Eat bitter, taste sweet," Frank said. "I hate that proverb." "But it's true. What do they call it these days---no pain, no gain? Same concept. You do the easy thing, the appealing thing, the peaceful thing, mostly it turns out sour in the end. But if you take the hard path---ah, that's how you reap the sweet rewards. Duty. Sacrifice. They mean something.

The truth hit him. Jason wasn't quite Roman anymore. His time at Camp Half-Blood had changed him. Reyna had recognized that. Apparently, so did the undead legionnaires. If Jason no longer gave off the right sort of vibe, or aura of a Roman leader.

I'm a teacher still, but with a much larger classroom.

Leo: I'm almost out of gas! Woah, that came out wrong. I meant the burning kind!

I wondered if I would appear on a temple wall painting someday. A blonde Egyptian girl with purple highlights running sideways through the palm trees, screaming "Yikes!" in hieroglyphics as Neith chased after me. The thought of some poor archaeologist trying to figure that out almost lifted my spirits.

Tyson, Frank is a descendant of Poseidon." "Brother!" Tyson crushed Frank in a hug. Percy stifled a laugh. "Actually he's more like a great-great-...Oh, never mind. Yeah, he's your brother." "Thanks." Frank mumbled through a mouthful of flannel.

I've found peace here at the co-op. You could stay with us, if you want. Become a ROFLcopter.