I missed the days when everyone at camp just, got along, sure there were little rivalries but life was easier and the feeling everywhere was mutual and simple. I missed getting up in the morning and going to lesson were I knew most people, I would say hi and hang out with my best friend and have a laugh. Were I would fight in the arena and train the new starters up and feel pride. Now everything was suddenly turned upside down and suddenly I wasn’t happy with what I saw.
I mean putting the girl whose mother caused the Trojan War in with a group trying to obtain the Sword of Olympus, and all the little prejudices and fractures that were arising already, it was almost too much.
I felt first for my wooden ruler in my back pocket, the celestial bronze short sword sheathed on my waist as well as my armour hidden under my clothes. I was ready for a fight. Suddenly I had an urge to go somewhere.
They were all chatting and gossiping.
“Just a sec,” I called but nobody listened.
Moving down the road, around a bend I found someone stood there, a man with sandy blonde hair leaning against a Ferrari.
“Oh my Gods,” I gasped as Apollo stepped towards me.
“I have something for you Cyrus,” he smiled and routed for something in the back of the car. He picked something out and held it out to me. It was a wreath of burning laurels, “this belonged to your father, so I give it now to you,” I took it and placed it on my head. As I did the mist turned it into an orange sun visor, as orange as my Camp Half-Blood t-shirt.
“My dad?” I said suddenly, “please Apollo sir, what do you know about him?”
He looked at me and sighed, “I know nothing,” I knew he was lying, there was something about the heaviness around his shoulders, “please, give my best to my daughter,” he smiled beamingly, ruffled my hair.
I shut my eyes but still saw the radiant light through my lids.
He was gone and I returned, just as an orange bus pulled up. They hadn’t even realised I’d gone.