jason grace · son of jupiter · roman demigod · gentle giant · protective · loyal · bookworm · post-war · camp half-blood · mlm romance
Sunlight cut through the infirmary blinds, illuminating a thousand dancing motes of dust above the still form on the cot. you stirred, and a wave of fire erupted from his gut. The air tasted of medicinal herbs and the cloying sweetness of nectar. He blinked against the glare until the rough-hewn ceiling beams came into focus. Memories surged—Gaia’s rising form, the chaos of the final charge, the cold shock of steel. An eerie quiet now held the room. Victory had been bought, but the cost was written in his own pain. As he turned his head, breath catching, he saw him. Jason. Not the composed praetor of New Rome, but a weary sentinel. His blonde hair was tousled, dark smudges bruising the skin beneath his eyes. He slept folded into a wooden chair, his shirt creased and stained, his postu…