Chapter 1 - Kallisto Grace's POV

Before all this happened, I lived a normal life - a happy carefree one. I was half - blind to the world we live in now. One day, that all changed. If you really want to know my story, which I guess you should but you shouldn't, open these pages to discover the truth behind the Armageddon.

My name is Kallisto Grace. I'm thirteen years old, the unlucky year I guess. I'm a troubled kid, you could say. I'm Ms. Popular at school, everybody admires what I do and say. I'm a rich goddess to my friends, all the wavy blonde hair and colour changing eyes, but really, on the inside I'm like anybody else. That is, until my world went topsy - turvy.

My world changed one day. It's a day I'll never forget, the start of a mission that determined the fate of the world. A message was sent to me and another girl. It all began on any ordinary Sunday.

I had a strange dream.

I was flying through the sky, thunder cackling madly behind me. Three doves were perched on my left arm, cooing.

Somehow I understood them, "Go to Camp Half Blood, it is the only safe place." The doves spoke in unison, in a tender, kind, motherly voice. Instinctively, I press my lucky necklace which for some reason is in my hand. It disappears, replaced with a glowing bronze sword.

I stare at it between amazement and shock. The wind lurches, I'm flying downwards, towards a place my brain recognises as Long Island, New York.

I see a strange collection of items - a dragon coiled around a tree that had a shining fleece. A strange assortment of buildings - what looked like a miniature factory or another on seemed to be made of grass.

I land steadily on top of a strawberry plant. I got a feeling that I have rarely, burning in my heart - the feeling that this is a place you belong. This place is deserted, not a living being in sight, fear creeps up my stomach. A huge hole in the ground is opening in the ground, threatening to swallow this whole place.

"Go! Only you and the other chosen one can save this haven!" The urgency in the doves' voices is growing, "Go!" Their voices fade.

I jerk up to a start, head spinning crazily. Half of me is going mad with the need to go, but the part with more common sense tells me not to. I tell myself to slow down. Kallisto, think it over, it's just a dream.

But, a small, nagging voice at the back of my head is pleading me to go, and somehow that dream just seems too real, perhaps too real to be true. The voice is persistent, it sounds much like the doves in my dream. That doesn't help much.

I comb my hair and brush my teeth like any other Sunday. Then sit on my bed trying to make a nearly impossible decision.

Grandpappy calls me down for sunday pancakes - my favourite. I hesitate, then smile. Decisions could always wait after breakfast.

I totter down the stairs, a rather fake smile plastered on my face - I don't want grandpa to find out about my dream and fuss over me. Fussing over me happens almost too often and it gets extremely annoying.

My grandfather's name is Tristan McLean (on my mother's side). He's an ex - actor and a rather famous one at that, especially when he acted in 'The King of Sparta'. It was huge blockbuster, though the first time I watched it I turned all giggly seeing my granddad in ancient greek armour - the poster was even more ridiculous. It had a picture of him and a caption saying: 'I will steal your women and kill your men'.

We live in a skyscraper - mansion, my bedroom is right on the highest floor. I live the life of celebrities, fashion and money.

My grandpa welcomes me with the famous smile that used to make women scream and ask him to sign their bodies in permanent marker. Nowadays, instead of acting he spends most of his time looking after me - a favour for my parents.

My parents.

That's a subject I don't like to talk about. They're bankers and travel a lot. Sometimes, we only meet once a year. It's more like they're my distant aunt and uncle rather than my parents. They're always in China or England, but most of the time in New York. I hear and see things about them, bad things that make a dark turn to my glamorous life of the wealthy.

Things I wish I could forget.

Like once, when I was in kindergarten, there were a bunch of cloaked women with what I could swear were spears. They were stalking me, whispering and pointing to me. I told the teacher about them and their double snake tails for legs. She just ignored me and thought I was just a silly little kid with a wild imagination, I don't blame her for thinking that. I still insisted they were holding briefcases and wearing green dresses. I thought I was mad so I followed them. Which I probably do not advise you to do.

They were whispering in undertones. "Are you sure this is Kallisto Grace? The daughter of Piper McLean and Jason Grace?" "No, maybe, we're wrong." They were saying the name of my parents, so being a five year old I turned and ran away.

My grandfather handed me a plate of blueberry pancakes drizzled artistically with maple syrup. "Had any dreams?" My grandfather asks me the question he always asks in the morning. I freeze, grandpa raises an eyebrow suspiciously. I figure it's harmless to tell my grandpa a dream, slowly, I give him the story.

A shadow passes over grandpa's face as I finish, "I feared this very day," he whispers hoarsely, "Your parents told me that if danger comes, it will be sent in a dream, you must be properly trained."

I get really confused.

Even more than the time when grandpa insisted on bringing nachos to the greek potluck at my school. "What... do you mean?" I stutter, not being able to find the right words.

"You must go, find out about yourself and your parents," my grandpa says this in a voice that I have never heard him use, "finish your breakfast and pack." He says this very final voice. We eat the rest in silence.

I throw myself on my bed. My usual optimism drowned by the seriousness of this situation.

I sit up and throw a couple of things in my large (meaning really large) sling bag. There are a few things from my last camping trip, but I don't bother taking the stuff out - it might be useful.

I make a review. Six sets of clothing including underwear and pyjamas, wallet containing credit card with more than ten thousand dollars, cell phone, camouflage tent, sleeping bag, map of New York and some other cities and a hairbrush. I almost forget the photo album with my parent's photos in it. Carefully, I put it in the front pouch. Automatically, I check that my necklace is still fastened at my throat. It was a gift from my parents, a reminder. Sometimes painful, but it often made me feel I always had a part of them with me.

I stare at the diamond on my bronze lucky necklace. Sometimes, if I stare at it enough, I can see the faces of my parents. My mother's eyes a bright blue and chestnut brown hair, her hand waving as if asking me to join them. My father has one hand on his hip and the other on my mom's shoulder, his blonde hair glinting in the sunlight. He looks at me fiercely with his electric blue eyes, then grins and eases into a crooked smile. I really feel like crying and bawling out my sorrows. Which I haven't done since I was six, because it would ruin my eyeshadow and mascara.

I hear a knock. My grandfather comes in. He seems to have aged twenty years since our conversation. He holds a plastic bag, "A few sandwiches, ready made meals and bottles of water," He instructs me as briskly as he always did, "Buy any other necessities, I've added another ten thousand dollars to your credit card." He puts the food in the bag and looks at me. "Go. This may be the last time we meet. I just can't say goodbye. Go." Grandfather McLean looks so old I can't believe it. He wraps his arms around me in a brief hug, and half runs out of my room, tears glistening.

I put on a army print top and shorts, then tie the laces of my sturdy camo boots, pick up the bag and walk out the door. I say goodbye to the Washington skyscraper I have called home for thirteen years of my life.

I walk towards central station, a thirteen year girl, nowhere to go, nowhere to hide. All on my own - alone.

I usually travel by limo but, in this case if I find my driver is the one - eyed monster I met in third grade, I not willing to take my chances. I walk into the grandeur of central station. Calls are going all around me, "train 39 heading to Los Angeles leaving in 30 minutes. Please head towards platform number 8."

Suddenly, amid the chaos, a stronger, more powerful voice than the dove finds me, "buy a ticket to Philadelphia, travel to Wharton State Forest, there will be someone you must meet to succeed. Also, when you need help, point to the sky." Nobody else seems to hear it, but knowing I see and hear real (or maybe not) things that other don't, I decide to trust the voice and buy a ticket to Philadelphia.

I yawn. I'm on a train and it's nearing lunchtime. I sit back in the seat of my first class cabin on the train.

I grab out a small pack of Japanese food from my pack, pick up the chopsticks and give failing attempts to grab the sushi. In the end, I just eat it like finger food.

I see strange sights as we pass out of Washington D.C. I see some centaurs (I only know this because my mom tried to teach me some greek mythology, but it turned out I'm not that good at learning. Centaurs are easy because my star sign, cancer, is most compatible with the horse man, sagittarius) carrying bows and running across fields, one the size of a small boy waves at me, I wave back.

I see a scaly, green dragon the size of a flat slither across some mountains. I get this petrifying feeling like oh-my-god-that-dragon-is-going-to-eat-me.

Whenever I see a dove my heart leaps, hoping it will give me a clue about my parents. In the end the result was a few scratches (I had tried to catch the dove, while hanging out of the train) and a bit of dove poop on my hand (I washed it off with disgust).

After a while of wistful thinking about some celebrity dates, I hear a knock on the door.

A teenager opens the door. He's dressed from head to toe in gold, even his hair is. He has green eyes that have this intense fire, it gives you this feeling that this guy was either a madman or a genius or possibly both.

But what I find the strangest is that he's looking at me like how the other people that were following me were, eyes shining maliciously and licking their lips. The diamond on my lucky necklace is shining, like literally glowing. I try not to sound too suspicious. "Hello, may I help you?" He turns to me, I find that even his eyes are flecked with gold.

His voice is like silk, but you can hear the harsh tone of a knife scraping on stone. "Hello Kallisto Grace, you are in danger." I blink then give him a puzzled look. His crazy smile widens, "I am the danger." He changes.

His skin and eyes is turning completely golden, his height growing to the size of a truck. Somehow and thankfully, nothing in the train is damaged. In place of the boy, is a huge, golden lion. I remember some suggestions and decide to try a few things out.

First of all, if you're travelling on a train from Washington to Philadelphia and see a rather large crater, I apologise for all the inconveniences a giant lion caused.

I take off my flashing necklace and press the diamond. In place of my necklace is a huge bronze sword, exactly alike to the one in my dream. I grin.

I charge towards the cat and bring the sword down to it's back. The sword bounces off the lion's skin. The lion rears up and roars lazily, like it's saying, "is that all? Not very impressive. Oh well, my turn!" I stop astonished. Anything hit by a really sharp sword doesn't usually survive.

The lion rears up and pounces to my right. A series of rolls, stabs and slashes attack my mind. My mind seems clearer than it has before. I notice small sounds and sights I wouldn't usually notice. I see the lion tensing on it's right where it pounced, missed and crashed into my bed. I hear a lunch trolley creaking towards us (seriously, at two pm?).

Moving about has always been one of my strengths (perhaps not swimming). I do tennis, gymnastics, cross - country, softball and a little bit of soccer.

Grandpa says my ADHD causes this. But not so much my dyslexia.

Orders of fighting moves roll into my mind, I obey, hitting the neck with the sharpest points of my sword. It seemed to be affecting him like mosquito bites (but not as itchy). I remember the voice in the train station. Hoping it will work, I give it my highest hopes and point to the sky.

A thunderstorm appears out of nowhere.

Bolts of lightning hit the monster on it's two eyes. The electricity courses through the creature. It gives me one last murderous look (without his eyes) before crumbling into dust. All that remained was an absolutely stunning golden, furry coat.

Without thinking, I slip it on my arms. It feels even comfier than the faux fur leopard coat I got made in Paris for me.

The room is completely undamaged, except for a huge crater that a stray lightning bolt had made. I snuggle onto the bed and into my jacket.

My head is dizzy with exhaustion even though it's afternoon: that poor lion must have mistaken me for someone else, I comfort myself, I'm just an innocent standbyer. But something about the certainty in his eyes makes me doubtful.

I pick up a dessert set and pick up the finger - sized chocolate cheesecake, trying to swallow the lion memory as well as the cheesecake. But, they simply are stuck there, like a mouse in a mousetrap. After a considerable amount of choking, I manage to swallow the cheesecake, but not the memory.

A loudspeaker comes blaring out: "We are approaching Philadelphia, please get ready to exit the train." I stand up and exit my cabin, hauling my messenger bag behind me. The train jerks to a stop and I manage not to get thrown out of the train. I straighten myself and whisper to no one in particular: "Here I am, Philadelphia."

I head towards the taxi stand, stepping gracefully into a free cab. "Wharton State Forest, please." I ask politely.

The cabbie grunts: "Are you sure, that's forty four miles away." I slap a two twenties next to driver, he snorts and speeds away mumbling something about money and overpaid kids.

I sit back after making sure the driver is just a normal city driver that likes to smoke (the cab smelled strongly of tobacco). I sit back, pull out my phone and start to listen to Pink's 'Just Give Me a Reason'. Sometimes, I see bits of black peeking from around the trees, but I decide to worry about it later. After Adele's 21, Demi Lovato's Heart Attack, Olly Murs's Troublemaker and most of the Taylor Swift and One Direction songs, I reach Wharton State Forest. I tumble out and the taxi speeds away, leaving me and my bag facing the dark forest.

I decide to go into the forest and set up camp. I set up a steady pace into the forest, caution in every step, my hand on my necklace. My eyes dart all around me.

Suddenly, something feels wrong, the hairs on my arms are standing up. I freeze, then split my legs in a battle stance.