Wild ― Piper McLean

―xix. the song of the false eight

Michael pushed his chair away from the desk, but he didn't stand. "It doesn't matter," he said. "We're here now. Everyone gear up."

"What do you mean it doesn't matter?" Jordan demanded. "Of course it matters! This quest isn't from the gods. The prophecy isn't for us! You led us here on a lie!"

"That's not true," Stacy argued. "Tell her, Michael. We're the Eight of the Prophecy—your father said—"

"Wake up, Stacy," Jordan said, her voice sharp. "Your boyfriend's a liar."

"No, he's not!" Stacy protested.

"Hector told you," Auggie whispered, but the tent was small enough that they all heard him. "That day in the augury, when you were arguing—he told you the prophecy wasn't supposed to come true yet. Didn't he?" Horror dawned on his face like a sunrise. "That's why he tried to talk me out of coming."

"He was wrong," Michael said.

Auggie's expression was one of horror. "He's the augur."

"And he is wrong."

"Are you serious?" Verona asked, her voice grown quiet with despair. "How can you say that? He's our line to the gods, how can you say he's wrong—"

"Because he is!" Michael shouted, his voice filling the tent like shrapnel from a bomb. He looked around at the seven of them—his Heroes of the Prophecy. "It doesn't matter if he thinks the prophecy isn't supposed to come true yet—why should we wait for fate to happen when we can make it happen now?"

"You're insane," Lawrence whispered.

"What were you thinking?" Jordan demanded.

"I'm doing this for the legion!" Michael countered. "For Rome—for us! We're going to be remembered as heroes! We're going to cut the enemy off at the knees, beat them before they can even think to attack us. The empire didn't survive this long by playing defense!"

"You don't understand what you've done!" Jordan said. "You—you can't just decide to make a prophecy come true! That goes against everything. You think the gods won't be angry? You don't think we'll pay for this?"

"We'll be rewarded," Michael insisted. He stood, turning to grab his breastplate. "Everyone will remember our names."

"Because they'll be on headstones!" Jordan shouted.

Michael stopped, his posture stiff. "Dying for Rome is better than dying a nobody."

"Dying?" Isaiah asked, his voice small. "But you—you said it was a guaranteed win. That the ambush would give them no chance of fighting back."

"Isaiah," Logan said, reaching for his little brother. In all the time Verona had known him, she'd never heard fear in his voice—not until now. "Come here."

"No, come on," Michael said. "Put on your armor. We leave in five minutes."

Logan grabbed Isaiah's arm before he could move. "He's a kid."

"I'm not a kid!" Isaiah argued, but he was wrong. He was only thirteen, he shouldn't have even been on this quest—but Michael had insisted. He said Isaiah was destined for greatness.

He'd told them all they were destined for greatness.

It didn't make any sense... except, of course it did. His girlfriend, his closest allies, the best fighters in the legion. A son of Vulcan for fire, daughters of Tempestas and Jupiter for storm. He'd made an oath to give them all the glory they deserved, as if that had ever been his to offer. And hadn't they all been rivals before this? Jordan, Verona, Lawrence, and Auggie versus Michael, Stacy, Logan, and Isaiah—foes to bear arms.