awkward way, he placed the glasses down and pulled up a stool, sat down, and held up the bottle with a warm smile and kind eyes.
“Drink?”
