Catch Fire || P. Jackson

𝟎.𝟎

𝐈𝐅 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐑 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐑 a half-blood tell you that they like their life: they're lying.

Lea couldn't remember a life before monsters. Every memory was plagued with fear, the uncertainty of when they would next attack. It was hard enough raising a child alone: but the addition of being constantly hunted by monsters was paralysingly horrific. Brontë Turner had done everything to keep her little girl safe.

Lea's Mother always looked on the bright side of life. Always the optimist, she knew that the reward would be worth the torment. Perhaps that was what caught his eye. The dirty blonde, sun-tanned daydream that whisked Brontë off her feet and intoxicated her with life. A fever dream, a whirlwind love that captivated her memories for the rest of her life.

Apollo stayed long after Lea was born. With each cry, the young god would scoop her into his arms, singing a lullaby from a forgotten aeon. Thick black eyelashes batted up at her father, giggles bubbling up from her stomach. Each gentle kiss left a glowing impression on the baby's untouched skin. The first time Apollo pressed his lips to his newborn daughter, he kissed her temple leaving a permanent mark against her face.

Lea had no memories of her father. He was gone long before she could remember him, but she knew he was there. She knew he saw her every time the sun warmed her skin and every time a melody reached her ears. He saw her every time she looked in the mirror and a pale silver scar stared back at her. Cutting the tail of her eyebrow in two, the kiss of a god forever etched into her skin.

She couldn't find it in herself to hate her father for leaving. Her mother spoke so highly of him, how he cradled Lea's delicate newborn limbs like she had hung his sun in the sky. Every single year on the 27th of October, Lea would find a larkspur flower on her pillow. On her fourth birthday, she found a delicate golden necklace in the shape of a sun in place of her flower. Death was the only thing that could take that necklace from her.

Lea had always viewed life on the bright side. Her parents imprinted their light onto her mind and kept her heart content.

She wasn't at home that day. Her grandfather had taken her to a campout. The sun seemed to set too fast, too early. That should've set warning bells off in Lea's mind but she was too preoccupied with learning to melt a marshmallow just right.

Brontë had always sheltered her from the monsters. Every time they got a little too close, a little too real: they would move. They moved at least twenty times in Lea's living memory. For weeks afterwards, the young demigod would be plagued with nightmares. Brontë would stroke her blonde, wavy hair and sing her back to sleep.

No one could tell Lea why the monsters went after her mother. Monsters don't normally care about mortals. Maybe, they had planned their attack and when they realised their target was missing they moved on to the next best thing. No one could know for sure.

But Lea knew. Lea knew her mom was dead. Lea knew she was alone.

She probably should've screamed and fought when a dirty blonde, sun-kissed man appeared in her living room. She probably should've aimed low and kicked hard. Lea didn't care enough to fight.

Her grandfather was pottering about the apartment, tidying up what remained of her life with her mother. If someone wanted to break in, there was nothing left to take anymore.

Apollo was younger than she expected. That was the problem with shapeshifting, all-knowing beings, they were never what you expected. But his eyes crinkled in the corners just like hers did when she pursed her lips. That's how she knew. Her mom always told her she had gotten it from her father.

Being escorted to camp by a god was an honour, apparently. Not that Lea was asking.

It was the first time Apollo had brought a demigod to the sanctuary.

She had bypassed the training with the goddess Lupa. No one had done that before.

Lea didn't feel special. She felt numb.

Even when Apollo himself took her to choose her bunk in the eerily silent barracks with a large FIRST plastered on the door, Lea didn't feel anything.

Hours, days, weeks. They meant nothing to Lea. She fell into a routine. Wake up, breakfast, school in New Rome, lunch, archery, medics training, dinner, war games, sleep. Twice a week she met with the Praetors to complete her training.

Everything felt wrong to her. Sure, she had found company in her Cohort. She had even found herself smiling and conversing with other demigods. Yet, she didn't feel right.

The ever-regal, darling Praetor Jason Grace took a liking to Lea. Despite his busy schedule, wherever Lea was, Jason was always within arms reach. It was an odd relationship that the two demigods shared, each teenager saw the other as a lifeline to sanity.

Time and time again, Lea had been left in isolation: she never lived in one place long enough to grow friendly with other children, she never had a sibling as Brontë insisted that Apollo had blessed her with all she needed, she had never met her father before being dumped in Camp Jupiter and even then they exchanged few words, worst of all: she never would see her mother again. Jason was different. Jason made sure that every moment he was awake he was around Lea. When Praetor duty called, Lea could be found tucked away in the upstairs library of the Principia. Something about Lea reminded Jason of someone, who was the question he had yet to answer.

Where one Praetor stood, the other was sure to follow.

It took longer for Reyna to trust the strange, little blonde girl who had waltzed into the Principia holding hands with Phoebus Apollo. Of course, ten years ago was a long time before Reyna and Jason rose to their ranks yet the trio that began seven years prior continued to blossom when Jason became Centurion, Lea followed for the First Cohort soon after; when Reyna became Praetor, Jason followed behind. Eventually, the three demigods were practically inseparable and Lea's input as a Centurion Senator became more of a personal advisor to the Praetors.

Finally, Lea felt like she had somewhere, someone, to belong to.

Like everything in Lea's life, that came crashing down. Sleep, Eat, the next thing on Lea's list was school.

Every morning, Jason would be waiting outside her barracks with a new piece of poetry for her. It was obvious that the Praetor had no interest in dissecting poems, but each night he carefully selected one that he thought Lea would enjoy. The poetry was only shared between the two blondes. When they reached the Principia to collect Reyna, any mention of rhyme was forgotten until that evening when they once again delivered Reyna to their office before Jason and Lea continued to the First Cohort barracks. It wasn't a secret but the tradition had begun long before Reyna had considered Lea a friend and so it continued without her.

When Lea opened her door and the familiar scent of lemon soap didn't reach her senses, an undeniable rush of panic filled her. Jason had been awaiting her, rain or shine every morning for seven years. Now he was gone.

Reyna did her best to stay collected through the first weeks of Jason's disappearance, but it was hard for Lea to pretend she didn't see the resentment in her Praetor's eyes when she thought the blonde wasn't looking. Reyna blamed Lea. Lea had been the last person to see Jason the night prior.

Maybe it was her fault. The two demigods had snuck out of their barracks that night. They had detoured to Apollo's shrine at Temple Hill on the way: a single larkspur was placed atop his shrine in thanks for another year around the sun. Sat atop the rooftop of an unsuspecting restaurant, the sleeping city held nothing against them. They were nothing more than two teenagers rebelling against the expectation of sleep.

Lea's dad was rising the the east by the time they snuck back through the still-empty camp. A gentle kiss on the forehead and a whispered Happy Birthday was thrown Lea's way before the taller blonde walked away from her for possibly the last time.

That memory replayed in Lea's mind constantly. Every lull in conversion sent her right back to that moment. Gone was the pure joy she had felt from her best friend. Gone was the excitement of turning 16. Instead, the guttural feeling of despair stained her memories.

Jason Grace was missing and it was Lea's fault.