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This Fire Burns - Chapter 13
🕑 Added 2025-10-01 00:09:23 +0000 UTC[July 2, 2007]
I leaned back on the plush couch in the common room, watching Jason sip his soda as he meticulously polished Ivlivs.
His birthday celebration yesterday had been a rowdy one. I even baked a three-layer cake for him.
“You know, you have the opportunity to do the funniest thing ever,” I said.
Jason glanced up. “And what would that be?”
I propped my feet up on the coffee table. “Retire, old man. Your ten years of service are up. You could’ve cashed out yesterday. You’d go down in history as the youngest veteran in the legion. And just imagine how shook the Praetors would’ve been if you walked into the Principia and let ‘em know. All that time grooming you to take the purple cape, and you bounce on your thirteenth birthday.”
The corner of his mouth twitched. “And leave you in charge? The cohort would be on fire within a week.”
“I hadn’t considered that,” I mused, stroking my chin. “But it only makes the situation even better! Imagine me as the next Centurion!”
Jason set his coin down and gave me a serious look. “Would you actually be interested in taking the position in the future?”
Centurion Serif. Can’t say I hate the sound of it. It might even be fun for a while. But a Centurion is responsible for everyone in their cohort. Jason could handle that weight. I was good at breaking things and taking charge in battle, not at holding lives in my hands.
“Fuck no. The paperwork would kill me.”
“But you’re practically halfway there,” he countered. “You might still occasionally skip a few drills, but the cohort looks at you as one of its leaders. You have a way of getting people to follow you, of inspiring them to push past their limits.”
“Hmm, maybe. I just don’t have any desire to take an official role. What I’m doing right now is fine.”
I waved a hand to change the subject. “Seriously, though. I’m bored out of my mind. We haven’t had a real challenge in forever. Don’t you feel that way too?”
“The peace is good for the legion, but yes, I feel it.”
“I’ve been asking Octavian to read the omens for any danger outside the valley that might need our attention,” I complained. “He spent twenty minutes gutting a stuffed unicorn with rainbow hair to inform me the gods’ will was ‘inscrutable’. The idiot had to rearrange the stuffing with his knife just to make it look mysterious.”
Jason choked on his drink, trying not to laugh.
“So do me a favor and go bother him. You’re the golden boy Centurion. He’s gotta at least pretend to take you seriously! Get us a real quest so we can stretch our legs.”
He stood up, pocketing his coin. “Sure. But don’t expect much. Even if Octavian doesn’t like you, he would never outright lie about the gods’ will.”
After he left, my eyes landed on Gwen across the room.
She was standing by a large chalkboard, updating the duty roster with one hand while using the other to sign a slip from Lucius.
“Just put in the order for the new shipment of armor polish through Mercury Express. And make sure you properly log it this time,” she was telling him as I approached.
“Yo, Gwen. Sign me up for the next monster-culling patrol.”
She turned to me and raised an eyebrow. “The hour-long hike into the surrounding hills to clear out whatever’s wandered too close? The same one you’re always saying sucks because it ends before you can go out into the city?”
I shrugged. “Yeah. I’m in the mood for it this time.”
She added my name to the roster. “Try not to do all the work this time. Last time you didn’t let Haley even get a scratch on a Hellhound.”
I thought back to that patrol from a few weeks ago. Was I supposed to wait for a monster to get lucky and crush her shield? It was faster to just handle it myself. In and out in under an hour, nobody gets hurt, and we’re back in time for lunch.
“Do you think I made a mistake?” I asked.
Her expression softened. “No, there’s nothing wrong with wanting to protect people. But it takes away from the purpose of those patrols. They’re meant to let everyone get experience fighting against real monsters, and they’re in a situation where they have enough numbers to handle it safely.”
“Fine, maybe I am babying them too much. Sign me up with the giant eagles instead.”
That was one of the better options anyway.
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[Jason Grace]
He stood before the towering golden statue of his father.
The air in the Temple of Jupiter Optimus Maximus was still. Being here was never a comfort to him. It was a reminder of his lineage, his duty, and the father who was more a concept than a person.
In front of the statue, Octavian knelt over a pile of white fluff, dotted with the black patches that had once been the panda’s eyes and nose. He moved with precision, positioning each piece with exaggerated care.
The Augur let out a sigh of theatrical sorrow, not even bothering to look up. “Alas, Centurion Grace, the will of the heavens is clear. There are no grand quests to be found. The gods are not—” his lips curled as he turned his head toward Jason. “—a bottomless well from which we can draw adventures on a whim. I must ask that you and your cohort do not inquire again; their divine patience, unlike my own, is finite.”
Jason kept his expression neutral, but annoyance tightened in his gut. He had expected this. Octavian had relished denying Serif’s desire for a challenge a few days ago. And now, denying the son of Jupiter himself was an even greater power trip for him.
Octavian’s obvious bias was becoming tiresome.
Suddenly, the air shifted. Jason could feel the hair on his arms rise as a divine presence pressed against his senses.
He dropped to one knee instinctively.
A woman materialized at the temple entrance and stepped inside.
She wore practical Roman armor and a crested helmet that shadowed the top half of her face. A spear that hummed with energy was held loosely in one hand. Her eyes, visible beneath the helmet’s rim, were sharp and cold, the eyes of a general surveying a battlefield.
The goddess ignored Octavian completely, her gaze fixed solely on Jason. “Boy. You seek a quest. I have one for you.”
“I’m only permitted to speak for a few moments, so listen carefully,” she continued with absolute authority. “You will travel to the coast of Florida and find pirates. They have taken something of mine, and you will retrieve it.”
Octavian, who had managed to prostrate himself so thoroughly that his nose was practically touching the marble floor, finally found his voice. “My-my lady! Forgive my impertinence, but a formal quest requires a prophecy! A mystical poem to guide the heroes! We used to get them from the Sibylline books, but now it falls to the Augur to glean the will of the gods in these matters. So if I could just run and fetch a few dozen more offerings and possibly a fresh knife—”
“You are the Augur?” she interrupted, turning her head a fraction to look at him for the first time.
“Y-yes, my lady,” Octavian squeaked.
The goddess regarded him in silence for a moment. Then, without warning, the stuffed animals scattered around Octavian burst into flames.
“Very well. If you require prophecy, you shall have one.”
She turned back to Jason and when she spoke, her voice echoed with the screams of a thousand men.
“A single pair this burden now must share,
A third would fall into a deadly snare.
To the sea you will go, where the lawless sail,
A goddess’s hope, you must not fail.
A captain’s greed will mark your final trial,
For one will stay, and another will choose exile.”
The voices faded, and the oppressive feeling lifted as quickly as it had descended. The goddess gave him one final, piercing look. “Do not disappoint me.”
And then she vanished.
He remained kneeling for another moment, the prophecy etched into his memory. He rose slowly to his feet.
Across from him, Octavian was scrambling to his feet, his face ashen. His carefully constructed authority from his role as the sole interpreter of the gods had been utterly shattered in front of the son of Jupiter. He fumbled for his sacrificial knife, his hand trembling so badly he could barely close his fingers around the hilt.
“You heard her,” Jason said to the trembling Augur. “Inform the Praetors to convene the Senate. A quest has been issued by a goddess.”
He turned and strode out of the temple without another word.
A single pair this burden now must share. There was only one person this could mean. It was time to find Serif.
Though as he headed back toward his cohort's barracks, a feeling of uncertainty struck him.
For one will stay, and another will choose exile.
He already knew about Serif’s thoughts on camp, his restlessness and the pull that never let him settle. If there was anyone in the legion who might willingly choose to leave this sanctuary behind and walk away into the dangers of the mortal world, it would be him. This quest, the very thing he craved, could be the thing that took him away for good.
For a brief moment, Jason considered not telling him. He could take someone else with him. He could protect their friendship by refusing to risk it.
But then he remembered everything that changed ever since Serif’s arrival. The easy banter, the teamwork in the heat of battle, the trust in each other.
Jason pushed the fear aside. That wasn’t who he was. And it wasn’t who Serif deserved.
I will trust my friend.
With his resolve hardened, he walked with purpose and found Serif just outside their barracks entrance, bending over to pick a stubborn piece of gravel out of the sole of his shoe.
“Yo, I think one of the giant eagles has it out for me. Can you go tell them to behave arou—” He cut himself off mid-sentence, his usual playful grin dissolving as he looked Jason over. “Are you alright? You look like you just saw a ghost.”
“I got a quest.”
The words felt lighter than he expected. Sometimes just being around Serif did that.
“That little slimeball Octavian! He actually gave you one but not me?!”
“He rejected me, too,” Jason clarified, “but a goddess showed up moments later. She gave me the quest personally.”
Serif’s scowl was replaced by a smirk. “A goddess? Look at Mr. Bigshot over here, getting divine house calls. Anyway, who was she? What’s the quest?”
“I don’t know who she is. I have my assumptions, but she didn’t name herself, and it’s probably better not to guess. She wants us to retrieve something from pirates on the coast of Florida.” He met Serif’s gaze. “The Senate is convening to discuss the full details. You should be there. I’ve already decided you're going with me.”
“Shit. Does that mean I have to wear my bed sheets?”
Of course he would latch onto the least important detail.
Jason snorted, feeling the tension from earlier fully leave his body. “That’s just for the senators.”
“Ah, so only you have to wear them.”
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The interior of the Senate House looked like a high school lecture hall, but with way more marble and a distinct lack of bored teenagers. Well, we still had them, but they were sitting around a semicircle of tiered seats facing a raised dais with a podium and two ornate chairs where two more teenagers with purple capes sat.
And to top it off, Jason and I, the two youngest teenagers, were seated on the far left of the front row.
I’ve never been so glad to be wearing sweatpants and the standard-issue purple camp T-shirt.
Senators were fumbling with their ridiculously impractical togas. Gwen, in her yellow-speckled robe, was having a particularly hard time, hiking up the hem and trying to keep the cloth from slipping off her shoulder.
Well, everyone except Jason. He wore his like a second skin.
“How do you guys even move in those things?” I whispered to him.
“They’re just for formal occasions,” he whispered back, his posture ramrod straight.
I bet the ancient Romans hated them just as much. If I somehow get elected as a Senator, I’m gonna abolish certain traditions.
Serena stepped up to the podium and raised her hand. “Senators, this is an emergency meeting. We will dispense with the usual formalities. You have all been provided with a transcript of the prophecy that was delivered this morning.” She let the words hang for a moment before continuing. “Let me be clear. We are not here to vote on whether or not this quest should proceed. It was issued by a goddess. We will obey. Our purpose today is to analyze the prophecy and advise our designated questers, Centurion Grace and Legionnaire Serif.”
Octavian, looking smug in his own pristine toga, rose to his feet. “Praetor, while we must obey, we must also be wise. Is it prudent to send two of our most powerful legionnaires on a single quest? Perhaps it would be best to have Centurion Grace select a different partner, ensuring that the legion is not left vulnerable in their absence.”
Can’t say I’m surprised that he’s the first to try something. Not gonna let that slide this time.
“Augur, the prophecy’s first line mentions a pair sharing the burden. Let’s be real here, the only person in this legion who can share a burden with Jason is me. Surely you wouldn’t suggest we defy such a clear divine instruction simply because it makes you nervous? You were there when the goddess spoke the prophecy. Try thinking things through before you speak next time.”
I tried to hold back a smirk as Octavian’s face flushed a blotchy red from my words.
Before he could retort, Marcus cut him off. “We are not here to debate the choice of Jason’s companion. Move on.”
Serena brought the meeting back on track. “With the participants confirmed, let us turn to the prophecy itself. Our questers' lives may depend on our interpretation. Your thoughts?”
The centurion from the Third Cohort spoke up. “Lines one and two are straightforward. Two people will go, and if they take a third as most quests do, that person would die.”
Another senator nodded. “A valid point. So we know who goes, what about where they go? ‘To the sea you’ll go, where the lawless sail’ is vague. It could be anywhere on the planet.”
“The goddess was more specific in her instructions than her prophecy,” Jason said. “She mentioned pirates operating off the coast of Florida stole something from her. That is our destination.”
Damn, we’re blazing through this real quick. I thought prophecies were supposed to be cryptic puzzles. The fourth line is just as easy; it basically tells us that we have to succeed. This might be the easiest quest in history.
The centurion from the Second Cohort tapped a finger on her transcript. “The fifth line, ‘A captain’s greed will mark your final trial,’ could have multiple meanings. It could be a literal confrontation over treasure, or a fight with the pirate captain himself. His greed could be the very act of stealing from a goddess.”
“There are other applicable meanings,” Octavian interjected smoothly. “Greed is a human failing, after all. It manifests in many forms—the desire for wealth, the pursuit of personal gain, the tendency to… accumulate resources beyond one's needs.” His eyes flicked in my direction for a split second. “Any such tendencies could prove relevant to interpreting that line.”
This little shit.
The Second’s centurion shook her head. “Regardless of those interpretations, the true danger lies in the final line…”
The room fell silent. Even I found myself thinking about those words. It wasn’t a threat of death, which was nice, but it still scared me.
Marcus broke the silence. “We can debate the meaning of exile until the Ides of next month and be no closer to an answer. Our questers have a destination and an objective. The rest is in their hands. Let’s move on to what we can control.”
“Agreed,” Serena said. “We will move to the final order of business: what support the Senate will grant this quest—transportation, money, magic, weapons.”
Gwen immediately stood up. “They should be given whatever they need. This is a divine mandate, and we should support them fully.”
“Giving everything would undermine the spirit of a quest,” Marcus countered, though his tone was not unkind. “Heroes must prove themselves through adversity, not simply be given victory through resources.”
“Providing transportation and a stipend for expenses would be a suitable middle ground,” Serena added.
I got the feeling she was trying to help us out. She should know Jason and I won’t need magic or special weapons. Giving us a ride and some cash makes the quest a hell of a lot easier without making it look like we’re being coddled.
Octavian rose to his feet once more. “Praetor, if I may?”
“Oh, great,” I muttered to Jason. “Here it comes.”
“Traditionally, a quest is a test of a hero’s own merit. To provide excessive aid would be to doubt their strength! True Romans must forge their own path! Perhaps we should provide no aid at all and let them prove why they are the greatest our legion has to offer!”
He might not be the best in a fight, but this was clearly his arena.
Senators started to lean in to whisper to their neighbors, caught between the appeal to ancient honor and the practical desire to not get us killed.
I really didn’t want to sit here for another hour listening to this debate.
“The Augur’s got a point,” I said, drawing every eye in the room. “Just give us some funds to get started. We’ll take care of the rest.”
Jason gave a supporting nod from beside me.
Serena addressed the Senate. “A motion has been put forth. The quest shall proceed to Florida. The Senate will provide a stipend of fifty denarii. No other aid will be forthcoming. Our questers will survive or fail on their own merits. All in favor?”
Every senator’s hand went up.
“The motion is passed.”
Nice. Fifty denarii. That’s one grand in dollars. More than enough for two round-trip tickets. Then again, who said we had to fly? We can always take the scenic route. Enjoy ourselves a little.
Comments
chickenugget12
thx for the chap
