DOUBLE UPDATE, HEY! DIDN'T EXPECT THAT? YEPPPP anyway, updated cast list down below after the story!

0.7

No one will look at her in the eye.

They avoid her eye contact as if she's capable of transferring guilt and sins and a million of things through her pupils. In places with a concentrated number of teenagers, Nadia finds that Camp Jupiter and their mob mentality of be-like-us-or-get-out is very much like the cutthroat world of high school where you can either join them and swear unwavering loyalty to them or stuck out like a sore thumb and be a loser for the next four years of your life.

"So this is where you will be sleeping."

Nadia lets a sigh pass out of her lips as Daewon gestures at the makeshift Murphy bed by the edge of the Fourth Cohort's barracks. "You understand?"

Daewon questions her as he directs his rich dark brown gaze onto Nadia's petite, slim figure. There is a slight shyness in his tone- a hesitance in his words when he spoke to her. Of course, Nadia thinks bitterly. After all, Daewon and her used to be pretty good friends since they were in the same cohort. Despite having different personalities, with Daewon preferring to blend with the backgrounds and Nadia wanting to win everything in sight, they got along well and they had to- because they went a mission together with another old friend of theirs, Leila. They were successful until Nadia, of course, betrayed him.

Which is just classic Nadia.

She remembers that mission clearly- they had to venture out to New York, seek out the Nemean Lion, slaughter it and bring back the spoils to Olympus. When she was picked out to be part of that mission, Nadia felt insulted. How dare they? Nadia remembers fuming about it- after six months of tolerating every stupid fool in her cohort and moulding herself to be the poster picture for Roman Demigods, Nadia thought they would've given her a quest that would catapult her to greatness and make everybody love her. It's all she ever wanted.

Nadia remembers fuming about it- after six months of tolerating every stupid fool in her cohort and moulding herself to be the poster picture for Roman Demigods, Nadia thought they would've given her a quest that would catapult her to greatness and make everybody love her. It's all she ever wanted.

She already had money with her father being the mogul of a successful investment company in the sunny hills of Los Angeles and the privilege of swiping his premium AmEx card whenever she was bored. Not to mention, her mother was the goddess of wealth so even if her father finally decides to cut her off from spending too much money on luxury handbags, she wouldn't really be deprived in that department. So what else she wanted?

Power and glory, of course. And back when she was the Queen of the Hollywood scene, she had legions at her command. Queen Bee in her very own right, Nadia ruled her court with an iron fist. Gossip magazines worshipped her and members of Beverly Hills's elite wanted to be her friend. But Nadia didn't like friends- or even allow herself to invest emotionally into relationships because emotions were just a gateway to weakness.

Until that boy came along and stripped away every inch of self-respect and dignity she had for herself. Nadia tastes bitterness and Milano cookies in her mouth at the thought of him [the same sort of Milano cookies she had stuffed herself with when she wallowed in self-pity in her Cosabella PJ set after he had abandoned her without any calls or texts to explain]. Her fists clenched at the fact that she had allowed herself to be treated that way, to be discarded and abused in such a manner. Her, Nadia Williams, who was used in being blinded by the paparazzi's cameras' flashing lights, had given her heart out to someone who she thought would care for and love her. And when she was willing to give up her lifestyle of luxury and privilege for him (a true Shakespearean sacrifice- so terribly Flaubert of her), how she personally stole money from her father and set up an offshore account with enough to sustain a life for both of them, he had abandoned her on the plane.

She couldn't face her father after that. She couldn't face the embarrassing tabloid theories and the nosy articles making claims about her disappearance. She couldn't face the fact that she had fallen for somebody on the lower rungs of society and he had the nerve to abandon her. Elaborate stories of how Nadia Williams must've escaped to some exotic location, fabulously dressed in expensive bikinis while sipping Mai Tais and admiring the crystal waters of an exclusive private beach or how her father was tired of her shit [which is not really that far from the truth] and had shipped her off to a strict boarding school in the Swiss Alps circled around the social scene when Nadia stopped showing up in their events.

Nonetheless, when the opportunity of Camp Jupiter and discovering herself as a demigod fell into the lap one fine morning and she saw ways of re-inventing herself and fashioning herself as some sort of Queen Bee of Camp Jupiter. She was so excited to start new and claim her stake in the demigod world...only to find that bribing everybody with a goodie bag of Gucci's best collections was not how Camp Jupiter operated. Instead, in order to gain favour with everybody, it was done through accomplishments and victory. Which was fine.

Nadia was willing to adapt and she did. Nadia knew she was destined for greatness and yet they gave her the most basic demigod mission of all time. Nemean Lion was such a classic demigod mission that it might've been a demigod equivalent of passing your driving test.

The point being was that when the Titans offered a position of wealth and greatness within their commands, who was she to turn them down? All she had to do was betray her fellow demigods. Easier done than said. Nadia is one of those types of friends who is willing to swear love and forever until the situation arises where she'll easily trade them for a single french fry.

In total honesty, Nadia knows she's selfish- and honestly, who isn't? But Nadia's selfishness and ambition are what led her to her demise as her association with the Titans resulted into being shoved into handcuffs and ugly polyester outfits- so not glamorous. Not as glamorous as Ibiza and Spanish boys or Shanghai and it's shopping districts. Almost three years in Katadiki can do a number on anyone but Nadia ensures her sanity and her appearance is kept up to date. She speaks herself and writes on the walls, forcing herself to do essays and requesting for intellectual books to make sure her brain is being exercised. And while her nails aren't the perfect fifty dollar manicure she used to have and her hair does not have the shiny, glossy sheen it once possesses, she works out regularly to make sure her physicality and her body haven't been reduced to shambles.

There are moments where Nadia wonders if there's even a point, a point in routines and maintaining her body when she's probably going to be stuck in Katadiki forever. And Nadia almost slaps herself. Of course, it is! Sure, she despises and abhors at the ugly uniforms they made her wear and the lack of nutrients given in the food they asked her to eat but she's definitely not going to die fat. There is no humility in doing so.

Nadia catches her reflection in the small mirror near her bed. She observes herself and smiles at the same amount of determination and fire that is still burning in her downturned green eyes three years ago. Even ten years ago, when she was that nine-year-old girl who cleverly listed how she wanted to be a dictator of a poor country somewhere as one of her top career choices. It is amazing how ambitious and power-driven she is because when Nadia Williams wanted something, there is no stopping her. It didn't matter how long it took, how impossible it was and what was in her way. She is Nadia Williams and she'll survive, one way or another.

So she keeps her expression passive, sweet and mild-mannered, carved from marble and rock. She knows what people will see when they look at her- eyes that smoulder a deep jade green, hair that falls so straight and so brown until it hits the sun and then it becomes a burnt auburn colour and pale, smooth alabaster skin. She's reasonably pretty and she knows it. Of course, being adorned in designer head to toe would help her cause a little better but still, it's her best. "I understand," she repeats to Daewon, with a mild-mannered smile. Maybe it should be awkward between her and Daewon, given their history but she refuses to let it get to her. Instead, like any classy bitch would, she ignores everything and plaster on a fabulous smile as if nothing has happened. Eat it, loser.

"Good," Daewon says- and though his coldness or lack of emotion can be interpreted as unfriendly, Nadia knows he's just extremely shy. Cute. Not worth your time, Nads, she tells herself. You're much better off spreading your legs for somebody with a private jet. Give yourself some credit. Besides, she's pretty sure Daewon is gay. Or something like that. She isn't entirely sure. "I don't think there's much to instruct on where you can go."

Nadia refrains from rolling her eyes and instead, idly inspects her nails. They're not in the best shape. Ugh, I need a manicure. Nadia pouts. She wonders if New Rome still had that cute little artisan manicure shop. Maybe she can spoil herself a little. With what money though? Nadia feels herself deflate. The fragnos copper shackle around her ankle is a tracking bracelet and also acts as a metal to prevent her magical abilities from coming in. Ew, so tacky.

"Anyway," Daewon awkwardly inspects the ground and clears his throat, "We should- uh- go back to the Senate. The assembly should start soon."

Nadia's eyebrows stitch together. Her interest piques at his words. "Assembly?"

"Yeah, Nico Di Angelo said the Greeks are coming. I guess they're also experiencing some turbulence."

Turbulence? Nadia wonders deliciously, licking her lips with a smirk quirking at the corners of her delicate cupid-bow lips. Ooh, maybe Camp Jupiter will be fun after all.

FIVE MONTHS AGO

Winslow 'Winnie' March is walking into the crowded living room of the frat house, a cup of beer in hand with a crampy feeling in her stomach. It's a good feeling, though: the feeling of knowing anything can happen. Most of the time nothing does, of course. But at the beginning of the night, anything's possible.

She hears the tinkle of breaking glass and someone yells, "Fire in the hole!" Then a boy in her Creative Writing elective and a member of the Alpha Phi Alpha frat house, Dujeous, roars from the speakers: "All MCs in the house tonight, if your lyrics sound tight then rock the mic!" A TV showing Times Square is put on mute and something by Kanye is blasting over the speakers some of the boys had hooked up earlier in the day. By the edge of the living room, there is a dim hallway with multicoloured Christmas lights hung all over the area. There are a series of rooms, each leading off the next, and all seem to be filled with draped fabrics and big pillows and couches and all are packed with people. Everything is soft—the colours, the surfaces, the way people look—except the music, which pumps through the walls, making the floor vibrate. People are smoking inside too, so everything's happening behind a thick blue veil that glosses over Winnie's obsidian dark skin and her thick afro spiral curls of hair.

"Winnie! Oh my god, you came!" Her girlfriend and roommate, Michaela, shrieks as she envelops her. The sheer volume of her voice echo past the murmur of voices but Winnie grins slightly as she welcomes the hug and the kiss Michaela plants softly on her lips. Michaela's mouth is soft and wet and she tastes like whisky and apple-flavoured vape.

"Of course, it's New Years," Winnie takes a sip of her beer and takes in her month-and-two-weeks girlfriend, Michaela Lang. Winnie could never ever imagine landing a girl like Michaela, who is loud and boisterous, outgoing and fun with a penchant for parties and debating fundamental human rights for women while Winnie is quieter and reserved; a coolly amused hipster who mocks people like Michaela on Tumblr. But that was high-school Winnie. She is now College Winnie. College Winnie is a cool, plenty of fun girl who is over eighteen. College Winnie drinks beer on a regular basis and dates girls like Michaela Lang. College Winnie attends frat parties and still manage to maintain her stellar 4.6 GPA.

"What are you drinking?" Michaela glances into her cup. "Oh bitch, no! Beer? Honey, you need vodka!"

Winnie laughs and sloshes the beer around in her cup, "Nah, babe, it's fine. I don't really need-"

"None of that," Michaela says disapprovingly and drags her over to the kitchen. The kitchen is even more packed than the living room- full of barely legal college students laughing, mingling and yelling over the obscene rap music. Michaela mumbles to the song loudly, swaying and nodding her head while Winnie tries to play off like she knows the lyrics, smiling and bumping to the beat awkwardly as she narrowly avoids a couple making out on the bar counter.

"Oi, Will," Michaela laughs, calling out a boy wearing a tie and a collared shirt about three sizes too big for him, which is half tucked into a pair of nice trousers. Definitely more sophisticated than half the frat boys around her. "This is my baby, Winnie. Give her something a little stronger to drink, will you?"

Will turn around her and Winnie stifle the urge to gasp- because it's the boy from her nightmares. He has an elegant bone structure with curly brown eyes and those hypnotising green eyes, the type of green eyes that had knowledge and an austerity way beyond his years. "So you're Michaela's new girlfriend?" he questions her, smiling quite innocently while Winnie proceeds to stare at him like an alien.

Recently she's been having this recurring nightmare where she's standing in the middle of an enormous crowd, being pushed from left to right. The faces look unfamiliar and there's something horribly wrong with all of them: someone will walk by and it's Michaela but then her mouth and face will become droopy like it's melting off and transform into a girl with cruel brown eyes and a wicked smile. She doesn't know the girl's name- that girl who Michaela transform into- but Winnie had seen a glint of a necklace on the girl's throat. The necklace says Lyra.

Obviously standing in the Alpha Phi Alpha's frat house isn't the same thing, since a nightmare is just a nightmare and this is real life. But still, it's enough to make her freak out a little.

"Um, hi," she says awkwardly, holding her hand out, "Yeah, I'm uh-" Stop being so fucking awkward, oh my God "-Michaela's girlfriend."

"Cool. So what drinks you into?"

"Vodka," Michaela grins viciously. She snakes an arm around Winnie's curvy waist, feeling warm and sweet around Winnie's body. "My sweet baby."

Winnie turns around and rolls her eyes, "You are so drunk." It comes out more accusatory than she meant it to.

"Sober enough," she whispers, pulling Winnie close into an embrace and then kissing her. Michaela's breath is cigarettes and whisky when their lips collide. Winnie likes Michaela's mouth- she likes plenty of things about Michaela but her mouth makes it to the top ten.

Michaela expertly traces around Winnie's waist and Winnie sighs in her kisses at Michaela's touch, closing her eyes to indulge in the way Michaela fiddles with Winnie's jacket, then unzips it and plays with the trim of Winnie's wool top before slipping underneath.

Winnie pulls away, blushing red and deep. "Not right here, in the middle of everyone."

Michaela pouts, making her red lips even more kissable. "Nobody's watching, babe," she teases and clamps down on Winnie again, pulling her into another kiss as Will fills her cup with vodka. Winnie braces herself as Michaela explores with the trim of her bra and forces herself to enjoy it because she's College Winnie now. College Winnie enjoys things like sexual foreplay and dangerous girls. Besides, she might as well lose the big V to Michaela, her first girlfriend...ever.

Winnie knows the tales of how she's supposed to wait to have sex with someone she loves and all that, and she does love Michaela- as much as you can love someone you've known for two months and started dating for a month—but that's not why she decided to have sex with her tonight.

She decided to have sex because she was so uncool in high school, making through those terrible four years without anyone even fiddling with her bra. She wants to get it over with, and also because sex has always scared her and she doesn't want to be scared of it anymore.

Michaela withdraws from their kisses to take a long gulp of her red cup. Winnie glances at her mixture of vodka and coke and shrugs before tossing it back, liking how the sweetness mask the villainy of the alcohol. "Hey, wanna go dance?"

Winnie stares at the dance floor full of grinding college students like it's a massive snake. "Um, I'm not really the dancing type."

"Of course you aren't," Michaela laughs and pecks Winnie on the lips before leaving, "Stay here with Will, okay? I'll be back in a sec."

Michaela disappears into the thick crowds, leaving Winnie at the mercy of starting conversations. A few moments of pulsing noise bombards through the punctuative silence before Winnie tries her best and does it with the common question every college freshmen asks: "So...um, what's your major?"

"Occultism," Will replies pleasantly. He has a strange hybrid accent- it's American but not really. "You?"

"Oh, it's journalism," Winnie tells him and then attempts to make a joke: "Or like my mother said: unemployment."

Will chuckle slightly and Winnie feels a little better about herself. "So...how did you know Michaela?"

Winnie frown, trying to place a timeframe in her memories when she met Michaela. She just knew that Michaela has been her girlfriend for a month or so. Weird. She's certainly sure she met Michaela when she started her semester at Boston University, which was around three months ago. Why couldn't she remember? "I think we met a book club?"

"Oh, that's cute," Will remark kindly. "I met Michaela when we met abroad. London."

"Oh really?" Winnie says, taking another long gulp of her drink. "She never told me she went to London." Did that conversation ever come up?

Will shrugs, "Ly- I mean, Michaela is...different."

Winnie nods and finishes the remaining dregs of her vodka laden mixture. The vodka fills her head with warmth. More people are arriving all the time and the room seems to be revolving just a little bit, spinning and whirling around her. Winnie rubs her head, feeling a pounding headache coming. It must be the alcohol.

"Are you okay?" Will asks her, noticing her expression.

"Oh yeah, just a headache. I think I'm going to go to the bathroom for a while."

She waves goodbye to Will as she makes her way towards the dim hallway. There are so many tiny hallways and rooms, it's like a maze. All of them are filled with people and smoke. Only one door is closed. It has a big KEEP OUT sign plastered on it over a bunch of weird bumper stickers that say things like VISUALIZE WHIRLED PEAS and KISS ME. I'M IRISH.

Winnie's headache becomes even worse as she inches her way to a bathroom, which happens to be empty- Thank God because she's not in the mood to be suddenly scarred by the sight of two college students jumping each other- and immediately hurls herself to the sink. Her heart is ramming itself against her sternum and her vision is fuzzy with black spots appearing in front of her. The clarity of everything is bleaching out like pen ink-stained with water, flickering on and off, and the colours of her consciousness are dimming as if somebody is draining the energy source out of her. Voices from the door behind her sounded- Will and Michaela.

"Where is she?"

"Inside the bathroom-"

"Are you sure?"

"Positive, Lyra."

And then she promptly collapses.

Christopher's first impression of his dream: dark.

Misty tendrils of smoke curl around as his Dream-self step into the area of a cavernous, dark cave. Fog billow and gather together in heavy poofs of groups, obscuring his eyes. Of course, because of the lack of light, he couldn't see much anyway.

Dark shadows lurk and loom around the peripheral surroundings; out of the corner of his eye, a rat scurries away from him. The wickedly sharp stalactite daggers are pointing down, a few metres shy from impaling the ground. Indistinct voices whispers in his ears, the hair at the back of his neck rising as ice needles prickling down his spine but he tries to keep the fear out of his mind. Christopher swallows thickly, clenching and unclenching his fists to prepare himself into a fighting stance even though he knows there's no point. His fighting skills are mediocre at best and subpar at worse and he doesn't have any powers except brilliant pranking abilities. Wherever he may be, Chris's chances of surviving are almost as little as none.

Is it even possible to receive an anxiety attack from a dream?

Chris breathes out and tries to maintain a rational mind. After two years of Camp Half-Blood training, he should know how to handle himself in situations like this. But this is different- he's alone. There's no Sherman Yang screaming at him to leap over the flaming obstacles or sons of Apollo to be on standby just in case any injuries happen. It is just him in his dream form, shimmering like a ghost with dark shifting robes clothing his spindly body. He tugs at the torn hem uncomfortably. If Connor had been here, he'll never let him live down the fact that Chris is technically in a dress.

At the edge of the cave, he could see purple light streaming from the inner corner where a man is bitterly muttering to himself.

His face is bathed with sinister rays as he sweeps his wrinkled fingers over a large shiny rock the size of his fist positioned in the centre of a rock stalagmite with a flat top surface.

That is one big diamond, Chris thinks. His stomach feels as though he's on a rollercoaster, like once how he and his family decided to go to Disneyland. They had gone to the theme parks and all his brother- Seth- wanted to do was to ride the Incredible Hulk, a roller coaster with so many loops Chris lost count, and he could taste the vomit just by looking at it. He wasn't too keen to go at first but Seth had rolled his eyes and called him a sissy. Angrily opposing his comments, he eventually (and stupidly) agreed.

In this moment, he painfully remembers the plunging, sickening sensation of his stomach disappearing when he hung upside down because he has a faint idea he didn't really to know what might happen to him if the man found out he's there.

"Chris," the man says suddenly, amused to an extent, as the crystal reflect pictures Chris could not decipher but he did not linger on them as the man spoke again, his words are a mix of despondency and light delight: "My dear son. I've summoned you."

Chris looks around, confused at first when he suddenly realised the man is talking to him. The man in front of him is Hermes, which Chris is slightly confused about because Hermes looks and dresses like a white dad steering his kids into Walmart with a slight mid-life crisis pot-belly, salt and pepper hair and a boxy, limp shirt tucked into some khakis that are seriously questionable on their own. Definitely not the God-like person he's expecting.

"Hermes?" Chris's eyebrows stitch together. This is terribly anticlimactic.

"Yes, Chris. It is I, Hermes. And you are Chris Johnson, or Christopher Johnson, the saner disappointment of my children."

Wow, jeez. Thanks, Dad. "Um…"

"You see, Chris, I have such disappointing children," sighs Hermes unhappily. "Poseidon has that wonder-boy Jackson kid of his, Aphrodite has her charmspeakers, Hephaestus's kids can be literally set on fire and what do I have? A bunch of little ragtag bunch whose skill set include juvie and whip cream. The only glimmering child of mine that seemed to be alright was Luke Castellan and we all know how that turned out. But you, you Chris might be different. And now that a new prophecy has finally arrived, this might be your chance to restore glory to my name!"

Chris winces. "That's great and all but um, I'm just a normal guy. No glory, no anything. Heck, I don't even think the prophecy is going to be about me. Probably a new brand of cool heroes we can all worship on a pedestal. But for me? I'm just an ordinary Hermes demigod here."

"But that's what makes you special, my dear Chris. All these demigods with their powers and their fancy abilities blessed by Gods? They're just fancy! You're simple. And you can beat them by pure intellect, wit and trickery. How do you think I manage to placate Apollo after stealing his cattle? In all truth, I should've been blasted to Tartarus if Apollo had a say about it. Anyway, the point is that- the extraordinary thing about you is that you're ordinary."

Chris continues to stare at his father. "I don't think that's how it works."

Hermes chuckles and smiles at his own son's cluelessness. "You don't understand what I'm hinting at, don't you? That prophecy is the new Great Prophecy. And you're in it."

"...and how do you know this?"

Hermes jabs at the crystal ball and taps it with his caduceus, where twin snakes are hissing and coiling together in the middle. "Call it Hecate's intuition."

"Isn't Apollo the one with the future seeing gig?"

"Yes but Apollo isn't the only one with foresight," Hermes lectures. "Hecate is also skilled in divination, let's not forget. You know for a minor goddess, Hecate has plenty of Godly mojo."

"Cool," remarks Chris.

"Isn't it?" Hermes says cheerfully, not reading into the sarcasm- which is rather surprising because his children are some of the world's best tradesmen in sarcasm. "Anyway, I just summoned you here because the Oracle just sprouted some fresh new prophecy and warn you about how you're in it and tell you how if you disappoint me, you'll be a new addition to George and Martha."

"What?"

"See you!"

As he opens his mouth to respond, he's being pulled away from the cavern.

The first thing he sees when his eyes snap open is the face of Abigale Saunders and Juliana Greer.

"Is he okay?" Juliana's voice is tinny in Chris's pounding head.

"What- what happen?"

Abigale's cold eyes examine him. "You passed out in front of my feet. Like right after the Oracle delivered the prophecy."

It takes his eyes a while to adjust to the bright lights and when he could finally see properly, he notices how everybody is surrounding him. "Um….?"

"You should go to the Apollo cabin," Juliana advises warmly, "Let's get you fixed up before we figure out what just happened."

And that's how Chris finds himself on a lumpy bed with sterile white sheets and a rag-thin blue cotton blanket that didn't provide any genuine warmth- a 'shock' blanket as the Apollo campers call it. They feed him a square of ambrosia to cure his headache but decide that's all he needs as he has no other external injuries.

As the other campers clear out of the medical room, Chiron bends down to avoid the low door to trot in.

"Um...Carter, is it?"

Wow, even Chiron doesn't know my name. "No, it's Chris."

"Ah, Chris! Of course. Are you okay?"

No, Chris thinks immediately as he sits up straight and turns his head stiffly to take a look at Chiron.

"I- I think I'm fine." His voice sounds odd to his ears and his mind is still spinning. His memories are half-finished puzzles- he remembers the Oracle's eyes glowing green, looking right at him as it speaks out the prophecy and then his mind went blank as if parts of it are still scattered across the street of 'What just happen?'

Chiron's expression is neutral but his eyes say otherwise- there are concern and worry buried deep in them. Chris wonders how many Great Prophecies and near-Apocalypses the poor centaur have endured. "You collapse right after the Oracle delivered her prophecy. That can't be a coincidence."

"Yeah, it wasn't. I ended up in this random cave talking to my dad."

Chiron frowns. "Your dad?"

"Hermes."

"An Olympian visited you when you blacked out?"

"It seems that way."

"I see."

"He- uh-" Chris swallows, "He thinks I'm part of this prophecy, which is, like, weird right? Because I'm a total random son of Hermes with no special talent whatsoever. Why should I be part of this prophecy?"

Chiron smiles dryly. "Chris, you're a demigod. Just because you don't have a power doesn't mean you're not special. Look at Annabeth Chase? She's just a daughter of Athena. No water-controlling abilities, no flying powers, no charm speak and yet one of the most formidable demigod to be ever known."

"Yeah but she's also a great fighter. Me? I'm just a loser who hopes to make it out alive."

"Well, not according to Hermes," Chiron comments pleasantly, like a guidance counsellor trying to give a pep talk. "And I think maybe you are part of this prophecy. You should never deny sage advice from an Olympian."

"Okay, so maybe I am part of this prophecy? Prophecies can have, like, a century-long deadline. The Percy Jackson one took around sixty years to happen."

"Yes but the seven half-bloods prophecy took around eight months," Chiron reminds him. "And with the latest disturbances...I think the prophecy is about to take shape."

Chris raises his eyebrows. "Um, latest disturbances?"

"Yes...well-" Chiron hesitates, looking at Chris briefly.

"You can trust me."

"Of course, well, lately there's been a few minor ruckuses here and there. Just like I mentioned, there's been a break-in at Katadiki Prison. And in the last few months, disturbing videos like these have appeared on the Internet…"

A rose gold iPhone materialises from Chiron's pockets and Chiron pulls out a YouTube browser to show a viral video of a masked figure beheading a church group of missionaries. Chris watches with sickening fascination, his stomach churning once again like it was in his dream. After the masked figure had laughed at his first victim's head lolling off the bloody strands of the neck's muscle tissue holding it together, Chiron finally put it away.

"But how are they related?"

Chiron appears troubled. "Well, apparently, that masked figure is a demigod of some kind. His identity remains somewhat a mystery but just an hour ago, I've received a notification from the son of Hades, Nico Di Angelo, that I'm needed at Camp Jupiter for an emergency conference. He has asked the Praetors- Reyna and Frank- to temporarily extend their hospitality to some of the remaining prisoners who did not escape the clutches of the guards. It seems that Nico Di Angelo has found out the identity of this masked figure from his father and the Olympians. Along with this recent prison breakout, they've now decided to release this information out to the public."

"Okay…" Chris's brain is starting to ache from all this overwhelming information, "I see. So random demigod hacking up mortals for viral videos, a demigod prison breakout and now a prophecy and somehow, according to Hermes, I have something to do with it?"

"It seems so."

"Okay then. Where do we go from here?"

"Isn't it obvious? You're coming with me and Juliana Greer, who have kindly volunteered, to Camp Jupiter. Now go and pack light."

UPDATED CAST LIST! OFFICIALLY CLOSED 3

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]:

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.

POSSIBLE ENEMIES:

Inner Circle:

Finnic Theodore Macduff, 19, Greek, Son of Poseidon, Male

Erika Freeman, 17, Greek, Daughter of Tychon, Female.

Jack Landon, 18, Greek, Son of Eris, Male.

Mckenzie Cordell, 19, Roman, Daughter of Mars, Female.

Casvel Samuel Springfield, 27, Greek, Son of Hypnos, Male.

Jason Drake, 18, Greek, Son of Nemesis, Male.

Coven of Hecate:

Will Adler, 19, Greek, Son of Hecate, Male.

Lyra Burke, 17, Greek, Daughter of Hecate, Female.

Asta Vik, 18, Roman, Daughter of Somnus, Female.

Winslow 'Winnie' March, 18, Roman, Legacy of Trivia, Female.

ANYWAY PLEASE REVIEW! TELL ME WHAT YOU THINK 3