There was wet sand beneath my feet.
Ears ringing, my jaw dropped as I spun in a circle.
A sparsely filled stadium towered around me, but the regal looking people and animals in the stands chanted loudly, “Amor fati, memento mori... amor fati, memento mori... amor fati, memento mori!”
Goosebumps prickled.
Remember death, love your fate.
No.
It couldn’t be.
It was.
The crowd was full of Spartans, their animal protectors, and creatures dressed in all-black robes.
Boys my age already stood on the sands, like they were waiting for something to begin.
They all turned and stared at me.
The highly upsetting chant echoed all around.
Jagged mountains towered behind the stadium, and the sun peeked out behind the clouds, but it had been late at night in the school gym.
The skyline was strangely familiar.
Oh my freakin’ god.
It hit me like a cigarette pressed against my flesh. At first, I felt nothing. Then the excruciating pain was overwhelming.
I staggered backward.
The Italian dolomites pierced the sky, which meant the awful agony had been the Spartan teleportation system.
My jaw dropped—we’dleapedhalfway around the world.
I breathed shallowly as my heart twisted.
Charlie was hundreds of miles away.
Around me was the Dolomites Coliseum where the SGC was held. It was also where young Spartans and creatures were rumored to fight to the death in a secret hazing process that was more rumor than reality.
I have a bad feeling it’s about to be confirmed.
A horn blared loudly.
The sparse crowd pumped their fists, and twelve flags were raised around the arena.
An ancient immortal civilization cheered.
Sparta.
Eight colorful Olympian House flags waved with about a dozen people in each section.
The gold lion of the House of Zeus.
The rainbow peacock of the House of Hera.
