The Tyrant's Tomb

Judging from the angle of the sun, I guessed it was about two in the
afternoon. Given their pace so far, I figured that would give the legion ample
time to finish Temple Hill and maybe construct a sports stadium or two
before dinner.
Jason would have been proud. I wished he could be here to see what he
had inspired.
My vision fluttered and darkened. I thought I might be passing out again.
Then I realized something large and dark had in fact fluttered right by my
face, straight from the open window.
I turned and found a raven sitting on my cot. It ruffled its oily feathers,
regarding me with a beady black eye. SQUAWK!
“Meg,” I said, “are you seeing this?”
“Yeah.” She didn’t even look up from her iris bulbs. “Hey, Frank. What’s
up?”
The bird shape-shifted, its form swelling into that of a bulky human, its
feathers melting into clothes, until Frank Zhang sat before us, his hair now
properly washed and combed, his silk nightshirt changed for a purple Camp
Jupiter tee.
“Hey, Meg,” he said, as if it were completely normal to change species
during a conversation. “Everything’s on schedule. I was just checking to see
if Apollo was awake, which…obviously, he is.” He gave me an awkward
wave. “I mean, you are. Since, er, I’m sitting on your cot. I should get up.”
He rose, tugged at his shirt, then didn’t seem to know what to do with his
hands. At one time, I would have been used to such nervous behavior from
mortals I encountered, but now, it took me a moment to realize Frank was
still in awe of me. Perhaps, being a shape-shifter, Frank was more willing
than most to believe that, despite my unimpressive mortal appearance, I was
still the same old god of archery inside.
You see? I told you Frank was adorable.
“Anyway,” he continued, “Meg and I have been talking, the last day or
so, while you were passed out—I mean, recovering—sleeping, you know.
It’s fine. You needed sleep. Hope you feel better.”
Despite how terrible I felt, I couldn’t help but smile. “You’ve been very
kind to us, Praetor Zhang. Thank you.”
“Erm, sure. It’s, you know, an honor, seeing as you’re…or you were—”
“Ugh, Frank.” Meg turned from her flower box. “It’s just Lester. Don’t
treat him like a big deal.”