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After the whole ordeal, Rachel was placed as the camp's oracle. With the help of Apollo, she has her own little cave. She tells prophecies to leaders of quests, but either than that, she's alone.

"Okay!" the red-headed twenty-five year old said. With a little bit of Apollo's help, she still looked rather youthful. Her red hair was now straight, not as fizzy as it was during the Titan war. She wore a purple top and jeans, and the all-famous blue plastic hairbrush stuck out of one of her pockets. Around the cave were aisles of paintings and Greek letters, the one that was newly painted showed two grasping hands, and a yellow flash of light. "Come, sit down,"she said, digging her hands into a bowl of chips that lay in front of her. "So, what's your name?" she asked. Just by the look of him, she knew he was a son of Hermes.

"Someone seems rather tense. It happens when you're in the cave of a prophet, I suppose,"she said. She was sitting on a stool that was rather high up, like how the oracles of Delphi used to sit. She flashed a white-toothed smile, before looking deep into the eyes of the boy. After awhile, her gaze turned to her newest painting, before returning to face the boy. By that time, her eyes were a spooky deep purple, the same color of her shirt. The room turned colder, and an indigo haze enveloped the Oracle.
"From where revenge points her cruel finger,
A rash man lies, cursed by the justice bringer.
The device of fate in his hands, a smile on his face,
The child of a god, his greedy chase.
To bring the rudder of Tyche home again,
To go to what hell dares contain."

After a few minutes, her eyes went back to the electric blue, and she shook her head, before grabbing another chip and eating it. "I hope you wrote that down,"she told him.

"No, not really. My prophecies even creep me out, and I've been saying them since I was fifteen,"she said, taking another chip, before combing her hair with her hair brush. "May the gods be with you,"she said, knowing that's what people said to heroes before they left.