Fifteen Years Earlier
I wiped the sweat off my brow, glaring at my sparing partner, who just happens to be smiling like Apollo had blessed his smile. I glared harder.
"Well, you're never going to beat me if you don't even try!" My "enemy" said.
I gave in. I swung my weapon so hard it would've sank the Titanic. The guy with the orange wings simply moved backwards, Denying me the pleasure of contact. I began to swing faster, and just as hard as before. My opponent kept dodging and ducking and blocking with his sword when he needed to, trying to find an opening to attack. Finally, he stabbed, just what I was hoping for. I knocked his broadsword right out his hands and held my trusty arm, as in weapon, at his throat. As I moved the tip away he began clapping.
"Great job my son. Not many mortals, and only very few immortals could best me in combat with a stick."
I was mildly offended. "I'll have you know that this 'stick' is the best weapon you or I have ever come across, save the Olympians weapons of power and your sword."
He laughed, "True, true. But even then, not many, not many."
Another voice interrupted our moment. "John, get over here right now! I know you stole my statue of Pan!"
I dashed behind my father as my sister burst into the training arena.
"John McCain Sanderson, I will beat the answer out of you if I have to, no matter if dad tries to stop me."
While this scene is compelling to watch, I suppose I should tell you who I am and where in the world am I. I am Johnson McCain Sanderson, I am eight years of age and live with my father and adopted sister. I live in Greece, we don't have a specific address, most likely because we live in a huge temple compound located deep in a mountain range. The temple is beautiful, surrounded by huge peaks with white snow capping the tops. The temple has a dark green roof and red as the main color and has many gold highlights. The best part for me is undoubtedly the highest part in the compound, a massive stairway leading up to a mountain. The climb is treacherous, long, tiring, and dirty. But, when you reach the top, the view is incredible. You can see an old collapsed village in the distance, beautiful trees, but you haven't truly lived until you've seen what my favorite part is, seeing the sun rise. It sounds cliche I suppose, but it's true. I spent an entire day and a night of hiking with my father up that mountain, without speaking. But when I reached the top, it was truly worth it. There is no possible way to describe it. You have to watch the sun rise to experience it yourself. But I digress.
I looked at my adopted sister marching towards me. Her amber eyes were blazing with an inner fire and here long brown hair bounced over her dress made of birch leaves. I cowered even further behind my father as she spoke in a low and dangerous tone.
"If you wish to see another of your beloved sunrises, you better tell me where you hid it."
I pointed a shaky finger at a small table inside the dining hall.
"Thank you."
My dad chuckled. "A wise warrior knows when back down from a fight he knows he cannot win."
"Thanks dad." I mumbled.
"So, how is the old 'stick' holding up?" He asked.
"Great!" I replied.
The old "stick" is a staff. Now, before you say, 'that's not a weapon, that's a branch', let me explain. My father travels a lot, so one day as he was traveling, he was attacked. He was disarmed, and was about to be sent to tartarus to reform, but a dryad dived in front of the Cyclops's blade. My father took a branch from the ground and imbued it with a little bit of his immortal power as the Cyclops was trying to get his big knife out of the poor nymph. Dad swung the staff at the giant's head and knocked it clean off. He rushed over to the birch nymph, but it was too late to save her. But, she did make him promise to take care of her daughter, who's satyr father was dead. So that's how we got my sister. The staff was a true work of art. It is a mostly straight stick right up the the tip, where it swirls around in a spiral. It has Greek spells lining up and down the shaft, making it unbreakable, super strong, and makes the user's demigod powers more powerful. I discovered that when I accidentally summoned a strong gust of wind and nearly blew over my sister's tree. I'm a little ashamed that it happened over the death of my koi fish, but he was my pet for five years.
I looked up at my father's kind face and orange eyes. My father is one of the four Anemoi, or Winds. He's Zephyros, god of the west wind and spring breezes, but he is every bit or more dangerous as his brothers, but you couldn't find a more loyal or loving father in the world. After we came to Greece, he brought us here, and has cared for us all of the time he has had us. When I reach ten years of age he says that I will go to a place called camp Half Blood, a safe haven for demigods like me. I'm just worried about people finding out about my secret, or asking who my mother was. I will be a joke. I will be laughed at and shunned.
I was startled out of my thoughts by my father.
"I think you're ready."
"Ready for what?"
"How would you like to go to Camp Half Blood now?"
