Return Of The Godslayer

Chapter six

Present year 3041AD
Sector 12-Camp Half-blood
Chiron Academy

"She's remarkable, isn't she, priestess?"

The woman fixed her steel-grey eyes at the young demigod, assessing her strengths and weaknesses. Their window on the third floor provided an excellent view of the academy's training grounds, which included the shooting range where said demigod was training.

Perhaps not remarkable, but she was good enough. "She will suffice," Yanique answered. "Besides, it's not like I can go resurrect the other candidate."

Killian shook his head. "She's good enough for the goddess. She's good enough for me. Besides, how many children do you know can survive the Forsaken?"

Yanique remembered the day Camp Half-blood received sector four's distress signal. The army they sent out to aid the Romans came back reporting only to have found ruins where the Imperial City once stood.

Sector four had fallen to the Forsaken. Every Roman within it's walls had perished. Mortals, monsters and Half-bloods alike. All but a single child-their hero candidate. This very child who now train before her, oblivious to her destiny, oblivious to the blessings of the goddess that protected her that day.

"Let's pray she can do it again," the Oracle finally answered simply. "All depends on the Heroes now."

"Oh, cheer up, priestess!" The old man said, taking her into a half hug. He was smiling, he usually is. As if smiling meant everything would be alright, as if it could mask the broken man he was beneath it.

His face was scarred from battle and his hair grayed with age. His brown eyes were sad and deep and dark, like wet earth. Yet his smile was sincere, his embrace warm and comforting.

"They'll do it, Yanique. Perseus will live again. He'll save us all." He met her gray eyes, his now stern and determined, all remnants of joy faded.

She wanted nothing more than to believe him. He was the closest thing she had to a family and she owed her live to him.

"C'mon," Killian said. "Let's not keep Chiron waiting." The oracle nodded, taking one last look at the Hero of Rome before following Killian down the wide marble corridors towards the office of the immortal trainer of heroes.

Sector 7-Eden
Caleb

The sermon was long and boring. Dawn had barely lit the synthetic sky before we were called to attend church. All three of us forced to kneel before the alter where hung the gold and ivory rood of Christ-an eternal reminder of his selfless sacrifice, the priests say.

It made me sick just glancing at it. Like, literally sick. The cross gave me the worst headaches and made me dizzy and lightheaded.

It was easier for the others. Gwen was half angel-a Nephilim. She was born to serve God. She knelt in humble submission, her golden locks spilling about her bowed head as she recited her prayers. I could hardly remember mine.

Cara knelt to my left, her lips parted, muttering words only the Most High could hear. Her eyes were closed in deep concentration, but they were a beautiful hazel and unwavering when they looked at you. Her eyes could capture a soul, quite literally, but it was in her voice that her power lay. Power to command an army, to command the four winds and shake the earth. She was the youngest of us hero candidates. Only twelve years old, but I'd learned not to be fooled by her white robes and flowers and innocent laughter. She was the scariest apostle I've ever met.

I stared at the prayer rug I knelt on, it was the same shade as my eyes. I had my father's eyes, mom used to say. Dark red, almost black and full of rage even when I wasn't angry. I always wished I'd inherited her startling green, those kind eyes that had melted my father's reserve and thawed his cold, broken heart.