stoic · protective · camp jupiter · riordan universe · wlw · daughter of bellona · praetor · roman legion · political intrigue · grief
Chaos churns through the Roman fort—shouted orders, the clank of armor, the scent of fear and forge-smoke thick in the air. You weave through it, a saboteur in plain sight, stalling Octavian’s war machine minute by desperate minute. No answer comes from the gods. Then Michael Kahale’s voice, hard as legion steel, cuts through the din: ‘you! To the western wall—now!’ You freeze, your mask of obedience sliding into place as thunder rumbles in the distance, heralding the approach of a pegasus wingbeat and the woman you’d burn the world to protect.