eclipse [j.grace 1]

xxvi. and lately, i'm a nervous wreck

The atmosphere at Camp Jupiter was thick with unease, the skirmish from the previous night still fresh in everyone's minds. The morning sun bathed the camp in a soft, deceptive light, but beneath the surface, tensions simmered. The legionnaires moved with a wariness that had not been there before, their eyes constantly scanning for signs of another attack.

Eira stood near the main campfire, her gaze distant as she replayed the events of the battle in her mind. Despite the victory, a nagging sense of unease gnawed at her. 

The sight of Krios, the coordinated assault, the way the monsters and rogue demigods had struck with purpose—it all pointed to a larger, more insidious plan. And she couldn't shake the feeling that someone within the camp was playing a dangerous game.

Her thoughts were interrupted by the arrival of Octavian, the camp's augur. He moved with a deliberate grace, his robes billowing slightly as he approached the group of demigods gathered near the fire. His expression was as inscrutable as ever, a practiced mask that revealed nothing of the thoughts swirling behind those calculating eyes.

"Eira," he greeted her with a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. "I trust you're recovering well from last night's excitement?"

Eira nodded, keeping her expression neutral. There was something about Octavian that had always put her on edge. 

Maybe it was the way he seemed to relish in the camp's rituals, or the way he spoke in cryptic riddles, always with a hint of condescension. Or maybe it was the way he manoeuvred through the camp's politics, always positioning himself just so, always ensuring that he was seen and heard.

"Still on edge," she replied, her voice careful. "But I'm sure you know how it is after a fight like that."

Octavian's smile widened slightly, as if he found her answer amusing. "Indeed. Battles do have a way of stirring up the camp. But we mustn't let fear cloud our judgement, must we? It's important to remain...focused."

Eira met his gaze, her eyes narrowing slightly. "Focused on what, exactly?"

Octavian's gaze flickered to the camp's central pavilion, where Marcus and the other senior leaders were likely discussing the aftermath of the skirmish. "On what's best for Camp Jupiter, of course. The safety and well-being of the legion are paramount. I'm sure you agree."

His words were smooth, almost rehearsed, but there was an underlying tone that set off warning bells in Eira's mind. She had always been good at reading people, a skill honed by years of survival and instinct, and something about Octavian's demeanour now felt...off.

"Of course," she replied, her tone measured. "But I suppose that depends on what one considers 'best' for the camp."

Octavian's eyes flashed, just for a moment, before he smoothed his expression into one of practiced calm. "Naturally, the well-being of our demigods, the strength of our forces, and the preservation of our traditions."

"Traditions can be...restrictive," Eira said, testing the waters. "Sometimes new strategies are necessary. The world is changing, after all."

Octavian tilted his head slightly, studying her with an intensity that made her want to draw back, but she held her ground. "True," he conceded, though his tone was clipped. "But change must be managed carefully. Too much, too fast, can lead to chaos. Surely you understand the importance of order, Eira."

She didn't miss the subtle shift in his tone—a hint of reproach, perhaps even a veiled warning. Octavian was always careful with his words, but Eira could sense the power plays at work. He was testing her, probing to see where she stood in the camp's political landscape. And she didn't like it one bit.