𝐆𝐎𝐋𝐃 𝐑𝐔𝐒𝐇 [Jason Grace]

Prologue

"𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐛𝐞 𝐝𝐞𝐚𝐝," Chiron had said.

At that point, Jason would have preferred death. He hated felt like he was walking on eggshells. Trying not to disrupt everything in this new place he had found himself in. Everyone seemed kind enough, even the scary blonde girl was nice, just exhausted.

But Jason couldn't help feeling like everything was wrong. The hair on his arm stood up, as if he was going to be struck by lightning (again) and the back of his neck tingled like a super annoying spidey sense. He wasn't supposed to be here. That much was clear, even to Chiron the centaur.

If only Jason knew things were only about to get worse from there.

Sure, he had woken up with no memory on a school bus with an insanely beautiful girl who thought they were dating. Sure, their gym teacher turned out to be a faun or satyr or whatever he had called himself and got sucked into the storm trying to protect Jason and his "friends". Sure, a scary blonde girl had shown up demanding answers who eventually made them crash land into a lake and brought them to a camp for half blood children of gods.

That stuff Jason could keep up with. Nothing about that felt weird or abnormal. But this?

"What did you mean when you said that I should be dead?"

Chiron studied him with concern, as if he expected Jason to burst into flames. "My boy, do you know what those marks on your arm mean? The color of your shirt? Do you remember anything?"

Jason looked at the tattoo on his forearm: SPQR, the eagle, twelve straight lines.

"No," he said. "Nothing."

"Do you know where you are?" Chiron asked. "Do you understand what this place is, and who I am?"

"You're Chiron the centaur," Jason said. "I'm guessing you're the same one from the old stories, who used to train the Greek heroes like Heracles. This is a camp for demigods, children of the Olympian gods."

"So you believe those gods still exist?"

"Yes," Jason said immediately. "I mean, I don't think we should worship them or sacrifice chickens to them or anything, but they're still around because they're a powerful part of civilization. They move from country to country as the center of power shifts—like they moved from Ancient Greece to Rome."

"I couldn't have said it better." Something about Chiron's voice had changed. "So you already know the gods are real. You have already been claimed, haven't you?"

"Maybe," Jason answered. "I'm not really sure."

Seymour the mounted leopard snarled.

Chiron waited, and Jason realized what had just happened. The centaur had switched to another language and Jason had understood, automatically answering in the same tongue.

"Quis erat—" Jason faltered, then made a conscious effort to speak English. "What was that?"

"You know Latin," Chiron observed. "Most demigods recognize a few phrases, of course. It's in their blood, but not as much as Ancient Greek. None can speak Latin fluently without practice."

Jason tried to wrap his mind around what that meant, but too many pieces were missing from his memory. He still had the feeling that he shouldn't be here. It was wrong—and dangerous. But at least Chiron wasn't threatening. In fact the centaur seemed concerned for him, afraid for his safety.

The fire reflected in Chiron's eyes, making them dance fretfully. "I taught your namesake, you know, the original Jason. He had a hard path. I've seen many heroes come and go. Occasionally, they have happy endings. Mostly, they don't. It breaks my heart, like losing a child each time one of my pupils dies. But you—you are not like any pupil I've ever taught. Your presence here could be a disaster."