Chapter 6: 6. Rumbling.

SURPRISE ALMOST DEAFENED the sage's ears. "A child of the big three you say?"

"Yes, your light." The servant knelt before him, head faced downwards. "A daughter of Zeus precisely."

Could luck have finally dealt their card? After searching and planning and waiting, could fate have dropped in his lap the one collateral that guaranteed this world's salvation?

"Finally the gods has sent us their blessings." The sage wore a thankful smile. "And just in time at that. We've prepared the army that'd follow the Sohtehr to lead the war against Atlas."

("Sohtehr" means saviour or deliverer in Greek)

"My light, shouldn't we be considerate first?" The servant suggested. "There is a possibility that the child may not be the one of the prophecy."

"What? Nonsense!" The priest barked. "How long have we waited for this time, and now you think she, a child of Zeus.... Is not the Sohtehr??!!"

"Forgive me, my light. I spoke rather too rashly."

The sage moved closer to the servant. He raised his chin up and looked into his face. A dark smile erupted his face.

"Good, now when do we get to see this child? I long for an audience myself."

• • •

CHRISTOPHER HUFFED AND SWUNG relentlessly, his sword rather idle than attacking. What was this? He had gotten a rare opportunity to train with one of the very best swords fighter in the academy, supposing that somehow, he'd match up to her very skills.

But that was only the kind of faith weak men harbored. What best could he have done when his mother was murdered before his eyes.

"You're weaker than I thought you'd be." Remi threw him off. He flew a distance and landed butt-hard on the floor. A smile curved her face, she seemed to be enjoying this.

Afterall, it's not everyday you get to beat someone up with any method you like.

"Your grip on the sword is too feeble. Your movements are so slow and your attacks are too weak. In conclusion, you're no different than a dummy with a sword."

Christopher smiled, leaning on his wooden sword as he stood. "I never knew these practices came with an extra side dissing."

"They also come with praises if you can land a hit on me."

"Gladly." Christopher rushed at her again, swinging his sword recklessly. However, it didn't seem like Remi was having any problem blocking all of his attacks.

"You may lack skill, but in the very least something should be able to motivate you. You don't just become the best without a motivation." A hit, and Christopher spiralled to the floor. "Think about the reason why you'd ever so recklessly want to win. What's your push, what are you trying to avoid?"

The death of another relative of his while he cringed and watched in absolute fear from the distance— that's definitely what he didn't want to happen anymore.

His mother had died because of him, because he couldn't protect her. The guilt had hung on to his neck like a saber plunged to the hilt—he wasn't going to let that happen again.

Anger rushed over him, the determination in his eyes fuelled by regret and vengeance. He charged, another wave of recklessly driven attacks. This time, Remi didn't seem to be having it as easy, she seemed to have doubled in speed and resulted to parrying instead of blocking.

"What, are you not finding me a cheap target anymore?" Christopher's made a maniacal smile. He didn't stop battering the practice swords at her, the wood instead making a loud "clank" sound as he tried to get a hit on her.

"I see you care about a lot of things, seeing how much strength you're putting into this." Remi blocked another hit. "But it's pretty simple. .."

Her wooden sword cut through the air and hit Christopher. His sword was sent off a distance from him. He tried to reinforce himself, but Remi was faster. She was now on to him, her sword on his neck. . . Defeated.

". . When you let emotions influence your reason to get stronger, you'd die a decoy. Motivation without skill only works for a short while."

Christopher huffed rigorously. He hadn't realized how exhausted he was until his sword was flung off his hands. His gaze was fixated at Remi's courageous brown eyes, and he lost himself for a second.

"Shall we adjourn?" Remi asked. The evening had already surfaced over the azure, and he had been here in the dojo since morning.

Christopher rose up from where he had sprawled, hungry and tired. He took his wooden sword and returned it to the inventory. "I'll take that as you're willing to teach me."

"Don't get cocky. Classes hasn't begun yet, I've just been keeping myself busy. I'd rather teach a worthy student."

Christopher smiled. "I'll make you take back your words."

"You are welcome to try."

"See you tomorrow then." Christopher was an exhausted version of himself, and so his feets dragged as he made for the doors.

"Christopher—" Remi called back. He sluggishly turned to meet her reassuring smile. "Though your technique is rather rash and lacks experience, I can tell that you really are willing to become stronger, and that's just what pushes you to learn more."

A pause. The smile in her face was now replaced with concern.

"However, revenge should never be your motivation. Trust me, I used to harbor that intention, and I almost lost everything for it."

"I see." Christopher forced a smile. "Thanks Remi."

• • •

NO. BUT HE HAD TO GET STRONGER. Alone on the illuminated streets of the academy, Christopher thought as he made his way back to the Hermes dormitory. Not that he was a child of Hermes, but apparently that's where he was placed. Alongside fifteen children of Hermes who did nothing but intrude his peace whenever he was trying to sleep.

Yes. Fate had been so kind.

"If not for revenge, I know my mom's killer was initially after me. I'm the real target, and I won't be able to leave here until I can learn to defend myself." He said to the air. "And hopefully, I would find out who my god parent is—"

He wanted to say another word, but something whistled from the distance and penetrated his back. A howl. His eyes berated confusion as they accepted to slumber.

An arrow? A poisoned one. An attacker. . . Where?

Christopher heard someone approach him. He glanced around but his eyes blurred at every imagery before him. He felt blood trickle down his spines from the wound at his back. The pain was stinging. Excruciating.

"How could no one have guessed. . ." He heard his assailant say. ". . .your scent is different than other demigods. You reek of death."

Christopher was so involved with trying to live that he couldn't say a word.

"Don't fight it, the arrow has the venom of an hydra."

(Hydra; *a serpent like creature with multiple heads*)

The assailant continued. "It's best you die this way. I would be rebelling against the world if I let you live, you're a son of death, and even most definitely, the child of the prophecy."

Christopher coughed, but out came blood. He really was going to die despite his struggles to remove the arrow that impaled into his back. The wound was deep enough to kill him immediately, but it seemed like the poison was trying to torture him before he died.

Why? Why was he everyone's target? How was his being alive a rebel against the world?

Why?! Why?!! Why?!!!

Christopher's final struggle was a flocked rush of adrenaline, and the last thing he saw was. . . nothing.