The Wild's Heart

A hydra steals my pickles

Chapter One

Sage

So there is luck, then there's bad luck, then there's rotten luck, and then there is me.

I thought that eventually things would calm down and I would have a normal life. But that was before I met the hydra.

My twin brother Michael, would tell you that I don't have bad luck, I just 'stink'. But I think that I smell just fine, thank you very much. I will have you know that I shower everyday with a flower scented shampoo. Or at least I did.

Well back to me having bad luck, it was just a normal morning at the Hall household, and we were having breakfast.

Now I would like to tell you that a 'normal' day was a constant, steady routine that normal families had getting ready for school. But if I told you that, I'd be lying. The constant for my family is unconstant.

Things were flying throughout the house (and I mean quite literally), banging into walls, and kids were yelling. The commotion caused my beautiful, loving, blonde, brown eyed mother to curse. But not in english mind you, greek. More specifically ancient greek.

My whole family could speak greek fluently, along with latin, spanish, and italian. But we only spoke spanish and italian because we wanted an extra challenge. Greek and latin come naturally to us, after all, we are greek and roman demigods.

Now a demigod, if you were wondering, is a half mortal, half god. Yes, I am half god. My father is a god. And yes, gods do exist. They are living, breathing, selfish, immortals. My mother's father is Hephaestus, the greek god of the forges. My step-dad's mother is Ballona, roman goddess of war. And my real dad is… well, complicated. Very, very complicated.

Now you must be thinking: Oh, but my dear Sage! (yes, I have the same name as a fern, don't judge) The gods are just silly old myths!

Oh how I wish that were true. But alas, the gods are living and moving with what mortals, such as yourself, call the western civilisation. And because of such, right now the gods are in America, which annoys every single cell in my body.

So while my mother, Leya Hall Stoke, was cursing and trying to catch the flying plates from Africa in the air (compliments of Hermes, the god of travelers), Michael was chasing down our two little step-brothers.

Luke was four years old, with the same blonde hair and round-ish face as my mom and the same green eyes as my step-dad, Parker Stoke.

Tyler was nine and never ever wore a shirt if he could help it. He looked exactly like a smaller version of Parker, skinny with a sharp jawline, dark brown hair and green eyes. Though Tyler's was more of a hazel, sometimes his big eyes looked brown.

Michael and I had basically the same features as each other (though I hated it). We both had light brown hair with brown eyes the color of dark chocolate. We had a natural soft look that was cute when we made a puppy dog face. We were both 14 years old and were both hopeful to turn 15 without dying.

Anyway, Michael was chasing Tyler and Luke trying to get them to calm down for my mother's sake. He eventually caught Luke by the collar of his shirt and pulled him back, unfortunately, Tyler wasn't wearing a shirt so Michael couldn't catch him.

I snatched a plate out of the air that was coming straight for my face, but missed by a few centimeters. Then Michael shoved Luke into my arms so he could go get Tyler.

I held onto Luke like he was my lifeline, and maybe he was in the chaos. My step-father wasn't helping very much because he was running around yelling, "Die African swine!" At the plates.