Disclaimer: I do not own anything. RR does.
The character list is below the chapter!
SONG: New World Coming by Benjamin Wallfisch and Disa / Greek Tragedy by The Wombats (Bastille Remix)
0.2
The sound of metal clanging against metal fill the empty parentheses of silence throughout the whole hallway of cells, echoing and ricocheting off the naked, rusting walls of the prison. The yell of the guard sweeps through the room, leaving an after wave of chaos in its wake: a stir of agitated chatter starting amongst the prisoners, snaps of conversation exchanging in errant, sharp tones, heads craning towards the door's direction as the loud stomps of a line of stampeding prison guards marching into the hallway echoes through the resounding walls.
Evelyn Clearwater cracks open an irritated eye, groaning as she convulses into wakefulness, stretching as she sits rapidly with a petulant scowl at being relentlessly shaken from her sleep. The four metal walls of her cell greet her as she rubs her eyes and yawn.
Her cell is standard, like all the other prisoners here. Grey, metal walls, lined with fragnos copper, a type of metal that blocks all types of demigod power, blessed and forged with the essence of Tartarus. A chair, a table, a lamp, a bed. Single, mattress medium-hard, covered with a dirty white spread. No mirror. To discard vanity or something of the like so Evelyn hasn't seen how she looks like in the past year. She knows she has blonde hair. It's gone too long, untrimmed for the last year, brushing against the small of her back. She faintly remembers she has pale green-blue eyes, unhealthy pale skin, red marks on her wrists. Flashes on surgical instruments. Screaming pain. Red all over. Hazy vision. Drugs, possibly. No, drugs definitely. Coloured pills and injection needles. Euphemisms like this might sting a little. Lost time. So much lost time. Shake it out, shake it out.
Above her, a grim, grey metal ceiling, a circular rusty light glaring down instead of a hanging light. They were scrupulous when building the cells since they've removed anything you could tie your bedsheets to.
A window. Shatterproof, built with fragnos copper, only opens partly, not big enough to crawl through but Evelyn likes to keep it open. It lets the breeze of the Underworld in and sometimes the faint screaming of tortured souls in the background help lull her to sleep.
It must be morning, Evelyn says to herself in her mind, listening intently to the sounds of heavy footsteps outside her cell. What's going on?
Breathing in the stale air of her cell, she presses her ear onto the wall, wondering what her next door neighbour is up to and if he has any idea what's going on. Besides her is a boy, she thinks. His name is Carmen, she remembers one of the guard calling him. She's been here for almost a year, ever since the prison first started up. Is it a year? Maybe two? Maybe a year and a half? Couldn't be any longer than two. In the Underworld, there's no sun or moon so there's no way to tell. Maybe she should, counting days through the times they call her for breakfast and dinner. Start scratching marks on the walls. But what's the use? She's not crazy. Crazy people do that. She doesn't think she's crazy. Okay, maybe a little crazy. Hmm.
Whatever it is, she's been here for a long time and yet she's still learning the names of all the other inmates but with time, she feels as if her memory is fading, like the ability to write her own name is losing its grip in her own mind. The ability to say words and communicate is pretty much null since those experiments. The only thing she has to listen to is silence. She'll say her sanity is slowly ebbing away as well but her sanity was never there to begin with.
Suddenly, a sharp clang of the bell pierces into Evelyn's skull. The bell that measures time is ringing. Evelyn wince at the loudness of it as her body is still adjusting to the state of being awake, shaking the dense stupor out of her limbs as she gets out of her bed and advances her feet towards the thick, metal door of her cell.
The tiny slot in her door slides open with a bone-crunching grind of metal against metal and reveals a prison guard in uniform staring at her with hardened eyes and a fixed expression of displeasure on his face, despite his ghostly, ghoulish appearance courtesy of the ghosts of Asphodel. "It's time for breakfast," he snaps harshly, "And we have some new prisoner today. We'll be introducing them into the system. Now stand back with your hands behind your back, 236. You know the drill."
"Alright," Evelyn sighs. She retreats with her back turned to the end of her cell and stretches her arm all the way to her back as she hears the metal cell door clicking open and swinging a wide arc, allowing the guard to come in to retrieve her. The guard wields an electrified cattle prod, which he'll not hesitate to use if he senses a slight disobedience in the orders he has instructed. Evelyn has felt it before. Once she felt a sneeze building up in her throat and just as she's about to violently sneeze, she brought her hand to cover her nose in a matter of habit instead of keeping her hands behind her back like she was supposed to. The guard thought she was trying to be funny so he struck her instantly with the cattle prod and electrified her until she was unconscious for two days.
Fun times at the Katadiki Pennitearary.
The guard grips her arm and locks her in celestial bronze handcuffs, then pushes her slightly to indicate it's time to start walking. Her wrist aches under the pure strength he uses on making sure she stays put. You might think a ghost would go through you but it doesn't. It's the most solid thing Evelyn has ever feel.
She shuffles her feet and moves out from the darkened cell into a hallway. She winces at the lights that harshly illuminate the all-white, sterile hallways. The floor is hard with white grid-tiles beneath her white soles- the standard, prescribed shoes for a prisoner and the lights screaming overhead are too bright, too much of a presence that Evelyn feels like they're burning her skin and she wants to close her eyes and just wallow in the darkness of cell.
She's not the only one out, though. Prisoners are being escorted by guards out of the hallway to the dining room. They follow the stream of people flowing through the corridor and out the door, passing the other corridors that lead to more cells. She hums as she walks, her voice keeping in rhythm with her footsteps. Evelyn catches familiar faces, matching them up with names they pass around during free time. She sees the boy she always partners herself with during their fitness circuits a few heads in front of her. There's no mistaking that dark skin and dark hair. Adrian Dusk. Son of Apollo. Kind of quiet, a little reclusive, prefers to keep to himself. Kind of boring. But she knows that if you end up in a place like the Pennitearary, there's no way he's in any sense of the word safe. She has half a mind to ask if she can go up to him and say hi but she holds her tongue. Adrian is most likely to ignore her anyway as his version of 'hi' is startled eyes and a soft jerk of the head.
The dining room is big and spacey, like a high school gymnasium but filled with the smell of warm food. The guard releases her arm as she enters and stations himself at the door. She glances at some of the prisoners, who are already sitting down on the rows of steel metal benches, spooning their breakfast. Evelyn leans slightly to see what's in their metal bowls. Oatmeal. Evelyn wrinkles her nose. Ew.
She marches towards the long queue of prisoners, smiling and bouncing like a little child who's been given candy. Beaming positively, a stark contrast from the grim faces of her other inmates, she waves at the scowling cafeteria lady, a plump ghost who's been sentenced to an immortal duty of scooping food for demigods who has royally pissed off the Gods. "Hello Janine," she says with a slight skip in her voice, "How are you today?"
Evelyn, who seems unaware of Janine's scowl and snarl, only smiles when Janine snaps: "I'm great, 236. Would you like some oatmeal, just like everybody else?"
"Oh, wow," Evelyn stares at the trays of porridge-like oatmeal sludge. "It looks lovely."
The boy behind her, Kaisu Takakuro, raise his eyebrows, unable to detect a layer of sarcasm sprinkle over Evelyn's childlike, cutesy voice.
Janine scoops a substantial amount of oatmeal- and there's a very loose application of food use on the white-grayish cement-like substance given to eat- and plops it on the metal bowl, which looks like a dog bowl, passes it to Evelyn, who browse through their untouched fruits sentence and the utensils- all plastic. Nobody trusts any of them to handle anything metal that can cause a severe degree of harm. "May I have an apple?" She asks sweetly. Janine rolls her eyes but nod yes so Evelyn happily collects her tray and turn back to the room.
Prisoners who are in relatively good terms group together in their own individual cliques, sitting together as they eat, bitch about prison guards and talk about their very interesting schedules of staring at the walls of their prison cells. Anyone who's a weirdo or a loner sits by themselves, in the corner near the trash cans. It's like high school, Evelyn likes to think so but honestly she has never known what high school is like. She spent most of her pre-teen years stuck inside a basement, locked in chains.
Skipping slightly, she finds a table of the most familiar faces- the people who she spent group prison projects with. Malina, Matthew, and Ries are already seated, halfway through their oatmeal, talking about the new arrivals that cause the bustle of gossip to be a little louder today.
"I heard one of them is a fucking nutcase," Malina is on the verge of saying as she plays with her oatmeal, mixing it around with her plastic spoon, but doesn't eat. No self-respecting idiot will ever eat this kind of food, she remembers Malina once saying.
Matthew laughs, not meanly, "Look at all of us, Mal. We're all fucking nutcases. Be more specific."
Well, you have to give him points for self-awareness.
"Hullo," greet Evelyn pleasantly, humming again. She's singing 'Rock-A-Bye Baby' when she sets her tray down on the table and swings her legs over the bench to take a seat.
"Hey, Evie," Mal replies lightly enough, smiling uneasily when the daughter of Morpheus settles into her seat and began combing her hair with a plastic fork. Mal scoots away and Evelyn frowns, scooting towards Mal. Mal is pretty in the way Aphrodite girls are- slender face, heavy-set eyes, delicate lips but she discards the usual conventions of an Aphrodite girl with the left side of her dusty brown hair shaved, tattoos in hidden places and a gaping hole in her nose, where her nose ring used to be but the prison guards forced her to remove it as they didn't trust prisoners to be anywhere near any sharp objects. No scissors, knives (of course), not even metallic forks and spoons.
"See?" Matthew offers, "Nutcases."
Ries rolls his eyes and ignores Matthew, "How are you, Evie?"
"Me?" Evelyn's face brightens at the acknowledgement of somebody else. After all, she loves being known, eats up the attention like a Kardashian. "Oh, I'm doing lovely, just- like- wow." She says 'wow' in a very spacey manner, big-eyed, smiling, happy, eager to please as her grin stretches wide, twirling her long blonde hair with a fork as she disregards her food.
"Everybody, listen up!" Their attention swivel, taking eyes from themselves to the person who spoke. Nico Di Angelo in the flesh, surging through the room with his presence. Despite his small, skinny frame, the son of Hades demands attention in the room. His hand is tight around his Stygian sword as he examines their faces with a hardened resolute and though his stature is relaxed and lazy, there is a hardening in his muscles that means he'll be ready to spring up any minute. "Today, we have some new arrivals. Please, make them feel…" Nico stops to try to find the right word, "...um, welcomed. Yeah, make them feel welcomed."
Ries tries not snort and Malina shoots him a look that says before you get placed in solitary, you asshat.
The guards bring forth rows of chained individuals, clothed in a brand new, clean prison uniforms- the prescribed issue of a white button down, white pyjama-like pants and white nurse shoes- from the door. They march in a single-file line obediently, kept in line with the electrified batons, ready to hit at any given moment. Evelyn observes them with big eyes. They look hardened, tight-lipped and cold eyes as if they think they'll survive anything.
We'll see, Evelyn muses with a smile quirking up her lips, with a scintillating, mad little glint in her eye, if they'll last this place five minutes.
"Jesus, fuck."
Kathryn Huang sends him a weird look, raised eyebrows, pursed lips. She's a Daughter of Hecate but sometimes that disapproving, harrumphing look is more reminiscent of a kid of Athena than anything else. "Aren't you a conservative Christian?"
Chris purses his lips. "Aren't we children of Greek Gods? Besides, considering the situation, don't you think it's quite appropriate?"
Kathryn sighs, running a hand through the sidebangs of her caramel hair. The rest of her hair has been looped into a high, tall ponytail that helps keep all loose hair away from her but perspiration bead down her forehead in tiny droplets, dripping onto the floor as the sun beats relentlessly on the ground. He has no doubt that he's just as sweaty, which he can confirm by the sticky feeling he's been having all day and the rancid smell of overcooked sweat clinging on the wet spots of his bright orange t-shirt.
Summer has struck and it has struck hard.
It's in the middle of August. It's hot and stuffy, warm like stagnant, muggy air suffocating him at this time of the year and if this isn't proof that global warming isn't true, Chris doesn't know what is.
What's even worse than the August heat is that his brothers- the dearly, beloved Stoll Brothers- has left his cabins in literal ruins after a prank gone wrong. Something about, Chris distinctly remembers before flying out of a cabin in a blast with enough bomb power to nuke North Korea, trying to mix the Aphrodite Cabin's Barbie Dolls with some Greek Fire and potions stolen from the Hecate Cabin. Chris also recalls trying to stop them adamantly but was too late as by then he was flung ten feet in the air, about to land on the cold hard floor, which is probably the most cooling thing he has felt all day.
The main scope of the situation is basically now every Hermes kid's belongings are strewn all over the dusty camp floor, with bits of the cabin's structure, dust, debris and rubble littered across the huge expanse of the destruction with smoke billowing out of the distance, as if a massive bushfire has just started. It looks like the US government has gone all Hiroshima and Nagasaki all over their cabin.
Other campers milling about the camp has stopped in their paths to peer about the sudden explosion at the Hermes cabin, stopping to gawk, point, and applaud at the thick clumps of . Some are laughing as the Stolls emerge from the ruins, grinning at the hail of their carnage and bowing down at the applause; unfortunately unharmed much to everybody's chagrin.
"Chiron is going to be so mad," Chris gripes, shaking his head in disapproval. Chris turn to the Daughter of Hecate, who is kicking away a pile of debris away from her path to catch up with Chris. "Do you think you can fix it before anyone notices? I don't want to be stuck with washing duty-"
"WHAT HAPPENED?!"
"Too late," Kat murmur as they turn around to see an angry centaur galloping towards their way from the Big House. Chiron is steaming mad, his face a blooming red colour as he glares at the entirety of the Hermes cabin, who looks down sheepishly, head droop down low as they sense another scolding lecture about to explode in their face. Chris wants to facepalm his entire face into the ground. How did he got stuck with the siblings that caused the most trouble?
"Who did this?" Chiron turns a hateful glare at the Stoll Brothers, who immediately hold up their hands in surrender, feigning surprise by the sudden accusation.
"What?" Travis- Chris is pretty sure it's Travis- tries his best to look innocent. Campers who heard this laugh slightly but one cross look from Chiron makes the laughter dissipate into uncomfortable, dead silence.
"Us?" Connor chimes it along with Travis, scratching his head in mock confusion. "Do this?"
"No, impossible," Travis shakes his head but Chiron puts a hand up to indicate that they should really stop trying to dig a hole they're already stuck in and that he doesn't believe it one bit, the scowl on his face echoing the familiar lines that Chris is often tired of hearing, due to him being stuck in the cabin of troublemakers: this is not cool and you're dead.
"This is going to take days to repair!" fume Chiron, pointing at the heaping mounds of debris and wood all over the camp's floor, some of which has embedded itself into the grass roof of Demeter's cabin, much to the dismay of Katie Gardner. More campers start to come out onto the amphitheatre, from their cabins, arriving at the space created by the Greek Omega shape the cabins have been placed into. New campers watch in horror, or in the case of the Roman exchange campers stare with their mouths open at the mischief (everybody in Camp Jupiter knows if you try anything like that there, Reyna will not hesitate to sew you into a pack of weasels and throw you into the Little Tiber) or in excited glee, while the older campers, who are known to the havoc the Stoll Brothers like to wreak, just run their eyes over the damage, wondering if it's at bad as the last time, being glad it's not them at the hands of Chiron's wrath or savouring the sweet taste of the Hermes cabin getting in trouble. Again. "Do you have any idea how much this will cost the camp-"
"But we didn't do it!" protests Travis weakly, "Honestly."
"Yeah," Connor repeats in adamant agreement, "Honestly."
Chiron rolls his eyes, along with everybody else who can see through the sheer material their lies are made out of. Seriously, for children of the God of Trickery, the Stolls should know their lying skills are a disgrace to the sanctity of Hermes. Unamused by any of the endeavours the Stolls, he folds his arms, obviously pissed. "I hereby sentence the Hermes cabin to three months of washing duty."
"What?"
"THREE MONTHS?"
Chiron gravely regards the rest of the cabin with an evil-eye before trotting, pacing to turn back to the Big House, about to leave but not before saying: "Be lucky it isn't a year."
Everybody shut up at that point.
After dinner, campfire singalong and a two-hour session of dunking bronze plates into molten lava, there's time to spare so Chris spends it pacing around the Ares cabin, learning what to touch and what not to touch, where to go and where not to go. Some might wonder what difference does it make and the difference really- as the Ares girl explains- you dead or you alive.
The reason why for him being in the Ares cabin is simply because their cabin is not in any hospitable condition to stay in so Chiron has separated them into pairs and split them into different cabins to reside in temporarily as their cabin gets a rebuild. And lucky Chris- he got the Ares cabin.
"- map here is where all the landmines will be," the Ares girl explains, pointing out the angry red, black and white slashes marked across the map that details the cabin's floor plan. Chris has never seen much of the Ares cabin except for its exterior, a cabin scruffily painted in an angry red color with barbed wire lining the roof, rock music constantly blaring and a stuffed boar's head on the doorway that seems to glare at anybody who passes by. Inside, Chris learns that the Ares Cabin is equally as messy as the Hermes cabin except instead of candy wrappers, random bits of Greek Armour, books, phones, earphones, pranking materials like toilet paper and whip cream, stolen stashes of alcohol and weed and personal pictures stacked above their own personal beds, the Ares cabin has army cots instead of beds with wrinkled flannel sheets and army-issued blankets in khaki brown and green that aren't even made properly. Combat boots are left disheveled all over the place, just waiting to trip some poor unsuspecting kid up. Clothes, camp jeans, black tank tops, pieces of all types of weaponry, scraps of battle plans are scattered as if Hurricane Katrina has destroyed the whole room.
Right now, he's doing a walking tour of the Ares cabin with Samantha Tamaguchi- not to be confused with the handheld 90's pet game. "The black ones are the mines that are disabled and the red ones...well, don't step on them. And the white ones...are you even listening?"
"Hmm?"
Samantha Tamaguchi scowl. "If you're not going to listen, you're welcome to sleep outside. Look, I'm doing this because Clarisse asked me too. This is not because I want to so if you're going to waste my time, please let me know."
"Sorry," Chris apologizes genuinely and the hardened, fixed stare of Samantha Tamaguchi's intense brown eyes softens to a fractional degree. "That was rude. I'll listen now."
"It's fine," Samantha shrug nonchalantly, "I'm pretty much done now, really. You should go for the shower now. Be quick, it's almost time for lights out and we can't have you getting our cabin in trouble."
"No problem," Chris gives a little nod. He hesitates as if to say something more but then he turns away and picks up his folded bundle of clothes, which sits at the edge of his mattress on the floor. Before he exits the Ares cabin, he bumps into one of those terrifying Ares guys- the types with biceps as thick as tree trunks, the height as tall of a skyscraper and the brain cells of a goldfish, yelling:
"Hey, TAMAGOTCHI!"
Samantha throws him a murderous look and flips him the middle finger, "It's Tamaguchi, not the 90's pet game. Call me that again and I'm going to hit you at a place where it doesn't shine."
But Chris leaves before he can properly distinguish the next scathing reply. He moves out of the Ares cabin and towards the showers.
The camp showers are stationed behind the dining pavilion, just on the fringe of the woods that borders the camp. The showers are two blocks of cement, facing each other, painted the same robin blue as the Big House with white trims. One for boys, one for girls. Obviously.
As Chris nears, the sound of water smashing into the bathroom tiles reaches his ear. The water steams like a soup, rising fog dissipating into the stifling hot night. It's warm even in the night. It seems like the summer never stops. August, its breathless days and sauna nights, hard to sleep.
Chris pushes open the wooden door, stepping inside on a floor of white tiles. The showers open immediately to a hall of mirrors, sinks and a center bench where folded palls of clothes of all the other campers are spread across. The hall ends at a junction, one for toilets and the other for bathrooms. As Chris begins to strips, he hums to himself. Picking up his toiletries and wrapping a towel around his naked nether regions, he journeys towards the showers.
The showers are lined symmetrically upon each other, blue shower curtains to match the sky blue colour of the outside walls. Like forget-me-nots. Some of the curtains are drawn with heated mist floating to the top, causing the rays of the lightbulbs to appear hazy and distorted, Chris pays the others no attention and clamber into the shower, pulling the shower curtains shut with a shaking of the metal rungs that attached the curtains to the metal bar.
Chris turns the knob, letting the torrent of warm water splash all over him, letting it hold him. The water is soft as hands and peace and serenity settles over him like a blanket so Chris allows his mind to wonder.
The demigod life is now pretty routine. It's been two years since a major war and all the legends- Percy Jackson, Nico Di Angelo, Piper Mclean, Annabeth Chase- has now moved on with their lives, living in a kind of muted, monochromatic blur of routine. Chris never lived in the times of that war, or at least, he didn't know he was a demigod in those times yet. He was still trapped in that extremely conservative Christian environment, stuck in a Catholic private school where the nuns were super mean and the world was nothing but a tunnel-view vision of black and white. When he found out he was a demigod, his world tilted upside down and painted orange. It was the strangest sensation ever- when everything for the last eighteen years was nothing but a lie and he's suddenly a son of Hermes and his dad who he thought was his dad wasn't his dad. But once the surprise of being a demigod fade away, life slows down again and it feels… as if the demigod life is now somewhat normal, even though some might say being a demigod totally defeats the whole point of normal.
Sometimes, Chris wonders what it's like to be them- those legends, the ones talked about in stories passed around at campfires and the fame that comes with the stares and the gawks and the oohs and the ahs whenever one of the Seven drops by at camp or teach a lesson at one of the activities. He wonders what it's like to achieve something so monumental everyone put you up on the pedestal, all the expectation and pressure to do something great.
Chris sums that he'll probably never feel it. He's a son of Hermes. He has no powers, not many tricks up his sleeve except for ADHD, Dyslexia and a lifetime supply of whip cream. He'll spend his whole life here, picking up sword tricks he'll never have to use, preparing for quests he'll never go on, harnessing powers he never had. Now that peace is here, there's nothing else to fight for. He'll live a normal, boring demigod life and die one. What's really the point of being a demigod anymore?
Am I living an existential crisis? Chris methodically rubs the soap on his arm and run the shampoo through his hair. A part of him hopes one day he'll get to do it, as stupidly cliched as it sounds. Be like those legends he hears, be like the stories they write in books and sing songs about.
But the thing about hope is that it's like being in an elevator cut loose at the top. Falling, falling and not knowing when you will hit the bottom.
MAIN CHARACTERS, OFFICIALLY DECIDED:
Evelyn Clearwater, 16, Greek, Daughter of Morpheus, Female, Incarcerated for: Dangerous, Mental Instability.
Nadia Marie Williams, 19, Roman, Daughter of Fortuna, Female, Incarcerated for: Treason.
Marisol Clarice Hunt, 19, Greek, Daughter of Mania, Female, Incarcerated for: Murder.
James Silas Moretti, 18, Greek, Son of Aphrodite, Male, Incarcerated for: Treason.
Jaekwan Lee, 19, Roman, Son of Neptune, Male, Incarcerated for: Treason and Attempted Murder.
Roman Daniel Sokolov, 17, Roman, Son of Victoria, Male, Incarcerated for Drugs and Murder.
SUPERVISORS:
Christopher Michael Johnson, 18, Greek, Male, Son of Hermes.
Santiago Rafael Nieves-Linde, 20, Roman, Son of Sylvanus, Male.
Juliana Greer, 18, Greek, Daughter of Ares, Female,.
Leilani Shay Kahala, 14, Roman, Daughter of Vulcan, Female.
SUPPORTING CASTS:
Emmet Grayson Blake, 15, Greek, Son of Hephaestus, Male, Incarcerated for: Attempted Murder.
Adrian Ulysses Dusk, 17 (going on 18), Roman, Son of Apollo, Male, Incarcerated for: The Dusk Plagues, Murder.
Carmen Santanico Alverez, 16, Greek, Son of Dionysus, Male, Incarcerated for: Treason [Gaea's Side]
Kaisu Suzuki Takakuro, 15, Greek, Son of Apate, Male, Incarcerated for: Treason.
Ries Edward Duncan, 18, Greek, Son of Ares, Male, Incarcerated for: Abuse of Power
Malina Maruska, 18, Greek, Daughter of Aphrodite, Female, Incarcerated for: Treason.
Matthew James Cardinal, 20, Greek, Son of Thantos, Male, Incarcerated for: Murder.
Chelsia Elizabeth Noxley, 17, Greek, Daughter of Aphrodite, Female, Incarcerated for: Murder.
Dean Alex Johnson, 17, Greek, Son of Lycan, Male, Incarcerated for: Treason.
Ajax Uriel Walker, 21, Greek, Son of Thantos, Male, Incarcerated for: Treason and Murder.
SUPPORTING CASTS [FOR CAMPS]:
Kira Lu, 15, Greek, Daughter of Ares (Adopted by Artemis), Female.
Kathryn Huang, 16, Greek, Daughter of Hecate, Female.
Samantha Tamaguchi, 17, Greek, Daughter of Ares, Female.
Abigale Rebecca Saunders, 16, Greek, Daughter of Khione, Female.
Daewon Kim, 20, Roman, Son of Mars, Male.
Larissa Samnang Ros, 19, Roman, Daughter of Vulcan, Female.
Thanks for all the submissions and please review! Reviews motivate me to write more. :)