━━━ 𝐢𝐧 𝐰𝐡𝐢𝐜𝐡 camille carras and leo valdez make an oath that even death can't break.
❝ who are you to think you can walk a road that no one ever walked before? ❞
⊹ ࣪ ˖ leo valdez x fem!oc
⊹ ࣪ ˖ the lost hero - the blood of olympus
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𝐈'𝐌 𝐓𝐄𝐋𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐇𝐈𝐌 𝐓𝐎 𝐅𝐋𝐎𝐎𝐑 𝐈𝐓 𝐓𝐇𝐑𝐎𝐔𝐆𝐇 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐅𝐄𝐍𝐂𝐄𝐒 but daddy i love him ( taylor swift )
*.·:·.✧ ✦ ✧.·:·.*
𝐋𝐄𝐎
I HAD DESIGNED THE MESS HALL'S walls to show real-time scenes from Camp Half-Blood. At first I had thought that was a pretty awesome idea. Now I wasn't so sure.
The scenes from back home–the campfire sing-alongs, dinners at the pavilion, volleyball games outside the Big House–just seemed to make my friends sad. The further we got from Long Island, the worse it got. The time zones kept changing, making me feel the distance every time I looked at the walls. Here in Italy the sun had just come up. Back at Camp Half-Blood it was the middle of the night. Torches sputtered at the cabin doorways. Moonlight glittered on the waves of Long Island Sound. The beach was covered in footprints, as if a big crowd had just left.
With a start, I realized that yesterday–last night, whatever–had been the Fourth of July. We'd missed Camp Half-Blood's annual party at the beach with awesome fireworks prepared by my siblings in Cabin Nine.
I decided not to mention that to the crew, but I hoped our buddies back home had had a good celebration. They needed something to keep their spirits up, too.
I remembered the images I'd seen in my dream the night before– the camp in ruins, littered with bodies; Octavian standing at the volleyball pit, casually talking in Gaia's voice.
I stared down at my eggs and bacon. I wished he could turn off the wall videos.
"So," Jason said, "now that we're here..."
He sat at the head of the table, kind of by default. Since we'd lost Annabeth, Jason had done his best to act as the group leader. Having been praetor back at Camp Jupiter, he was probably used to that, but I could tell my friend was stressed. His eyes were more sunken than usual. His blond hair was uncharacteristically messy, like he'd forgotten to comb it.
I glanced at the others around the table. Hazel was bleary-eyed, too, but of course she'd been up all night guiding the ship through the mountains. Her curly cinnamon-coloured hair was tied back in a bandanna, which gave her a commando look.
Next to her sat her boyfriend Frank Zhang, dressed in black workout pants and a Roman tourist T-shirt that said CIAO! (was that even a word?). Frank's old centurion badge was pinned to his shirt, despite the fact that the demigods of the Argo II were now Public Enemies Numbers 1 through 8 back at Camp Jupiter. His grim expression just reinforced his unfortunate resemblance to a sumo wrestler.
Then there was Hazel's half-brother, Nico di Angelo. Dang, that kid gave me the freaky-deakies. He sat back in his leather aviator jacket, his black T-shirt and jeans, that wicked silver skull ring on his finger and the Stygian sword at his side. His tufts of black hair stuck up in curls like baby bat wings. His eyes were sad and kind of empty, as if he'd stared into the depths of Tartarus–which he had.
