When the Moon Fades

Rating T

Genre: Adventure, Friendship, Hurt/Comfort, Family, and some Humor

Characters: Seth (OC), Artemis, Percy, Annabeth, and Grover

Summary: (Takes Place in TLT) Ever since the so called "fire" destroyed his only home and family, Seth Hunter has held a deep hatred against the goddess who caused it all; the one and only Artemis-who unknowingly, is also his mother. Read and Review!

Reasons for why I wrote this story: I've read quite a few child of Artemis stories, but none of the OCs were really what I was looking for, particularly a 'son' of Artemis. Although Broken Bow (excellent series by the way) is one of the few that was satisfactory, the main character did not match what I had in mind. I figure that being a male child of Artemis wouldn't be so well, 'light' and 'humorous'. So for this story, I decided to do one that wasn't the 'happy go lucky' tone evident in PJO, instead I will be taking a more darker and serious tone to it. There will still be some humor, but it's not the overall genre.

Although 'Gary-Sues' are notorious for having a dark past or going on Quests, so do most canon characters in PJO. Just look at Luke or Thalia, even Ethan had a bit of a tragic past. My character will be having a dark past, and he may be going on Quests, but he is in no way 'perfect'. Like every realistic character created, my OC also has flaws, and it's through these flaws that I hope to develop substantial character growth.

I hope you give this story a chance, at least until Chapter 6. If you still think this isn't what you are looking for, then by all means, go ahead and read another fanfic. I understand that every person has different tastes and interests. I write only to improve my writing and hopefully entertain you guys.

Disclaimer: I do not own the Percy Jackson series, Rick Riordan does.

Chapter 1: A Typical Beginning

There were times when I wished everything was just a nightmare.

It would make things less painful, an assurance even, that no matter how bad things were or appeared to be, they only needed to suddenly wake up, and discover that everything was just the way it was. They would probably shrug off the horrid images, forget about it completely, and continue their daily morning routine. Just like a normal kid.

How I wished that were true: the nightmares…and the normalcy.

It was only a few months ago that I realized I wasn't exactly what most people would define as normal. Unless being able to see monsters that other people didn't notice was part of being normal, then by all means, I would be one of those "abnormal" kids.

My name is Seth Hunter.

I'm 13 years old and was an ongoing resident at St. Clair's Orphanage, located in an isolated forest area near Brooklyn, New York. According to what they told me, I showed up on their doorstep when I was around 3 months old, lying in a casket with only a blanket and a slip of paper that indicated my name and age.

Just like your practical Harry Potter story. Only without the obnoxious relatives, the magic, owl deliveries and whatnots.

As far as I could tell, no one was going to adopt me. It was already rare enough to even have potential adopters come to this unknown part of New York, and it was even rarer to find anyone interested in an ADHD and dyslexic kid. It was always the little kids, the ones with pretty faces or with a lot of talent, not some troubled kid who spends all his time with nothing better to do than be on the rooftop moon gazing.

Yeah, you heard me, moon gazing.

You're probably thinking: who spends all their time looking at the moon? Well, that person would be me. It sounded silly and boring and all, but it's really what I enjoyed doing. There's just this feeling of calmness and ease that seemed to radiate inside me whenever I looked at that big dangling orb in the sky. It helps me sort out my thoughts, and think more clearly than I would have during the day. Before you get any thoughts like a certain somebody-no, I am not, I repeat, NOT a werewolf.

Now that we got that boring stuff out of the way, let me give you a glimpse of my once "normal" life.

Ms. Lewinsky was the director of St. Clair's. She was this plump, middle aged woman with bright blue eyes and wrinkles on her face from smiling too much. One would describe her as the stereotypical grandmother on Christmas morning, holding a plate of cookies. Strands of gray hair pulled back in a bun made her once bright colored hair appear dull, but despite her aging looks, she was in no way considered old, in fact she was probably the most energetic person I've ever met.

There were times when she would wake up really early to cook a 40 person breakfast, read to the little kids, make lunch, do chores like laundry, cleaning, etc, and then make a large scale dinner. There were also times when she was responsible for homeschooling all of us. Now if I knew anything about teaching, the main problem wasn't about keeping 40 or so kids of different ages to keep up with their grade levels, but rather it was having the kids pay attention. Just imagine a whole room of rowdy kids, most of them hyperactive at times, and you'll know what I mean. Of course, with my ADHD problem, I wasn't exactly helpful in keeping the peace.

But despite all she had to deal with, she did, in fact, care about us. She wasn't like one of those people who only did it for the pay. She did it because she wanted to, and treated each of us as if we were all one big happy family. She was the closest thing to a motherly figure that I have ever had, and as I reflect back to those wonderfully blessed times, she still was and always will be.

It was a normal day in mid-December, a mix of pure snow and wet slush were being formed into big mounds as snow machines plowed their way into the ice. Tree branches surrounding the orphanage were caked with big fluffs of white like frosting on a birthday cake. It was absolute silence, except the chattering that was getting louder by the minute as more people woke up. The air around me was crisp and cool as I sat on the partially snow layered rooftop, taking in the scene around me.

December 21st, the 13th anniversary of my arrival to St. Clair's.

I couldn't believe how long I had been here. One minute I was helping Ms. Lewinsky with arts and crafts when I was 6, then I was 10, playing hide and go seek in the woods with Mera and Shawn, and now I was back here, officially 13 years of age, maybe older.

I was declared a teenager, which also meant I was stuck here permanently.

It's not like I hated the place or anything, it was really great. During my years here, I met a lot of new people. Some of them became my friends, while others were just okay to be around with.

But one thing I really did despise was what I called the cycle.

The cycle revolved only around me. Being here for so long, it tends to drive me insane. Since I was practically born in this place, I had seen new kids come in and others going out and never coming back. At first, I befriended a lot of these newcomers in order to help them feel more welcomed. Too bad I never considered the consequences, because as I got closer to each of them, we eventually become acquaintances, and even the best of friends.

The thing was, these friendships never last.

That's what really sucked about living in an orphanage, you never knew when someone would get adopted. They would end up all happy or tearful, promising their friends that they'd come visit again when they had the chance, but never actually keep that promise.

I kept hoping that it would be my turn someday. That someday, I would also get adopted and move on in life. But the moment they heard about my disorder and reading problems, they would get all nervous and say something like, "I'll think about it." which pretty much meant no in my book. What's worse, was that every time this happened, I would notice Ms. Lewinsky glance at me with those sorrow-filled eyes, making me feel even worse than I already was.

As I sat on the rooftop contemplating the meaning of my pathetic existence, Lucy, a girl of seven years with blond pigtails and brown eyes, poked her head out from the side window, which was directly below me. She eventually looked up, and noticing me there, she smiled.

"Hey Seth," Lucy said, her breath changing to misty smoke as she spoke. "Breakfast is ready!"

I nodded, giving her a brief smile, as I climbed into the window after her.

Breakfast was normal as always. Everyone gathered around the table, a few of them pushing and shoving to get the best parts of the meal. When all the food was taken, and everyone arranged themselves into their little groups, I settled down at the far corner of the room, isolated from everyone else. I had learned first- hand not to get too close to anyone around here.

After a couple minutes of eating, I was just about to leave the kitchen when Ms. Lewinsky called me over, looking slightly troubled.

"Yes, Ms. Lewinsky?" I said politely, looking questionable.

"Seth, I was wondering if you could help me pick up the cake I ordered. With the winter holidays coming up, I'm really busy at the moment, and with new adopters arriving any minute…" she trailed off, unsure of what else to say.

"It's no problem at all. Where do you want me to pick it up at?"

"It's a bakery store located in upstate New York." She took out a pen from her apron pocket, and started scribbling down the address. When she was done, she handed it to me, along with some cash.

"What's the money for? I thought you already pre-ordered."

"Oh, it's not for the cake," she dismissed. "Do you honestly expect me to allow you to walk for that many miles in the cold? It's for the bus fare."

"But I can't spend this! With the orphanage poor enough as it is-!"

"Seth Hunter," Ms. Lewinsky said sternly, "just take it. I rather you spend a few dollars than see you in bed with a fever! Now go, a cake can't deliver itself to our doors." She said all this in a hurry while pushing me towards the entrance, money and address in hand, and then she added, "be safe." I nodded absentmindedly, already heading towards the road that would eventually lead me into the city.

If only I knew then how much those two simple words mattered.