Forgotten memories

Christine: I hate strangers

A giant statue was not what I was expecting. Honestly, I've seen a lot of strange things in my time with the Hunters—and well before that too. Monsters that could swallow a man whole, gods who thought "personal space" was optional, enchanted forests that shifted around like they were alive. But this? Yeah... this kinda takes the cake.

Orion had described Camp Jupiter to me in great detail before, and I thought I'd prepared myself. He'd told me about the size, the grandeur, the precision of the Romans. Still, standing here on the deck of the Argo II, staring down at it with my own eyes, I couldn't help but think: he undersold it.

The valley spread out below us, framed by the rolling Oakland Hills. It wasn't just big—it was massive. At least twice the size of Camp Half-Blood, probably more. A ribbon of a river cut across the landscape, curving gracefully into the center like a giant letter G, where it emptied into a lake so blue it looked like polished glass catching the sunlight.

And right there at the edge of the lake—New Rome. The city gleamed, white stone and red tile roofs catching the sun, gardens spilling with flowers in colors so bright they almost hurt to look at. I actually caught myself leaning over the rail, breath caught in my throat, just to take it in. I recognized things Jason and Orion had mentioned before—landmarks that felt like myths until this exact moment. The hippodrome, long and oval like some ancient racetrack. The coliseum, its shadow stretching across nearby streets. Temples, parks, plazas dotted with fountains. The Seven Hills, their winding streets packed with villas painted in shades of red, yellow, and cream, their balconies bursting with greenery.

And yet, the beauty was scarred. The battle they'd told us about had left its mark everywhere. The dome of the Senate House—what must've once been pristine and perfect—was split open with an ugly crack that gaped toward the sky. The wide forum plaza was littered with craters, the kind you only saw after magic or explosives had had their way. A few fountains had gone dry, their statues lying toppled and broken, arms reaching out for something that wasn't there anymore.

Despite the damage, life surged. Dozens of kids in togas spilled out of the Senate House, craning their necks to get a look at the Argo II descending from the clouds. Shopkeepers and families abandoned their places in the cafés, pointing, whispering, some gawking in awe, others glaring with suspicion. It was like the whole city had paused just to watch us.

And then—farther west—the sound of horns blaring. A Roman fort loomed on a hill, and I swear, it looked like something straight out of a military history textbook. Defensive trenches lined with sharp stakes. Tall walls, watchtowers bristling with scorpion ballistae, gleaming in the sun like a hundred watchful eyes. Inside, I could make out the crisp, perfect rows of white barracks, marching in symmetry down a central road—Jason had called it the Via Principalis.

The gates of the fort burst open, and a column of legionnaires marched out. Shields flashing, spears steady, their golden armor catching the sunlight like fire. They moved like a single unit, every footstep perfectly timed. And in the middle of their formation, just to make the whole scene even more unreal, lumbered an actual war elephant. I blinked, rubbed my eyes, but nope—there it was. An elephant. Like the Romans had just casually pulled it straight out of a history scroll and decided to use it today.

I didn't know whether to laugh, cry, or start planning a retreat.

And then—

BOOM!

The explosion almost sent me flying over the rail. I grabbed Orion's arm out of instinct, and he grabbed me back just as the deck beneath us shuddered. My heart hammered against my ribs, and for one terrifying second I thought the Romans had already decided to blast us out of the sky. But when I spun around, it wasn't Roman weapons that had hit us.