we'll go down in history, remember me for centuries
***
In where Hester Sāto joins a quest to return a stolen lightning bolt while trying to learn her godly parentage and control her dangerous curse.
(pjo 1-5)
(part i of the "heroes" duology)
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Chapter One: I Become An Accomplice To Murder
(I Accidentally Vaporise My Pre-Math Algebra Teacher)
***
When one thinks of an event that changed and even reshaped the course of their world, a museum doesn't really come to mind. Nor does it come to mind when said event involves death. And it especially doesn't come to mind when it involves the death of your best friend's math teacher who somehow turned into a monster before evaporating into a thousand particles of dust.
That's probably because you're a normal person and not Hester Sāto.
And, unfortunately, all three happened to her at a museum.
In the museum's and her own defence, it didn't look like any of that would happen when she first arrived with her class and her friends' class—especially the death. But, as said, she was Hester Sāto. Something was bound to happen.
It was just her luck, after all.
Staring at the museum, though, Hester didn't think about how her life would be changed by it or even about her own... irregularities. Instead, she just sighed, hoisted the bag sagging with sketchbooks, pencils, her lunch, an untranslated copy of The Iliad, and her knitting supplies complete with her latest projects she was hoping to give to her friends before she likely never saw them again when she left for high school—a little memento of their friendship, and how much she cherished it—higher up her shoulder and thinking how this was going to be a boring field trip.
Looking at the museum told her that, while her teacher promised it would be a fun field trip, that she was still promising to her glaze-eyed students along with explaining what they were doing, how it was important to their schoolwork even though summer started in a day, and the rules before they entered, it looked anything but.
"God, I can already feel boredom killing me," one of her classmates muttered, inciting a round of sniggers. Hester flinched at the casual mention of death, as an itch burned in her and her hands tingled within her knitted gloves while her mind pleaded, Don't do it, don't do it, don't—
"Actually, boredom won't kill you directly, but it will increase your chance of an early death. Not like you need to worry—you're gonna live a long life before you die," Hester blurted. She did it.
Her classmate and everyone else in hearing distance gave her perplexed and weirded out looks. Hester just wished the earth would open and swallow her whole.
So close. She'd been so close to not making a comment or prediction about death all throughout her years at Yancy Academy, to keeping her mouth shut about it. To just be known as the girl who knitted and read thick books on mythology and literature and tried to help anyone who was struggling educationally, never mind her own educational struggles. And then she had to make a comment like that.
