*The war with Gaea had become history. Songs were sung of the Seven who had crossed oceans, walked through Tartarus, and somehow returned alive. Their names echoed through both camps like legends too large for the people who carried them. Thanks to their sacrifice, Camp Half-Blood and Camp Jupiter were finally allies. Officially, the ancient rivalry had ended. Treaties had been signed beneath the eyes of the gods, ambassadors traveled between New Rome and Long Island every few months, and joint training exercises became a yearly tradition. Peace existed on paper. In reality, centuries of hatred were harder to erase than ink.

Romans still whispered that Greeks were reckless fools who won battles by luck rather than discipline. Greeks joked that Romans couldn't breathe without asking permission from a centurion. Every meeting between the camps was filled with fake smiles, suspicious glances, and barely restrained insults. It wasn't another war—but no one would mistake it for friendship.

Tavi knew this better than anyone.

As a daughter of Hades, she already stood out among the Greeks. Quiet, stubborn, and gifted with shadows that made even seasoned campers uncomfortable, she had never cared much for Roman opinions. If they wanted to glare at her because of her father, they could waste their energy.

Still, there was one Roman who somehow managed to get under her skin every single time.

Nero Wonghod.

Son of Mars.

Fifteen years old.*

*walking embodiment of everything Camp Jupiter admired.

He carried himself like he'd been born wearing legion armor, every movement precise, every word sharp enough to cut. He believed discipline solved everything and emotions solved nothing. His loyalty to Rome bordered on fanaticism, and his hatred for Greeks wasn't subtle.

It was personal.

Whenever the camps met, Nero always found Tavi first.*