Author's Note:

I had a request over half a year ago for Calex to interact with a certain goddess. It is shameful that it took me so long to write this! I hope you enjoy despite the wait!

This takes place a year after the series' last book, Fall of the Sun. This is based off the original ending, which has—since then—mostly changed. Mostly XD So… sort of spoilers?

For those of you waiting for book IV, it'll be coming out within the next week or two! :D

[Also, I would like to thank Cinders for this awesome cover!]

Each time Calex kicked, the football slammed directly into the goal post.

Fortunately, there was no one occupying the field to see it. That's why he preferred the field behind the Roman hypocaust. There was a car park for tourists on holiday and for the few museum staff with cars. But most locals preferred the scenic view by the lake or the fields by the ruins of the wall around the ancient Roman city of Verulamium. The hypocaust could seem a bit dull compared to the lovely sprawl around the rest of the park.

Most of the emptiness was due to the weather. The temperature reached a record high of 31 degrees with 100% humidity. For most of Calex's mates, this was enough to turn them into jelly puddles inside their flats, but Calex used to holiday in Liberia and had spent the last year in New York. Normally, he'd drag them out, whining and acting like babies, but he wanted to be alone today.

That's why he was utterly shocked when his ball bounced off the goal post, popped over his shoulder, then shot straight back towards the goal from behind him.

And missed wildly.

Calex watched his ball fly into the field at least fifty meters away. Calex blinked, wondering if a professional footballer had been airlifted into the field without him hearing the helicopter and if that professional was bolluxed out of their mind.

"Oh! Sorry! Here, use my ball while I go grab that," someone said behind him.

"Um, it's alright—" Calex turned to see the blur go past. He doubted the girl was as fast as he was, but she was certainly fast. As she darted after the ball, he saw her beautiful locks trail behind her. Something felt off about her gait—like her steps took too long to land on the ground.

Odd, but, after learning he was a demigod, his life had been nothing but odd.

She wore a blue and white jersey, one he should recognize. The name across the back said Karagounis in what Calex quickly recognized as Greek.

He jogged after.

Calex was in no mood to be polite or have a chat. At least she wasn't attracted to him. The knowledge wasn't anything self-degrading—Calex knew lots of girls fancied his looks. He was a son of Eros and knowing people's desires came with the territory.

When she reached the ball and turned to dribble back—long dribbles with little control—Calex felt himself gasp and stagger to a stop, feeling both shallow and self-centered about the previous thought.

The woman was lovelier than anyone he had ever seen. That was a grand thing, considering his grandmother was Aphrodite and he stayed with her children, his aunts and uncles, last year. He knew lovely.

She was maybe ten years older than him, in her mid-twenties, but the age made her more brilliant, like she'd suffered and aged but managed to retain her youth and merriment.

Her hair was long and waved loosely from a mix of plaits in her ponytail. The color was indescribable. At first, he thought it was like his mate, Kally, a strawberry blonde. This was darker, a subtlest cross between red, blonde, brunette, with natural highlights and lowlights from all three. Her skin had a gorgeous glow to it, not quite UK pale, but pale with a hue that cued Calex to her ability to tan.

Her face was perfect.

He didn't think that with any exaggeration. It was perfect.

If Calex was at Camp Half-Blood, or by Mt. Olympus, he would have dropped right there to genuflect to a goddess. However, in the middle of St. Albans on a Tuesday, she might think it a bit odd or mental if he gave her the "all powerful" treatment in a football field, especially if she was just some poor women off the street who happened to practice beside a crazy demigod.

"Sorry. It has been a long time since I played soccer," she said as she evened with him. Her English was perfect with the slightest hint of a Greek accent.

"Not a problem," Calex said.

She smiled in relief.

He recognized that glint of relief and knew it was good he hadn't dropped into an old fashioned grovel.

There were times he had felt insecure when he entered a room, knowing everyone's eyes were on him, and expecting him to be perfect because his father's DNA made him look like he should be. Most of his mates in Britain could make jokes out of it, but, in America, he was uncomfortable when someone asked if he'd been in a magazine or some obscure BBC show, or when someone would point out, "Oh… you're African American—"

"British, actually"

"—well, yea, but you're black and you have light eyes."

Something about her look told him she felt something similar, a sense of humiliation due to the inability to avoid unwanted attention. [footnote]

Calex swore, regardless of whether or not this woman was a goddess, that he'd treat her like a normal mortal.

"That was an alright kick, Greece," he said, "You're sure to nail the net next time."

Her eyes were amber with flecks of blue and green. They were vibrant, like the rest of her. "I don't mind failing…" She glanced at the jersey his cousin had bought for him. "Arsenal. Failing is half the reward of trying. How fulfilling would life be if you attained things instantly?"

Calex thought about how he had failed to save his mum and brother from Thanatos, how Joey had died, and what had happened to Axel, Pax, and Euna after everything they'd gone through. "Reward" was an odd little word for it. His fist shook. He remembered the anger and dreariness that he'd come out here to ignore and that her beauty had temporarily disrupted.

This woman definitely couldn't be from around here if she was that much of an optimist. One look at Israel and you wouldn't hear their prime minister saying, "Oooo! Sorry about that. Let's try that again!"

"Some things you can only fail once," he said.

His ball thumped gently into his foot.

His head was light and ached. He felt like such rubbish that he didn't want to look at her again.

"Pass the ball with me," she said. "We'll make a wager. If I lose, then I'll concede that you're right. If I win, then you'll show me around St. Albans."

Calex had too many wagers in his life already, particularly ones involving a lot of death or undeath situations. While, in technical terms, his friends from Camp Half-Blood would call him a "lucky son of a respectable man since we would never say anything to upset Calex's papi," he wasn't sure he wanted to bet his luck any further.

"What's the wager?" he asked.

"I need to get the ball from you," she said.

Calex felt himself give a heartfelt laugh. "Not bloody likely."

"Then you have nothing to lose," she said. "You're already practicing, foolishly suffering from dehydration, and determined to hit the goal post instead of the net. So you might be better off reminding someone who is rusty how it's done."

Footnote: Calex would CRINGE at how full of himself this makes him sound. He would like to apologize and offer Pax shirts to all.

Thanks for reading! :D