Look I didn't want to be a half-blood and neither did my brother. If you're reading this because you think you might be one, my advice is: close this book right now and burn it or whatever else you can think of. Believe whatever lie your mom or dad told about your birth, and try to lead a normal life.

Being half-blood is dangerous. It's scary. And most of the time it gets you killed in nasty, painful ways. If you're a kid reading this because you think its fiction, great read on. Percy envy's you (because I'm too cool to envy anyone. And my life is awesome) for being able to believe none of this ever happened.

But if you recognize yourself in this pages – if you feel something stirring inside you – stop reading immediately. You might be one of us. And once you know that, it's only a matter of time before they sense it too, and they will come for you. Don't say we didn't warn you. My name is Storm Fire and I'm ten years old. (And my brother is named Percy Jackson. He is 12 years old. Until a few months ago, he was a boarding school student at Yancy academy, a private school for trouble kids in upstate New York).

Are we troubled kids?

Yeah. You could say that.

At least that's what they've told me a lot of times. And my school is not for troubled kids but criminal teens. I'm guessing you are asking how I got here. Well let's just say it had to do with finding I was adopted and school. I loved my mother but she had lied to me for 7 years. One day they just called my "mother" and told her I had to go to a school in new york for 'troubled kids' or no other school would accept me. And yeah, here I am, I know it sucks I can't believe it either. I mean 'by the angel' I was 7 how dangerous could I be. When they told me I was laughing my ass off. Anyway, this school was fool of teenagers ages 13 to 19. So yeah they all looked at me like 'what is she doing here?'. As in right now we are in a field trip with a school named Yancy academy. ( My school by the way is named Sword and Cross Interment). Was my life good before I came here. Not really, I could start in any point in my short miserable life to prove it, but things really started going bad last May, when 2 schools took a fieldtrip to Manhattan, heading to the Metropolitan Museum of Art to look at Ancient Greek and Roman stuff. I know – it sounds like torture. Most of our school trips were, after all we were 25 criminal teen in a museum. We could harm anyone with anything we founded here. (Ay aja) like we have the time for that, we have more important things to do like planning our director execution. Thing is I love mythology. So I hoped this trip would be okay. At least I hoped that for once I wouldn't get into trouble. Boy, was I wrong. When we got to the museum they told us to behave that we weren't the only school here. Mr. Garza's gaze seems to linger on me, that teacher was evil and seems to hate me the most. He had gone so far as to threatened me with death, I don't like to show fear so I punched him and told him he would rot in hell, while on the inside I as freaking out. Bloody hell I had been 7! Anyway right now I was doing what every curious 10 yr. old child would do. Look around. I was about to go back out when something caught my attention. A boy was following a mean looking teacher, since I had nothing to do; I followed them deeper into the museum. When we finally caught up to her (damn she walks fast), well the kid did, we were in the back in the Greek and Roman section. Except for us, the gallery was empty. She was making this weird noise in her throat, like growling. "You've been giving us problems, honey," she said. Then she said again "Did you really think you would get away with it?" the look in her eyes was beyond mad. It was evil. The moment the boy said something about trying harder, thunder shook the building, I didn't know what she was talking about and obviously neither did the boy. I was about to leave when the weirdest thing happened. The teacher eyes began glowing like barbecue coals. Her fingers stretched, turning into talons. Her jacket melted into large, leathery wings. And worst of all she had a mouth full of yellow fangs. OH, GODS. This can't be happening. A FURY! She was a fudging fury. That kid was dead only demigods had the skill to kill one without training. Training he obviously didn't have. Wait, a fury? They are not supposed to be real. "RUN!" I couldn't help but scream from my hiding place behind Poseidon's statue. The kid turns to look at me and said "what?" that's when things got even stranger. A man in a wheelchair was in the doorway of the gallery, holding a pen in his hand. "What ho, Percy!" he shouted. (So that's the boy's name. whoa I'm getting sidetrack). He tossed the pen thorough the air. The fury lunged at me and on pure instinct (I had no idea I could move that fast) I dodged to the side and felt talons slash the air. Percy snatched the ballpoint out of the air, but when it hit his hands it wasn't a pen any more. It was a sword. Wicked. The fury spun toward us with a murderous look in her eyes. Percy looks like he would drop the sword. She snarled "die, honeys!" and she flew straight at us. Absolute terror runs through my body. I did the only thing that came naturally: I hit the floor. Percy on the other hand swung the sword towards the fury. (My knees were jelly and I was shaking so bad that I wonder how I didn't faint). The metal blade hit her shoulder and passed clean through her body as if she were made of water. (Hisss!) The fury was a sand castle in a power fan. She exploded into yellow powder, vaporized on the spot, leaving nothing but the smell of sulfur and a dying screech and a chill of evil in the air, as if those two glowing red eyes were still watching us. We were alone.

There was a ballpoint pen in Percy's hand. We stared at each other and I knew the same thing was going through our minds. Had we imagined the whole thing? "What's your name?" he asked. I had nothing to lose so I answered "storm fire and yours?" "Perseus Jackson but I only like Percy, ok." "okay." We talked for a while about what we saw then we went back outside. It had stated to rain. His friend (Grover, I think) was sitting by the fountain, a museum map tented over his head. There was a freckly, redheaded kleptomaniac girl telling Percy "I hope Mrs. Kerr whipped your butt." "Who?" I asked. "Our teacher. Duh!" I blinked; Percy only looked at me and shrugged. Percy asked Grover where Mrs. Dodds (the fury) was. Grover hesitated when he said he didn't know any Mrs. Dodds. Percy and I looked at each other; we knew he was hiding something. "Sword and cross interment. Formations. Time to go!" Percy looked at me, and I understood what he meant. I didn't want to separate from him either. "I'll see you again ok, I promise. Look this is the schools number (800)464-1711. Call and ask for me. Bye!" I got in formation and we all piled up into the bus. What no one suspected was that this would start a chain of events neither Percy nor I expected. Or that this was the start of a bond that would last through the ages.