The Great Prophecy

His didn't say anything as he followed the child of the cursed, the golden sand leaving imprints from their footsteps indicating their presence has been there for quite some time now.

Until then, Percy was still processing what had occurred. He didn't particularly know why, but he had a queasy feeling growing from the dark pit of his stomach. Percy didn't want to believe the mere fact that Faith and Elijah have a choice to either save or destroy the world, which afterwards will result to their intimate deaths.

Percy watched his boots quietly crush tiny rocks underneath him. He refused to acknowledge the stares he got from campers as they walked by. Percy was used to it despite the annoyance that always urged him to yell at them to stop looking at him.

He side-glanced at Faith, who was walking unusually slowly, almost robotically, as if her brain was struggling to tell each foot to take the next step. It was as if she were in a stupor; like someone under a hypnosis.

Above those tangerine hills, kissed to blush by the sun, were clouds that moved in shoals. And so the sky was equal parts blue and a chorus of greys, streaked with silvers and golds.

"Am I the only one who knows?" he asked, trying to keep the same brisk pace as hers. "You do know it is wiser if others knew about—"

"I didn't want anybody to know, actually . . . I regretted telling you who my father was the day we visited the cursed cabin," interrupted Faith shortly with a faint huff.

Percy's breath hitched. "You don't trust me," he uttered out, suddenly wishing he hadn't spoken at all.

Faith's eyes widened in surprise, shaking her head at him. "No, of course I trust you. I just"—she hesitated a little before continuing with a quieter tone—"don't like receiving pity from others. It makes it look worse for me.

"If everybody knew I would die from choosing to save their arses, they'll start pestering me with questions if there were other possible ways where I wouldn't die — exactly like what you did," said Faith in almost a soft whisper, shaking her head once more sadly, "As much as I'd appreciate if there was another way where my brother and I wouldn't be involved, there really isn't."

Percy opened his mouth about a precise handbreadth, desperately trying to think of anything reasonable to disagree with her. There wasn't any. He couldn't help but muster a small ''I am sorry' to which Faith had probably not heard due to the chattering surrounding them from the campers and the clanging of swords.

Deciding to drop the subject, Percy spoke almost as if they never had a conversation before that moment.

"May I come with you and Thalia to the Big House for the meeting?" he asked when they were out of earshot from the campers that stole looks at them at random times. To his dismay, Faith didn't say anything.

"Please?" added Percy, internally praying she would let him come with. He felt strangely important that he should be present in the meeting for the prophecy, but didn't know why. It was like someone was talking to him from the depths of his very soul.

". . . Sure, I'll allow you," said Faith after a few moments of silence, replying in the same tone Percy used—the tone that released an eerie aura that usually gave a weird feeling as if they had never talked before until then.

He felt mildly surprised when Faith spared a glance at him with a hesitant frown. "Just don't let loose of your anger on them, Jackson. I'll attempt to do the same."

Percy scratched his nape with a puzzled stare. "Er, what?" he blurted.

He swore he could almost sense Faith rolling her eyes at him.

"You are my friend, and these scum betrayed you because of something you have never done. It's pretty clear to me why you'd be angry at them," murmured Faith.

Smiling faintly, Percy appreciated the healer's decisions. "Thank you, but I think I can handle myself just fine . . . I really hope you didn't process that the wrong way—it wasn't made to offend you at all," he said quickly followed by a chuckle.

"Mhm," was all that escaped Faith's lips.

*.·:·. ✧ ✦ ✧ .·:·.*

There they were, gathered in the Big House with its sky blue rims proudly gleaming from the pure whites.

Time had truly performed irreversible deeds upon the once exquisite Big House. The steeple that once could be seen from anywhere in the camp owing to its polished glean no longer shined, a rusty relic of ages gone by. Bricks and cement had been eroded away, washing the colours from the once beautiful building.

But from within, the magic lived on. Great rooms of chandeliers and tables lay stagnant, dusty, yet held the weight of many wars and memories. The floors lay expectant, as if wishing for even just one pair of boots to walk by.

Percy could distinctly feel the stares rip through the black silk he wore and claw at his skin so ferociously it drove him crazy as every minute and then, a camper would enter. It was no surprise to him that when he, Faith, and Thalia arrived for the pompous meeting, Annabeth was the first to have come.

While waiting for the other cabin counselors and Chiron to arrive, Percy would sometimes find himself staring back into Annabeth's grey eyes—which in his opinion, were unnaturally dull.

He swore when he looked away even for just a second, the daughter of Athena would steal a glance or two at him, probably trying to look at his features more prominently. Percy scoffed at the thought.

Do they really not believe it was him, the Percy Jackson they oh-so-well knew?

If so, good.

Let them know the Percy Jackson they knew is gone, somewhere in the very bottom of an endless pit, where there was no one to help him. There were some close calls, the sudden glimmers of hope shining down on him.

Hope. He didn't like it.

Percy, who was leaning on the dusty maroon wall with crossed arms for the past five minutes, raised a brow as he watched Thalia and Annabeth exchange looks of familiarity. He mentally wondered what both were trying to say to the other; even Faith cast them odd stares.

"What did you name the Star-Eyed?" queried Annabeth, cutting down the awkward silence between them. Percy was a little shocked when she spoke; her voice was the kind of gentle that you would hear from a mother. Sally Jackson — his mother. She reminded him of her.

There was no anger in her voice; Percy had been expecting it greatly too. He was aware that she knew who he was, so why wasn't she angry?

"Aegeus," grunted Percy at last as he watched the creature trample on several papers and knock down pencil holders on Chiron's nearby desk. There was a crashing sound every five seconds, and none of them questioned it. They merely let Aegeus do whatever he wanted.

"The 'protector,' correct?" asked Annabeth, to which Percy responded with a slow nod.

Only seconds afterwards muttering, "And I'm positive we had introduced Aegeus before, correct?"

Annabeth didn't speak again.

Percy, growing bored and bored by the second, turned to look over his shoulder at Faith. Her lips were tightly closed together, and there was worry written all over her face.

"Are you gonna tell them?" whispered Percy as he watched more cabin counselors enter the Big House silently. Chiron was yet to be found.

"I'm not sure," replied Faith, meeting his unsure gaze. "What do you think I should do?"

"Tell," was what Percy only managed to say. One word, yet it held many different meanings.

There was a pair of hooves thumping against the strong wooden floors. The centaur who entered looked glad to see them all huddled around the ping-pong table, waiting for him. Percy didn't deny that Chiron indeed looked older — no, that wasn't the right word. 'Ancient' did the trick.

"Very well," murmured Chiron, not missing Percy's presence in the small room, "let our meeting commence."

"Is it true?" began Piper. "You are Percy Jackson?"

Percy swallowed. "We came here to discuss the next Great Prophecy, and I believe we should avoid wasting time." He glared at all of them.

"Right, sorry," said Piper, keeping her voice low and quiet.

Chiron spoke quick before anything else could disrupt their meeting. "Our dear Oracle, Rachel, had delivered the prophecy through an Iris Message due to her lacking presence as of the moment. Her arrival is to be a few days from now."

None of them questioned the centaur as a small scroll of parchment twiddled on Chiron's meaty hands. The centaur willingly handed it to Thalia, who began reading in no more than a wispy rasp.

Marks of Fire and Ethereal,

rising and waiting for their true master,

who they claim are named a savior,

a worthy wielder.

Children of the Cursed,

a call of eternal rest is waiting,

as one of the dark is slowly waking.

Protect the world from time's Father,

and find the crowned creature,

for it will know the fate

of the destined wielder.

Soft faint breaths were perfectly chorused in the cranky room, including an endless tapping on the ping-pong table by Leo, who muttered, "That's a pretty damn long prophecy."

"The first stanza answers my queries," said Chiron, placing a firm fist on the green ping-pong table, "that Fyrmarcs are involved in the possible upcoming war."

Faith, Thalia, and Percy did not speak. They had seen it coming. All three weren't surprised in the slightest when the cabin counselors began spouting questions about the mentioned symbols.

Percy took his chance. "Fyrmarcs are creations of Lord Chaos. Just one has enough power to wipe out our existence, yet enough to save millions." His tone was soft and feather-light—he had expected for it to come out cold and harsher.

"How does it work?" Jason, whom to Percy definitely looked more masculine and well-built as ever with those clear blue eyes, crossed his arms and leaned back on the wall.

Faith and Thalia exchange looks of precaution; but before Percy could even acknowledge it, he was already speaking in that calm, lethal tone of his.

"Firstly, no one has a clue how it works. Secondly, the reason for the first reason was because no one has been able to be . . ." Percy paused, searching for the right word, " . . . worthy enough to decipher the hidden language of the Fyrmarcs in the ancient book of ethereal power."

The cabin counselors stared at him blankly. Thalia and Faith had gone still as well.

Before he could stop himself, he jerked his head towards Chiron. His face was neutral, as it always had been.

"I suppose they do not have a single clue about the ancient Book of Fyrmarcs? Understandable," drawled Percy. Oh, just why did he have to open his mouth in the first place?

He kept going to the point where Faith had to grip the silken fabric of his sleeve tightly in warning. "The ancient book of Fyrmarcs is exactly what it sounds like. Symbols written in every page, without a translation to guide you. Reading would take months, but learning to control it—"

"Would take years, unless the Fyrmarcs sees you a worthy master, which will result almost a few days in time," Annabeth said quietly, making it her grand turn to be stared at.

Even Percy, himself, was astonished she knew. The soft nimble fingers that grasped his arm softened, loosening its firm hold.

Piper drew a sharp intake of breath loud enough to cut the thick lack of sound and for everyone to hear.

"How do you know this?" she asked, as if she herself knew before him. Percy gave her a half-smile, which he knew Piper would notice clearly. Faith gave him a hum of approval—a permission granted.

"The ancient Book we now speak of was here, in this very camp, in the Oracle Cave," said Percy, trying to remember what Artemis had told them. He would not be telling them who gave him the resourceful information, of course. It may lead to several accusations and theories.

"It is now gone, but we believe the right word is . . . stolen"—Percy swiftly caught Annabeth give Thalia a stare, but decided to ignore it—"by anyone out there. Either good or evil, the ancient scrolls certainly don't have a right to the on their hands. We have already lost the war by then if our foes have their grasp in such a thing, unless—"

He'd gone too far. Percy knew it, and Faith knew as well. He was just about to announce her planned death by fate if it were not for the instant attack of harsh pinches that he received from her that made him stop talking.

But the campers seem to had not so easily forgotten his last few words.

A shimmer of purple robes encrusted with pure golden trims caught his attention, the numbness of his arms from the all the pinching being suddenly forgotten. Reyna's kept her signature mask—that mask of predatory stillness.

"Unless what?" She gave him a look. "Daresay it was indeed stolen by an enemy and we've had no chance of winning the upcoming war. What then?"

Percy didn't like it — the way the praetor spoke as if she perfectly well knew who the thief of the ancient book of Fyrmarcs was. He bit back the words from flowing out of out of his mouth. No, Reyna would never help the Dark side, no matter what the cost.

"Thalia, may I?" said Faith softly, grabbing the small scroll of paper where the prophecy was embedded. Percy swallowed hard and silently took note to thank the healer later for averting Reyna's hardened gaze from him.

Exposed. That was what he had felt like. Reyna had seen right though him like a veil of glass so easily.

"There, Praetor, is your answer." Faith smiled darkly as Reyna snatched the scroll from her, scanning her gleaming eyes over the written prophecy over and over until she blanched.

"I am the daughter of Daehros, god of curses, and ready to accept my cursed fate as a child of the Cursed." There were a few barely audible gasps in the drafty room. Some had gone unusually pale.

"The Roman legend is true, then," spoke Jason, still trying to comprehend what had happened, "that the children of the Cursed are born to save or destroy the world, in exchange for their soul to whichever they choose. And your brother, Elijah—"

Faith had gone stiff. "Don't. I've been having visions; terrible ones that haunt me. They have him. I have no idea who, but they wish to use him."

Silence was a horrible thing by then, even Percy was wordless, but Faith kept on with her words.

"He's a child of the Cursed like me, and even though the fate of the world is in our hands, we can still be controlled in the most horrid ways possible and forcibly choose out of our own will. We're lucky Elijah hasn't been invaded in the mind or anything, otherwise we'd be seeing the world in splinters."

No bitterness, no anger in even the slightest. It was almost as if she was eagerly waiting for her death to come. Everyone fairly knew that only a small beam of hope was their only chance of winning the war.

They all stared at him with impassive faces. Percy's sea-green eyes widened in horror as the girl with strands of very recognizable blonde hair over her shoulder with soft grey eyes spoke his true name.

"What are we going to do, Percy Jackson?"