Forgotten memories

Polotics, part 2 electric bogalo

The Senate House looked... well, honestly, it reminded me of a high school lecture hall. A semicircle of tiered seats faced a raised dais with a podium and two large chairs—one for Jason and one for Reyna. The atmosphere was tense, like the air before a thunderstorm.

I ended up on the left side of the semicircle. The ten senators filled the rest of the front row, while the upper tiers were packed with hosts and a few older veterans from the city, all dressed in spotless white togas. Their stern expressions didn't exactly scream "welcome."

Standing at the very front was this pale, blond guy clutching a knife and—of all things—a stuffed Beanie Baby lion. Yeah, nothing inspires confidence like a dude with a plush toy and a sharp blade. Apparently, that was the official toolset for consulting the god of cutesy collectibles.

Reyna strode up to the podium, raising one hand for silence. Her presence alone shut everyone up instantly.
"This is an emergency meeting," she announced. "We're not going to waste time with formalities."

"I love formalities!" a ghost in the back whined.

Reyna gave him a look that could've frozen lava. "Moving on," she said tightly. Then her eyes slid to me. "First, we're here to hear a proposal—one that concerns the rising of the Titans. Ambassador for Diana," she said, her tone formal and cutting. "Would you please stand?"

I didn't love the spotlight, but I pushed myself to my feet anyway. Every single eye locked on me, weighing me like I was some kind of suspect in a trial.

"I greet the Senate with grave news," I began, trying to keep my voice steady. "Here in California... this is where the Titans are rising. Their old palace—it's rebuilding itself, stone by stone, rising from the ashes. If we don't act now, if we don't destroy it before it's finished... well, you already know what that means."

Judging by the looks I was getting—like you just punched a guy earlier, and now you're giving speeches?—I could tell they weren't impressed. But before I could say more, Blondie-with-the-Bear stood up.

"And how exactly do you propose we do that?" he asked, his voice dripping with smugness.

I stared at him. "Who are you again?"

He smirked, clearly loving the attention. "I'm Octavian. The great augur of Camp Jupiter."

Augur... right. The prophecy guy.

I gave him a slow nod and a little chuckle. "Oh, I see. Then let me toss the question right back to you: what do your prophecies say?"

That seemed to rattle him. He fumbled with the stuffed lion, muttering something as he sliced it open. A little cotton fluff floated to the floor. He chanted in Latin for a few seconds, clearly trying to make this as dramatic as possible, before looking up with a triumphant smirk.

"The prophecies have spoken," he announced. "They tell me of great suffering for the entire camp if we march on the Titan palace."

Gasps rippled through the crowd. All eyes turned back to me.

I shrugged. "Look, I'm not saying this is going to be a walk in the park. But I am saying you'll live longer if you go." I stepped down into the center of the semicircle, slowly turning as I spoke. "This is the Senate's decision, right?"

"Yes," Jason said from the dais, his voice steady. "It's for the Senate to decide."

I gave him a nod. "Thank you, Praetor." Then I faced the crowd again. "We all know prophecies... well, they're tricky. Double meanings, loopholes—you name it. Did the prophecy say whose suffering?"

Octavian hesitated. "No. Just... great suffering."

"Exactly," I said, my tone sharp. "Could be yours. Could be theirs. You'll never know unless you act."