Chapter Text
After everything had gone to…schist…as the Lord of Time had once predicted, Jason now found himself waiting by the Little Tiber for the ‘him’ that the gods were allegedly hoping he’d never have to meet.
If Jason was right about who it was, then the two-meter-deep river of white and icy blue was the ideal place to wait for a son of the sea god. Then again, if Percy Jackson had done everything he thought he’d done…
…killed a Fury, mailed Medusa’s severed head to Olympus, defeated the god of war in a duel, recovered Zeus’ Master Bolt, and probably more…
…then maybe meeting the man without advanced warning was a terrible idea.
Each of those was more than most Legionnaires accomplishments across their whole lives. Now he was of two minds about it, flipping IVLIVS in his fingers without letting it fall either way.
Heads.
That is absolutely terrifying and I hope to never meet this person.
Tails.
If this man has not gone stark-raving mad with power, I need to see this for myself.
Yet again though, Jason was wrong.
Neptune wanted nothing to do with the son of Jupiter. Why or why not was a question only the god himself could’ve answered, and Neptune had long since chosen not to care. It would’ve made Jason’s world a thousand times lighter to be able to say the same, but if he’d been able to stop caring about his fellow men, he wouldn’t be sitting on a riverbed, cursed blade in hand, trying to keep his heart above water.
Reyna approached and sat next to him. Her armor caught the evening light and shone brilliantly. It only made her mutter under her breath and move her ‘cape’ to cover the bronze.
“The war’s already over and Apollo is still doing his best to—”
She paused, shook her head.
“It doesn’t matter. None of it does.”
He put a hand on her shoulder, lending her his strength the way she’d lent so many others hers.
“It does matter. It matters to me. That’ll have to be enough. We did not come this far to tell ourselves that what we lost doesn’t matter.”
She stiffened, but didn’t push his hand away. Her brown curls fell down to frame her face as she gave her twin blades a thousand yard stare. She didn’t say anything. The Legionnaire with no respect for authority. The Praetor who’d gotten her position by attempting to kill Bryce Lawrence in vigilante justice.
Did Not. Say. A Word.
Jason looked over at the high wall that guarded Camp Jupiter. Sentries stood at the tops of watchtowers, some with spyglasses to ID threats from distance, others with bows, others with bronze-and-steel rifles. About where the entrance would be, a young man marched efficiently in Legionnaire gear towards them.
“Octavian.” Jason breathed, seeing the Augur approach.
Octavian waved back at them.
“Shouldn’t he be in robes?” Jason asked, turning to her.
“I pick my battles.” She muttered quietly.
After half a minute or so, Octavian arrived. His words were clipped bare and precise.
“Two. Children of Pluto. Male and female, most likely. Nico, male, late-teens. Hazel, same age.”
For a moment, Jason considered asking Octavian if he was okay, then realized how stupid of a question that was.
“Your duties as Augur?” Jason asked.
Octavian gave him the emptiest look he’d ever seen.
“The omens presently read that the world has gone to Tartarus and that if the Praetors of Rome would like elaboration then they may go through the formal process of sticking it where the sun don’t shine.”
Reyna physically staggered backward. Yet she said nothing. Octavian turned on his heels, and marched right back into Camp Jupiter without another word.
“How many?” Jason asked, knowing that would be the only thing on her mind. The task she sentenced herself to because it was her duty to Rome. The task they’d both sentenced themselves to.
“Seventeen down. Four to go.”
He looked at the plume of ash and smoke rising from New Rome. Shadowy smoke-figures shifting in the air, beaten down by a bloodied orange sky that wanted it to be tomorrow already but didn’t have the strength. Tried to imagine that.
Seventeen funerals in less than 24 hours.
It didn’t seem real.
For a long time, they let the ash from the funeral pyres, wafted on the autumn wind, burn their nostrils as they tried to forget. Tried to shut out the pain. Tried to do anything to make the world stop hurting so much. It was a fool’s errand and they both knew it. That many people in the ground wasn’t going to stop hurting. Today was the easiest day among those ahead.
It’s funny. The day you lose someone isn’t the worst. At least you’ve got something to do. It’s all the days they stay dead.
“How’s your side handling things?” He asked, trying to take her mind off of things.
“The entire Fourth resigned. So that’s been fun to handle.”
“They can’t just resign—” He retorted automatically, leaning forward, then she finished anyway.
“—oh yeah? Good luck finding a man willing to convict them of desertion. I’ll be waiting.”
The Reyna-branded snark was back. Now as a shield, not a sword. They both coughed as the winds caught a small cloud of ashes and blew it onto their armor, swatting it away. The sky brightened for a moment as one of the clouds shifted out from under the sun, which made her check her watch.
“By Jove…Jason, it’s 2 in the afternoon!”
His mouth actually hung open for a moment. It wasn’t evening at all. There was just that much ash in the air. Grief had dragged their early afternoon into hiding behind that ashen sky, and called it evening light.
Footsteps beat ash-dusted grass back. Reyna stood to her full height in her armor, sheathing her blades. Jason stood alongside her, feeling the grass crackle beneath their feet.
Well Octavian wasn’t lying about their lineage.
The two children of Pluto Octavian had spoke of approached. On the left, Nico, a boy the color of dried bone with short black hair. He wore a t-shirt with a skull on it and raggedy jeans.
Whose skull? I’ve lost track.
At his belt, a sword made of Stygian Iron hung. More than Jason had ever seen in one spot, forcing a step back. Either the Son of Pluto was immune to the life-draining midnight black metal…or didn’t have enough life left in him for it to matter.
That might make two of us yet, Nico.
He wasn’t the son of the sea god, but Jason wasn’t disappointed. Pluto and Neptune, after all, had a lot in common. Both had made indifference their form of strength.
Reyna’s voice startled him into the present moment.
“Nico, Hazel, I am Reyna, daughter of Bellona and Praetor of New Rome. I have a duty to provide you with everything you require to succeed as Legionnaires.” Her heart wasn’t in it, and they all knew it, but nobody commented.
Jason had spent way too much time in the past 48 hours doing site evaluations for burials, coordinating counseling for families, and comforting families who’d lost loved ones…
…burying their dead…
…to care about a lack of enthusiasm. He just muttered exactly what she’d said about Octavian’s dress code back to her.
“I pick my battles.”
By that standard, they supposed that Pluto’s timing was perfect in a morbid way.
“I…I do not intend to become a Legionnaire, though Hazel may do…as she pleases.” Nico said, voice stiff with unmistakable sorrow. Even a Roman—not known for their ability to read people—could sense the waves of pain radiating off of him. Both of them.
All of us.
Hazel—a girl of dark skin, amber hair and golden eyes who didn’t even have a weapon—looked at Nico with slight contempt that said she didn’t need one to be dangerous.
“I intend to join the Legion, whether I’m accepted or not. I’ve come too far to stop now.” She growled at them in a way unmistakably…familiar.
Before Jason could even get words out, Reyna glared at him in anticipation, which only proved his point.
“Remind you of anyone you’ve met before?” He asked.
“Not. Now.” She muttered.
And just as had it come, in a flicker, the respite was gone. Nico was still staring back at him. An old, tired line slumped its way into Jason’s mind. Look into the abyss long enough, and it will look back into you.
“Pluto has sent an Ambassador.” Jason noticed.
The Son of Jupiter whose sister had been killed on Half-Blood Hill by Pluto should have been angry. Pluto had taken 147 good people from them in a single night, and now sent an Ambassador—a diplomat trying to paint over the blood that now drenched their boots—to try to ‘make things right’. Instead, with everything they’d lost today, he found another thought digging at the back of his neck like a parasite.
If her death had been able to prevent this, I would have taken that trade.
Grief was a cruel thing. It liked to tell you losing a sister you’d never known was easier than losing a lot of friends you’d known for years.
He clenched his left fist, stared down at the rage building, then switched to clench his right.
Nico nodded in confirmation.
“To make peace. Maybe the only way to get peace.”
Reyna took a step forward, only to find her gesture matched in Hazel.
“I think you are mistaking peace with quiet.”
He wasn’t even sure which one of them said it. Reyna, or Hazel. It didn’t matter.
“No arguments today.” He said, his voice ringing with hard-won authority. “One hundred and forty-seven good men and women lost their lives yesterday so we could have peace. In the wake of their sacrifice, the very least we can do is not poison it by arguing over their headstones.”
That line would’ve been better if I’d been standing over actual headstones.
He sighed.
No. I’m beginning to think like Apollo. Life isn’t theater.
Nico’s eyes widened at the figure. “One hundred and—”
Focusing on the number seemed to trigger something within the son of Pluto. He got a waft of the smoke from the funeral pyres, turned to his side, and vomited into a trash can sitting next to one of the watch towers.
“Nico, are you okay?” Hazel asked. A moment passed. She frowned in what Praetor Jason now understood to be worry.
An angel puking. But he doesn’t look like an angel.
Jason almost laughed.
He’s not stark-raving mad at all. The power didn’t go to his head. It just…
Nico stiffened, steadying himself against the railing.
“I’m… I’m fine, Hazel. I just… there’s just so much…I had no idea how high the death toll—”
Reyna looked the two over and interrupted him.
“Son of Pluto, do you need to be taken to the infirmary?” She asked.
Nico’s face had gone from bone-white to a sickly shade of poison ivy. He held the railing in a death grip, but remained standing.
Hazel reached her hand out towards the ground. IVLIVS, as a coin instead of a blade, slowly fell out of Jason’s fingers and tumbled onto the ground.
“He’s fine! He said he’s fine!” Hazel insisted, standing between Reyna and Nico like a human shield.
”Oh, she’ll be a real piece o’ work when she gets to you. Anger, pain, grief. Don’ hold it against ’er. She’s been through a lot.”
Staring at the girl, Saturn’s words from four years ago held a very different weight.
She turned, saw the Imperial Gold coin on the ground, stiffened instantly and went to pick it up.
“I—I’m sorry, you didn’t…you didn’t touch it, did you? It’s…a kind of curse.”
The memory of Octavian dropping into the dirt, a dead girl in his arms, burying that same coin, stabbed at him.
A hero’s soul, cursed blade shall reap.
“I did. It’s my sword.” Jason said flatly.
Hazel blanched.
“I am…it’s your sword? I…it’s cursed now. If you touch it…”
He took it out of her hands, and she looked like she was waiting for him to drop dead.
“Daughter of Pluto,” he said, with a sad smile, “that sword was cursed long before you had anything to do with it.”
She seemed to understand the gravity of that when she took a step back. She saw the huge plume of smoke behind him. The ash-beaten grass refused to go down this time. A crack wormed its way through the soil.
“Oh my gods…I…what did you do? What happened?”
“It’s better if you don’t know. I’m assigning you to the Fifth Cohort. Jason can escort you to your quarters. Just…do whatever.” Reyna said, and that last sentence rattled Jason.
Do whatever. It doesn’t matter. Nobody is going to care. Not today.
The two men looked at each other. Nico waited for instructions. Jason stepped forward.
“Ambassador to Pluto, you say? Then you’re going to be busy.”
“Busy?” Nico asked.
A cloud of smoke shifted, approaching the sun from the side.
“Busy. There are a lot of people who’d like a word with your father tonight.”
Nico gave Jason a look.
Smoke turned their lying early evening into a snuffed-out darkest hour. The midnight oil threatened to drown them.
“Oh, I am aware. I’m one of them.”