A new story, picking up right after the events of MOA

Needed something to do while I'm trying to recover my other story's chapters, let me know what you think of this.


The Argo II

There is no worse feeling in the world than being unable to help a friend. Jason Grace felt physically ill as the Argo II began to rise out of the underground cavern. Thoughts of what he could have done, should have done, plagued him as the Argo II and her precious cargo sailed over Rome. How could he have let Annabeth go alone? How could he have not seen that a spider web was still wrapped around her ankle? Why didn't he fly down and grab them? How were they supposed to complete their quest without Percy and Annabeth? What would Chiron and the rest of Camp Half Blood do once they found out he had let Percy and Annabeth get dragged to Tartarus? Would they be able to make it to the Doors of Death, or were his friends lost forever?

A shock traveled up his arm as he slammed his palm against the railing of the ship. The wind tugged at his clothes, the air beginning to thin as the Argo II gained altitude. Night was quickly descending upon the Eternal City, the soft glow from windows creating strange and grotesque shadows upon the buildings. It was easy for Jason to imagine what Annabeth and Percy were facing as he watched Rome glide past. The shadows morphed into monsters, the twisted streets a deadly maze from which there was no escape.

Piper, who was standing next to him at the rail, attempted to rest a hand on his shoulder, but he edged away from her. He didn't need her sympathy, didn't need to see the pity swirling amongst the colors of her eyes. Percy and Annabeth should be on the Argo II. Gaia should not have gotten one step closer to rising. The legion shouldn't be preparing to march against Camp Half Blood.

As the ship picked up speed, the wind became a savage creature, tearing and clawing at his shirt. It no longer moaned and sighed through the Argo's boards but howled with such a rage Leo's message over the intercom was snatched away. Amidst the rush of air, Jason could just make out an all too familiar voice. First there were seven and now there are five. It's only a matter of time little hero.

Below, heat lightning flashed and crackled in the clouds over Rome. The charge in the air was palpable. For the first time in a long time, Jason felt like he had a purpose. It was as if the heat lightning was coursing through his veins, not flashing within the clouds. Gaia continued to whisper taunts, but Jason ignored her raspy voice, focusing instead on the flickers of light and energy swirling around him. In the distance, their voices dueling with the raging wind, wolves sang to one another, calling the pack to the hunt.

Tartarus

It felt as if they were in the eye of some terrible storm. If she hadn't been so exhausted and delirious from pain, Annabeth might have had the common sense to scream. The wind roared past so savagely that even if she was screaming, the sound would have been snatched away and drowned out. Bits of what was left of the floor of Arachne's lair kept plunging past, scrapping her hands and face. It was impossible to hold onto Percy, they kept twisting and turning, head over heels, banging into the sides of the hole.

She felt like Dorothy, stuck inside a tornado, about to be deposited into a whole new world. Unlike Dorothy, Annabeth wasn't going to be dropped into a Munchkin's field and greeted with a song. Maybe when they reached the bottom, she and Percy would land on Arachne, squishing her just like Dorothy's house crushed the Wicked Witch of the East.

New York City

Reyna riffled through the various maps and scout reports spread in front of her. She'd been in the conference room all day, devising multiple strategies for the invasion of Camp Half Blood. Try as she might, she couldn't focus her whole attention on her battle plans. Hours earlier, a messenger from Camp Jupiter had arrived with an urgent summons from the Senate. The presence of the Centurions and Octavian in a video conference had been demanded, but she had been instructed not to attend. It was the first time in her career that she had not been welcomed to a Senate meeting. The unusual meeting had her on edge. If she had to guess, Octavian had probably written a letter to the Senate, complaining about how she was delaying the invasion of Camp Half Blood. Knowing Octavian, he had probably made out the delay to sound as if she were attempting a peace treaty with the Graecus, as opposed to describing the scouting missions she had been sending out. Sure the missions had set them back a few days, but Reyna wanted to be prepared, only fools stormed into battle. The fact that the missions won Percy some extra time was beneficial too.

Reyna tore her gaze away from the maps spread across the table as the door to the conference room opened. The Centurions filed into the room and stood behind their chairs. Slowly, Reyna straightened and casually rested her hand on the hilt of her gladius. The Senate was not against ordering the removal of officials and she wouldn't be surprised if Octavian had grown tired of waiting and organized a coup. He was a smooth talker and many of the Senators had been unhappy with her protests against the decision of war with Camp Half Blood. She had effectively made herself an enemy of the state by standing up for the seven chosen demigods. Rome had a terrible and bloody history, one littered with the bodies of unfortunate officials and civilians. If the Centurions and the Senate had decided they were going to remove her because she had delayed the invasion, she was not going to be caught unawares like Caesar. Reyna was a daughter of Bellona and New Rome would remember her as one. There would be no report of her having fallen while unarmed, if she was going down, she'd go down with a bloody sword and her shield in hand.

Octavian strode into the room and kicked the door closed behind him. Reyna swept her gaze around the room quickly, and then locked eyes with Octavian. The Son of Apollo kept his expression blank and pulled a sealed letter from the folds of his armor. Reyna's pulse was racing, as was her mind, but her breathing was slow and even. The Centurions were completely still, all of them standing at attention. Dakota had something bright in his hands. The gleam of light off gold was unmistakable. What an idiot, she thought, only he would have an unsheathed pugio in his hand. Dakota was always restless before a fight, always the first to draw his weapon. She took everything in and analyzed it, hundreds of thousands of disarming, maiming and killing techniques coming to mind. A perk of being a daughter of Bellona was that strategy was simply second nature. The fact that she had trained alongside these people for four years also helped her decide the most effective defense techniques. In the seconds it took Octavian to slide the letter in his hand across the conference table to her, Reyna had already decided the easiest ways to disarm and restrain the ten Centurions in the room, as well as the cleanest and most painful way to dispatch Octavian.

With an air of carefully practiced and painfully maintained disinterest, Reyna picked the letter up. Unbidden, images from her history books of Caesar being stabbed to death by his friends and Centurions on the Senate floor flashed before her eyes. Octavian enjoyed watching people squirm, he'd let her read the death sentence or less likely the removal order from the Senate before he ordered the attack. Carefully, she pulled a thin dagger from the folds of her toga. It took all her willpower not to throw the knife across the room at the Augur, not that the dagger would be able to pierce his armor. It wasn't a pugio, just a simple steel blade with a curved bone hilt. Reyna didn't want to show her unease, using her pugio to open a letter was overkill and Octavian would take nothing but glee in the fact that she was freaking out.

The letter, addressed to her from the Senate, was brief. Her full name and title were printed across the top in handwriting she recognized as Gwen's. It was hard to believe that Gwen was going along with this; she had hoped that some of the Centurions would stand up for her. She wasn't exactly friends with her Centurions, but she had been certain, only a few hours ago, that they respected and trusted her more than Octavian. A lesson she had been taught years ago broke through her racing thoughts. Lupa's gruff voice seemed to whisper in her head, aut vincere aut mori, conquer or die, that is the way of Rome. Steeling herself, Reyna read the sentence written below her name. It was a simple phrase, one that completely changed everything.

Rei gerundae causa.

For the matter to be done.

Shocked, she looked up at Octavian and the Centurions with what had to be the most ridiculous expression ever. Despite all her years of attempting to remain stoic during stressful situations, she couldn't help but gape at the letter in her now shaking hand. This couldn't be right; it had to be a joke. The Senate could not have ordered this; Octavian would never have allowed it to happen. Not since the Second World War had this order been given, and even then, the Senate had only issued it in the final months.

In times of crisis, usually during a war or a rebellion, the Senate convened and voted upon naming a dictator. Unlike the warlords of third world countries that claimed the title now, a dictator in the Roman Republic was someone, usually a Centurion or Praetor of one of the legions that had been voted to full power. In order to win a war or crush a rebellion quickly and skillfully, one person needed to be issuing orders, as opposed to a group of officials voting on every action and bickering Praetors. The dictator or Magister Populi, had absolute authority and did not need the approval of the Senate, which disbanded when the dictator was given power, before issuing orders. Once the war had been won or the rebellion was put down, the dictator was expected to renounce his claim and return power to the Senate, the people of Rome.

Many famous Senators and Centurions had held the position in the past, most notably Julius Caesar. It was the most powerful and dangerous order the Senate could issue. To give someone absolute authority and then hope that they would later give it up was the biggest gamble. Some people like Cincinnatus who held the position for sixteen days, exemplified the selflessness, leadership and civic virtue expected of a Roman, while others who had been appointed abused their power and allowed ambition to dictate their actions.

Dakota held out what she had originally thought was pugio. The light from the table lamps reflected off the polished Imperial Gold, but the delicate and skillfully wrought circlet of laurel leaves was not a weapon. Finally remembering herself, Reyna snapped her mouth shut and re-read the letter from the Senate. She felt lightheaded, adrenaline was coursing through her body, but the fire she usually felt before battle was gone. Ice water seemed to have replaced the blood in her veins. She had thought the pressure of being the only Praetor was difficult and almost impossible to live with; the burden of dictator would surely break her.

As if he could sense her growing anxiety Octavian smirked. "Ave, Magister Populi."

Reyna gripped the edge of the conference table as the Centurions echoed Octavian's cry. Hail, Master of the People. Her knuckles were as white as the bone hilt of the dagger she had used to open the letter. She didn't even realize Dakota had moved to stand next to her until he carefully placed the ancient laurel crown on her head. Sweet, merciful Jupiter, what in Pluto's name had Octavian done? Reyna wanted nothing more than to rip the circlet off and hurl it at the still smirking Augur. She wanted to refuse the Senate's offer, she didn't want nor could she handle this position. For months she had been barely treading water as the sole Praetor of the Twelfth Legion, now she was the Magister Populi of New Rome.

She could have delayed the invasion further if the Senate had removed her, but by declaring her dictator, everyone, from the legionnaires to the civilians safely behind the Pomerian Line, was expecting her to not only crush Camp Half Blood, but lead the legion to victory against Terra. Octavian had tied her hands and forced her move, it was too much; she couldn't be the Roman everyone expected her to be.

Aut vincere aut mori.

This time, it wasn't just Lupa's voice whispering the words in her mind.

Camp Half-Blood

Chiron paced nervously across the porch of the Big House. The sky, which had been slate grey for days, was quickly filling with dark clouds. The waves in the sound had begun to crash against the dock and beach, the wind tearing through the strawberry fields. Campers raced across the volleyball courts, ducking in and out of bunk houses and the supply shed. Nervous pegasi were being led from the stables, their harness rattling and neighs bordering on screams. On top of Half Blood Hill, Ladon stretched his wings and blew a column of fire into the air.

A message had been delivered by a courier from Camp Jupiter early in the morning. Chiron had quickly called a councilors meeting, empty soda cans and plates now littered the ping pong table. Everyone was on high alert and trying to prepare. The children of Athena were setting up tables and hanging charts on the front of their cabin. The Ares and Hephaestus kids were trying to coax the anxious pegasi to stand still while they were strapped into the new, gleaming war chariots. Arrows were being fletched and bows, swords and lances were being inspected by the children of Apollo. Head councilors were making sure the younger children had their armor on correctly and that the Hermes kids stopped playing keep away with the grenades.

He had to admit, though he loathed everything about their culture, the Romans stood true to their traditions. Chiron had not been expecting a formal declaration of war, though the declaration was just as irritating as it was foreboding. Jason had failed to mention that his co-praetor was just as condescending as her trainer. Whoever this Reyna girl was, Lupa had done an extraordinary job teaching her, because the child managed to piss him off as much as the she-wolf usually did.

Érchomai.

The courier's message was just one word, Greek, for "I am coming".


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