After that, I went east on Highway 37 until I reached Vallejo.
That part was a little more exciting. It was the middle of the night, no traffic, just me and the road… and a group of tall men who decided I looked like easy prey. I could feel something was weird before they even opened their mouths. That creeping wrongness I get when something's about to try killing me. Sure enough, they jumped at me.
Too bad for them I was already in a bad mood from the endless walking.
I didn't even give them the chance to reveal what monsters they were, just lit them up and turned them to ash.
After that, smooth sailing. Once I got into Vallejo proper, I was off the highway and back in civilization. It was nice knowing that I wouldn't have to stick to highways for a while.
While walking through the city at five in the morning, I met a man who slowed down and rolled his window down, looking genuinely concerned. I didn't get the feeling of a disguised monster from him, so I figured he was just a decent human being. Makes sense; most people would find it weird to see a twelve year old trudging through the cold in just a T-shirt and shorts in the middle of winter.
To be fair, I forgot it was cold. Benefits of having a personal central heating system built into your bloodstream, I guess.
Anyways, we chatted a little. He asked me where I was headed, I gave him a vague "just passing through." He insisted on giving me a ride, and I decided to let him take me as far as the Carquinez Bridge. I was reasonably confident in my safety. Even if he somehow bypassed my senses, I doubted he'd get the jump on me.
I watched for signs anyways. He kept checking the clock, tapping his thumb on the steering wheel. Not in a creepy way, more like a late for work way.
"Hey kid, we're here," he said as we rolled to a stop near the bridge. "You sure you don't want me to take you across it?"
"Nah, it's fine." I replied, already opening the door. "I've seen you glancing at the clock every now and then, so clearly you've got places to be. I appreciate the help, but I'll be fine on my own."
He hesitated, but ended up nodding and drove off.
I turned toward the bridge. Guess it's time to get back to my walking simulator.
That's when my stomach growled, deciding it was the perfect time to make me regret my life choices.
"…Ugh."
Maybe I should've robbed one of those convenience stores I passed back when it was still dark. Nobody would've caught me. But there's something about starting my trip to this new glorious Roman life with petty theft that just feels wrong.
Which means I'll have to do it the old-fashioned way. Good thing I actually learned something from my time with Lupa.
Still, this was a city, not the woods. I couldn't just snag a rabbit and roast it behind a tree. Urban hunting was more like getting something from a vending machine or maybe going dumpster diving.
I was running through my options when I heard a strange sound.
It was a faint melody drifting over the background, one that didn't match the usual noise I was expecting from a place like this. Not cars honking at one another, or people yelling in their phones, but something smoother.
Like it usually does with me, curiosity beat out caution. I followed it toward the pedestrian entrance of the Carquinez Bridge.
Right where the walkway started, three women had set up. Street musicians, at first glance. Two with electric guitars running through a portable amp, and the third with a mic stand and a black veil over her hair. They weren't loud, but every sound that came from them felt sticky. Like they clung to you. Distorted, mesmerizing, yet the melody stayed perfect, like it knew exactly where it wanted to land in your head.
Tons of people were stopping to listen: the morning joggers, early commuters, some guy walking his dog. They all stood there the moment they heard the song.
Every so often, someone would toss a few bills into an open guitar case, then move along as if nothing had happened.
That was a substantial pile of money they collected, especially if they started not too long ago.
I watched a little longer. On the surface, they looked like normal people. But there was a weird feeling in the air, like it shifted around them. I could feel that same prickle at the back of my neck that I get every time I face down a monster.
Maybe not all monsters are bad?
You'd expect them to immediately start trouble the second a demigod showed up in their vicinity, and yet here I was. They weren't even looking at me, just playing some music for tips.
Did I even have the right to criticize them? I've used my powers to make money before too.
Then a guy in a suit stopped to watch for maybe ten seconds before turning to leave without tipping.
One of the guitarists stopped strumming.
"Sir," she called, her voice way too perfect. "Come a little closer."
He did. No hesitation, no questioning why a random street performer was calling him back. She leaned in, whispering something to him.
And then he just walked slowly, like he was sleepwalking. Straight across to the pedestrian side of the bridge. Climbed over the railing without hurry and jumped.
The splash was a long way down.
The crowd gasped, but no one even looked at the women. There was no shouting, no panic. One by one, they just drifted away, like the whole thing hadn't happened.
The music started up again.
What the fuck.
Okay. I guess that answers the whole "maybe not all monsters are bad" theory.
I have to do something about this now.
I stepped forward.
The trio cut the sound mid-chord and turned their heads together. Up close, whatever was disguising them was thinner, their eyes were too pale and glassy, their smiles showed too much tooth, and I could even see feathers start to appear on their bodies.
I raised a hand in a friendly little wave, letting flames curl along my knuckles. "You know, I was gonna let you keep your indie gig. But then you had to go and kill somebody. Way to burn your ratings."
The veiled one tilted her head. "He deserved it. We made it quick, and he didn't even suffer. No one does."
"That's the mercy in the music of Sirens." The guitarist that convinced the man to kill himself added.
"Cool. Here's my mercy. I'll make this just as fast. No guarantees about the suffering part though."
Two of them lunged for me, while the veiled one stayed back and started to sing again. This time her voice wasn't hypnotic like before, instead sounding jagged and violent. Like the sound of a guitar string snapping right next to your ear, except it was inside my skull.
I winced, but forced heat through my body, focusing it into my palm. Then I fired a compressed burst of flame at the amp next to her. It exploded, the shockwave throwing her into a lamppost hard enough to leave a dent.
The ones lunging for me got close. I caught one by the hair and slammed her into the sidewalk hard enough to crack the concrete. The other one tried to take advantage, rushing me while I was bent down, but I spun and punched a hole through her chest with a flaming fist. She disintegrated around my arm, the ash scattering down the street.
The one under me struggled as I planted my burning hand around her throat. Fire raced down my arms, and she burned away, turning into a drifting cloud of black dust.
The veiled one scrambled to her feet, trying to flee toward the bridge. As she was flying, I lined up a shot and sent a fireball into her back. She dissolved just like the other two.
The last few humans left in the area blinked like they've just woken from a nap. Nobody mentioned anything about the man who jumped.
The music must've left some kind of fog in their heads.
I glanced at the guitar case, still lying open on the ground, bills scattered inside.
I took a break to get some food in me from the money the Sirens so generously donated to me. That was very kind of them, supporting a struggling demigod like myself. I bought a sandwich from a deli that was just opening and ate it while I walked. I wouldn't call it fine dining, but it beat out all of the other options I initially thought of.
Crossing the bridge was uneventful this time. On the other side was Crockett. It was a small riverside town that looked like it peaked sometime in the '90s. Once again, there was nothing worth hanging around for.
But as I was getting ready to keep moving, I hit possibly my greatest challenge so far. More fearsome than any of the monsters I faced thus far. To get to the next city, I'd have to take an eight-hour route through local roads. My original plan was to stroll down another one of my beloved pedestrian paths, but reality is often disappointing. This stretch of I-80 clearly wasn't designed for anyone with working legs.
Highway I-80 was truly an evil creation.
I had a simple solution, though: take a shortcut through the regional park. Never mind the big "NO TRESPASSING" signs. I wasn't hurting anyone.
Except for the monsters who decided I was encroaching on their hunting grounds.
Guess there was a reason this route was closed.
I won easily, by the way. Shame they didn't drop any loot like the Sirens from earlier did. How could they be so inconsiderate?
By late morning, I spotted a sign indicating that I had arrived at the next city.
Welcome to Hercules, population 19,487. Est. 2000.
What a nice name for a city. The guy's widely recognized as the greatest Greek/Roman hero. I think each version is spelled slightly differently, but I don't remember which. Maybe I'll actually run into him here.
As I walked down the main street, I passed a cluster of taped-up missing persons posters. All of them were young men, most of whom looked pretty fit. It might have been a little interesting, but I didn't have the time to go off solving mysteries.
Something else caught my eye a few blocks later. A big glass-front gym with SIR KYON'S GYM printed in bold black and white letters across the window. In front, a guy with a massive build was handing out flyers and cracking jokes. Late thirties, maybe forty. He was wearing a compression shirt and tracksuit pants. But I noticed the way his eyes lingered just a little too long on certain people.
I got a weird feeling from him, not the one I get whenever monsters are nearby, but a general sense of caution.
"Hey, kid!" He called out when he spotted me. "You look like you've got a good right hook on you. Ever train?"
"Nope," I lied without hesitation. "Never got into a fight in my life."
"Well, that's a waste. I'm running free trial classes today. This one's on the house." He jerked his thumb toward the gym door. "Come on, you'll like it."
Something about him made me pause. Maybe it was idle curiosity or just boredom. Either way, I figured I should at least see what was going on. I wasn't about to leave something that might be a problem for someone else to step into. So instead of ignoring him, I followed him in.
Inside, the gym looked completely normal with a couple of punching bags, a boxing ring, and some weights. But it was completely isolated. No other students, no classes running, nothing.
The guy locked the front door behind us. "For privacy," he said with an easygoing smile. "I know kids your age don't like being watched if they're nervous."
Sure. That wasn't creepy at all.
He introduced himself with a handshake. "Kyon." His grip was firm, but not enough that it felt like he was trying to hurt me. "Everyone calls me Sir Kyon. You?"
"Serif."
I kept looking around the gym.
The wrestling mats were worn down, and not all the stains looked like sweat. A corkboard on the wall read WALL OF CHAMPIONS in bold letters. Polaroids of smiling guys covered it. A few of the faces looked uncomfortably familiar, like I'd seen them from somewhere before, but I wasn't sure where.
Kyon noticed me glancing but said nothing. He put on a padded striking shield and had me throw a few punches at it. I kept my strength under control, one wrong move and I could've accidentally hospitalized the guy. No sense in doing that before I figured out what his deal was.
After a few rounds, he stepped back, smirking at me. "You've got good posture, kid. Like you've got some sort of natural strength. But you're a little small, aren't you? I could teach you to use that strength properly. How about we go at it in the ring for a better look? Just one round of light wrestling. You'll learn more in two minutes than hours of punching drills."
I almost laughed right then and there. The way he kept smiling like he already had me where he wanted me was just too much.
"Sure, let's do it."
I found myself in the mood to let loose.
"Attaboy." He grabbed a Polaroid camera from the front desk. "Stand there a sec. I like to put guts on the wall. Even if you're not a member, people with courage should be properly honored. Welcome to the Wall of Champions!"
I stood where he pointed.
He took the picture, shaking it impatiently. I'm pretty sure you weren't supposed to do that for Polaroids. Once the picture finished developing, he stuck it on an empty space on the wall, then wrote SERIF in block letters under it.
I doubted that was the honor he made it sound like.
"One-on-one wrestling," Kyon said as we stepped onto one of the cleaner wrestling mats. He bounced on the balls of his feet, rolling his neck. Up close, the smile got thinner around the edges. "Anything goes."
I smirked at that last part. "Anything, huh? Sounds fun."
He started out friendly, giving me pointers and teaching me different holds. "We'll keep it light. Just basic holds to get you comfortable." He moved behind me, guiding my arms into position. "See, if you control the hips, you control the fight. Hand here, knee forward, good. Now pivot."
I played along, moving like an obedient newbie, not resisting too much. His hands were firm, a little too firm for a friendly demo, like he was taking my measure.
Then he hooked my leg gently, shifting his weight just enough to trip me. I let him, hitting the mat without resistance. He helped me up right after, giving me that same smile.
"Now you try."
I copied his movement exactly. He nodded in approval, even gave me a little clap.
"Good, good. You're quick with your hips. That's some natural talent you've got. Now let's move into something more complex." He stepped behind me, twisted my arm and shoulder in a way that made it almost impossible to move without tearing something. "In this one, you use your opponent's leverage against them. Feel where the tension is? You want to keep that constant. That way, they burn energy while you conserve it."
After a couple more of these friendly exchanges, I decided to see what would happen if I pushed back. As Kyon reached for another takedown, I hooked his leg with mine, swept him, and rolled him onto his back, pinning him with a knee.
He blinked, then tried to break free.
And failed.
That's when the smile slipped. Gone was the charming gym bro.
Without warning, he surged upward. I rolled, expecting it, but he still managed to slam me into the mat harder than necessary.
"Whoops," he said unapologetically. "Guess I got carried away."
Sure.
He didn't bother holding back after that. The next few exchanges were ugly—knuckles grinding into my joints, his forearm crushing into my face, a knee jamming into my ribs. Every touch was an "accident" that hurt.
Alright. So that's how we're playing now.
I stopped pretending.
When he drove a knee into my thigh as if he'd lost balance, I returned the favor with a sharp heel stomp to his foot. He hissed and smiled wider. We traded more hits like that, short bursts of pain between the pins. He wasn't used to people fighting back at his level. Especially not someone my size. Even so, his power was no joke. He clearly wasn't some overbuilt gym rat; his strength had weight behind it, the kind normal people couldn't attain.
While we were locked in another grapple, something clicked.
Those guys on his Wall of Champions... I'd seen their faces on those missing posters back near the main road.
"So, you want to tell me why your champions look a lot like missing people?"
He chuckled, not bothering to pretend either. "They certainly weren't real champions. They came here wanting to test themselves, and I gave them exactly what they asked for. Broke every last one. You'll be the next. I didn't realize it at first, but you're one of them, aren't you? A demigod. Stronger than the rest, but still not strong enough to beat me."
"Who the hell are you?"
He stepped forward, posture swelling with pride. "I am Cercyon, King of Eleusis! Are you afraid now, boy? Many have fallen befo—"
"Never heard of you. But you're the one who should be afraid. You said anything goes."
Before he could retort, I grabbed his arm.
Fire burst from my palm.
He roared, jerking back instinctively. I used the moment to slide into that complex hold he'd shown me earlier, twisting his arm and forcing him down. With my real strength behind it, there was no escape.
"Let's see if I learned this right," I muttered to myself, fully locking it in.
Cercyon's face twisted with fury as he thrashed. He clawed for my wrist, but I simply burned a line across the back of his hand. He gasped, the pain was enough to make his fingers forget their job.
"Thanks for the lesson, Sir Kyon. I'm sure it'll come in real handy. But this is dragging on."
A rope of fire spilled from my finger. I manipulated it around his wrists, then another loop bound his ankles.
While he struggled, I stepped back and lifted my hand theatrically.
A wall of flame rose around Cercyon. He screamed as they enveloped him. The sprinklers in the ceiling clicked and then whooshed to life, but it wasn't enough to extinguish my flames. Cercyon's screams could no longer be heard as the rope stopped needing to hold anything.
The sprinklers kept hissing overhead, drenching the whole mat until the last embers fizzled out.
I stood there, letting the water soak me. Once the system finally shut off, I lit a small burst of flame around my body, just enough to get me dry without turning the sprinklers back on or burning my clothes.
It was time to see if Cercyon left me a parting gift.
I pushed open the door to his office and found it immediately, a duffle bag stuffed with cash sitting on his chair.
"Score," I smirked to myself, slinging the bag over my shoulder. "Why can't all my enemies be like this guy?"
Well, minus the whole killing random people for sport thing.
And this shit was starting to get exhausting. This whole trip had been one fight after another. I could walk the rest of the way, but honestly? Screw that. I'd just grab a taxi or something and let someone else drive me to Camp Jupiter.
As I stepped back onto the main floor, my eyes landed on the Wall of Champions. My photo was already there, hanging dead center like a trophy.
I yanked it down and lit it up. The edges curled black before it crumbled to nothing.
Then I walked out of Sir Kyon's Gym without looking back.
Ah, the wonders of modern transportation.
I've learned my lesson. If I ever have to go somewhere far, trying to walk the whole distance is stupid. The remaining seven hours it would have taken me to reach Camp Jupiter were reduced to a thirty-minute drive.
Caldecott Tunnel came into view. Three out of four of the bores were stuffed with traffic coming home from work. The leftmost one was fenced off behind scaffolding and orange cones.
Something felt wrong about it.
I focused closely, watching the mist disperse.
The maintenance tunnel transformed into something else—cracked concrete smoothed into marble, the fluorescent lights were replaced by bronze torches lining the walls, and statues of armored warriors loomed where there had been only shadows.
"Drop me off here," I told the driver.
He glanced at what should have been a blocked tunnel in his view. But he pulled over to the side, not asking any questions.
The meter at the front read $36.75. I fished out two twenties from the duffel bag and handed them over.
"Keep the change."
The ride was worth every dollar. Especially when it wasn't actually my money.
I slung the bag over my shoulder then stepped out, heading toward the tunnel.
At the end of it, two teenagers stood on either side of an archway. They both wore Roman armor while holding gold tipped spears. A boy and a girl. The girl had reddish-brown hair and an emblem of a sun on her chestplate. The boy's armor was noticeably shinier, and he also wore a helmet that was a little too big for him, making him look much goofier.
"Yo," I called out casually. "I'm looking for Camp Jupiter. This the right place?"
The boy slammed the butt of his spear on the ground and actually growled at me. "Depends. Who sent you here?"
He wasn't very intimidating.
"Lupa, obviously. What kind of question was that?"
His grip tightened on his spear, but before he could get a word out, the girl put a hand on his arm. "Calm down, Probatio," she said sternly. Then turned to me with a friendlier expression. "Do you already know who your godly parent is? Or if you're a legacy?"
"I'm confident I know who it is. But if you're asking if I've been officially claimed, then no."
"I see." Her tone stayed upbeat, but there was a slight warning edge to it. "You should keep your suspicions to yourself. It's considered bad luck to state your heritage when you haven't been claimed. Don't worry, you can still join even if you haven't been claimed. Sometimes Lady Lupa will give recommendations to people who perform well while training. Do you have something like that?"
That was the first I heard anything of that. And I knew damn well that I was the best one there.
"Nah, nothing like that either."
The other guard chuckled under his breath, the kind of laugh people do when they think they're better than you. Weird, considering his rank sounds like he's not anything special.
The girl's smile faltered slightly before she composed herself. "In that case, you'll probably end up in the Fifth Cohort with me. Come on, I'll take you in—"
"That won't be necessary," a familiar voice cut across the arch.
Both of them dropped to their knees, eyes wide. "Lady Lupa!"
Lupa stepped out of the torchlight like she owned the place, which, to be fair, she kind of did. Those silver eyes flicked over me, then to the guards. "This boy will undergo the Gloria Periculum."
I didn't even agree to anything, but sure.
The annoying guard forgot to be smart. "What, this kid? There's no way he'd survive it."
Lupa glared at him. "I wasn't asking for your opinion. Take us to the Praetors."
"Right away, Lady Lupa!" The one with functioning brain cells rose to her feet quickly, nudging the one without to do the same.
I fell in beside Lupa and rested a hand on her head, nudging it so she faced me. I gave her my best menacing glare.
It probably wasn't that scary, since she just smiled back.
"You know, I heard something interesting. Apparently, you give recommendations to people who do well while training at the Wolf House. So… why don't I have one of those?"
Not that it was a particularly big deal. I just felt insulted that I didn't.
From up ahead, the two guards looked back nervously. They definitely weren't used to seeing anyone treat Lupa the way I did.
"I simply thought this would be the better way," Lupa responded while subtly leaning into my touch. "While a recommendation from me would help, I think you'd prefer proving yourself through the Gloria Periculum."
I raised an eyebrow. "Alright. I guess I have no choice but to trust your word. By the way, what is a 'Gloria Periculum'?"
"It means Glory Through Peril. You will face a champion from each cohort in sequence. Victory means you immediately join as a Legionnaire and get to choose your cohort. Lose, and you're assigned wherever the Praetors decide, with a two-year period as a Probatio instead of one."
I thought about it for a second and grinned. "Yeah, you're right. I do like this more. I better put on a good show for my future adoring fans. You staying to watch?"
She hesitated, which was practically a confession for her. "I suppose I have nothing better to do."
"Cool. You can even be my number one fan!"
[Serena Monroe]
The day had started simple enough for Serena Monroe, Praetor of the Twelfth Legion Fulminata.
She settled a few minor disputes between legionnaires over chores and training rotations. Nothing that required her to raise her voice. As a daughter of Pax, preventing small conflicts from becoming large ones left her feeling fulfilled.
Then, she tried not to feel jealous that her eleven-year-old uncle could probably beat her in a fight. It helped that, despite his age, Jason Grace was responsible, kind, and unfailingly open-minded. He was essentially the perfect Roman, already becoming the Centurion of the Fifth Cohort. She had no doubt he'd be Praetor himself within a few years. That thought was comforting.
The day stopped being simple when Gwendolyn of the Fifth and Ezekial, a Probatio from the Second, approached her with Lady Lupa and a boy she didn't recognize.
Lady Lupa declared that the newcomer would undertake the Gloria Periculum.
Serena's composure nearly slipped at that. In her seven years at Camp Jupiter, she'd only seen it happen once. The challenger had been particularly arrogant, boasting of his strength, yet only managed to win a single match. She would have advised against it today, but it was Lady Lupa's word. Even as Praetor, she knew better than to argue with the Wolf Mother.
An hour later, the inner circle of Camp Jupiter was gathered at the Colosseum.
Serena sat in the center box with Marcus, her co-leader and a son of Mars. He became Praetor only a month ago, after the previous one retired.
To Marcus's right, the Centurions of the first three cohorts conferred quietly. On her left, the Centurions of the fourth and fifth watched the preparations below. At the end of the row was Lady Lupa, choosing to sit beside Jason.
One row behind each pair of Centurions sat their cohort's chosen representative, waiting to be called forward. All except the Fifth's, who already stood on the sands below, stretching his arms.
Keeping his arms crossed, Marcus spoke firmly. "Looks like the kid's done getting ready. But he's not even wearing any armor. And look at how he's dragging that blunted gladius like it's a stick."
She narrowed her eyes.
The boy, Serif, walked with confidence. Earlier, he asked if he could go without any weapon, but that was against the rules. It seemed like he chose his current weapon to say that he still didn't need one.
"We shouldn't underestimate him, Marcus. Lady Lupa personally asked for this."
"I'm aware. We both know how powerful the last demigod endorsed by Lady Lupa turned out to be."
Serena unfolded her hands. "Then we should begin." She rose to her feet and projected her voice.
Everyone else straightened instinctively.
"By order of the Praetors of the Twelfth Legion Fulminata, under the witness of Lady Lupa and in accordance with our laws, the Gloria Periculum shall now commence. The challenger, Serif, will face each cohort's chosen representative in single combat. Powers are permitted. Anything intentionally murderous is forbidden. Victory by yield, disarm, knock-out, or decisive advantage called by either Praetor. Victory will grant the challenger immediate membership and the right to choose his own cohort."
She let her gaze settle on Serif, curious to find out what he's really capable of.
"Fifth Cohort," Marcus called, "name your champion."
Jason Grace stood, his back perfectly straight. "The Fifth Cohort names Lucius Hall, son of Mercury!"
On the sand, Lucius lifted his blades in salute. He had a short sword in his right hand, and a dagger in his left.
Children of Mercury excelled at speed and trickery, it would make for a good first measure of a newcomer's composure.
She glanced once at Marcus, once at Lupa, then back to the fighters on the sand.
"Begin."
Lucius immediately acted, rushing straight for the challenger. Except, Serif didn't move, only raising a single hand and unleashed a steady wave of flames in a wide arc.
The son of Mercury's grin faltered the second the heat reached his skin. He tried to dash in a different direction, yet the fire blocked him off.
It didn't take long before he was boxed in.
"Fine!" Lucius shouted, dropping his weapons with a sharp clatter. "I yield!"
Serena kept her eyes on Serif. He didn't even look winded. It was a complete mismatch, nobody told them that the boy was a pyrokinetic.
Marcus stood and announced, "The Fifth Cohort yields. The Fourth Cohort will name their champion."
The Fourth's female centurion stood. "Kayla Brooks, daughter of Discordia," she called, and a short girl with dark curls stepped down into the arena while twirling her spear.
Serena gave the signal. "Begin."
Serif didn't bother changing tactics, lifting the same hand and another river of flames poured forward.
Kayla laughed as she advanced. She managed to carve paths through the stream with her spear.
However, Serif was patient. Each shift of his hand funneled her tighter, narrowing the space until she was surrounded by fire the same way Lucius was. But she didn't give up, even when the flames started brushing against her arm.
Kayla blinked, and her laugh broke into a maniacal cackle.
"Wait, that's it? This shit doesn't even hurt!"
She ran through the wall of fire, rushing for Serif. He only narrowed his eyes in response.
Her grin faltered into a shriek as the color of the fire lightened from a dark red to orange. Serif started to form a fireball in his other hand, ready to launch it at Kayla.
Serena stood again, projecting her voice. "Enough! Decisive advantage to the challenger."
Marcus exhaled through his nose as Kayla stepped off the field while hiding her face. "That mastery was impressive. He controlled the intensity to prevent his opponents from getting hurt, yet he didn't hesitate to go harder once his opponent failed to realize he was holding back."
She hadn't recognized what actually happened until Marcus explained it for her. Perks of having a partner that excelled in combat.
Still, there were a few more battles left.
"Third Cohort, name your representative."
"Isabelle Chen, daughter of Victoria!"
A girl with sharp eyes and a disciplined stride stepped into the arena, gladius in hand, a scutum shield strapped to her arm. As expected, children of Victoria thrived on persistence and the certainty of victory, and Isabelle's every step radiated confidence.
"Begin."
Serena watched the start of the match with interest.
Across the box, the Second Cohort's centurions rose together and approached her and Marcus. "Praetors. We request to change our representative to Flint Steel, son of Vulcan."
Marucs put a hand on his chin. "You mean to say you want someone who can resist flames."
"Yes, sir."
A substitution in a trial was unusual, but not unheard of. They can gain better insight into Serif once his advantage was neutralized.
Serena inclined her head. "Approved."
When she turned back, the third match was playing out.
Isabelle was already halfway to Serif. He looked almost bored, still not changing his strategy, holding out a single hand and streaming fire toward his opponent. She gradually advanced, lowering her scutum and using it to deflect the flames to the side.
With his free hand, Serif shaped a thin rope of fire. He flicked it around Isabelle's lead ankle as she shifted her weight. She shouted in surprise as she was yanked forward. Her sword and shield hit the sand before she did. Serif stepped forward and picked up the gladius, casually pointing it down at her.
She glared at him for a moment before sighing. "I yield."
Marcus called the match, then raised his hand for a pause. "We'll take a short break before the next challenge, to allow the Second Cohort's chosen representative to arrive."
Down in the arena, Serif cupped a hand to his mouth. "Yo, can we just skip the rest of it? I'm a little tired, you know? I just got to camp an hour ago, didn't sleep on the way, fought some monsters, the usual demigod gig."
Neither of them dignified him with a response.
"Tough crowd, huh? I guess we'll do it the long and boring way."
Without taking his eyes off the arena, Marcus murmured to her. "He's strong, but equally undisciplined. No respect for the structure."
"We'll get to see how he deals with someone that can counter his abilities."
"Flint Steele," the Second's centurion called as he led out their new representative to the arena. "Son of Vulcan."
Flint's broad figure was covered in heavy armor, and he rested the head of a war hammer on his shoulder.
"Begin."
Serif unleashed his signature flames, but this time Flint walked straight through, letting the fire roll harmlessly off his armor.
The challenger let out a burst of laughter as he let the fire sputter out. "I can't believe it."
"You better," Flint grunted, raising his hammer. "This is my win. Your fire doesn't work on me."
"No," Serif shook his head, grinning wide now. "What I'm saying is that I can't believe you'd think this kind of shit would ever work on me."
Flint swung the hammer down with both hands.
Serif caught the head with a single hand. Then he yanked the hammer from its owner, and tossed it across the arena.
The match turned into pure hand-to-hand combat. Given his stature, Serena's initial assumption was that Flint would have the advantage, but that wasn't the reality.
Serif stepped in, slamming his shoulder into Flint's gut. The impact rang against the armor with a hollow clang, but the force behind it still knocked the son of Vulcan off balance. He immediately followed through, hooking his leg behind his opponent's and swept hard. The larger demigod toppled into the sand.
Before he could push himself up, Serif was already on him. One arm wrapped around his neck in a choke, the other wrenched his wrist behind his back. Flint bucked, trying to throw him off, but Serif tightened the hold until his face turned red
Finally, he slapped the ground three times with his free hand.
Serena took a breath and eased her shoulders, forcing herself to show the calmness expected of a Praetor. "The Second Cohort yields. The challenger, Serif, is victorious."
Down on the field, Flint's jaw was clenched with frustration, but he accepted Serif's hand when it was offered and let himself be pulled to his feet. It was a small gesture, yet it conveyed enough to her.
Before she could announce the final match, Marcus leaned towards her. "He's strong. Even against someone who we thought could counter him. Achieving victory unconditionally like this can lead to problems."
"He shows discipline when it counts."
"And he'll require even more. If we allow him to walk out of the Colosseum with one last easy match, all he learns is that power is enough. He has to understand that there's always someone stronger, or at least more disciplined."
She raised an eyebrow. "Are you suggesting Jason fights?"
"No. The Fifth's turn is already up. As the former centurion of the First Cohort, it's only fitting that I step in."
"That might be a little overboard. But it's exactly what we need right now."
Her fellow Praetor's mouth curved up. "I don't see the punishment for losing being a problem either, it's more like a formality at this point. He's more than earned his place in the First or Second, and seems the type who'd earn a promotion past Probatio through an act of valor long before the two year time period is up."
Her eyes followed Serif, the boy was stretching his arms out as though nothing had even taxed him. "Lady Lupa's found yet another one. It's our responsibility to turn that into an asset for Rome."
"That's exactly what I'll do."
"His fire might be a problem," she let the smallest hint of a smile reach her eyes as she glanced up at Marcus. "You sure you're ready for that?"
He gave her a confident smirk as he strode for the stairs. "Don't worry. I will win."
Serena didn't doubt it.
"HAAAAAAAA!"
I snapped my hands forward in the Kamehameha pose, fingers spread, and a massive beam of fire erupted from an orb that I'd been charging for the past minute.
It was so big that Marcus had no choice but to raise his shield to block it, too bad it barely helped. He dug his heels in, trying to hold the line, but the beam pushed him back until he hit the Colosseum wall.
When I dropped my hands, letting the fire dissipate, I was breathing a little heavier than I liked to admit.
Across the arena, Marcus slid down the wall, landing on one knee. The stone behind him was blackened and spiderwebbed with cracks, a shallow crater marking the point of impact.
Wait. I looked closer. The edges of his purple cape were smoldering, little embers eating away at the fabric.
Oops. I didn't mean to do that.
Still, that made five wins.
If I'm being honest, this whole thing has been a little disappointing. With how seriously everyone treated it, I thought the Gloria Curriculum was going to be more difficult.
But no.
The first match wasn't even worth remembering. The guy instantly folded.
My second opponent, Kayla, did a bit better. She was memorable, mainly because she was the idiot who didn't realize how much I was holding back. Wonder why she didn't surrender when I surrounded her with a wall of flames though. And her psycho laugh? If nothing else, she's an interesting character.
The next one against the Asian girl was somewhere in between. I'd say she was a solid fighter, but wasn't memorable in any way other than being persistent. Would it be racist if I said she reminded me of kids who study really hard for a test and get an A-?
Then there was the bout against my brother, Flint Steele. Dad really outdid himself on naming conventions, naming one kid after the tools to create fire. Meanwhile, my name is just 'Fires' spelled backwards.
Thanks, Vulcan.
Anyways, people actually thought I'd lose just because he could resist fire. I mean, yeah, it's my main weapon, but I'm not a one trick pony.
At least the final one actually made me work for the win.
Marcus, the guy who was doing half of the formal announcing earlier, stepped into the ring like the final boss. The way he fought was something else, he danced around my flames like they were nothing, even clipped me across the ribs with the edge of his shield.
I knew then and there that he was way more skilled than me. Figured a guy like that deserved to go out with something special.
So I hit him with the fucking Kamehameha.
The arena was dead silent. The handful of spectators in the stands just stared, their mouths slightly agape.
Except for Lupa. She looked down at me, and I could see a proud grin on her face.
I felt a little sting where Marcus caught me earlier. Huh. This might be the first time I've taken damage in a fight. It didn't hurt much, but it was a new feeling.
Wonder if this makes me the strongest guy in Camp Jupiter on day one?
I sounded like a tool just thinking about it. Better not let it go to my head.
Finally, the other Praetor composed herself. "The Gloria Periculum is complete. Serif, the challenger, is victorious. He has earned his place as a Legionnaire and has won the right to choose his cohort."
I received a short round of applause from all eighteen of my adoring fans.
Marcus pushed himself up, dusting sand from his armor, and walked over. He met my eyes and offered a curt nod. "Well done. I didn't think I would lose that."
"Cape's on me, dude."
He looked down at the blackened hem, then back at me with a little smile. "It was due for replacement anyway." He straightened, his tone turning solemn after he took a quick breath. "Listen to me, Serif. You have proven your strength. Now you must make a choice. Choose wisely, your cohort shapes who you will become in Camp Jupiter."
We started walking up the steps toward the box where everyone else waited. I figured that I might as well ask the obvious. "So, if you were me, which cohort would you pick?"
"The First," he didn't even hesitate. "The best and most prestigious cohort in the legion. We carry the standard of Rome's strength."
"Uh huh. And I'm guessing the Fifth is the worst?"
"That's correct. It's where we place unreferenced and unwanted recruits. Most try to transfer out as soon as they can prove themselves."
Harsh.
We reached the row of centurions and the other Praetor. I took a moment to scan their faces. The first four stood straight, puffing their chests up a little. The next four looked more bored than anything else, like they were just waiting for this to be over. The last girl had her shoulders slumped, her eyes wandering instead of even looking at me. I got the feeling she wasn't expecting much.
Then my gaze landed on the blonde kid beside her, the centurion from the fifth who announced their representative earlier. I couldn't get a read on him. He was calm when everyone else was projecting some kind of emotion.
They're really letting a kid that young be in charge?
A grin almost split my face. After the display I just put on, I could probably boss him around. And since they're the worst cohort, I'll probably have less oversight. More freedom to do my own thing. Nobody breathing down my neck.
The female Praetor brought me out of my thoughts. "Serif, have you made your decision?"
I dragged it out just long enough for tension to rise. A little bonus fun for myself. "I'll go with the Fifth Cohort."
Someone near the front coughed like they choked on their own spit. Most of the centurions gave me that 'what the fuck are you doing' look. Even Marcus, who I thought was unshakable, raised an eyebrow.
Sorry, pal. You're cool and all, but I want the full rags to riches story.
"Then it is decided. Serif will officially be welcomed into the legion tonight in the Senate House. Bring your cohorts to the mess hall for dinner in an hour." She then looked at the centurions from my new cohort. "Centurion Grace, show our new legionnaire around until then."
Everyone started to leave. The blonde kid and the older girl next to him stepped forward. Lupa rose from her seat to stand near them.
My eyes flicked between the three of them. I remembered seeing Lupa sitting beside him during the entire challenge. The other centurions in her vicinity had looked tense, but this kid hadn't seemed uncomfortable at all. Even now, the female centurion looked a little nervous, while he remained completely unfazed by the wolf goddess's presence.
Wait a minute…
"Lupa," I said, turning to her. "Is he the one you told me about?"
She met my eyes and nodded. "That's right. This pup is Jason Grace, son of Jupiter Optimus Maximus."
I looked Jason up and down, really seeing him for the first time. Huh. He might not be a pushover after all.
I fell in beside Jason as we left the Colosseum, heading into the streets of New Rome.
The city looked like a miniature version of Ancient Rome. It was chaotic and colorful, with buildings crammed together at uneven angles. As we walked, I caught glimpses of life everywhere: families gathered in the plaza, shoppers moving between stalls in an open-air market, kids chasing each other through parks.
"You've got families here?"
"In the city, yes," Jason replied without breaking stride. "Legionnaires are required to serve for ten years. Upon completion of that service, they can leave if they want. Many return to the mortal world, but others face the reality that it's dangerous out there. This valley is the only true sanctuary for people like us. So a lot of veterans stay. They can study at the university, work in the city, and raise families. Retire in peace. All under the legion's protection."
Okay, that was actually kind of impressive. I recalled a similar camp from a series I read a long time ago, but Camp Half-Blood never struck me as the kind of place that planned for the long term. From what I remembered, you just trained, fought monsters, and hoped you didn't die before turning eighteen. Here, there was actually a future. A next step.
"That's the Senate House," Jason pointed to a building, pulling me from my thoughts.
White stone walls rose into a perfect dome, its bronze doors gleaming in the afternoon light. Stairs climbed to the entrance, guarded by statues that looked like they belonged on some national monument back in D.C.
"We'll report there after dinner," he continued. "That's where your induction will be formalized."
Hopefully it won't take too long. I already know I'm not going to enjoy whatever happens in there.
We kept walking until we reached the edge of the city, marked by a high archway. Beside it stood a statue of a man's torso and head. At the base sat a small wicker basket.
Jason walked over to the basket and picked up a gold coin.
I frowned. "You stealing donations from a statue?"
"No. This is my weapon, Ivlivs. If I flip it, it can transform into either an Imperial gold gladius or a lance. I left it here before entering the city."
"Okay, but it's a coin. You could've just kept it in your pocket. Who would know?"
"I WOULD KNOW! ABSOLUTELY NO WEAPONS, IN ANY FORM, ARE PERMITTED PAST THE POMERIAN LINE! RULES ARE THE BEDROCK OF CIVILIZATION!"
I looked between Jason and the statue. Its head was glaring right at me. "Woah, the statue can talk? It didn't say anything when I came in with Lupa."
"Of course I am talking!" The statue bellowed, its head wiggling ever so slightly on its stone neck. "I am Terminus, the god of boundaries, the protector of the limits both of private property and of the public territory of Rome. As for you, since you're new I'll let it slide. But your current state is an affront to Roman standards! Do you see where I'm pointing?"
I slowly glanced at his armless shoulders, bringing my head closer just to see if I missed something. "You're not pointing. You don't have arms."
"A SMART MOUTH, WONDERFUL! The rules of decorum are not suggestions, boy! See that shop? The one with the blue awning? That's the general store. Go there and purchase a tape measure. I want those pants precisely one inch above the ankles. And that hair is an undisciplined mop! Get a regulation cut. Tuck in your shirt too. You can't go around looking like a Greek."
"Thank you, Terminus," Jason said politely, already angling me toward the arch. "We understand. We need to keep moving."
"Fine, fine, you may pass. But stay on the right side of the road! And that rock right there is entirely too close to that tree. Move it two inches to the left."
By then Jason and I were already walking away, pretending not to hear him.
Behind us, I could hear Terminus muttering to himself, "I definitely need an assistant."
"Do I actually have to do those things he said?" I asked, glancing back over my shoulder in case the armless statue with OCD was still watching.
"Not anymore."
Thank god for that. If I had to do all that, I probably would've walked right back out of camp. The idea of being told what to do for every little thing is unbearable.
"Are the gods around here all like him?"
"Terminus is the only one who's always present." Jason explained as we started down a long, paved road called the Via Praetoria. "He inhabits every boundary stone around the city, kind of like our last line of defense if the city's attacked. But most people don't really interact with him unless they're at the gates."
I could see why.
We walked further until the road opened up into a massive field. It was bigger than I expected, a whole battlefield carved into the camp itself. Kids sparred in neat rows, some in pairs, others grouped into precise formations. Shields overlapped seamlessly, spears thrust in unison.
The hierarchy was on full display too. The people on one side got the good practice weapons that were polished, while others made do with dented shields and blunted swords that had seen better days.
"This is the Field of Mars, we use it as a secondary training ground. Every legionnaire practices here daily. There are war games every week, where the entire legion is split into teams and we simulate battles." Then Jason started proudly pointing out different areas, explaining siege weapon practice and gladius-to-gladius dueling techniques. This was clearly where he felt most at home. I had to respect his dedication, even if I thought lining up in perfect little squares was a bit overboard.
My eyes wandered as he kept talking, noticing some of the actual culture behind all that discipline. A group of legionnaires off to the side whispered, exchanging coins as they watched two younger kids spar.
Something I should take advantage of before everyone realizes the new guy is actually the strongest around.
"You guys ever run a betting pool on the war games?" I asked, cutting him off mid-sentence. "Seems like the two of us could make a killing."
Jason stopped mid-sentence, staring at me like I suggested committing a crime. "Absolutely not. Gambling on duty is dishonorable. The war games are a test of teamwork and skill, not a chance to profit."
"...Right. I was just wondering, didn't mean anything by it."
"I suppose some things like that might be allowed this week," he added somewhat reluctantly, "But it's not something a Centurion should encourage."
That definitely took him out of his good mood. Before I could ask why it was allowed, he started moving on with the tour.
I followed him as he veered off the road. We crossed a stone bridge over the Little Tiber and then approached a large hill covered in monuments. Some were simple, with plain pillars and stone steps. Others sprawled with gold trim, giant braziers, and statues glaring down.
Jason stopped at the base of the hill. "This is Temple Hill. The gods' shrines and temples are here. Every legionnaire is expected to know them."
"That's the temple of Jupiter Optimus Maximus," he gestured toward a massive rectangular temple at the highest point.
He somehow sounded more formal now than he did for the rest of the tour. And even though it was his father's temple, there was no pride in his voice.
"And the red one next to it is the temple of Mars Ultor. Oaths before quests are sworn there. Both of them are central to the legion."
My attention slid off them almost immediately and landed instead on a round temple a little lower down the hill. It wasn't as massive as the big two, but still grander than most.
"What's that one?" I asked, pointing to it.
"That's the temple of Vesta Mater. The Vestal Virgins keep the flame inside. They have their own residence just behind it."
As I looked at the entrance, the flame inside burned brighter. The hair on my arms prickled.
It feels familiar. Welcoming in a way the others aren't.
I pushed the thought aside as I realized Jason was waiting for me.
[Aphrodite]
The throne room of Olympus crackled with tension. Even the marble floor seemed to hum under the weight of Zeus's pacing. He was a living storm contained in a vaguely humanoid shape, muttering about Poseidon's treachery punctuated by the low rumble of distant thunder.
It had been like this for a day, ever since the Winter Solstice had dissolved into chaos.
Aphrodite sat in the throne room of Olympus, bored out of her impossibly flawless mind, while Queen Bitch and Demeter attempted the impossible task of calming Zeus down.
Hera's voice snapped like a whip as she demanded he think rationally. Demeter tried soft persuasion, weaving in gentle pleas for calm. Neither made the slightest dent.
Why am I even here?
She wasn't one of the original six. Not a sibling of Zeus, nor one of his favored children. She'd been born from the sea itself, a force of nature shaped by foam and desire, and somehow she'd ended up dragged into this never-ending family soap opera. Honestly, wouldn't Athena be better at this? Or Artemis, just to tell them all to get over themselves?
Instead, they had her.
Her gaze drifted past the trio to the one person who should have been handling this. Hestia sat by the central hearth, as always. But her usual calming presence that anchored every argument before it broke apart, was missing. She wasn't even paying attention. The fire consumed her entire focus, lips curled into a wide smile.
Oh right. That's why.
Because the one they could always rely on had simply abandoned her role. Normally, Hestia would have settled Zeus with a few gentle words, then get everyone acting like a functional family again. The fact that she had not even lifted her head was strange.
But what was even stranger was the feeling emanating from her.
A wave of emotion so fierce it startled even her. The only thing she could possibly imagine Hestia feeling was the warm loyalty of family, but that wasn't it. It wasn't the heady rush of romance, or the hunger of desire either. This was something deeper—a devotion honed into something unshakable. Something fiercely protective and overflowing with pride. It burned so hot it made even Aphrodite's domain feel pale in comparison.
Hestia, eternal virgin, was in love.
Aphrodite blinked, almost in awe. She had seen every form of love mortals and immortals could muster. And yet, whatever Hestia was watching in those flames, she loved it more than Aphrodite had ever felt anyone love anything.
And that was both deeply interesting and honestly kind of terrifying.
Before she could make sense of it, Zeus reached a new height of indignation, bellowing an insult so biting that Hera, queen of pettiness, threw up her hands and stormed out. Demeter lingered only a moment longer before sighing in defeat. She slowly walked to the hearth and laid a hand on Hestia's shoulder.
"Sister, please. I don't know why you've been so distant lately, but this is important." Demeter begged, her voice trembling with exhaustion. "He won't listen to us. The world is on the brink of war. We need you."
For the first time all day, Hestia looked away from her fire.
Relief rose in Aphrodite's chest. Finally, the peacekeeper was back.
It only lasted a second.
Instead of her usual serenity, Hestia broke into a manic grin. She leapt up, practically radiating excitement as she hurried over to the still-fuming Zeus.
She grabbed his shoulders and started shaking him. "Brother! Isn't it wonderful? The two of them are in the same cohort! They're going to be the best of friends!"
Zeus froze mid-rant, his rage eclipsed by sheer confusion. "Hestia, what are you talking about?"
"Just watch with me!" she insisted, ignoring his confusion completely. She took his arm and began eagerly dragging him toward the hearth fire.
Aphrodite watched them go, her perfectly sculpted jaw hanging open slightly. Her mind, which understood the most complex affairs of the heart, could not process what she had just witnessed.
Even for Olympus, this was weird.
The rest of the tour continued in the same riveting fashion.
Jason was thorough, I'll give him that.
He gave me the full rundown of the Principia, the headquarters where the Praetors made their decisions and planned operations. I think my brain shut off somewhere around his explanation of the command structure flowcharts and the proper procedure for submitting reports to the Praetors.
Then came the Armory, where he explained the tedious but apparently vital process of checking weapons in and out, complete with maintenance schedules and inspection protocols.
After that, we passed the medical building. A small, clean-looking structure tucked near the edge of the training fields. I joked that I probably wouldn't be going there often. To my surprise, Jason actually cracked a smile, saying he wouldn't either.
Small victories.
"So," I asked once we were back on the main road, heading toward the barracks, "what do you guys even do for fun here? Because if it's just drills, inspections, and more drills, I might actually set myself on fire."
Jason didn't roll his eyes like I expected. Instead, he thought for a second before answering. "After daily training, we're free to go into New Rome. There's a rec center, the library, shops, theaters, and cafés. Anything you'd expect from a proper city. New Rome exists so the legion has somewhere to live, not just fight."
Okay, that was more than I expected.
He glanced up at the sun, which was beginning to dip. "It's almost time for dinner. You can meet the cohort before we all go to the mess hall."
As we moved past the main row, the change immediately hit. The barracks we saw earlier were all impressive. Meanwhile, the steps leading up to the one in front of me were visibly worn down. The barrack itself wasn't falling apart or anything, but compared to the others, it might as well have had a big neon sign that said 'last place losers live here'.
The inside wasn't much better.
Some kids around my age looked up from polishing gear or half-heartedly sweeping. A few older teens sat around playing cards with an air of exhausted detachment. They had none of the strict posture and formality I saw from the other cohorts earlier.
This was the Fifth Cohort.
"Everyone," Jason called out, and the scattered conversations died down. "This is Serif. He chose to join the Fifth Cohort after successfully completing the Gloria Periculum."
A few confused whispers rippled through the room. I caught the words "chose," "really?" and "the Fifth?" as they echoed back and forth.
One girl with reddish-brown hair and a face way too cheerful for this building stepped forward.
"Hey, tunnel guard. I remember you." I meant it as a simple observation, but her grin just widened.
"So you do pay attention. I'm Gwendolyn, but everyone calls me Gwen. Welcome to the Fifth. Honestly, I figured you'd end up here, but not like this."
Right. Because last time we spoke, she asked about my godly parent and I had no clue. She must've assumed I'd end up here by default, not waltz in after beating all their champions.
She leaned an elbow against Jason's shoulder, smirking down at him. "Did you actually give him the full tour, or just the parts that'll get him killed if he skips them? Guess I'll have to give him a proper one tomorrow."
"Please do," I immediately joined in. "He has the personality of a brick."
Jason let out an exaggerated sigh, but didn't deny it, which got a few chuckles from the cohort members.
I was starting to see there was more to this cohort and Jason. He was their Centurion, sure, but it was clear they saw him as a little brother to look after, not just a commander to obey.
One of the other kids raised a hand with a red Kool-Aid pouch. "I'm Dakota, son of Bacchus. If they can't show you the fun, I can."
The others started to introduce themselves too.
Jason clapped his hands once, bringing the room back to order. "Enough, it's time to head to the mess hall."
The cohort started filing out, their earlier awkwardness replaced by excited chatter about their new member.
"Don't forget," Jason glanced at me. "After the meal, we report to the Senate House for your induction."
"Great. Can't wait to fill out some paperwork."
The mess hall was already packed when we arrived. Plates were set on low tables, and couches were arranged around them. Kids were constantly getting up and trading spots, spreading rumors about who liked who and which idiot had embarrassed themselves in training. The whole place was unlike anything I'd expected from a Roman legion.
The Fifth Cohort's tables were in the back corner of the room, next to the kitchen. Definitely not the prime seating. I sat down beside Jason, and Gwen plopped onto the other side, kicking her feet up on the bench.
I waited for someone to give the signal to line up for food, but nobody moved.
"The Aurae," Gwen said, noticing my confusion. "Invisible wind spirits. They wait on us and already know exactly what everyone wants."
Sure enough, the empty plate in front of me filled with roasted chicken over rice and vegetables on the side, while my cup filled itself with cold soda.
I picked up my fork and took a bite.
Not quite as good as what I could make myself, but still top tier.
As I was eating, I noticed a line of campers walking to a large, open fire pit in the center of the hall. Each of them tossed portions of their food into the flames before going back to their seats.
"Offerings. Every meal, we give a little to the gods. Tradition, plus you don't want to risk offending anyone." Gwen explained, already standing.
I followed her up to the fire. When it was my turn, I hesitated.
Do I really owe any of them? I guess one person comes to mind.
I flicked a piece of chicken into the fire. "For Lupa. Thanks for the beating and the lessons."
The flame rose higher, releasing the scent of the forest just after the first day of snow, before returning to normal.
I was about to turn away when I remembered that strange feeling from Temple Hill. Almost as an afterthought, I cut another piece from my plate. For Vesta, I thought, feeling a little stupid about it. For being cool, I guess.
As soon as the second offering landed, the flames seemed to pulse even higher. I felt something brush my face like someone's hand on my cheek.
I blinked, stepping back. Gwen was already turning away, so maybe I just imagined it.
I walked back to my table and sat down. A strange sense of contentment settled over me as I started my first meal with my new cohort.
[Marcus]
Dark clouds had gathered directly over Temple Hill. The air was heavy inside the Temple of Jupiter Optimus Maximus. Thunder rumbled in the distance, and with each flash of red lightning, the giant statue of Jupiter was washed in a blood-colored light.
Marcus stood with his arms crossed, his face expressionless as he watched Octavian perform his duties. As usual, the Augur was the epitome of theatrical piety, his every movement calculated for maximum dramatic effect. He held a long, curved sacrificial knife in one hand and a teddy bear in the other. At the foot of Jupiter's statue lay a small pile of stuffing, the fluffy entrails of at least a dozen other plush toys. Marcus found the practice absurd, but tradition was tradition.
Octavian raised the bear high.
"Great Jupiter Optimus Maximus!" he intoned, his reedy voice echoing off the marble walls. "Accept this offering! Show us your will!"
The temple trembled. Another flash of red lightning cracked overhead. Octavian plunged the knife into the bear's belly, holding the pose for several seconds. Then, slowly, he lowered his arms. As if on command, the storm stopped. The black clouds thinned, dissolving into a dark, calm sky streaked with stars.
Marcus waited until the silence had fully settled. "Well, Octavian? What do the auguries say about the boy?"
Octavian turned, a self-important smirk on his thin lips. "The omens are favorable, Praetor. Lord Jupiter grants his approval for the boy to join our ranks. His presence will strengthen the legion." He paused, adding a layer of mystery that Marcus found irritating. "However, beyond that, everything is obscured. I could not see his parentage, nor his ultimate fate. The gods guard his secrets closely."
A confirmation that the gods approved was all Marcus needed. The rest was just Octavian's usual theatrics. "Good. We're expected at the Senate House. Let's not keep them waiting."
As they moved toward the exit, Marcus's gaze instinctively fell upon the Great Prophecy inscribed in the marble floor at the entrance.
Septem dimidia, sanquines eorum respondet
Nec ignibus corrupisset expugnare mundus pereat.
Juramentum linalem habere spiritum;
Portae mortis et arma adversariis.
The second line in particular caught his attention. He didn't need to translate it consciously.
To storm or fire, the world must fall.
For a while, he overlooked it. Although 'storm' could refer to Jason Grace, everything else in the prophecy was unclear. But now? A boy who commanded fire with terrifying ease had appeared in the legion. Both storm and fire stood in their ranks, in the same cohort at that... The prophecy felt heavier, more immediate.
His jaw tightened. This was why he hated prophecies. They bred arrogance, folly. He thought of Michael Varus, the Praetor who nearly twenty years ago had convinced himself he was destined for greatness. Chasing glory, Varus had led the entire Fifth Cohort north to Alaska. In the end, he'd gotten them all slaughtered and even lost the Eagle. The shame of it still clung to the legion, like a rot that never healed. Varus's arrogance had damned them.
I will not repeat that mistake.
The two of them walked briskly toward New Rome. As they reached the Pomerian Line, Octavian dutifully placed his sacrificial knife into the basket by Terminus. Marcus had no weapon to leave, he had already stored his gladius at the Principia.
When they arrived at the Senate House, the proceedings were ready to begin. The ten senators occupied the front row in their formal togas. The upper rows were filled with the shimmering forms of several dozen Lares and a few older veterans from the city.
Marcus gave a curt nod and strode to the front, taking his place beside Serena at the Praetors' table. At the same time, Octavian separated from him and moved to his designated position near the brazier.
Serena lifted the staff and struck it once against the marble. The echo climbed the dome. "This session of the Senate is called to order. We are gathered to witness the induction of a new legionnaire, Serif, under the statute of the Gloria Periculum." She turned her gaze toward Octavian. "Augur, you have consulted the will of the gods. Report your findings to the Senate."
Octavian stepped forward, spreading his arms wide. "Senators! I have performed the sacred rites, and the will of the heavens is made known. Lord Jupiter looks upon this candidate with favor and welcomes him into our legion!"
Serena nodded once. "Then let us proceed. Do you, Serif, pledge your life to the Senate and People of Rome?"
All eyes turned to the boy. Serif stood before them with his hands in his pockets. "Yeah, sure."
The pause that followed had weight. A veteran in the second tier thumped a fist against his armrest. Multiple hisses of disapproval could be heard. Octavian's mouth tightened into something that tried to be a smile and could not. Marcus felt a twitch in his jaw. Even Serena's composure flickered for the barest instant.
The senators managed to ignore the boy's complete lack of decorum, rising in unison. "SENATUS POPULUSQUE ROMANUS!"
A wreath of fire erupted on Serif's offered forearm. Marcus waited for the familiar smell of scorched flesh, expecting to see the mark sear itself into the boy's skin as a permanent claim of the legion. But Serif didn't so much as flinch. He only watched the flames lick his arm with an air of mild curiosity.
When the fire died, there was nothing. No SPQR tattoo, or even a symbol of his godly parent. Serif's skin was as unmarked as when he'd stepped into the chamber.
Silence. Total, suffocating silence. The Lares seemed to waver uneasily.
Then the whispers started, a frantic wave spreading through everyone present. "Did the gods refuse him?" "An ill omen…" "What does it mean?"
Before the confusion could root and grow into a full-blown debate, Serena cut through the noise. "Enough."
The whispering stopped instantly.
"The mark may be set in due time," she declared, her authority absolute. "What matters is that the gods have accepted his oath. Serif is a full member of the Fifth Cohort of the Twelfth Legion Fulminata."
Marcus watched her, feeling a flicker of admiration through his own shock. She had been Praetor for over a year, and it showed. While he was a fighter, a strategist for the battlefield, Serena commanded a room with a different kind of strength. She knew how to wield order itself as a weapon.
As the senators filed out, Marcus moved to Serena's side, voice low. "The fire… it protects him completely. We'll have to think of something else."
Author's Note:
So, I decided to start up a Patreon. There's not many advanced chapters on it yet, just Chapter 7 of This Fire Burns. I'll try to work hard this week before my classes start so I can get enough chapters on there for a few weeks in advance for both my current stories. Feel free to check it out.
Links:
https://www.patreon.com/Killware
Map of Camp Jupiter: