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Even wolves bow to the law.
Jason Grace wakes up with his alarm. 7:00 a.m., it blinks at him. The first thing he feels is the cool breeze that blows in from the river bordering their camp, and through the window near his bed. They put him here so he’d be the first point of protection should anything from outside try to attack. He took the position gratefully. Lowered his head in thanks and packed up the little he had. From the big warm rooms of the main house where the youngest of them slept, to the straight and narrow dormitories of their assigned cohorts.
His blue eyes, dull and wide, blink as he stares at the roof. He’s one of the luckier ones. He has a whole bunk to himself. People are scared to sleep next to him, or near him. This son of Jupiter, this child of Lupa, this being of Power. What if they shake the bunk in the night and he tears them apart with his father’s lightning.
Jason would never. He is trained better than that. He will have control of his emotions. If he doesn't, innocent people will die. He knows this. A cub got hurt once. He wasn’t allowed to eat for a week. At least not with the pack. He was too young to get food on his own. He must learn the ways of the wolves, for they are the way of the world, and the bearers of the law.
Even wolves bow to the law.
He swings his legs over the bed, and jumps down. His landing is silent. The floorboards do not even creak. They are cold though, but he is used to this. It is the second thing that wakes him up.
The routine goes like this: alarm>roof>floorboards>cold water>clothes> weapon check>breakfast>camp activities.
Everyday. Every Single Day. Always the same thing, never a deviation, never an interruption. We must be organized beings Jason , he hears Lupa in his head over and over again, f or if we are chaos we must expect to be destroyed. Chaos must not exist outside of it’s containment. That was the final lesson. Chaos doesn’t follow rules therefore it should not exist.
Jason splashes cool water on his face, stares at himself in the scratched mirror. Too many demigods looking through the same glass. He wonders if any of them want to see something different? He does. Gods he does, desperately and ungratefully.
He wants to see how blue his eyes can get. And if his hair can be messier than this buzzed golden blonde look. If his hands can be softer than the callouses he always sports. And if his skin can be more golden. Would he look more alive?
He goes to breakfast. They're serving an array of things. Jason gets oats with too much honey. He sits at the edge of a table, nearest to the exit. Some people come to sit at the same table, but they keep a distance that moving closer would not bridge. Their laughter is his curiosity, their questions are his silent answers. He agrees that Silene from cohort three should go with the blue hair ties because it matches her socks. He decides diet coke is the best of the diet cola series. He frowns when Lucian from cohort two shows off their new throwing dagger at the table.
No weapons where you eat. Lupa frowns when he brings a whittled stick to their meal. Why? Because eating is a time of truce and peace. If I bared my fangs at you while you ate how would you feel? And his little eyes had grown wide as saucers, tears filling faster than he could stop them. Yes Lupa , he had mumbled, throwing his tiny spear away. He had just wanted to show her what he could do. He would never use it on them. That was the first of many things he had made and lost. Hard labour is only accepted when it benefits someone else. Another lesson learned.
Even wolves bow to the law.
The sword slips from his grip. Before it hits the floor his other hand is grabbing it. With a low growl he starts again. Twirl, strike, counter, direction, twirl, sidestep. He gets it this time. He allows a small smile. If there was a mirror he would have seen his eyes shine a little brighter.
“Jason!” Someone calls his name from outside. He nearly flinches. With a toss of his sword it pockets as a coin and then he’s jogging towards the door.
“Hey,” He squints the sun out of his eyes, searching for his summouner against the bright morning.
Reyna, a new camper, still young but full of anger, stands in front of him. Her legs are shoulder width apart, hands on her hips. Her tattoo is so pitch black against her brown skin. A single stripe mars her arm. He wonders if her collection of lines will someday rival his. The frown creasing her dark eyebrows is securely in place.
“What’s wrong?”
“They said you have to train me today.”
“Why me?” He frowns, looking around her for older campers. It is not traditional for campers as young as him to be training new recruits. Even if he has been here longer than most demigods. Still the older ones are given duties and responsibilities like this. There is a hierarchy and it starts with the time of your birth.
“Will you teach me?” The demand sort of irks him but only because he has never been asked to do something like this and now it is just being thrown at him with no warning, or training.
He tries not to let it show on his face. He must do a good job because her own fierce expression doesn’t change, react to him. She simply stares.
“Yes,” He motions for her to follow him back into the training center. “I will teach you.”
“What do we start with?” Her excitement is starting to wage war with her anger. They are still little kids after all.
“We start with body training.” He looks her over, assessing the thinness of her arms, the way her legs sway even when she tries to stand still. As if she had been on a ship for too long and her body no longer knows what solid ground feels like.
“What?” She’s back to frowning, glaring at him. “I want to learn how to use weapons. I want to fight.”
“The first weapon is your body.” He says, moving to the center of the room where a large training mat is spread across the floor.
“No, the first weapon is the one I can get my hands on.”
“How will you use a weapon if you can’t even hold it?” He doesn't understand why she won’t follow the order of things. Train your body>wield the weapon>fight the war. That’s how it is. That’s the order.
“My mother is Bellona!” She growls. “I already know how to fight.”
He stands in front of her, considering. They are about the same height, definitely the same age, though his weight is solid, whereas she looks like she’s been eating nothing but berries and cold meats for weeks. No sustenance.
“Okay Reyna,” He raises a brow. Something thrums under his skin, increases his heart rate. He believes it’s excitement. Are his eyes glowing? “If you can lay me down in two minutes, we’ll start on weapons training right away.”
The gleam that enters her gaze, brown eyes brightening like headlights, almost makes him laugh. “Fine.” She gives him a single nod.
And then she’s sprinting towards him, teeth bared, hands clawed in front of her. She fights like it's survival. He knows something of that. He steps out of the way. Her frustration is a spark. And she is dynamite. He is there to watch the world blow up. His eyes are lightning blue.
Wolves may bow to the law. But they hunt the chaos.