Hi guys, I know I should be working on my other stories but I couldn't resist tentation of writing this. Okey so it's going to be a kind of chaos ercy jackson story but really different, first of all chaos (who said he couldn't be a woman?) and the annoying blablabla little new camper.

I'm posting this to know your opinion so please tell me :)

I arrived at Camp Halfblood with the help of a satyr called Grover after spending half of my travel with a woman who changed my life fully and completely. When I reached this sanctuary for demigods it was the beginning of June. I was greeted by this Roman demigod Jason Grace, son of Jupiter and the daughter of Athena, Anabeth, who asked her brother Malcom to look after me.

Barely a week later I was claimed by Poseidon and something changed in the treatment I received from the other campers, they studied me from closer. It annoyed me…a lot; and then I started hearing his name: Percy, Percy Jackson, the savior of Olympus, the one who defeated Kronos last summer. The one who made Mt Helens explode two years ago; the son of Poseidon, my older brother, the one I always wished to have. The swordfighter. The arrogant loyal hero. The brother I always could take an example from. For a few months I was happy, I had a real goal, meet him, and be able to compare myself to him…

But I wasn't as good as him, at nine, I already had ghosts, ghosts that muttered cold icy words behind my back. Every time I held a sword I turned to meet her eyes, narrowed at me, disapproving and icy cold; so cold I let go my sword twice over my foot. I never understood what all this visions meant, visions because Malcom that was always next to me frowned every time I held my breath and stared at the empty shelves from where I had seen a small man wink at me as he created clouds out of thin air with a shall. Maybe for this incomprehensibility from my fellow camp mates I started keeping this diary where I could draw everything I saw, everything I couldn't explain to the others.

Otherwise my life wasn't really thrilling, I loved to sit close to the Athena cabin and ask Malcom to explain me everything he knew about Percy. He would laugh at my dark blue eyes that shone at the light of the fire tip as the others sang. He would point the top of the amphitheater and, away from the eyes of the others he would tell me stories of danger and adventure that I absorbed with thirst, convincing myself to not forget a word. All this time, I tried to don't take notice of Anabeth's faint smile as she studied us from the front of the stage. She was everything I could have asked for a leader, wise, quick-witted even when the loss of Percy was too heavy to carry; caring when I tried to comfort her, thought I had to admit I was a lost cause then. But she also understood. She ruffled my hair when I did, managed a sad grateful smile for me as she kissed my front head and sent me out of her working room to look out for Malcom, or Chiron, or Grover, when he was here. And I ran out a smile that illustrated the warmth I felt then. But then the day came, the day my life started to turn again, the day I lost my North.

24th of June, Leo Valdez finished the Argo II, Anabeth, him, Piper and Jason left under the encouraging cries of the campers and my excited ones of innocent child that didn't see the war that was about to start. I kept looking out at the sky, hoping to see the boat come back with Percy but the days passed and they didn't arrived, leading my positivism crest falling. I started to see visions again, more real; they were everywhere, under my bed, sleeping in my bunk at night. And I started to dream about him. Amos. My dreams started around him being 12. I saw him grow around the threatening world, dark and corrupted. Amos. The one that was leading a war against the gods. The one facing all odds with the only help of his few allies. I would wake up screaming, only to hear Tyson sleep over me. Shaking from fear I would go up into his bunk and manage to make some space for myself, next to the harpy that pecked at me, jealously.

Malcom didn't look calmer either. He smiled less; he was more infuriating; he would usually send me away claiming that I was annoying him, pushing me out. I trained alone, sad and lazily…until a voice would wake me from my misery and I would flee trying to find a welcoming embrace that would calm my sobs. That was when I met Hestia, to who I would cry my misery as she hold me against her chest, trying to make me tell her what was hurting me so much, but as much as I tried to speak her grey eyes would shush me and Hestia would frowned at my trembling finger as I pointed the White Lady that looked at me disapprovingly.

One night I was wandering, trying to keep my head down hoping to not meet another vision. Kicking that stone that was in front of my feet I arrived to Thalia's pine tree, and next to the guarding dragon, his eyes narrowed approvingly at me as I sat next to it, he put his head over my lap. I smiled at the contact of his warm coat, I laid my hand over its triangular face...I was taken by the visions again. A dragon appearing out of a girl's body, a sick looking one that broke out from a cave in a mountain, roaring and shooting fire in the twilight, a crying dragon, new born, left in a closed cave surrounded by a cursed treasure. I saw another dragon start to breath in a roaring ship on fire, the screaming body of a witch being consumed by the flames. I removed my hand from his head, my breath was trembling, my eyes were full of tears. And my sobs filled the air until a gentle hand made me realized that I wasn't alone. Chiron sat down next to me, with worried eyes. Under his silent request I told him everything, the White lady that claimed to be called Kaliah Blash, renamed Chaos by the gods; the visions that I seemed to be the only one to see, everything. I waited for him to laugh at me, instead he looked gravely at me before muttering:

"Don't let anyone find this out. Not even the gods should know, your life is already in much danger than any other demigod in this camp. When this war ends we'll try to find a way to arrange your problem."

"Which war?" Poor genuine child that I was, hoping to believe life was easy to all the others, fighting against my visions, thinking they were the only thing that should matter to me. Two days later the Twelfth Legion appeared in front of Camp Halfblood Hill, Octavian sent a messager asking us to surrender. He was sent back tied up and completely naked as we prepared for battle, ready to surround them as soon as we could, but I would give my arm to be twisted that this was the answer he wanted. We fought until nightfall, somehow I managed to stay next to Malcom and fight back, slashing my spear madly trying to survive, and that was when I found out my powers over the earth as thousands of small earthquakes were felt around the camp created by my complete and blind fear… Fear; gods, never have I've been so scared. That day, that morning I discovered the meaning of fear, a meaning that the bureaucracy has made disappear, creating an Iron-Wall between democracies and the dictatorships, a wall that implicates the incomprehensibility of us to them.

That night I could barely stand on my feet as my tears ran down my cheeks; in one day my childhood and my chances to grow up slowly and in the daylight of life had vanished. I stumped around the bodies, trying to help any living demigod remaining in the battle field. Malcom ran towards me telling me to go to the infirmary; shaking from exaustion I walked back to the big house. At the lights of the porch I saw the tip of my spear completely drenched in a red sticky liquid, a human blood. I was only nine and in the name of fear I had killed another demigod, the one that I would name Brother further on.

The next days were bloodshed. The Romans slowly won terrain and every night, the forest seemed more welcoming to me, suddenly enjoying more my visions than this reality...For now, I was the only Greek that had killed in this week. Malcom started to treat me differently as he saw me like this; that was when I first handed met war, diplomacy and strategy. Fighting against my sleep I started to understand this crazy and head taking strategies the children of Athena put in practice, giving a meaning to our exhausting actions throughout the day. We slept maybe only two hours per day but I got so used to it that when, maybe a month later we received a message from the Seven declaring a stop to the fighting...I didn't know if I had to take this like a relief or like a curse. Of course Octavian didn't respect el alto al fuego. Two hours later our blood was running again from our veins.

I will always remember this day. A week had to have passed by since Leo sent his message and Malcom and the others had decided to bring up a final battle. I was barely aware that it was a suicide before we got in position; the idea was to bring the Romans inside the forest as our archers would wait in there and slowly carry them towards Bunker 9 were the kids of Hephaestus were finishing to set a trap...We weren't so lucky, suddenly we found ourselves surrounded as the Romans had found a way to break through some of our defenses. That's when the carnage started. Rip, clash, scream, and thrust. Rip, clash, scream, thrust... It was a continuous rhythm, blinding that still made me discover other pits of horror and cruelty.

I never thought that at nine I would be able to run around the fighters putting small bombs inside their armors. I never thought I would be able to grab someone from behind and cut their neck wide open before stabbing them with my foot, breaking his rib-bones. And yet I did...gods I did it, and may I be cursed by it, may I be chased and punish, but my father never answered my prayers...and that was the worse punishment I could get: his silence.

Somebody pushed me down so roughly I couldn't breathe for a long time, when my vision came back I saw Malcom pushing someone as he ordered me to get to the Bunker and warn the others. But for once I didn't obey his orders, instead I grabbed my spear, the one the White Lady gave me before departing, and under his arm-pit I stabbed the Roman, hearing the satisfying sound of breaking bones...

There was a roar, we all stopped as from above the Argo II sailed down towards us the Seven and the Ambassador of Hades, Nico, my future great friend, descended a white flag flapping from the mast.

There was a judgment, a very long trial. Malcom somehow managed to hide the atrocities I had done which maybe was his worse mistake; I had to be punish, even if he said that he was responsible for the orders that were given, that I was a bit crazy and it wasn't my fault. Maybe it wasn't but I was lucid when I did, I knew what I had done, I knew why I should perish.

And because of it I caused the downfall of my beloved brother, Percy Jackson, my hero, my brother, the one for who I did my best, for who I fought as they insulted his name. But I should have known as I dreamt about Amos when Enki threw him in Hell; I should have known that no-one leaves Tartarus without changing.