Author's Note: So, this is my attempt to do Reyna's character a little justice, starting at the very beginning of her story. Please tell me what you think, because I love constructive criticism. Thanks!

Update: This is just the re-written version of the prologue so that it will work better for what I've been planning for the rest of story. Just a few little changes here and there, nothing major. But I'll try to get a new chapter up soon. -Emmy

Disclaimer: I don't own Heroes of Olympus or any associated characters or situations.

PROLOGUE: LOST

The only thing she knew was that she was lost.

A young Puerto Rican girl with smooth cinnamon-colored skin, and long dark hair hanging loose around her face, sat sobbing on the damp sand. She wore a simple cotton dress, the kind that she had worn her entire life, the kind that was common in the town where she had been born.

The warm waves lapped at her bare feet where she was kneeling. Her tears had quieted some now, though not by much.

The only thing she knew was that she was lost.

The girl had never been this far from her home before. She had been exploring, following birds and playing little games as she had danced through the streets. Her hermana hadn't been watching; only a girl of fourteen, her sister had gotten distracted chattering with her friends. And her papa, of course, had been working.

So here she was, lost and alone on a strange beach, surrounded by empty little seaside villas, with no idea how to get home. She sniffled, wiping her eyes and looking around her, trying to recognize something familiar, anything familiar. She wished more than anything that Papa or Hylla or even old Tia Joslyne, who looked after her on occasion, would suddenly appear out of the maze of streets behind her to take her home. They were all so much bigger and smarter than her, even though on her sixth birthday, Papa had told her she was getting to be a big girl. She suddenly realized how very small she was in the world.

The only thing she knew was that she was lost.

The sun was beginning to set over the turquoise ocean. It would be dark soon. She wondered if anyone was looking for her right now—if they'd even noticed she was missing. Would she be lost out here forever? Would she ever get home?

More sobs rose out of her throat. She buried her face in her hands, tears streaming down her face. She almost didn't notice the voice coming out of nowhere.

"Silence your tears, child," The voice was strong, confident, loud and yet not quite here at the same time. The girl was startled enough to stop crying, looking around for the source of the voice.

"You will not see me in the flesh, girl, no matter how long you look."

There was no doubt that the voice was female. It was a strange voice, however, like it was right next to her, and yet very far away at the same time. She couldn't even tell what language it was speaking, although she could understand it fine. It wasn't exactly Spanish, she could tell that. She knew some French, and a smattering of English—they were both common languages in Puerto Rico—but it didn't exactly sound like those either. She was curious enough to reply.

"Buenas noches, señora," she said politely, just like Papa taught her. She hesitated, not knowing what to say. "Um… Do you know the way home, please?"

"You are a child of Rome. You can find your way on your own. You are stronger than you believe," the voice barked, loudly and derisively, like a general giving orders to a subordinate.

"But… I'm still little, señora. I don't think I am strong," the girl said.

"You are a daughter of Bellona; you are my child. You will find the strength, and soon, or you will die. You still have worse days ahead of you."

The girl's voice broke as she spoke, "But señora… I don't understand. Why can't you just help me?"

"Life will never be easy for you, little queen. You must learn early on that you will be forced to survive on your own. The way home will never be handed to you without pain and suffering. But I have said enough. I will leave you now. You must remember my words, my young warrior. Do not fail me."

After those words, there was only silence on the beach, punctuated only by the churning of waves and the quiet rustling of the salty sea breeze through the palm leaves. The girl stood, turning around in circles, desperately searching.

"Señora, wait! Tell me where to go! I'm lost, señora, please! I only want to go home!" she cried to the voice. There was no answer. She began to wonder if there ever was a voice; except she couldn't fool herself. She knew what she had heard—including the strange, frightening words of pain and death. She knew that she needed to find her way through the city to her home herself, however scary it would be for her.

The girl dried her eyes, taking deep breaths. She had to be strong. She had to find her way alone.

A fifteen-year old Puerto Rican girl with long dark hair in a braid down her back, in the regal purple cape of a Roman praetor, stood before the people of New Rome. She took a deep breath, preparing to tell them about the disappearance of Jason Grace, the son of Jupiter and her fellow praetor. She squared her shoulders, reinforcing the cold, stoic expression on her face. She could not afford to be weak.

She wasn't the same little girl she had been that day on the beach in Puerto Rico. No, she was Roman. Puerto Rico was as far away now as a distant dream.

And as a Roman, she had to be strong. She had to be strong for her people. There was no way she could ever break down again the same way that she did on that beach all those years ago. She was a different person, and this person was as cold as stone. This person was a warrior, a daughter of Bellona. She wasn't that frightened little girl. And she never would be again; that, at least, she was sure of.

But in the end, the only thing that Reyna really knew was that she was still lost.

And, even after all these years, she found that she still had to find her way on her own.