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“Centurion Zhang,” called Octavian. "Did you hear the question?”
Frank was brought back to reality, a sheepish expression on his face. Octavian shook his head as if to say “See? He’s not a good choice as a leader for this quest”.
“How will you travel to the land beyond gods?” asked Reyna, after throwing Octavian a glance.
“They can’t use any land-based transportation,” said Nico. The same boy who made Percy’s brain tickle. “Our enemy is Terra - primordial goddess of earth”
“He knows too much not to know me,” thought Percy.
Di Angelo’s comment made the ghost restless and everyone started arguing.
“If we can’t walk on earth,” thought the girl. “There are two options only. Either we fly or…”
Maybe she was an amnesiac, maybe she wasn’t fully sure who she was but she was aware of how the Romans treated Neptune. There is no way they had even a singular ship to be at their quest’s disposal. With the enemy rising, they don’t have any means of transportation.
Well, she would just have to make her own.
Percy is, after all, her father’s daughter.
“I won’t let them ridicule me or my dad,” was the last thought before her focus was set on the task at hand. With a subtle twitch to her fingertips, she felt for a water source inside the city.
And Romans do love their fountains.
The water slowly trickled through the open window of the Senate House. It gathered in three streams near the ceiling but Percy didn’t dare to look up. Focusing her gaze on the wall allowed her not to get distracted by the people (and ghosts) gathered in the room.
They didn’t trust her. They didn’t know her. She didn’t know herself. But she trusted her intuition.
Some people want their quest to fail. Some think it will. Only a handful want them to succeed.
They think them to be incompetent. Weird. Unworthy. Outcasts.
She might not have her memories but deep down she knows.
She’s a troublemaker.
And trouble she will make.
Enough water gathered under the ceiling to form her chosen method of transportation. The blobs of clear, freshwater, moved in a circle as if chasing each other. They didn’t stay the same shape the whole time either. They could feel her excitement when she was gathering the materials. A muzzle here, a hoof there, the boys were trying to take shape. But before she could do that, she needed to start pouring some of her essence into them.
First horses (or at least the ones created by Dad) were made from waves crashing against the shore, with white manes of oceanic foam and strong legs and these horses put thunder to shame as they ran, their thumps rumbled through the landscape.
The first flying horse however was born of a union of the sea god and Medusa (no matter if she was human or gorgon, every version of the myth mentioned her twin children) freed when the mother was slain by Perseus.
Well, Percy killed Medusa once and she got no fun tokens after (if we don’t count the DIY sculpture kit). And maybe she only had freshwater from a city that couldn’t give less of a fuck when it came to the sea. But fuck. She was used to working against shittier odds (at least she thinks so).
With a strong desire and a truckload of spite, she poured the essence into the horses. Her eyes glazed over as a blocked memory tried to get through the amnesia spell cast on her. A song, in a language as native to her as Greek? Latin? A low voice, or two low voices, then the higher one. Feel. It said. Look deep. They sang. You’re here. You’re safe. You’re fine. You’re you. A hand brushing her hair.
A ghost gasped.
“How did he even do that? You don’t even need to breathe. You’re dead!” thought Percy later when remembering what happened.
Before more people could glance at the twirling water currents, Percy straightened her posture and snapped her fingers. This brought the whole senate’s attention to her.
“I have a solution to our little problem,” she said, locking her eyes with Octavian. She didn’t want to miss this. “You ever seen the animated film Hercules?”
The Romans looked at each other confused.
Percy pointed her fingers and said silently “Look up.”
The three streams rushed towards the ground at breakneck speed, hitting their front hooves on the mosaic floor in front of her. It was at this moment she finished putting her energy into the horses.
The change was astounding. From a water with no shape, no colour, no smell and lifeless to this. Three big stallions, black-haired and regal with a wingspan of nearly twice the length of their bodies.
“I might’ve fuck up the proportions,” said Percy, not looking at the shocked expressions on everyone’s faces. She was admiring her handiwork, coming up to her horses and examining the length of their wings. “Should they be this big?” the question went to the Praetor who actually rode one of those.
Stunned silence was her only answer while Reyna looked as if she lost the ability to speak and Octavian was busy imitating a Venus fly trap, with his jaw hanging low and mouth wide open.
“I mean, I’m pretty sure I made a horse before,” she said, oblivious to the fact that it was not, in fact, a casual thing to admit. “And so has Dad, obviously,” she shook her head as if this would make the memories come back. The Romans, in the meantime, were freaking out about the whole ‘she just called the Earthshaker and Stormbringer dad’. No titles no nothing. How very un-Roman of her, indeed. “But a winged one, well - it's new for me.” She scratched her head. “It would be new for Dad too, if I were to guess.”
The horses, while not as oblivious (or uncaring) of the chaos as their mistress, decided to not even bother with the whole audience and walked up to the two figures who would be joining their lady on the quest.
The bigger one with a deep black coat went up to Frank who, looking at the beast, turned a very pale shade of green. The pegasi didn’t seem to mind and started sniffing his clothes.
Hazel, on the other hand, seemed to have accepted the reality of what just happened quickly and turned her attention to the other horse who came up to her. She hesitated only for the briefest moment when raising her palm to pet the neck of the stallion who looked to be the smallest of the three.
“Well, it doesn’t really matter,” concluded Percy after a while with a clap of her hands. She stood up straight and smiled at the Romans gathered (and still in disbelief). “They will fly anyway. Because I made them so they would fly us to Alaska and they will. It’s not exactly rocket science when it comes to creating a new life.”
Her smile turned mischievous.
“I’m sure Dad won’t mind me using this particular ability.”
And as if to confirm these words a trident, gold, shining with a light that could only be described as eternal, appeared above her head. The air flickered and fogged up around her body for just a second. It made the audience of this spectacle blink feverishly as they tried to clear their vision.
“See?” her voice sounded deeper and yet more tickled as if the blessing from her immortal father amused her. “Told you he wouldn’t mind.”
“You – you – “ Octavian pointed to the girl, trying and failing to string a sentence together.
She stood tall and regal with a crown of black, gold and blue, decorated with pearls and colourful crystals which, catching the light, sent rainbows across the room. But the crown wasn’t the only thing that changed in her attire.
She had armour that fit her to a T, black and covered in scales of colours matching her headpiece.
“I am a princess as my father is a king,” she reminded the others, rising her brow in particular at the blonde augur. “You’ll do well to remember that.”
The Romans got scared at the reminder of who exactly Percy Jackson was the daughter of. Some bowed slightly or even kneeled at the display of godly powers in the Senate. Some didn’t know what to do. The rest were shocked into a silent loss and confusion. Not only did the girl show a skill that was thought to be only native to the gods but her godly parent seemed to agree with her action, blessing her and the quest, while granting her additional safety (and maybe, probably, some sort of familiarity) in her title as well as the armour.
“What are we waiting for?” she asked, her demeanour changing back to open and kind. “We have a quest to start.”