PROLOGUE
Brave New World
Wake up.
Poseidon? Father, is that you?
Wake up, Perseus.
Father, where are you!?
WAKE UP!
Percy’s eyes snapped open, his instincts rippling into battle-mode. Never more than half-asleep anymore, his fingers gripped the hilt of Riptide instinctively; the uncapped pen already a lethal blade in his hand. The room he was in was less than luxurious, his bed barely passable, with moth-eaten curtains and dilapidated interiors. Once, it could have been quite the palace - the room was massive, despite its state of complete disrepair, but that was just the way things were now.
"Annabeth!" he called, pulling on a battered golden breastplate over his faded black combat jacket, stamped with a Trident.
"I’m here," replied his girlfriend a moment later, rushing into his room from an adjoining bathroom, her blonde hair tied back and a suit of armour strapped on over some faded battle fatigues. "Call came in two minutes ago, but apparently you didn’t need to hear it. They’re on the assault again, and we’ve lost half of the eastern line."
"Already?" Percy’s voice filled with frustration, his fingers curling into fists around riptide. Both of them slept in combat gear now, and were already dressed for war, their pants heavy with combat implements, semi-polished black combat boots and practical fingerless gloves completing their look. Bracers and shin-guards of gold and bronze supplemented their haphazard attire, but it was the swords in their hands that truly separated them from regular mortal soldiers.
"The Sixth Legion is holding strong at the second fall back point, but even with Frank there…" Annabeth shook her head, her frown twisting the arcing scar that had been permanently torn from the corner of her left eye to the middle of her chin. "It’s bad this time, Percy. Really bad."
"Did Nico return with the reinforcements from Cleveland?"
"If you could even call them that. Most of them are barely older than fifteen, and pretty much none of them can do much more than flail a sword or spear." Annabeth replied bitterly, "most of our veterans are still engaged at our northern flank; the fighting there has gotten worse."
"Damn it," Percy cursed quietly, "why now? I thought we’d have more time."
"It isn’t your fault," Annabeth said in an attempt at consolation.
"No," he replied grimly, "but there’s no one else to take the blame."
Gesturing commandingly, he led the way out of their room, staggering as the building - well, fortress - shook with impact force. “They’ve been shelling the city,” Annabeth supplied wearily, “it’s been almost impossible to do more than harry their emplacements.”
"What about the Pegasi Corps?"
"We lost eight more riders to Gryphon attacks."
Percy’s lips thinned into a silent, angry line and he shook his head. “Let’s go, we need a view of what’s happening.”
Nodding in agreement, Annabeth followed him as he set off at a brisk walk down the broad hallway they’d emerged into, hooking a left halfway and jogging quickly up several flights of stairs. At the apex, they reached a large pair of heavy duty steel doors, sitting open in welcome. A fully armoured guard stood sentinel at each door, Imperial Gold and Celestial Bronze weaponry on their persons. The pair saluted, fist-to-heart, and bowed their heads as Percy and Annabeth walked in.
The room beyond, once a meeting area, had been haphazardly converted into a command position - LCD screens and Ethernet cables ranged the entirety of the area, with large radar displays and every kind of communications array - from two-way radios to holographic imaging - dominated large swathes of the room. Groups of boy, girls, men and women ranging from Fourteen to Twenty-Five rushed around delivering and receiving reports, and coordinating ground movement using both 3D maps on big projectors and paper ones on large tables.
"Lord Commander!" Percy turned as a harassed, exhausted looking blond boy jogged over, saluting hastily and bowing to Annabeth, before looking back to Percy. "Latest reports from the Third Legion, sir, regarding the assault at San Francisco." The boy, who couldn’t have been more than sixteen, held out a sheaf of papers. Percy accepted them with a nod and the boy saluted, hurrying off to join a larger group pouring over headsets, computers and a fair number of printers.
After a few moments of reading, Percy silently handed the papers to Annabeth and walked to one of the large reinforced windows dominating the command centre, Riptide trembling in his grip. “Two cohorts lost, and it was another false lead. Two cohorts Annabeth.” Having joined him at the window, his girlfriend said nothing, silently folding the papers and placing them on a nearby table. She swapped her sword to her left hand and slid her right into Percy’s left, squeezing his fingers.
In front of them, the city of Manhattan stretched like a once-proud mausoleum, half its towering skyscrapers reduced to smouldering, smoking rubble - jagged tops of once-glorious buildings reduced to vicious teeth. Even now, artillery erupted against the magical barriers inside the city; shaking buildings and rupturing some of the more poorly defended sectors. The skyline of the city had been destroyed, its nerve centre stripped. From their position in the Empire State Building, Annabeth and Percy had a clear view of the entire city and the areas beyond. “They’re becoming more determined,” Percy said quietly, “and soon we won’t have the forces to keep them at bay.”
"There’s still hope, the Master Bolt…"
"The Master Bolt vanished after the gods subdued Gaea, Annabeth. It’s lost. Fallen to deepest pits of Tartarus."
"We’ll find a way."
"I hope so," he said quietly, "because we can’t keep this up forever. We’re too thinly spread."
"If Jason can…"
"Caesar has more to worry about than just the war, Annabeth."
"It’s still so strange hearing him called that," Annabeth murmured quietly, leaning against Percy, "Imperator Jason Grace. Caesar." Her eyes shifted to the abandoned streets of the city below them, "it seems like another age when we were on the Argo II together.”
"It was another age; we were just desperate teenagers with a ship and naive hopes." Percy murmured.
"Now we’re adults with a fledgling Empire and naive hopes.”
Percy laughed without mirth, squeezing her hand. His eyes, hardened by years of war, raked the distant edges of their range. “It was bad enough when the mist failed, but who would’ve thought that this would happen so quickly.”
"The world needed hope, Percy. It needed leadership. Who else could give it but you and Jason?"
"I just wish we’d been able to stop all this without unleashing every nasty in Tartarus and the Underworld."
"I know. But you’re the Lord Protector of the Empire now, Nico is the Head of Intelligence and Jason’s ruling what’s left of the Human race. We aren’t down and out yet, Percy. Not by a long shot."
Percy turned to her, managing a faint smile, his lips finding her forehead. “At least we still have each other. Look at how far we’ve come.”
"You command the Legions of Rome, Perseus Jackson. Every loyal human being, demi-god and servant of the Olympians rally to your command. If any two people can get us through this hell, it’s you and Jason."
Percy turned back to the window, his sea-green eyes lifting to the churning, eternal storm that presided over Manhattan. In the distance, lightning broiled within its depths, awaiting the chance to strike. Percy’s grim expression never faded, “Let’s hope you’re right.”
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