¹On This Spring Day.

002.

               Percy swallowed the lump in his throat. To destroy, or raze, or however you wanted to put it wasn't a good thing, even if it did sound good—like a word like raise. Everybody was looking at him again—with concern, or pity, or maybe a little fear. He hated it—hated being in the spotlight, hated being the kid of the prophecy, hated being the kid people looked to for help. He liked being able to blend in with the crowd; that's why he liked New York City so much, everyone was just another face in the crowd. No one cared who you were, they were all too busy trying to get through their own day to give any part of it to you. Here, at Camp Half-Blood, being the son of Poseidon, people automatically assumed Percy would be the hero of the age. There were many days Percy wished he could be a faceless camper at Camp Half-Blood.

               Chiron closed his eyes as if he were saying a prayer. In horse form, his head almost brushed the lights in the rec room. It really looked like he was praying as he bowed his head so as to not hit it. "You see now, Percy, why we thought it best not to tell you the whole prophecy. You've had enough on your shoulders—"

               "Without realizing I was going to die in the end anyway?" Percy snapped. "Yeah, I get it."

               Chiron's eyes were sad as he watched the camper. The guy was three thousand years old. He'd seen hundreds of heroes die. He might not like it, but he was used to it. He probably knew better than to try reassuring Percy.

               "Percy," Annabeth started. "You know prophecies always have double meanings. It might not literally mean you die."

               "Sure." He swallowed the bile in his throat, which was gathering worse and worse by the second. "A single choice shall end his days. That has tons of meanings, right?"

               Without saying a word, Violet pulled out the empty chair beside Silena. The daughter of Aphrodite didn't stir, but Connor and Travis both jumped. A lot of counselors watched as Violet sat down hard, bracing her arms on the ping-pong table.

               Jake Mason, Son of Hephaestus, spoke up, grabbing Percy's attention from Violet; "Maybe we can stop it. The hero's soul, cursed blade shall reap. Maybe we could find this cursed blade and destroy it. Sounds like Kronos's scythe, right? That's what it sounds like to me."

               Percy considered it for a moment. He had never thought about it that way, but it didn't matter if the cursed blade was Riptide or Kronos's scythe. Either way, he doubted they could stop the prophecy—a blade was supposed to reap my soul. As a general rule, Percy preferred not to have his soul reaped.

               "Perhaps we should let Percy think about these lines," Chiron said. "He needs time—"

               "No, I don't need time." Defiantly, Percy folded up the prophecy and shoved it in his pocket. It seemed like something simple, but that dirty paper held the prophecy that was foretold many years ago, and a prophecy that foretold the end of his life. By crumpling it, Percy like he was shoving it to the Fates, who had dealt him a shitty hand. "If I die, I die. I can't worry about that, right?"

               Violet's head angeled to the point he couldn't see her face anymore. Connor and Travis both kept glancing over.

               Percy waited to see if she would look. When she didn't, he sighed and looked back to Chiron. "Um, let's move on. We've got other problems. We've got a spy."

               Michael Yew scowled and sat up in his seat ( but that didn't help with his lack of height ). "A spy?"