Betrayed But Never Forgotten

Two of us will die, and we are okay with it?

Pipers pov

"Torture's going to go talk to Chaos about the prophecy," Luke announced as he walked back into the room, taking his place next to me. His face was grim, eyes shadowed with concern as he leaned against the ping-pong table. The revelation sent a ripple of murmurs through the gathered counselors.

"Well obviously the third line means that five shall journey into Tartarus," Clarisse La Rue said, leaning on the table with both palms flat on the surface. Her muscular arms tensed as she spoke, and the scar on her face seemed to stand out more prominently under the harsh fluorescent lights. "To look for what, I have no clue. But it's not like we haven't had demigods go down there before."

The mention of Tartarus made several counselors shift uncomfortably in their seats. The stories of what Percy and Annabeth had endured there during the Giant War were legendary, and not in a good way.

"The fourth line says this will be the final quest," Katie exclaimed, her voice rising with anxiety as she twisted a strand of hair around her finger. The flowers in her crown were wilting now, reflecting her distress. "Does that mean that Tartarus will kill us and make the end of the world, or will we win on this quest?! How are we supposed to interpret that?"

"Before we make assumptions, prophecies always have different meanings," Annabeth cut in, her gray eyes calculating as she leaned forward on her elbows. Her mask tilted slightly,  barley revealing her face. "We can't start stressing on this before we know for sure. First, let's assess the five who will go on the quest."

She paused, taking a deep breath before continuing, "Last time five people went on a quest it didn't end well, so we need the bravest to go. People who understand the risks and are still willing to face them."

"Are we just going to ignore the fact that you just said the last time five people went on a quest it didn't end well, two died, but we are still going to go?" Will asked, raising his hands and looking around the room with disbelief written across his face. His medical training seemed to be at odds with the cavalier way everyone was discussing potential casualties.

"You of all people, *doctor*, should know that demigods, mortals, and monsters die all the time," Charlie countered, his voice hard as steel. The son of Hephaestus crossed his massive arms over his chest, the muscles rippling beneath his Camp Half-Blood t-shirt. "It's the matter of sacrifice that allows us to get the job done. If we all stayed safe in our cabins, the world would have ended a dozen times over by now."

The tension in the room was palpable, like the air before a thunderstorm. Nobody wanted to be the first to volunteer for what could very well be a suicide mission.

"I'll go," a new voice said, cutting through the tense atmosphere.

We all turned our heads to see three people walking in with dark purple shirts on – the Romans had arrived. They stood in the doorway with the confidence that comes from years of military training, their postures straight and expressions resolute.

"We were told by our new oracle about the prophecy and offered help," Frank explained to everyone present before the three made their way to an open part of the table. Frank, Reyna, and Hazel haven't changed much in the years since I'd last seen them – they all look a little older, and Frank has grown out of his baby face, his jaw more defined and shoulders broader than before. Reyna's obsidian eyes scanned the room with the shrewd assessment of a true leader, while Hazel's golden eyes seemed to glow in the dim light of the rec room.

"I'll go because I can control the Mist, and that should help us out a lot," Hazel said, her voice soft but determined. Her cinnamon-colored hair was pulled back in a practical braid, and her fingers absently played with the gems that had appeared in the table around her hands. "Plus, I've been to the Doors of Death before. I know what to expect... somewhat."

"Torture will probably go because he can navigate Tartarus," Luke said, his grip on my hand tightening as he spoke. His palm was sweaty against mine, betraying his nervousness even as his voice remained steady. "And I will follow him to the end of the Earth." The intensity in his eyes made me uneasy, like he knew something terrible was coming – like he knew someone would not make it back.

"That's three," Drew spoke while applying another coat of lipstick, the pink color garish against her perfect complexion. She examined her reflection in a compact mirror, seemingly oblivious to the life-and-death matters being discussed. "We need two more." What is wrong with that girl? How can she be so casual about sending people to their potential deaths?

"I refuse to sit here and not do anything," Annabeth took a step back and stood next to me, her jaw set in that familiar stubborn expression I'd seen countless times before. "Count me in." She placed a hand on my shoulder, and I could feel the slight tremor in her fingers. Despite her brave words, she was scared – and who wouldn't be, considering where we were planning to go?

"One more," Reyna noted, her dark eyes sweeping across the room, assessing each demigod as a potential soldier for this mission.

The room quieted as everyone looked at each other. No one wanted to volunteer for what was basically a death sentence. The only sounds were the creak of the ancient floorboards and the distant call of birds outside. The silence stretched on, becoming more uncomfortable with each passing second.

"I will go," Charlie broke the silence, his deep voice resonating in the quiet room. He stood up, his powerful frame casting a shadow across the table. "I am good with making weapons and could fix up any device if needed. If you're going into the depths of hell, you'll need someone who can build or repair whatever you need to survive down there."

"N-No!" Silena's desperate cry cut through the room as she grabbed Charlie's arm. "Don't you dare leave, please!" Her beautiful face was contorted with fear, tears already welling in her kaleidoscope eyes. Charlie gently took her arm and led her outside, their voices fading as they stepped onto the porch.

Through the window, I could see him holding her close, speaking softly into her hair as she clung to him, shoulders shaking with sobs. It made me feel an overwhelming sorrow for them – they were always being split apart for the immortals' games of power. Their love story had been tragic once before, and now fate seemed determined to test them again.

"That's five, then," Annabeth announced, her voice pulling me back to the matter at hand. She pulled out her laptop and began typing rapidly. "We should leave as soon as Torture gets back. In the meantime, we need to prepare. Tonight, we will have a capture the flag tournament, Camp Jupiter against Camp Half-Blood. It will serve as both a welcome for our Roman allies and a way to keep everyone's skills sharp."

As people began filing out of the room, discussing strategies and preparations, Luke led me toward the arena. His hand was still clasped tightly in mine, and I could sense his urgency as we walked across the grounds. The afternoon sun cast long shadows across the grass, and campers stopped to stare as we passed by, their whispers following in our wake.

"We need to train," Luke said simply as we reached the arena. He released my hand and drew his sword, the celestial bronze gleaming wickedly in the sunlight. "If we're going down there... we need to be ready for anything."

I nodded, drawing my own weapon. As we began to spar, I tried to focus on the clash of metal against metal, on the rhythm of advance and retreat that had been drilled into me over years of training. But my mind kept drifting to the prophecy, to the faces of the five who had volunteered.

Five shall journey into the depths... but how many would return? As Luke's blade narrowly missed my shoulder, I couldn't shake the terrible certainty that had settled in my gut – we were losing two people on this quest. The only question was: which two?

The sound of our weapons echoed across the empty arena, each clash like the tolling of a funeral bell. Somewhere in the distance, thunder rumbled – a fitting soundtrack for what felt like the beginning of the end.