This Cold Year ― Percy Jackson & Annabeth Chase²

―v. meet the pattersons

"IS THAT SON OF NEPTUNE your boyfriend or something?" Isaac asked as they turned down a more residential street lined with houses and neatly trimmed yards.

Naomi blushed. "I think so," she said.

"You think so?" Isaac asked, raising an eyebrow. "Oh, right—you guys have amnesia, apparently."

"Yeah," Naomi said. "We do."

Isaac snorted. "This'll be fun, then." He nodded at a pair of kids around his age as they passed by. "You seriously don't remember anything?"

Naomi shook her head. "Just my name and Percy." And a blonde girl named Annabeth, but that's none of your business.

Isaac hummed. "And you're seriously a child of Proserpina?"

"According to Lupa and Juno, yeah," Naomi said, feeling a bit sheepish. It was a strangely familiar feeling—like this wasn't the first time her parentage had made her stand out.

"I've never heard of her having a demigod kid," Isaac said. "And gods don't usually have children with legacies—at least, not legacies with lines as long as us. So you're like... double-rare."

Naomi frowned. "Why don't gods usually have children with legacies?"

"There're some demigods whose mortal parent's a legacy, but it's usually a great-grandchild of a god or closer," Isaac explained. "Older legacies, like our family, don't go out into the mortal world much—it's as dangerous for us as regular demigods, sometimes even children of Jupiter."

"Why is it so dangerous?" Naomi asked. "Shouldn't it be safer? I mean, if your godly ancestor is your great-great-great-great... five more great's grandparent, wouldn't the divine part of your DNA be weaker, so monsters wouldn't really notice you?"

Isaac shrugged. "I guess in theory, yeah, but that's not how it really works. Our family's been around since the Trojan War—we're direct descendants of Aeneas, son of Venus, one of the only Trojans to survive. He fled, and his descendants, Romulus and Remus, founded Rome. We've got the blood of gods, emperors, and heroes in our veins. Monsters notice."

"But... how do you know you're direct descendants of Aeneas?" Naomi asked, mystified. "That was, like, two millennia ago, wasn't it?"

"Closer to three," Isaac corrected. "Hold out your left arm."

Still confused, Naomi did, tugging up the sleeve of her too-big denim jacket. There wasn't much to see on her arm—just a birthmark and the scars, scabs, and bruises she'd acquired over the last few weeks.

Isaac tapped the birthmark. "That's how we know," he said. He held out his own wrist, and Naomi was startled to see the exact same mark on his forearm, right were hers was—right below her hand.

"Every direct descendant of Aeneas has that birthmark," Isaac explained. "Brute of Troy, Julius Caesar—"

"Caesar?" Naomi repeated. "Like—Caesar Caesar?"

Isaac nodded. "According to legend, Venus touched Aeneas's wrist and left a mark in the shape of what would become the Roman empire. Whether that's true or not, I can't say, but we all have the birthmark. Plus, we can all touch the helm—and Reyna said you could, too."

Naomi stared at him. She wasn't sure when they'd stopped walking, but she was glad for it now. "Are you pranking me? Is this, like, a hazing thing?"

Isaac raised an eyebrow. "Why would I be pranking you? You don't think I have better things to do?"

"There's no way any of this is true," Naomi said. "I mean, descendants of Aeneas? It's too far-fetched."

"More far-fetched than being the child of a Roman god?" Isaac asked.