This Fire Burns

by Killware

Summary:

Serif never asked to be reborn as a demigod, let alone the son of Hestia. Sent to Camp Jupiter, he must prove his worth through the Legion's traditions, and the weight of divine eyes watching his every move. In Rome, weakness is unforgivable. But what happens when fire refuses to be tamed?

(OC/SI)

Chapter 1

[June 21st, 2005]

The hearth never dimmed in Olympus, especially during the bi-annual meetings on the two solstices. But this time, the fire was tinged with something else, a longing ache from the hearthkeeper.

Hestia sat at the fire, as she always does.

Her gaze stretched far beyond the smoke. She wasn't in the mood to watch her fellow gods bicker over trivial matters as they always do these days. No, her attention was focused on a small, overcrowded classroom in San Jose, California.

There, seated by the window and half-doodling cartoon characters into the margin of his math notebook, was an adolescent boy.

Her son.

Serif.

She had never wanted a child.

Not because she lacked love, but because she had too much. To choose one mortal soul and subject them to the chaos that followed godly parentage? It felt selfish.

Serif had mousy brown hair that never stayed in place and eyes the color of living fire, but not her fire. Not the warm, golden hues that soothed. His eyes burned red, like Vesta's, her Roman aspect. Sharper, more focused. And perhaps a little lonelier.

His birthday was today. Twelve already. She knew what he wanted, she always watched him whenever she had the opportunity. He would never verbally state his wishes, not wanting to bother his caretaker. But Hestia always listened.

There were rules, of course. The Ancient Laws. Gods were forbidden from interfering with the lives of their demigod children. Being present all the time, interacting too much and too deeply... and the divine suddenly ends up becoming mundane.

She wouldn't mind being mundane if it meant being a part of Serif's life.

However, there were ways to get around the rules.

In ancient Rome, she had been known as Vesta, and her priestesses, the Vestal Virgins, had been unlike any other sacred order.

They were chosen as young girls, severed from their familial ties, and bound by oath to her fire. Typically, they would serve for thirty years. The first decade learning, the next decade serving, and the last decade teaching. They held privileges greater than any Roman woman, their lives devoted to tending her flame and keeping the heart of Rome alive.

Now, in this modern age, that order was all but extinct. Camp Jupiter, the Roman camp, had revived the tradition. However, without the original flame or the full rites of consecration, the role was only a shadow of what it had once been. Regardless, she still blessed those who genuinely served.

The few Vestals she blessed were nearly invisible to monsters. Their scents as demigods erased, leaving them safe to live their lives among mortals. They were untouchable, at least by the creatures who hunted other children of the gods.

When Serif had come into being, she had made a request, her only request in centuries.

It was to Cecille, a nineteen year old legacy of Fortuna—the Goddess of Fortune, Chance, Luck, and Fate. Cecille was one of the three Vestals at the time, and she had just begun her second decade, her years of service. When Vesta asked her to care for a demigod child, she accepted without hesitation. Cecille became Serif's guardian and protector, blessed the moment she agreed, able to shield him from detection until the day he was ready for a camp of his own.

And so Serif had been raised, not in a temple or in an orphanage, but in a small San Jose home. He was loved, taken care of, and safe.

Cecille had never told him the truth. Not yet. That was part of the deal. Serif wouldn't know the real reason he never met his mother, or why the fireplace always crackled even in the hottest days of summer, or why the woman who raised him sometimes prayed in Latin before lighting a candle.

Hestia could not be there in person, but she could still send her love in other ways.

Mortal presents may have felt small compared to the weight of her love, but that's the only thing she could give him at this moment. It even became a game of sorts; she could have passed them through Cecille directly, but there was more joy in the surprise. The delighted gasp when he found something just where he least expected it. Last year, she had left a Nintendo DS in his bedroom, tucked beneath his pillow, as if she were his personal tooth fairy.

The unfortunate part was that Serif never realized the gifts came from her. He'd believe Cecille got them for him.

And that stung more than she let herself admit.

But that's just the way things are. Being able to watch Serif's happiness was more than enough for her.

Still, things were changing.

Serif's first encounter had already happened years ago, and ended almost instantly. Two Kobaloi, disguised themselves as crumpled old men in alleyways, laughing as they followed him home from school one afternoon. Kobaloi were nothing serious, not like a Chimera or a Drakon, but they could have hurt him.

Hestia remembered the way her hands had trembled back then, ready to break every law in Olympus if he sustained even a single scratch.

But he didn't.

He hadn't panicked or screamed. Instead, he acted instinctively, without instruction. He smirked and raised his hands, and flames erupted from them, answering his will. It hadn't even been a contest, the Kobaloi failed to make an eight year old sweat.

He had called them "goblins." That was good, it meant that he hadn't figured out his heritage. Learning the origin of his power would make his demigod scent even stronger, increasing the danger to himself.

Looking back now, Hestia realized she might've overdone things. When she created her son, she embedded him with as much of her divine essence as she could. Maybe she'd tipped the scales.

But she didn't regret it. The world was merciless, and she could not bear the thought of losing him. She would never regret making him powerful enough to protect himself.

He would need that strength. The dangers would only grow from here on. Serif is getting older, and stronger monsters will come after him. He needed training. Guidance. Allies.

Which meant she could no longer put off the choice, the time has come for him to join others like him.

But where should he go?

Camp Half-Blood or Camp Jupiter?

Two camps stood apart, north east and south west. Two legacies, two philosophies. One focused on an individualistic approach, the other on teamwork and group collaboration. Where would he be safest? Which camp would nurture her son the best?

Serif had the right to go to either. He wasn't born the traditional way, he had no mortal father. He wasn't created by a single aspect of her, either. Serif was equally Vesta's son as he was Hestia's.

If she were thinking purely in terms of distance, Camp Jupiter would be the immediate answer. It was located just outside of the San Francisco Bay Area, just a few hours from his current home in San Jose. In contrast, Camp Half-Blood was all the way in Long Island, New York, half a continent away.

But distance was never really a problem for her. If she wanted, she could close that gap in a blink, whisk him across the world on a single wisp of smoke.

No, distance didn't matter. The real issue was far more complicated.

Serif's existence was a curious thing, simultaneously a secret but also not. She had informed all three of her brothers about him. Hades accepted without any issues, meanwhile Poseidon made a fuss until she told him that Serif didn't actually have a father. Lastly, Zeus had furrowed his brow, made a show of questioning her about her vow of chastity, but ultimately waved it off. Serif wasn't a threat to his power.

Still, Hestia hadn't told all of Olympus about him. She didn't need to. The fewer who knew, the safer he remained. Gods would be interested in something new, and that wasn't necessarily a good thing.

If she wanted Serif taken to Camp Half-Blood, she could easily ask her niece for help. Artemis wouldn't be thrilled, ferrying a boy across the country wasn't exactly in the Huntress job description, but Hestia had earned more than enough goodwill with her over the millenia. With most of the gods, really. A gentle word, and it would be done.

And if Hestia were honest, Serif's spirit leaned Greek.

It was almost funny—she, the peacekeeper, had a son who never shied away from conflict. Serif was quick to speak up, even if it meant breaking the silence or the rules. Submission never came naturally to him. Maybe that's why he wouldn't thrive in a place that valued order above all else. He'd feel more at home at Camp Half Blood.

Still, she couldn't rush this.

There were other things to consider. Schedules, for one. If Serif attended Camp Half Blood, he would return to San Jose after each summer, and traveling coast to coast every year brought its own risks. Cecille, a Roman demigod, would have questions. She would wonder why her charge was training in New York, of all places. It wouldn't make sense to her.

And what if he encountered Roman demigods back in California and casually identified himself as Greek?

It could start another civil war between the two camps.

No. She needed to think longer, consider every possibility, every consequence. Serif deserved that from her.

Chapter 2

[Serif]

If you were to ask me what I think about my family in this new life of mine, I'd say that it's… adequate.

Adequate is the best word for it. I don't particularly love it, and I'd even say that it would be a bad upbringing for a normal child. But I've already lived a life before this one. I've already grown up, made choices, messed things up, learned lessons. So, things just hit differently now.

Cecille, the woman who raises me, is young for a mother. She's never wanted me to call her "Mom." I think she must've gotten pregnant with me when she was, what, eighteen? Maybe nineteen? That might be why she keeps that boundary so tight. Maybe calling her "Mom" makes her feel old. It works for me though, I probably wouldn't be able to say it with a straight face.

There's just something in me that flinches away from it.

Sometimes, I wonder what happened to her life before me. Judging by her age, she could've been in college, and then I was born and she had to drop out. She might've had bigger aspirations than raising a kid.

What's strange is that I don't remember her ever having a regular job, but somehow, she always pays the bills. There's always food on the table, lights on, everything handled. It's a mystery I never try too hard to solve.

Then there's the topic of my father.

Or, more accurately, the gaping absence of one.

A deadbeat prick that's never around. No photos, no mentions, not even a name. Sometimes I wonder if I look like him, if maybe that's the real reason why Cecille keeps her distance. Like she sees his ghost in my face and it's easier to just stay formal.

Whatever, the man went out for a gallon of milk and never came back.

Still, it's not all bad. Cecille isn't abusive, physically or emotionally. Actually, she's really attentive. If I ever have a problem and need to talk with her, she's always present.

She gets me the best birthday gifts every year. In fact, she really spoils me; every year she gets me two gifts. It might be some lingering regret? She'll always deny it was her, but who else could it be? Even when I show them to her directly, she'll just shrug and say I must have a secret admirer, which I find hard to believe. But hey, I'm not complaining.

And the best part is that she gives me a ton of freedom. Like she literally lets me do anything I want, as long as I'm not getting in trouble or hurting myself.

That level of independence should fuck with a normal kid's mind. But me?

I thrive in it.

Ding

The sound of the oven timer pulled me back to the present.

Baking's not really a passion of mine. I only learned how to do it thanks to a summer job at a bakery when I was seventeen. Back then, I mostly did simple stuff—cracking eggs, washing dishes, prepping fruit. Eventually, I worked my way up to more advanced stuff. But I never thought much of it, it was just a way to pay for games.

Today, though, I got the urge to bake. No reason, just felt like it.

I slipped on oven mittens, opened the door, and a wave of warm, rich scent hit me in the face. The kitchen was filled with the smell of warm brown sugar and melted butter.

I pulled the tray out, carefully setting it on the counter, and just looked at the cookies. They looked... divine—golden at the edges, pale and soft in the center, scattered with chocolate that's still glossy from the heat. The tops are slightly cracked, but they caught the light in a way that made them look almost too good to resist eating.

I left them to rest for a few minutes on the baking sheet. Then, using a spatula, I transferred them to a wire rack. For five more minutes, I waited. The scent only got stronger, deeper, and somehow comforting.

I couldn't wait anymore; I picked one up and bit into it.

Holy shit.

I swear, the world just froze for a second.

How did I make these so perfect? The center is still a little gooey, the edges have a perfect crisp. These weren't just regular cookies, they were a one of a kind experience.

Naturally, I went to grab a glass of milk. Cookies and milk, a classic combo, right?

I dipped the edge of one into the milk, let it soak for just a second, then took a bite.

Ugh.

The milk ruined it.

I don't get it. I've always had a weird history with milk. Not in the medical sense, it's not lactose intolerance or anything like that. It just never tastes right. All milk feels like some off-brand replica, like it's trying and failing to imitate something far better. There's this nagging sense, like I've once had milk that tasted so impossibly good that it made everything else taste like garbage in comparison.

Still, I'm not about to waste food. I downed the rest of the glass in one go and set it aside.

I'll just eat the cookies on their own.

I took another bite, and yeah, that was the way to go. These things were so good I was starting to scare myself.

I'd pay top dollar for this kind of quality.

I popped another one into my mouth and stared at the rest of the batch.

Wait a minute…

---

It's time to partake in my new side hustle.

The idea hit me yesterday, out of nowhere. I had a batch of twenty cookies fresh out of the oven and figured, why not try selling them?

I slapped a fifty cents sticker on a box and set up at the entrance of the nearest park. The target market would be the kids playing around who'd bug their parents to buy the cookies.

Half an hour later, I was completely sold out. Raked in twenty-eight bucks, too.

The math isn't mathing.

I mean, I only sold seventeen cookies, three of them I ate before I got the idea. But even if I sold my entire supply at fifty cents a piece, I would've made a profit of $8.50.

The answer?

There was this one lady—really pretty, late twenties maybe—who showed up not even a minute after I started selling. She bought a single cookie, and paid me with a twenty. I offered to give her the rest of the batch since I didn't have any change, but she waved me off and said to keep it. Called it a tip for my hard work.

That was more than a mere tip, it was a fucking revelation. Turns out, my cookies are worth way more than a measly fifty cents.

So today, I went all in. I baked a batch of fifty and decided to price them at $2.50 each. Might sound a little overpriced, but I genuinely think they're worth it. And hey, it's not like I'm forcing anyone to buy them.

Sales are moving a little slower than yesterday, but once someone tries one, they usually double back and buy more.

I'm starting to think samples might be the move, letting my cookies do the convincing. It'll take just a tiny bite to reel them in, and then they'd be more willing to spend their money.

If all goes well, this might just be the start of something big.

I've got the perfect plan: Build up a bunch of pocket money now, and when 2011 rolls around, I'll drop everything into coin. I guess I could also get a student loan and go to some college just for the hell of it, have a good four years while waiting for my fortune to mature. Once I graduate, I'll retire before I even get a job.

That's the real goal, living my best life with complete financial freedom.

I was brought out of my daydreams as I noticed an intimidating guy heading straight for my little folding table. Two kids were trailing behind him, a boy and a girl, both a few years younger than me.

I recognized them, they'd stopped by about fifteen minutes ago and bought four cookies. They looked a little nervous, eyes flicking between me and their dad.

The man stopped in front of my booth with his arms crossed. "You the one selling these cookies?"

I nodded. "Yeah, that's me."

He looked at the kids. "These the cookies you were talking about?"

The girl tried to defend me. "Yeah! They're really good—"

"That's not the point," he cut her off. Then turned back to me. "You're charging two-fifty for one cookie? Are you kidding me? My kids said they spent ten dollars here. For cookies. You think it's funny scamming people like this?"

I shrugged, doing my best to look unfazed. "I get it, it sounds expensive. But these aren't just regular cookies. My mom's a Michelin star chef. She helped me with the recipe. Honestly, these are basically luxury bakery quality."

I lied as naturally as I breathed, but what matters was that I said it with confidence.

He blinked, and for some reason, his glare seemed to soften just a little. Maybe he was still annoyed, but the edge came off his voice.

"Michelin star, huh?"

"Yeah," I said, giving him my most earnest look. "She works at one of those fancy restaurants downtown. Only way I even got to learn how to bake these in the first place."

He grunted, but the anger was bleeding away. "So you're telling me this is some kind of high-end treat, not store-bought junk?"

"Exactly," I said, handing him a cookie. "Try it for yourself. If you don't think it's worth it, I'll give your money back."

He hesitated, then took a cautious bite. He chewed, still scowling, but it was a skeptical curiosity. Then his eyebrows went up, and he stared at the cookie like he couldn't believe what he just ate.

Got em.

"Alright. I'll take seven more," he said, fishing out a twenty and dropping it on the table. "One for the road. My kids can split the rest."

I slid the cookies into a paper bag and handed it over. "Hope you enjoy it."

He grunted something that almost sounded like thanks, ushering the kids away. They both gave me little grateful waves as they left.

Alright, only ten cookies left.

"Excuse me," a soft voice said.

I looked up. It was the same lady from yesterday, the one who handed me a twenty for a single cookie and walked off like it was no big deal.

"You're back," I immediately regretted how weird that sounded. "Uh, I mean—you were here yesterday, I didn't expect to see you two days in a row."

She smiled. "What can I say?. Your cookies are excellent."

"Thanks," I said, relaxing a little. "I raised the price to two-fifty each if you want more."

"How many do you have left?"

"Ten."

"I'll take all of them," she said without hesitation. Then she paused, giving me a knowing look. "But you really shouldn't lie, you know."

I blinked. "Huh?"

"That story you told the man earlier. About your mother being a Michelin star chef. You have more than enough talent on your own. No need for tall tales."

I felt my face heat up, but I tried to play it cool. "Yeah, I guess you're right."

She rummaged in her purse, pulling out a five and a crisp fifty. "Hmm. Looks like I only have five dollars, or fifty. I guess I have no choice but to pay you fifty."

She tried to hand it to me. "And you can keep the change. Consider it a tip, again."

"Nope," I shook my head. "You gave me twenty yesterday, so technically, all you owe me is five."

She stared at me.

For a second, I thought I saw pride in her bright orange eyes.

Then, before I could react, she reached in again and pulled out a hundred dollar bill, pressing it into my hand. She gave me another warm smile and reached out, ruffling my hair with one hand. "You're such a well behaved young man. You deserve the world, don't let anyone tell you otherwise."

It was quick, but left a weird warmth in my chest that lingered even after she pulled back.

"Wait, hold on—" I started.

But she was already turning away. "Have a lovely day, Serif."

And just like that, she was gone.

---

Well, it looks like the cookie business has a lot of potential.

Even after bumping the price up to $2.50, I still sold out. Took a bit longer today, but that doesn't change the fact that I made a solid two hundred dollars in under two hours. Even if I cut out the generous tip from the mysterious lady, I would've walked away with $125, which is honestly insane for the amount of time and effort it takes.

Maybe next time I'll hike the price again. Or maybe I should start offering bulk deals, like a "buy four, get one free" deal to make people feel like they're getting value. The actual cost of making these is practically nothing compared to what they sell for.

Eh. Stuff to figure out later.

Right now, there's only one thing I need to worry about.

The three women stalking me.

I noticed them about twenty minutes ago. Always within a block or two, sticking to the far side of the street and never directly looking at me, but I could still feel their eyes. I'm getting the same vibe from them that I get whenever monsters are about to try something stupid.

My last monster encounter was about a week ago, right before summer break. A pair of vampires, of all things, were pretending to be popular girls at school. They cornered me behind the gym and started flirting hard, offering to let me bone them at the same time. I was tempted, a threesome with those two sounded nice. But it's kind of hard to get in the mood when every instinct in your body is screaming danger.

Turns out my gut feeling was right. The moment they thought I was trapped, they started changing. Skin turned paper-white, eyes went blood-red, and their hair literally caught fire. I saw their legs begin to shift into something unnatural, but I didn't stick around for the full transformation. I'm not a DBZ character. I used my own fire before they could finish whatever they were doing.

They both went up in flames, incinerated before they could take a single step toward me. And just like that, no one remembered they ever existed. Not even the guys who used to drool over them in the cafeteria.

I wonder when I'll finally get recruited by the secret magical society or whatever runs the show around here. I mean, I'm practically a prodigy pyromancer at this point.

Anyways, I'm not dumb enough to let a bunch of monsters chase me all the way home, so I took a detour. Led them down an alley and straight to a dead end, on purpose. Better to deal with it where I know nobody is hanging around. Away from anyone I might accidentally get killed.

I stopped walking.

I could hear them behind me. Still pretending they weren't hunting me.

I took a deep breath, let my backpack slip to the pavement, and turned around with the most unimpressed look I could manage.

They entered the alley a few seconds later, three tall women with long coats that didn't quite hide the weird way they moved. It wasn't normal walking, their legs didn't bend right. Kind of like they had skis on.

"End of the road, boy," one of them said, her voice sharp.

The second one added, "Yesss. Delicious warmth in your blood. Give it to usss."

The third smiled maliciously. "Well, well, well. Looksss like you're cornered boy. You're an unlucky little morssssel, aren't you?"

Oh geez, generic monster talk. Two of them stretched out their s's, kind of like how a talking snake would in cartoons.

I raised an eyebrow, trying to hide the spike of adrenaline. "What are you supposed to be? Some kind of Naga?"

All three of them recoiled as if I'd physically struck them.

They started drawing back their coats to reveal what they really were. They looked like an unholy mashup of a runway model with something from the reptile exhibit. Their skin shifted, fading from human tones into dark green scales. Instead of legs, they had two long serpent tails.

The one in the middle spat, "Nagasss? Pleassse. We are Dracaenae! Ssscythian Dracaenae! Dragon-women of the old world!"

"…Cool. I still don't know what that means."

"You mock usss."

I shrugged. "Not really. I just genuinely don't care."

"We will teach you ressspect before you die!"

"Ignorant sssspawn. We'll enjoy tearing you apart, sssslowly."

I thought we were done with the generic monster talk? Let's try speeding this up a little.

"Yeah, that's not going to happen," I laughed, rolling my shoulders. "But you're welcome to try."

They all lunged, claws flashing.

My body moved on its own. I ducked under the swipe, barely thinking about it. They were fast, but I was faster. A quick smack to the side of the closest one's head and she crashed into the alley wall.

The next one tried to come in from the side, but I shot a burst of flame from my palm. It was nothing too big, just a warning shot to see what would happen. She screamed and staggered back, her scales singed.

The third managed to coil around me, but all I had to do was light myself on fire, forcing her to unravel with a shriek.

Unfortunately, that had the side effect of burning away all my clothes. And now I was naked.

I probably should've been more freaked out by how easy this was, but honestly? I felt good. Strong. Like I'd been waiting my whole life for something to punch. This was my first prolonged fight.

The three Naga's regrouped, circling me, glaring with pure hatred. "You're sssstronger than you look, boy," hissed the leader.

Oh I get that a lot.

People at school are always surprised when they find out just how strong I am. It surprised me too, since I've never went to the gym in this life.

They were ready to come at me again, but I was done playing. Time to end this with a little style.

There are tons of moves I have in mind, but I'll just go with something simple. They don't really deserve my best anyways.

I took a step back, drew in breath, and focused. I pulled the flame inward, so it wasn't flaring wild like it usually does, and compressed it deep into my fist. The heat distorted the air around my knuckles.

All three of them ran towards me in a straight line.

C'mon, you're making it way too easy for me.

"FLASHFIRE FIST!" I shouted, mostly for my own amusement, and drove my fist straight through all three of them.

A wave of searing heat exploded outward from my fist, engulfing them instantly. For a split second their faces twisted in horror, the fire racing down their bodies and turning their scales into ash. They disintegrated before they even hit the ground, leaving nothing behind but a scorched mark on the alley concrete and the faint smell of something like burned incense.

I dusted my hands off then blew on my knuckles, the same way you'd see actors blow on a smoking gun in a movie.

Even though I called my attack Flashfire Fist, it was more like a Fire Punch from Pokémon.

Whatever.

What mattered was that I was having fun doing it. And it's not like anyone's gonna sue me for copyright infringement, My Hero Academia doesn't even exist in 2005.

I brushed some ash off my shoulder, walked back to where I'd left my backpack, and unzipped it. The zipper was a little warm, but everything inside was untouched. Not a single dollar had burned.

Truly the power of American capitalism is unmatched.

Now the real challenge was figuring out how to get home without anyone seeing me completely naked.

I could probably sneak through some of the back streets and hop a couple of fences. There's also the option of running home with the backpack in front, but that's how you end up as a neighborhood legend.

I slung the backpack over my shoulder and took a few cautious steps toward the alley's exit, trying to figure out the most discreet escape route.

A low growl stopped me cold.

There were eyes watching me.

A whole lot of eyes.

A pack of around nine or ten wolves stood at the entrance of the alley, blocking my way out. But one of them wasn't like the others.

The one in the front, the one all the others seemed to defer to.

It was enormous, standing at around seven feet tall at the shoulder, with chocolate red fur and eyes like silver mist. There was something ancient in its gaze, something that made the dracaenae look like worms in comparison.

It met my gaze and didn't blink.

I cracked my knuckles, unable to keep the smirk off my face. "Seriously? Can't we at least wait until I get some clothes?"

Chapter 3

Riding on the back of a wolf wasn't exactly on the top of my summer bucket list. In fact, it's not the kind of thing a normal person ever expects to do.

And not just some random wolf, but Lupa herself.

I'm actually sitting on top of a seven-foot-tall apex predator as she tore through the forest trail.

Lupa's fur had a weird texture when I first climbed onto her back, like some kind of divine fabric that's dense enough to serve as armor, but not compromising any comfortability. She'd probably make a really nice pillow.

The wind rushed through my hair, making my eyes water slightly, and every step she took made the earth seem to tremble a little.

You'd think most people would probably feel small riding a beast like her, right?

I didn't feel that way at all, in fact I felt strong. Like just being up here was a signal that I belonged in this world now. As if I'd crossed some invisible line, and instead of falling, I landed right where I was supposed to be.

The rest of the pack trotted along, flanking us, tongues lolling, eyes always on me.

I wouldn't call them menacing, just watchful. As if they were waiting for me to slip up so they'd have an excuse to pounce.

If you'd told me yesterday I'd be traveling to some mythological initiation with a pack of wolves, I would've laughed in your face. At first, I didn't believe a word of Lupa's "Come with us, child of fire, we're not here to fight," routine. Not until she insisted Cecille could prove her words. It all became real when the wolves actually brought me back home, waited in the driveway, and let Cecille speak to me.

I remember Cecille kneeling so we were level, her hands never leaving my shoulders as she spoke. Her tone was firmer than anything I've ever heard from her, letting me know she was serious.

"The Roman gods are real, Serif. And you're the child of one of them. Every Roman demigod starts their journey at the Wolf House, where Lupa and her pack test you. If you survive her trials, you'll go to Camp Jupiter, where others like you train and live. I know this is sudden, but I love you Serif. And I know you'll be an excellent Roman."

So yeah. I'm not just a kid with fire powers and a weird sixth sense for monsters.

I'm an actual demigod.

Still a little crummy that I didn't get a Hogwarts letter with the magical animal escort. And what really sucked was that I'm in a knock off Percy Jackson verse.

Let me explain.

Mythological gods weaving themselves into modern society and having children with mortals. Then those kids get trained in secret camps. That's starting to sound a little familiar, isn't it?

Except this time around, we get Roman gods instead of Greek. Which, if we're being honest, is just a reskin with new names and minor personality tweaks. Mars instead of Ares, Jupiter instead of Zeus.

And it gets even better.

Instead of a summer camp with cabins in New York, I'm heading toward some military-style camp where I'm gonna be marching in formation.

Truly, the height of originality.

And as if that wasn't enough, the wolf I'm riding on? Yeah, she's a goddess too. She's the she-wolf who raised Romulus and Remus.

Well... whatever. No point beating myself up over it.

When in Rome, do as the Romans do.

Since Cecille's my mortal parent, that means I'm the kid of a male god. Given how I can light stuff on fire with a thought, it's not hard to guess which one.

I leaned forward slightly, keeping my balance on Lupa's back as she weaved through trees like a red blur.

"Hey, Lupa."

"Yes?"

"Who's the god of fire?"

"Vulcan," she replied without slowing. "God of fire, metalworking, and the forge."

I think Vulcan's supposed to be the Roman version of Hephaestus. That kind of explains things. I guess you can loosely connect a kitchen to a forge—both have heat, both turn raw stuff into something better.

Not sure where the metalworking fits in, but I've got fire and forge down, so I'm two thirds of the way there.

Eventually, Lupa ran up a hill and the forest opened up to reveal the ruins of a crumbling stone structure nestled in a clearing. The Wolf House, I assumed.

It looked like a forgotten relic tucked deep within the woods.

The place appeared to be the remains of a stone building, partially reclaimed by nature. The roof was gone, and the structure was open to the sky. The rock walls were cracked and overgrown with moss.

Lupa slowed to a halt, letting me slide off her back. My feet hit the dirt, and the rest of the wolves fanned out into a half-circle around us.

I glanced around, shoving my hands in my pockets. "What happened here? This place feels off."

Lupa didn't even blink. "It was built by a son of Mercury named Jack London. Jack thought he could live in it, but it burned in a fire a week before he and his wife were supposed to move in. A few years after that, he died, and his ashes were buried on this site."

"Jack London… Why does that name sound familiar?"

"He was an author of mortal literature. You might have read one of his works."

I nodded slowly, still trying to place it. The name still nagged at the back of my mind, but there were more important things to worry about right now.

Lupa locked her gaze on me. "This is where your training begins. If you are strong, you will walk forward. If you are weak," her voice didn't rise, but somehow it felt like a knife pressed to my throat, "you will be run down, torn apart, and devoured. That is the law of the pack. Weakness has no place in Rome."

I deliberately shook my knees while smirking. "Ooh, scary. Shiver me timbers. But if they're gonna try eating me, it's only fair I get to do the same, right? I've never had wolf before, but if I set a few on fire, I'm sure they'll taste better than I do raw."

A chorus of growls rose from the pack. One of the smaller wolves took a single step forward, baring its fangs at me.

Lupa gave them a single glance.

Silence returned immediately.

I folded my arms. "By the way, Lupa. If you're so harsh, why not just eat the weak ones as soon as they show up?"

"They are still children of Rome. Even the weakest deserve at least one chance to prove they can become strong. But if they were to fail," she tilted her head slightly, "then they were never Romans at all."

Fair enough, might makes right.

We approached the broken archway that led into the Wolf House. Just before I stepped through, one of the larger wolves moved to block the way. It didn't growl. Just stood there, menacingly, eyes locked on mine.

Lupa didn't say anything. Just watched.

Seriously?

Is this supposed to be my first trial?

I stared at the thing for a second before I cracked my knuckles, lighting both fists on fire.

"Hey big guy, you might wanna move." I said casually. "Unless you're secretly a generous guy and want to help me test out my earlier theory."

The wolf didn't move right away.

I raised my fists, ready for a fight.

It took a second longer for it to step aside, giving me a grudging huff.

Behind me, I heard a low, approving rumble from Lupa.

---

[Lupa]

She failed to notice it when she carried the boy through the wilderness, yet now it was unmistakable.

The moment her paws touched the sacred ground of the Wolf House, she felt eyes upon her. A gaze from above, heavy with affection and worry, settled over her shoulders like a second pelt. It did not press, did not threaten. But it watched.

Vesta.

The goddess of hearth and flame did not speak, yet her silent presence radiated pride and hope, as if she herself stood in the arena below.

So be it. Lupa would not flinch beneath the gaze of the hearth. Her law was older, sharper.

Gods and mortals alike had criticized her over the centuries. They whispered behind her back that she was too cold, too brutal, too judgmental. She did not argue. The world was cruel. The pack survived only by devouring the weak. To be Roman is to be strong, and a weak child was no gift to the Legion.

But Vesta never judged.

She had patience that Lupa neither envied nor understood.

Vesta might disapprove of the methods, but she never condemned Lupa. That made her request all the more meaningful. That was why Lupa granted the rarest of concessions.

Her promise had been clear and measured. If the boy failed to meet her standards, he would not die by wolf fang. She would return him to his caretaker, alive but shamed. That was the extent of her mercy.

Yet as she watched Serif train, it became clearer each passing day that mercy would never be required. It even stirred something older than pride.

In all her millennia guiding the children of Rome, she had never encountered a pup quite like Serif.

Two weeks. Just two weeks since his arrival, and he'd eclipsed every demigod in the ruins, even those months into their training.

Below, in the makeshift arena—a patch of ground flattened by years of combat—he fought yet again, an older trainee named Larry squaring off against him. Larry was swift, clever, undoubtedly Mercury's spawn, and nearly two full months into his training. Lupa had once thought him adequate, perhaps even future Centurion material.

Now she reconsidered.

Larry darted forward, attempting to tackle Serif, his movements quick, like those of a fox trying to outwit a bear. Serif absorbed the charge, unyielding. In one fluid movement, he seized the startled boy by the waist, lifted him onto his shoulders, and slammed him to the ground. "Batista Bomb!" Serif shouted, his voice ringing with delight, as he drove the other boy into the dirt.

Dust plumed upward, briefly obscuring the combatants. Once it settled, she saw Serif standing over the groaning Larry, with his fists raised theatrically to the cheers of a nonexistent crowd.

Lupa tilted her head slightly, puzzled yet oddly amused. She knew nothing of this "Batista" or his bombs, but clearly the boy had a flair for the dramatic.

She flicked her ears back, sensing a ripple of joy and pride in Vesta's intensifying gaze.

Truly, the hearth goddess had grown obsessive. Lupa had known many gods, watched them take fleeting interest in their children. But none were so vigilant as Vesta. None were so quietly devoted, so hopeful.

Still, Serif's victories were not always so controlled. Early on, he'd unleashed his fire—grand displays of power, roaring flames dancing from his fingertips, spirals of molten heat scattering wolves and demigods alike. Impressive, yes, but reckless. She had forbidden the flames, forcing him to master his body first.

Yet even without his flames, Serif remained unchallenged. Even when outnumbered, surrounded by snarling wolves or packs of determined demigods, he emerged victorious. She had watched him with keen eyes. He did not breathe like a frightened boy, his heartbeat never raced in panic. He moved deliberately, fiercely, like a predator secure atop the food chain.

The pack's attitude had shifted as well. At first, her wolves circled eagerly, waiting to exploit weakness, to chase and test him. But now they hung back, heads lowered slightly as he passed. Serif was no longer prey, but alpha material. He radiated dominance without even trying, the certainty of an apex predator in mortal form.

Lupa's eyes narrowed thoughtfully. Serif would never find his true limits fighting pups. She made no promises of special treatment, yet instinct whispered in her bones. It was time. She had not planned to give him special treatment. However, there were no more worthy opponents left among the trainees. To waste his growth on easy victories would be a betrayal of both him and the law of the pack.

He must train with a predator he cannot best.

She rose from her perch, descending into the arena with grace, her paws making no sound as she approached Serif. The pack parted immediately, heads bowed. Serif met her gaze without flinching.

"From now on, I will be your opponent." she said simply.

For the barest instant, surprise flickered across Serif's face. Yet his mouth curled into a grin. "Oh hell yeah! Nothing against the others here, but lately it's been getting way too easy."

She had trained countless demigods, molded the fates of heroes. Only once in this generation had she personally stepped forward to shape greatness: Jason Grace, the son of Jupiter, the child of prophecy. But Serif carried no such destiny. He was strength alone, a flame unbound.

Yet, standing beside him now, she allowed herself a fleeting hope. Perhaps Rome had found a new kind of champion. One whose strength would burn brightly without the chains of destiny.

Above her, Vesta's gaze shone brighter, joyful and victorious. Lupa flicked her ears dismissively.

What is the hearth goddess so pleased about?

She was doing her duty.

Nothing more to it.

That was all.

---

[Serif]

The clearing in front of the Wolf House was about as wide as a basketball court. Enough to give me room to move, but not so much that I could run without thinking.

And somewhere in the trees surrounding me, Lupa waited.

Today's lesson?

Tag.

Okay, she didn't call it that. Her exact words had more of that cringy predatory jargon I've gotten used to hearing from her.

But you get the point. I had to catch her, and she had to make me work for it.

She set the rules herself: She could fight back if I got close, but couldn't go all out on offense. I could use fire, but only if I wasn't being a dumbass about it.

Which meant I couldn't go for my classic strategy of tossing out a big fucking fireball and calling it a day.

At first, I resented it. It seemed like she was tying my hands behind my back just to watch me squirm.

Except there was purpose to it. She was forcing me to grow out of old habits. No more spamming cool anime attacks to get a win. At least not against opponents who I really have to try against.

The first round slapped me with that reality real quick. I tried to bulldoze my way through the challenge, and she effortlessly countered every move.

So I adapted.

I started watching for signs.

How the grass flattened under her weight, how the birds fell silent when she started to move. Sometimes I'd even catch a glimpse of chocolate-red fur slipping between the trees.

A hunt.

Not me chasing her like we were playing a game, instead I was becoming a hunter.

I started getting creative. I tossed a fallen log to block her path, then used a burst of flame to heat up some rocks by her paws, forcing her to shift to a disadvantageous position. Sometimes I'd flare up a flash of light, just to make her blink. Even a single instant could change the flow of the battle. Other times, I amplified my own momentum, timing little bursts of flame to make myself move faster or jump farther.

I'd be lying if I said I didn't miss my usual tactics. But there was something exhilarating about doing things this way. And I could feel myself improving. Each time I got close, each near miss, it felt like a new lesson. Every graze from her claws reminded me not to get cocky.

Once again, I caught a glimpse of her fur between the trees. Subtle, just a shade darker than the shadows.

That's how you can tell she's taking it easy on me. Lupa's a wolf goddess thing with thousands of years of experience, no chance I could actually track her unless she wanted me to.

But we've been at it for hours now, and I'd hate to disappoint for much longer.

I knelt and scooped up a handful of dry dust. Then tossed it toward her hiding spot, igniting it mid-air and causing a blinding flash in front of her. She recoiled instinctively, turning in the direction I predicted she would.

That's when I pushed forward, kicking off a tree trunk mid-run to give myself some height, then used a burst of fire at my heel to launch myself around her blind spot.

She turned, swiping her claws at me, but it was just a fraction too late.

I caught her massive paw, yanked her off balance, and managed to hook my arm around her neck in a headlock.

She froze.

I grinned, panting against her fur. "Looks like I win."

For exactly two seconds, I felt like a legend.

Then Lupa gave a low rumble and shook herself free, flipping me over her shoulder like a sack of potatoes.

I hit the ground with my dignity mostly intact.

She stepped over me and glanced down, giving me an approving nod.

"Well done, Serif. If you were to stay here, I'd consider you my Beta."

What the fuck did she just call me?

I sat up, brushing dust off my shoulder. "Lupa, you know I respect you a lot. But please never call me that again. Ever."

She cocked her head, genuinely puzzled. "Being the Beta is a position of honor. The second in command of the pack."

I paused, thinking about it. Would Alpha even be better? Probably not. I'd cringe either way.

"You know what, let's forget about it. I just don't like Greek letters."

She nodded, as if that explained everything. "I see. I do not care for the Greeks either. Though, their letters might be the one good thing to come from them." Her lips curled in a wolfish grin. "You might actually have what it takes to become an excellent Roman, Serif."

Huh?

Before I could answer, she fixed me with a stern look. "However, it's almost dinnertime. You know the rules. Everyone hunts their own meal. Get going."

I dragged myself off the dirt, and muttered, "Yeah, yeah. I'm going."

Chapter 4

[December 21, 2005]

I tore a chunk of meat with my teeth and nearly groaned in sheer satisfaction.

Holy shit.

I still can't get over how good my cooking is.

Except, when I say "cooking," I mean holding a skinned rabbit over a fire I made with a snap of my fingers until it stopped being raw. You can't exactly get the best ingredients out here. Somehow, it still tastes better than a filet mignon from that one steakhouse Cecille used to drag me to. Guess magic fire really does make everything better.

I leaned back, chewing thoughtfully as I gazed around the clearing in front of the Wolf House. It's weird to think how long I've been here. Like, it's been six months since I started training here. Winter's settled in a month ago—the ground's covered in a thin crust of snow, my breath fogs in the air, and the trees are bare except for a few stubborn ones.

By all rights, I should've been back in school months ago, suffering through math homework and cafeteria slop. Instead, I'm living rent-free with a wolf goddess who occasionally tries to bite me.

It's the sort of thing I probably should worry about, but honestly? I don't. Not when I'm actually enjoying myself over here.

Training with Lupa is intense, but in a weird way, it's fun. She's got this way of making every session all business, giving me wild challenges and tests, but I think I've been getting to her. Once they're over, she'll stick around with me and we'll just chill for a bit.

Every now and then, she'll make me spar with the others, telling me to keep them on their toes.

That tends to be less fun. Mostly because it's like beating up little siblings—they flail, they complain, and they still lose. Though I'll admit, there's a certain joy in smacking around noobs who think they've almost got me right before I floor them.

Oh, and my first hunt? That was a disaster.

I spotted a rabbit, then figured I'd skip the actual hunting part by surrounding it with a neat little wall of fire. Except I got carried away and, uh… accidentally set a chunk of the forest on fire. Best not to sweat the details.

Lupa was livid. She came stomping in like the Big Bad Wolf from that one fable, then put out the flames by huffing and puffing. Once it was all over, she spent an hour chewing me out about control and not burning down sacred ground. Lesson learned, I guess.

Since then, I've discovered the power of teamwork. Or, more accurately, delegation.

My job is to actually bring back the meat. Which got a lot easier after training with Lupa for a few days—I can outrun, outjump, or just straight-up grab whatever I'm after. Sometimes I'll use my fire, but, you know, responsibly. No more forest infernos.

The tedious stuff is the problem.

So, I don't do it.

Instead, I let other kids handle the stuff I can't be bothered with.

They get the messy work done, gather some fruits and berries while they're at it. In exchange, I let them keep some of the meat for their trouble, about a twenty percent cut. It's a win-win. They get food, I don't get covered in rabbit guts, plus I avoid dying of protein poisoning because now I've got fruit in my diet. At the end of the day, everyone's happy.

Honestly, I pick the kids that are struggling the most for those kinds of jobs. I know it's hard out here for them, so they're the ones willing to work the hardest for "easy" but tedious errands.

Besides, I like to think that I'm helping them out. Maybe that little extra meat I toss them is the push they need to survive this training.

Or maybe I'm just lazy and wanted the cheap labor.

I took another bite of rabbit, savoring that absurd, primal satisfaction. A good meal around a cozy fire, sometimes life really was that simple.

That's when I saw her approaching.

You couldn't miss her, honestly. Some people just had that look. I could practically see the soft glow radiating off her.

She was, objectively, the best-looking kid here—skin somehow still clear after months in the woods, long golden hair that should've been tangled with twigs and mud but somehow just looked windswept, and bright blue eyes that probably made every poor sap she looked at forget how to breathe for a second. If there was a makeup aisle in the forest, I'd swear she raid it every morning.

Too bad the personality didn't match the packaging. If it did, maybe I wouldn't want to see her get snatched by a manticore.

Other trainees tripped over themselves to help her out, offering food, firewood, even their own share of berries. And she soaked it up, always with that sweet little smile. If you ask me, it's a little cringe. After all, we're like twelve or thirteen years old here.

She gave me a smile, the same one that probably got her everything she wanted back at home. "That smells amazing, Serif. Don't you think you should share?"

Her tone was pleasant enough. But it didn't feel like she was actually asking, like she had the expectation that I'd just hand it over.

I chewed slowly, then swallowed. "You know what Lupa's rules are. I can't just go handing out food to everyone."

She tilted her head, letting her hair catch the firelight in a way I'm sure she practiced in a pond reflection. "Oh, please, Serif? It's only fair, since Lupa gives you special treatment. It would be really nice if you helped the rest of us. We're all doing our best out here."

What a joke.

Sure, I get personal training from Lupa, but that's because I'm actually ahead of the curve. Not because I asked nicely.

And this kind of manipulation? Not going to work on me. She'd spent two months getting whatever she wanted by using her looks and charm, but never bothered to actually learn how to fend for herself.

Does this bitch seriously think just because I'm usually separated from the rest that I don't notice what's going on?

I looked her dead in the eyes. "Sorry, I don't think I heard you correctly. Doing your best? You? The same person who convinced that guy to hunt for you every day because you batted your eyelashes at him? Now that he's gone, you're trying to get me to do it?"

She flinched, then put on a wounded expression, big eyes all watery. "That's not true! I just… I just need help sometimes!"

"You've been here for two months and haven't put in any effort. Now fuck off, I hate leeches like you."

The look on her face said she wasn't used to being told no. She turned on her heel and stormed off, golden hair whipping behind her, leaving me with nothing but the taste of good rabbit and a slightly better mood.

I tore off another bite and was about to settle back into enjoying my dinner when a small movement caught my attention at the edge of my vision.

I glanced over and spotted two kids sitting apart on a fallen log, whispering quietly to each other. Their eyes darting back and forth between me and the retreating blonde. They were... small. The kind of skinny you get from going hungry for too long. Both of them froze when my eyes landed on them.

Great. Now I look like the designated asshole.

And, because the universe loves irony, I actually felt a little guilty. These two weren't entitled and manipulative like the other girl. They looked genuinely worried, already falling behind in a place that chews up the weak.

I walked over, slow enough not to spook them. They tensed, probably expecting me to yell or tell them to get lost.

Instead, I held out what was left of my food.

"Here," I said, keeping my tone casual. "I'm already full, and I don't like wasting food."

They blinked, then the girl took it with shaking hands. The boy mumbled something like "thank you," not meeting my eyes.

"Just remember, you owe me one now." I added, winking to take the edge off. I didn't actually expect payback, but dignity mattered. I wanted them to feel like survivors, not victims that need charity.

The boy straightened up a little, maybe thinking I actually meant it. "We will. We promise."

I waved it off. "If you want to make it here, stick together. And don't let people like her—" I jerked my thumb in the direction of the golden-haired princess, who was now chatting up someone else—"trick you into doing all the work."

They nodded, still a bit wary but already less scared, gnawing on the rabbit together. It looked like the best thing they'd tasted in weeks.

"One, and a tip," I added. "If you get desperate, fishing's easier than hunting for game. Try the creek up north."

The two of them thanked me again.

Helping out just feels right sometimes, even if I don't like making a show of it.

---

Lupa's fur made the best pillow in the world.

I'd been leaning against her for the better part of an hour, both of us watching the flames of a campfire that I'd lit with a flick of my fingers.

Lupa didn't say anything; she just let me be. It was nice—no lectures, no drills, just the sound of wood burning in my fire and the distant yips of her wolves somewhere in the woods.

Eventually, I broke the silence. "Hey, Lupa?"

"Yes, Pup?"

Ewwwww. There it was again. That was almost as cringy as Kurama calling Naruto "Kit" in those fanfictions I regretted reading. I'd given up trying to get her to stop, at least as long as she kept it private.

I shifted a little closer to the fire. "I've been training for so long. Every other demigod usually stays two, maybe three months, then moves on. I've been here since July. So... why am I still here? We both know it's not a matter of strength. I've been the strongest since my first day."

She didn't answer right away, simply staring into the fire while her tail flicked.

"Would you like to hear a story?" she finally asked.

Well, that was just a sad attempt at changing the subject, but I let it go.

"Who's it about this time?"

"Romulus and Remus. I want to tell you more about them."

Weird. She'd told me stories about plenty of demigods, some heroes, some failures. But never the founders of Rome.

Still, I was curious. "Go ahead."

She looked at me expectantly. "How about you start me off? Tell me what you know about their origins."

I groaned but went along with it. "Alright. They were twins. Born to a Vestal Virgin and Mars. Their mother was important or something, and the local king wanted them dead. Which didn't work out for whatever reason. Then they grew up and decided to build a city. That about it?"

"A little vague but correct." Lupa let out a huff that sounded suspiciously like a laugh. "Rhea Silvia, their mother, was the daughter of Numitor, the rightful king of Alba Longa. Numitor's brother, Amulius, usurped the throne and forced Rhea to become a Vestal Virgin to prevent heirs from challenging him. But Rhea was seduced and impregnated by Mars. When Amulius found out she had twins, he feared they'd overthrow him. He ordered them drowned in the Tiber River. The servant tasked with the job took pity and placed them in a basket on the river, rather than killing them outright. The river carried them to the roots of the Ficus Ruminalis."

Her eyes grew distant, like she was watching it all over again. "That's when I found them. I nursed them in my den at the base of Palatine Hill. Eventually, a shepherd and his wife adopted them and raised them as their own. They grew into leaders among the local shepherds, noted for their strength, courage, and sense of justice. In one conflict, Remus was captured and taken to Amulius. Romulus led the rescue. In the end, their true identities came out. With Numitor's support, they overthrew Amulius and restored the throne to their grandfather."

"So, uh, what about the founding of Rome?" I prompted.

I received a small, wolfish smile. "I was getting to that. Romulus and Remus decided to found a new city where I'd saved them. But they argued over where it should stand. They agreed to seek a divine sign. Remus saw six vultures first, while Romulus saw twelve later. Each believed the sign favored him. Arguments turned to violence, and Romulus struck down Remus. Alone, Romulus named the city Rome."

I stared at the fire for a long moment. "So what's the point of all this?"

"Currently, there's a boy at Camp Jupiter that I've raised since he was a baby," she replied, not answering directly. "He's a little similar to you, in that he's far ahead of his peers."

That caught my attention. It was the most personal I'd ever heard Lupa get, and I wasn't about to let it slip past.

"Raised? Not trained?"

She looked back at the flame. "For reasons I won't share, I raised him since he was two years old. Almost like I did with the twins. He lived with my pack for two years before being sent to the camp."

So that was it. Not some cryptic lesson, just nostalgia.

"Sometimes I wonder what would've happened if the two brothers didn't fight at that last moment," Lupa said. "They were stronger together, until they forgot that. Could they have created something even greater than Rome?"

For a second, I thought I heard vulnerability in her voice. But it vanished as quickly as it came. "However, that is the way of wolves and kings—there can only be one leader. It will be the same once more."

I shook my head. "Not true. We're both human, not wolves. We can decide for ourselves who we become. We don't have to follow the same script."

She turned to study me, then smiled, showing the faintest hint of her fangs. "Rome was built on both greatness and tragedy, but times are changing. Perhaps, with the two of you, Rome will look forward to a new era. One not born from blood and rivalry, but something better."

Suddenly, she rose to her full height, and I lost my pillow. I flopped backwards onto the cold ground, scowling up at her as she loomed over me.

"Geez, Lupa. A little warning next time?" I muttered, rubbing my head.

She didn't bother hiding her wolfish grin. "Serif, I've done you a disservice. I wished to see your potential realized, and kept you here for too long. You are more than ready. It's time for you to walk on your own."

"Wait, you mean right now?" I asked, blinking up at the night sky.

She didn't answer, just kept grinning that sharp, approving smile.

"Seriously? Can't I go tomorrow morning? Did you really have to wait until it's dark to make this decision?"

Lupa snorted, the closest thing to a laugh I'd ever heard from her. "The world doesn't wait for anyone, Pup."

"Don't call me that!" I protested, but I was already dusting off my pants. "But fine, I'm going."

At least the trip wasn't going to be too troublesome. I knew the Wolf House sat out in Sonoma Valley, and Camp Jupiter was somewhere near the Oakland Hills in the San Francisco Bay Area. I could make the journey in a day, easily.

Besides, monsters? After months training with Lupa and her pack, I'd like to see them try.

With one last look back at the embers and the giant wolf silhouetted in the firelight, I set off toward the trees, ready for whatever next chapter of this insane demigod life would throw at me.

---

[Athena]

Athena stood on the marble balcony, the city of Olympus stretched below her, a giant looming unseen over the mortal metropolis. To the mortal eyes, nothing but sky. To the gods, it was a world crowned with snow from Boreas, the north wind. The city's towers glinted with fairy lights and fresh garlands, courtesy of the nymphs. Minor gods scurried to decorate every pillar and roofline for the solstice, while the demigods brought up from Camp Half-Blood for the Winter Solstice built snow creatures and little living automata, filling the air with chimes and laughter.

It was almost peaceful, if not for the ever present drama that accompanied every gathering of her family.

Hermes materialized at her side, his eyes urgent beneath his cap. "Father's called for an emergency council. He wants everyone. Now."

He vanished in a golden light without waiting for a reply.

Wonderful. Another meeting, after they had already concluded the official Winter Solstice council earlier in the day. Even for Zeus, this was excessive. At this point, Father might as well make these gatherings daily.

Still, she wasted no time. In an instant, she willed herself to the Hall of the Gods.

Twelve thrones, each distinct and imposing, stood in a grand U around the central heart. Zeus and Poseidon's thrones stood nearest the head. Between Poseidon's coral throne, and Artemis's silver one, was her own throne. It was an elegant gray and gold with owl motifs.

Father and Hera had not yet arrived, which was annoying but not surprising. It's always a power play with them. Athena glanced around, noticing the subtle frustration simmering in the room as the others seemed to have drawn the same conclusion. Apollo was half-tuned out, flipping an arrow through his fingers. Demeter toyed with a strand of frostbitten grain. Artemis didn't bother to hide her irritation.

Her eyes found Aunt Hestia by the hearth, gaze lost in the flames, a gentle smile softening her usually reserved features as though she watched something pleasing. Hestia was not paying attention to anyone else. Odd, but then again, she was the Goddess of the Hearth. No one knew what she saw in that fire.

Athena's hand drifted to the armrest of her throne, fingers drumming in annoyance. Just as she considered prodding Ares into leading the call for everyone to leave and let Zeus face an empty hall for once, the great doors slammed open.

Zeus entered in a sweep of thunder and authority, Hera gliding in at his side, lips set in a straight line. Hera took her throne with a huff, but Zeus remained standing in the center of the room, radiating barely contained fury.

"I have called you here," he announced, voice echoing through the chamber, "for a matter of grave importance."

Poseidon leaned forward slightly, rolling his eyes. "Well, get on with it, brother. What is it this time? Let me guess, someone chased after a nymph you fancied? We can only hope the council will be shorter than the last."

A ripple of amusement passed through the hall, but she noticed Dionysus clench his goblet. She didn't blame him. Of all the Olympians, Dionysus alone had once been mortal, elevated by accomplishing deeds of heroism. He had always been sympathetic to the plight of demigods, having felt their pain before. Zeus's true punishment was putting Dionysus in a position where he could spend time with all the heroes he cared for so much, but couldn't do anything to save their lives.

"My Master Bolt has been stolen!" Zeus's voice boomed before anyone could retort.

The room fell silent. Athena felt her own composure slip, just for a heartbeat. If someone had truly dared to steal the Master Bolt… she knew exactly what her father would do. He would find the thief, and make sure they were sent to the Fields of Punishment and would receive the worst torture possible. Even if he and Hades were not on good terms.

"And," Zeus continued, glancing from one immortal to the next, "I have a very good idea who it was."

He let his gaze fall upon each god in turn, pausing last and longest on Poseidon. The accusation was unmistakable.

Poseidon snorted, rising to his full height. "What? You think I did it?"

"I don't think, I know!"

"That is absurd!" Poseidon shot back, his trident materializing at his side. "We gods are forbidden from stealing each other's symbols of power. You know the ancient laws as well as I."

Zeus's eyes narrowed dangerously. "Yes.Weare. But our children aren't."

Her heart raced as the implications registered.

Poseidon sired another child? How could he? Especially in this generation, when the Great Prophecy hung over all their heads. How old is this child? What was Poseidon thinking, tempting fate so openly? Then again, this is Poseidon. It's entirely possible that he wasn't even thinking. Restraint was never his strength. Still, she wasn't sure if Father's accusations had any real basis. He might be grasping at the nearest possible enemy, as he so often did when desperate.

Poseidon met Zeus's glare, unflinching. "I will not stand here and listen to false accusations. If you wish to find your thief,brother, look elsewhere. I have nothing to confess."

"You will return my Master Bolt by the Summer Solstice!"

"And you will owe me an apology by then, Zeus."

Zeus did not back down. "Get me my Master Bolt by the Summer Solstice, or there will be war."

Poseidon's lips curled into a dangerous smile. "You'll receive no stolen bolt from me. However, I will receive an apology from you. And if you fail to deliver it, then war you shall have."

Then he vanished in a swirl of salt-scented air, leaving tense silence behind. Zeus turned slowly, fury still evident but now tempered by grim determination.

"I declare Olympus under lockdown," he announced bitterly. "No one shall leave without my explicit permission. Athena, Artemis, Apollo, Ares—you will lead the search for my Master Bolt. Spare no effort until it is recovered."

Athena bowed her head slightly, considering the possibilities. War among the Olympians was unthinkable.

She glanced instinctively toward Hestia. In times like these, only her aunt could diffuse the council's worst tempers. But to her surprise, Hestia was still gazing dreamily into the flames, utterly unconcerned by the turmoil erupting around her.

Just what was so important that she could ignore the world around her?

Chapter 5

Holy shit, walking for so long is such a pain in the ass. I've been doing this for hours. My legs aren't too badly sore or anything, thanks for that divine physiology, but the boredom makes it even worse.

At least now I've got a ride. It gives me a short break, and a chance to cut down my journey by like a whole hour. Gotta appreciate the small wins.

Getting to Camp Jupiter wasn't a particularly difficult task. My plan was simple: stick to pedestrian-friendly highways and bike trails, follow the land south and west until I reach my destination. A straight enough shot if you ignore all the opportunities for death.

I started in Sonoma, following Highway 121 south through quiet farmland until I reached Schellville, a tiny crossroad community with nothing important in it. A glorified stop sign, if you will. The most exciting thing there was a welcome sign that looked like it hadn't been cleaned since the '80s. I didn't run into any monsters on the way, which I suppose was a plus.

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—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.

---

Author's Note:

Background of Cercyon (In case people don't want to google him)

Cercyon is a figure in Greek mythology, the king of Eleusis. Cercyon was said to have treated strangers wickedly, especially in wrestling with them against their will. He stood on the roads around Eleusis and challenged passers-by to a wrestling match. The loser (always the passer-by) was murdered, though Cercyon promised his kingdom to anyone who won.

Chapter 6

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?"

It 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 Nike!"

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 Nike 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. 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.