Jason Grace, son of Jupiter. Who could of expected that I would be so lost and sad. Not my cunning girlfriend. Not the brave, Roman preator. Not the smart Athenian. Not even my joking best friend.

How does one, escape the life of a demigod? How does a son of Jupiter escape the life of a demigod? All those Romans who could of lived are just blood on my fingers. Soon they will dry and crack, then another threat will come along with more fresh, sickly smelling blood of my friends and it will stain my hands until they will forever become red to remind me that I was never good enough. Never fast enough. Never skilled enough. Never, am I able to just save a camper's life without the reminder that I can't do it hanging over my head. They say it's not my fault, but they are lying. Feeling sorry for me. So I hide it, well enough I suppose. They have no idea, and I don't plan on giving them hints. It is a sign of of weakness. A sign that I am not good enough, and my friends are all I got. I know putting them in danger isn't fair, but is it unfair for me to believe that if I hold them close enough, they can't be taken, then the Fates can just deal with it. The group of demigods, my friends, my comrades, everyone, don't deserve to spill their own blood, unknowingly staining my hands furthermore.

Being preator is an honor, but being a leader of an organized almost unstoppable force to be picked off easily makes me realize that I don't deserve the medals, the title, the toga. I don't deserve to lead the brave romans, with my hands stained with blood.