Where You Go ― Jason Grace

iii. ophelia makes a promise

"HOLD STILL," OPHELIA CHIDED. "I know it hurts." 

"It's just cold," Jason complained. 

As the crew ate breakfast, Jason sat uncomfortably at the head of the table with his t-shirt rolled up to his ribcage as Ophelia changed his bandages. 

He wasn't the the most patient patient, but Ophelia couldn't really blame him. The entrance wound on his back was an ugly shade of purple and it steamed. Not a good sign. 

Ophelia tried to stay positive, but she told Leo and Piper in private how worried she was. Ambrosia, nectar, and mortal medicine could only help so much. A deep cut from Celestial bronze or Imperial gold could literally dissolve a demigod's essence from the inside out. 

Jason might get better. He claimed he felt better. But Ophelia wasn't so sure, and that scared the hell out of her. 

"What's up, guys?" Leo strolled into the mess hall. "Aw, yes to brownies!" 

He grabbed the last one—from a special sea-salt recipe they'd picked up from the mentors of Camp Fish-Blood at the bottom of the Atlantic.

The intercom crackled. Buford's Mini-Hedge hologram yelled over the speakers, "PUT SOME CLOTHES ON!" 

Everyone jumped. Hazel ended up five feet away from the table. Percy spilled syrup in his orange juice. Jason awkwardly wriggled back into his T-shirt, and Frank turned into a bulldog.

Piper glared at Leo. "I thought you were getting rid of that stupid hologram."

"Hey, Buford's just saying good morning," Leo said. "He loves his hologram! Besides, we all miss Coach. And Frank makes a cute bulldog." 

Frank morphed back into a burly, grumpy Chinese-Canadian boy. "Just sit down, Leo. We've got stuff to talk about. 

Leo squeezed in between Jason and Hazel, probably because they were the least likely to smack him for a stupid joke (though Ophelia was happy to reach around her boyfriend and do the smacking for him). 

"So..." Jason winced as he leaned forward. "We're going to stay airborne and drop anchor as close as we can to Olympia. It's further inland than I'd like—about five miles—but we don't have much choice. According to Juno, we have to find the goddess of victory and, um... subdue her." 

With the new drapes covering the holographic walls, the mess hall was darker and gloomier than it should've been, but that couldn't be helped. Ever since the Kerkopes dwarf twins had short-circuited the walls, the real-time video feed from Camp Half-Blood often fuzzed out, changing into playback of extreme dwarf close-ups—red whiskers, nostrils and bad dental work. It wasn't helpful when you were trying to eat or have a serious conversation about the fate of the world. 

Percy sipped his syrup-flavored orange juice experimentally. He seemed to find it okay. "I'm cool with fighting the occasional goddess, but isn't Nike one of the good ones? I mean, personally, I like victory. I can't get enough of it." 

Annabeth drummed her fingers on the table. "It does seem strange. I understand why Nike would be in Olympia—home of the Olympics and all that. The contestants sacrificed to her. Greeks and Romans worshiped her there for, like, twelve hundred years, right?"

"Almost to the end of the Roman Empire," Frank agreed. "Romans called her Victoria, but same difference. Everybody loved her. Who doesn't like to win? Not sure why we would have to subdue her." 

Jason frowned. A wisp of steam curled from the wound under his shirt. "All I know... the ghoul Antinous said, Victory runs rampant in Olympia. Juno warned us that we could never heal the rift between the Greeks and Romans unless we defeated victory."