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After Tempest arrived, I was stuck with tour guide duty. Not that, I didn't like talking about Camp Half-Blood and it's various wonders, but I wasn't that kind to people on first meetings. I guided the kid, through the camp, tell him all about creation and how the gods had colonized on top Mount Olympus.

By the time I had finished it, we stopped at the armory. Xero, was this kid with a less than average muscular tone and a long black mohawk along with limestone green eyes. He was handsome, but the biker look didn't fit him.

"What is your preferance in combat?" I asked. Xero squinted misunderstanding the question. Sighing, I turned. "What type of weapon, do you want to use?" I bobbed my head spelling it out for him.

With a cocky, mischiveous smile, he laughed. Could you believe him? He had the guts to laugh at me, a daughter of Athena. "What's so funny?" I glared.

Breaking his laughter, Xero held a nervous pause. "Nothing. I guess a sword would be best. Based on all the stories Mr. Dynimo told us in class, many heroes of Greek mythology used swords."

"That's true, but not all heroes can use a sword." I glanced at him. "I'm more equipt with a dagger, others are more equipt with an archers bow. Some use spears. You get it?" I replied.

Xero ndded.

Once inside, Xeeo, glanced around the armory, searching for a specific sword. He seemed disappointed after realizing it wasn't here. "It's not here." He murmured.

"You're telling me that you can't fight with a sword in here?" I asked a bit annoyed. Turning, Xero's face turned seriously pale. He looked ghostly and a bit sickly. "No, it's just the metal isn't right. Max had a golden blade that he let me, when I fought the stormspirit, Icaris."

"Icaris?!!" My eyes widened with fear. Icaris wasn't just any stormspirit, he was one of the few that bridged the gap between Greece and America, following the Gods everywhere they went. But to think, he would attack a demigod, that was rare. Icaris didn't ever do anything to draw attention to himself. He never liked being mentioned considering that many forgot about him and looked at Icarus, the son of Daedalus when ever uttering the name.

"Yea." Xero answered. "What's so special about him, he's not that hard to beat." He chimmed. Gazing at him, my eyes narrowed. "You're wrong. He never loses that easily. If he lost to you, he did it on purpose. Icaris may be a lot of things, but he isn't a weakling. He was testing you, and you failed miserably."

"What do you mean?" Xero turned.
"I mean, he wanted to see if you lived up to his expectations."
"He did call me a child of the eldest. What does that mean?" Xero wondered.

"It means, you must pray to all the gods, that you're not a child of the eldest. I know one thing. This generation isn't going to be easy, so hope that your father isn't one of the three brothers."

Taking a deep breath, I gazed at him. "Come on. Let's get you a weapon you could use properly." With a faint smile, I began to feel a spark. A spark of friendship, almost like we were going to get along.

Notes

A child of the eldest . . .
Icaris, a stormspirit from Greece.
Icarus, the son of Daedalus, legacy of Athena.

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