Static

XXXII

The couple started at the ceiling, trying to fall asleep. The events that occurred today were too overwhelming to comprehend at night when Jason is tired. He just wanted to go to sleep.
His eyes closed and his body followed his instructions. With a couple of exceptions, of course.

He drifted through a body of water. He looked around for land, trying not to drown, but there was none: no islands, no fishermen on boats, no boats in general.
     Jason was not a son of Neptune; He was a son of Jupiter. He couldn't control the water.
     Then, he had an idea: he could use the wind to propel him. He willed the wind to push against his, making him being pushed the opposite direction.
     A couple hundred kilometres away, he could see the faint silhouette of what seemed to be an island, but he wasn't sure. It felt... unsafe. Yet, is anything not unsafe for a demigod?
     He was losing strength and willpower. He had to reach the island or else he'd drown. Being a son of Jupiter, Jason couldn't swim very well.
     He came awfully close to the island, but despite the feeling that it is unsafe, he docked at a nearby quay, which he was lucky enough to find.
     He emerged from the water, panting and sopping. He managed to crawl to a tree where he rested for about a couple of second until he was interrupted.
     'S'cuse me,' a farmer said in a raspy voice. 'What are you doing on my property?'
     Jason looked up and realised that he'd seen his face before.
George! Jason thought.
     'It's you!' The farmer exclaimed, pointing at him. 'What are you doing here, child?'
     George flipped his pitchfork and used it as a makeshift sword. Jason flipped His own sword, encountering in one-on-one, pitchfork-on-sword combat.
     As Jason just about had the farmer under his sword, another voice yelled, 'Halt, you nasty brat!'
     Jason was almost certain it was George's brother-in-arms. Jason didn't know his name, but he was sure he was an outstanding swordsman.
The tall man ran towards him, unsheathing his own sword. It was made from solid gold, but it had diamonds and rubies carved into the hilt.
He stuck, but Jason was quicker. Jason lifted his sword to defend himself, and he twisted it, causing the opponent's sword to fly away.
The man laughed.
He held his hand out towards the sword and it returned to his hand.
He swung, but this time, Jason was less lucky. The sword sliced through his Camp Jupiter tee and deep into his skin.
He yelped in pain, but he realised that George said something. All Jason could make out was Yassen.

Jason woke with a start.
He woke up, clenching his arm where the sword had pierced him. He slowly removed his hand, but no cut was visible.
The word George murmured rung in his head. Jason couldn't comprehend it, but he was sure it was a name. Yassen.
Jason was convinced that it was a Russian name, but the guy didn't sound Russian unless George was saying another name to through him off.
Before he could stress about this, Reyna walked into the room.
'Ah, good. You're up.' She said, shaken a bit like she experienced something frightening.
'Morning.' Jason responded.
'How was your dream?'
Jason sighed. 'Obvious much?'
'I'm pretty sure Russia could've heard your ahh's and George's.'
     Russia.
'Anyway,' Reyna picked up one of Jason's shirts from the drawer and threw it to him. 'Where this and some jeans today.'
'Why?' He asked.
'Because.'
'B-'
He was silenced by a distant horn, which indicated breakfast. Luckily for Jason, he's always hungry whenever he wakes up.

Reyna and he walked to the Mess together, catching up with Frank and Hazel on the way there. They chatted about their dreams they had last night. It turns out, all four of them had similar dreams.
     Hazel arched her eyebrow. 'Wait. You all had dreams about Harod and this other guy?'
     Frank nodded. 'Yeah, but my guy's name was Thomas. And yeah, another dude, too.'
     'Mine was called Frankie, plus another man.' Reyna shook.
     Jason curled up inside. 'Mine was about a small guy, George, and a tall one.'
     Reyna turned on detective mode. 'None of you guys know the name of your second guy?'
     'Judging by all of our stories, this man sounds like the same one.' Hazel agreed.
     'Well, George muttered a word which I couldn't make out, but it sounded some this like Yassen. Any idea who he is? Oh, and by the way, I think that's the name of the tall man.' Jason looked down, trying the avoid eye contact.
The others stopped and stared at him.
Reyna was the first to speak. 'Yassen? Why does that sound familiar?'
'You tell me.' Jason said.
The four of them sat down at the mess. Reyna and Frank sat at the front, and Jason and Hazel sat next to their roommates but facing each other.
Platters were passed around, drinks were filling spontaneously, and, of course, Jason's favourite, pancakes!
As he scoffed his as-tall-as-the-Empire-State-Building stacked pancakes into his mouth, the four of them rambled on about their dreams.
Hazel's dream was similar to Jason's, just the men said more stuff, revealing the future, almost like a prophecy.
Reyna's one was also similar, but the other man - Frankie - were portrayed differently than the other men: Frankie was a fat, tall man with a thick cigar between his fingers and a gold chain. The other man was exactly like Yassen.
     Frank's was about Thomas who told different things than the other three. Yassen told more accurate stuff, but he told them exactly what he told the others.
     All in all, the dreams were freaking them out.
     They agreed to eat their breakfast in silence for a while, or at least talk about something other than Yassen and the others.
     'So,' Hazel began, 'you's got anything interesting to share?'
     The others shook their heads.
     Hazel went back to eating her donuts.
     They ate in utter silence until Reyna pulled out a letter.
     'Found this when I woke up this morning. I couldn't make any sense of it.'
     Frank said, 'let me try.'
     Reyna handed him the letter. 'Oh, nope. I'm at a complete loss.'
     Frank handed it to Hazel. 'No idea. Sorry, Reyna.'
     'Give it here.' Jason said, beckoning with his hands.
     Hazel gave it to him.
     It read:

Reyna,

     I know that you might not remember my pseudonym, but trust me on this.
     I wrote this letter describing the recent events that had occurred near you. The sheer purpose of this is to really aid you along your next journey, which was set out by a guy named Яссен and set out here:
         
          Torture, desire, wounds, wealth.
          Reach thy destination,
          And receive thou health of god of stealth.
          Lose what matters, gain what doesn't.
          And thou never become victor, mustn't.
          Grasp the unknown,
          To fly home alone.

Яссен, our oracle of sorts spoke this prophecy, directing it towards you, but under strict consequences, if you don't prevail.

     Your's truly,
          Peacock

     Jason looked at it blankly. 'Well, first of all, there's a prophecy.'
     'We know that!' Reyna summed up.
     'Um, it looked like a guy named - I'm not even going to try at that name - spoke that and is brought to you under consequences.'
'We know that, too, dummy!'
'Well, what don't you know?'
'Who Peacock is.' She pointed to the signed name at the bottom. 'You got any idea who they are?'
'No.'
Jason glanced at the other two, eating their breakfast like nothing was wrong, but they glimpsed over now and then.
'Okay.' Jason said. 'Is there anything else apart from this undecryptable letter?'

Everyone got up and walked to their activities, the dishes behind them disappeared.
Jason's first activity was - gods forbid - archery. Jason was worse than an Aphrodite kid shooting an arrow, and that's saying something.
He walked over to the archery range, purposely being late.
'Where have you been?' The archery instructor, a college kid - Brute Spiker - asked, knocking an arrow.
'Sorry, I was helping Reyna with something.' He lied.
Brute was not buying it. 'Grab a bow and quiver. You're going to be the class demonstrator.'
Jason gulped as everyone else sighed with relief. Being the archery demonstrator was as bad as dying - worse, maybe.
Obeying, Jason walked over the armoury bench and grabbed a bow and quiver, and walking towards Brute's muscular physique. He stopped about two metered away from him.
Brute just looked at him and said, 'please show the class how to do a triple mocha.'
Jason sighed. He knocked three arrows at once and drew the string back as he aimed. He let go, intending for the three arrows to pierce the blue, cross and the blue again in a straight line down. Instead, all three arrows missed the target, resulting in hysterical laughter by the campers behind his.
This was going to be a long session.

When the horn blew, Jason dropped his bow and quiver and ran to his next activity, anxious to get away from humiliation.
His next activity: Deadly hide-and-seek.
This instructor was one hundred times better than Brute, without a doubt. Harold Marques, an Asian man was the instructor. He was skinnier than Brute, but still quite bulky. He had a pale skin tone, green eyes and black hair. Harold was one of the nicest guys Jason had ever met.
'Okay, campers!' Harold shouted to calm the kids down. 'In this game, there will be a little twist: you cannot use your weapons or shields or armour. If you are found, you must run to find a weapon scattered across the forest floor. Beware of traps and the hiders.'
Jason thought about this. It could help if Jason ever found himself without his sword.
'Our seekers will be, let's see, Hazel Levesque and Martinez Porporguel. Hiders! Ten minutes! Go!' Harold chose.
Jason ran off, disappearing in the crowd of hiders.
'Levesque and Porporguel, you are not allowed weapons. The only way to tag someone is to tap them and bring them back here. Once they are captures, they cannot rejoin. Do you understand stand me?' The instructor instructed.
Hazel and Martinez both said in unison, 'yes, sir!'
'Don't call me sir.'
That was the last Jason heard of them before he fully emerged into the forest.