ACHILLES + PATROCLUS [p. jackson]

1.1: MY MOTHER IS THE WORST WINGMAN

LADIES, THEYDIES, GENTLETHEMS, AND GENTLEMEN!

THE MOMENT YOU'VE BEEN WAITING FOR!

THE PRIDE OF CAMP HALF-BLOOD!

PERSEUS JACKSON!

Aggriseus gets to meet!

It took way too long for me to come up with this title despite knowing exactly how this chapter was going since the moment I started this story.

FROM THE MOMENT RIP WOKE UP THAT MORNING, HE KNEW SOMETHING BIG WAS COMING. The dreams of drowning haunted him every night, and every night, he felt as if he might never get to the surface. Yet every night, he was still pulled from the depths by the faceless love of his life.

But that night, the dream was far longer. His faceless savior swam them to the shore (farther away than he remembered it last), and pulled him to safety.

Finally, Rip got to take in the look of this stranger. He was strikingly similar to the way Lady Venus had presented herself to him those many months ago, the same wavy, ebony-colored hair, the same features carved from marble, and those eyes, oh how could he ever forget those eyes?

The boy staring down at him was handsome, in every sense of the word. Rip was certain there was no one who could match that in the world, and that, no matter if this was just some stupid dream, that this boy was the one thing that was truly real.

"Rip!" A voice cut through his thoughts, and he turned his attention towards his partner, who was glaring at him with little malice. "If you are not going to pay attention while we are planning, would you care to explain why you are so distracted?"

Rip glanced around the crowded war room. Octavian was pompously leaning on the table, eyes narrowed in his direction. Of course, he wasn't all too happy with Rip's promotion, but as Reyna put so eloquently, "your work as Augur is far more important. You are the only one capable of reading the signs of the gods."

The new centurion of the first cohort, Michael Kahale, was looking cautiously at his fellow leader, seemingly afraid to speak out of turn, which was not a good sign. Octavian needed someone who would challenge his recklessness, not one who would lick his boots.

The other centurions, Larry and Ida, were watching from one corner of the room, wary of interfering with the higher-ups' planning. Though the second cohort was well-liked, the first cohort was the pride of the legion, and were always looked to lead the war games and other training exercises.

"I'm sorry," Rip sighs, laying his hands on the table in front of him. The defense plans were, as expected, immaculate, with the groundwork of the base being set as they spoke. The others were far too smug about their immanent victory that night, but ever since Jason disappeared, things had been going down hill for the fifth cohort. "I've just been having horrible sleeps as of late."

A scoff echoes from Octavian, yet he keeps his thoughts to himself as he glares down at the table. Most of those plans were not his ideas, as his were far too risky and could get fellow legionares killed. Though all was fair in war, the others weren't all too ready to lose anyone else.

Reyna, on the other hand, nodded softly, concern briefly flashing through her eyes before her gaze hardened once more. "Do you think these plans are up to your taste?"