Magic and Mist
Prologue

It was a snowy wonderland outside.

New York had been buried under a blizzard for the past few days and, due to the fact that the cars outside my window were pinned in by about a foot of snow, school was canceled.

I was absolutely okay with that. It gave me a little more time to tinker.

See, near the end of the summer I'd gotten into a discussion with Annabeth about Demigod's and their powers. Annabeth had said that all Demigod's had abilities, but not powers. The Hermes kids would always be quick on their feet and really, really sneaky while the Athena kids were always super smart and good at math.

The others got some, too – Aphrodite's kids were attractive, Apollo's children were good with healing and Ares birthed insane hellions who loved war and bloodshed.

My opinion is not biased. Not at all.

But, anyways; those were all abilities. Not powers. Powers were things like Thalia Grace's ability to control lightning and, partially, the air. Circe's Charmspeak was also a power, something she'd obtained somewhere along her considerable lifespan. Someone else with powers was that son of Hephaestus that caused the Great Chicago Fire back, like, a millennia ago.

Or was it a century…? Never mind, it doesn't matter.

Another example of someone with powers is myself. I can control water and, partially, the earth. But, at the same time, I have some abilities too. I can breathe underwater, can talk to fish and horses, heal easily while submerged…

You get the idea. Powers are things that need to be focused on to be used and abilities are things that come naturally or just happen.

So, I'd wondered, was there any way for someone to gain powers?

And then Annabeth told me about the children of Hecate. The Goddess of Magic. The overseer of the Mist. The women whose kids could conjure fire, create lances of force, toss up magical shields, illusions and more by using the Mist.

Now, I know that Annabeth told me that it was impossible for me to use. That it was something beyond my ability to control due to my father being Poseidon or something or other.

But, as I gazed upon the small flame that rested on my palm, I knew that I'd proved her wrong. It was small – more like a dying ember than an actual spark of flame, but it was there. It flickered erratically, like any small disturbance in the air would snuff it out, but I'd done it.

I'd used magic.

The urge to shout and rave like a lunatic with his arms thrown into the air was really hard to keep contained because I'd used magic!

It's different from my normal powers – I'd been born with those. I was born a son of Poseidon, able to control water like it was an extra limb and use a bunch of other abilities too. But this? This was something I'd earned. Something I'd managed to wield through sheer determination and force of will. I'd created fire. The element directly opposite of the one I was born to wield.

It may be but a spark, a small little bit of flame that could hardly be used for anything other than lighting something like a cigarette, but I'd done it.

I pushed those emotions and feelings to the side – to be used as fuel. I'd learned that the fire needed something to burn, whether it be from an outside source or from something from the inside.

So, that in mind, I directed the happiness that I was currently feeling towards the small flame. The pride and joy that had come from finally seeing some progress from my hours of effort. The amusement that came from showing it to Annabeth and making her acknowledge that she'd been wrong. I coaxed all those emotions towards the small ember that I could see oh so vividly in my minds' eye.

And, in return, the small ember in my hand transformed into a bit of flame that was a few inches high and a comfortable glowing orange. The smile on my face grew even larger at the sight and, for a brief moment, I thought that I saw a figure in the flames looking back at me in astonishment.

But, as the saying goes, all good things must come to an end.

My legs buckled out from beneath me and, before I could blink I'd already crashed to the floor of my bedroom. A tingling sensation made its way through my limbs and my head felt light – like someone had taken out all the brainy bits and replaced it with air.

The fire had been snuffed out somewhere along the way. The moment before I fell, the moment after I'd fell or somewhere in between I don't quite know. What I did know was that I felt so utterly empty.

And confused. I felt confused. But, hey; I always feel confused so that's nothing new.

At least I hadn't managed to catch something on fire. Yay for small mercies.

It took me a few minutes to finally pull myself back together and drag myself up off of the floor. My head felt like it was full of cotton and rampaging Chihuahua's that were barking a slow, pounding beat into my skull.

I grimaced as I plucked a pair of boxers from my head, absently noting that I really needed to clean my room.

If I'd learned one thing from this experience though, it was thus: using emotions to create fire was possible, yes, but I should probably work with existing flames first. Or something else that I'm more attuned to. Like water.

I shook that thought from my mind and plopped onto my bed. That was quitter talk – thoughts. Whatever. I rubbed my aching head and tried to focus on creating the fire once again.

As one of my teachers used to say: "Try, and if you fail, try again. If you fail a second time, try again. If you fail a third time, try again. Try, and try and try – for one cannot succeed unless they try."

A small spark lit on my palm as I focused my intent and drew on some of the ambient Mist.

I'd have to thank Chiron when I saw him again.

…

A few hours later, my mother walked in to find me collapsed on my bed, body quivering in exhaustion and drenched in sweat.

When you consider the fact that I was only in a pair of shorts, it's easy to see why she took it the wrong way.

"Oh, I'm so sorry!" She sputtered out, covering her eyes and turning around to go back the way she came. "I'll just, uhm, be in the living room."

I was going to say something – anything – but my lips remained sealed as she beat a hasty exit from the premises. I blinked once, and then twice before I let out a groan and flopped back onto the bed.

Goddammit.

It took me a little while to finally drag myself off of the bed and throw on a shirt. Suitably dressed, I drug my feet the whole way out of my room and down the hallway.

I heard the TV playing quietly when I finally entered the living room, some soap opera or other, but completely ignored it in favor of making my mom – who was sitting on the couch with her face flushed in mortification – stop thinking whatever she was thinking.

"First things first," I said, gaining her attention. "I wasn't doing what you thought I was. At all."

I'm not blushing, dammit.

"Percy, it's – I understand. All boys begin to do it at some point and –"

"NO!" I cut her off by raising my hands. And my voice. "No, seriously, I was not doing that. I was practicing with the Mist! Not – I wasn't masturbating!"

Okay, now I'm blushing, I'll admit.

"Oh!" She seemed to slump backwards in relief. "Oh. That's good. I was, well… I don't really want to catch my son doing that, you know? And, erm, just to make sure, you do know what mastur –"

"Mom," I cut her off, burying my face in my hands. "I'm fourteen. I know what it entails. I've experienced the horror that was Sex Ed. Please, stop."

I wonder if Hades will kill me if I ask… Ah, who am I kidding? Of course he will.

"Okay, okay. Shutting up now." My mom said, falling quiet.

I appreciated the moment of silence. It allowed me to sort out the how I felt with this whole situation.

Too bad I sucked at figuring out my own feelings. So, with a sigh of quiet suffering, I lowered my hands and imagined a flame in my mind and threw everything that dealt with the current situation right into it.

A small ball of fire blazed to life in my hands, twisting and twirling this way and that. It was the size of a softball, which was a pretty major upgrade from the first one. The gasp from the couch went ignored as I stared at the flames, allowing them to slowly dwindle out of existence the longer they went without getting a new source of fuel – namely, in this case, my emotions and feelings.

Finally, all too soon, the flames died out and left me with a pounding ache in my skull. My knees buckled slightly, but I managed to stay on my feet as I glanced over at my mom. Her face was a mask of absolute disbelief and shock, something that made me smile a little bit.

Yeah, I can't wait till I show Annabeth. She'll have a heart attack.

"Percy, how?" She said so quietly that I had to strain to hear her. "I know you can use water because of your father, but fire is – should be impossible for you to use…?"

I smiled at her as I carefully moved over to the couch and flopped down onto it.

"The Mist." I said. "I told you I was practicing with it."

"But I thought the Mist was just the veil that keeps the two worlds apart?" She asked.

"Well, it is, but it's also more than that." I replied, shaking my head slightly. Ugh, my headache is getting worse. "Annabeth told me that some demigod's could use the Mist for more than tricking mortals or hiding their weapons. About how some of Hecate's children could use it like magic."

"Hecate is the goddess of magic, so that does make sense." My mom cut in, looking a little thoughtful. I nodded, glancing at my hand. I'd like to try to make the flames higher, but the pounding in my head was telling me that it was a stupid idea and I was stupid for contemplating it.

"Exactly. Annabeth said it wasn't possible for me to do. But, well," I shrugged and covered my eyes. My head is really starting to hurt. "I can make a fireball. It's not impossible."

I could feel her nod her head in excitement.

"You can make fire even though you're the son of the sea! That's just amazing –!" She cut herself off. "Percy, are you okay?"

I blinked at the concern in her voice and lowered my hand. I shook my head, eyes bleary and looked over at her. When the hell did the universe's framerate drop?

"Uh," I frowned. I wanted to speak with words, not grunts – but my head felt like someone was hitting it with a rock and my tongue was tied. I shook my head again, trying to center myself, but…

Why is the carpet so close?

I blinked once more and watched as my mother scrambled down next to me on the floor – and when the hell did I get here? And why can't I understand a word that my mother is saying?

The world, obviously, denied me an answer and instead gave me brief moment of pain and a quick drop into unconsciousness.

And that's when things got a bit weird.

…

AN: So, a few things to note here.

First: This will cross partially with The Kane Chronicles and Magnus Chase eventually. They're all a part of the same universe and share a stomping ground. That said, I should probably get around to re-reading them soon as to make sure this doesn't go too far off of the rails. Some inspiration is drawn from Dresden Files as well.

Second: Using the Mist as magic isn't as far-fetched as you may believe. The explanation won't come till (much)later, but be assured that it's using canon logic – if a bit twisted, fractured and hammered into shape.

Thirdly: This was brought to life due to my muse currently being dead for my RWBY story Defiance. So, to help with that, I brainstormed this as a way to get my mind off of it.

Lastly: Also, Percy's won't have the same 'voice' as he does in the books. I'll shoot as close as I can, but I won't hit the bullseye.