I am a trainer. A trainer for the Roman Base Camp of Demigods. I cannot give you it's name, because that is not allowed. I cannot give you my name, because it is also forbidden. I can only tell you a select few. We are a tight formation. A battle reference. We have torn down Mt. Orthrys. We have defeated Krios, the Titan.

We have done and unspeakable amount of things. We are superior beings. And we must treat ourselves as such. In the essence that we must train harder, be faster, and be more clever than any of our peers. Obviously, the camp is very competitive. There is only one boy that everyone admits to liking. Jason. Jason Grace.

He single-handedly beat Krios, and led the raid on Mt. Orthrys. Many call him our camp leader. Perhaps he is such. I have trained him in sword fighting. He has remarkable talent, although he thinks slightly too much before reacting. Fighting should be on instinct, something that comes immediately to our souls. Something we are born with.

I'm speaking too much. I'm supposed to tell you about our new camper. A mysterious boy. We don't know who he is, or where he is. However, he appeared the same time Jason Grace disappeared. An ominous sign.

This new camper has mussed up black hair and green eyes. Based on how he looks, I'd say he has done training before. He has an intelligent look in his eyes, as though he knows everything, although when we've talked to him, he appears to know nothing.

He remembers nothing.

Nothing at all.

How can one be intelligent, and yet, brainless at the same time? It certainly confused quite a few of our campers, and our camp director, whose name I am not permitted to disclose.

All I can tell you, is this new camper is unique. I just spent a day training him, and I can't even describe it. But I can try.

I walked to the health room, to see he was already up, calmly surveying the camp outside the window. I examined him carefully, seeing if he had any possible fighting capabilities to look out for. He had a muscular build, but not like the Mars campers in the second legion. More of a lean build, like an athlete. Interesting.

"Who are you?" he asked without turning to talk to me.

"I am your new trainer," I said.

"For what?" he asked calmly.

"Battle."

He raised an eyebrow, turning around. "Why do I need to go to battle? I don't remember anything." His green eyes were sparking with humor, as if he was laughing at me.

At this point, I lost patience. "You will train. Every camper must train. I am a swordsman. We shall see if you are good at fighting with a sword."

He merely grinned at me in a irritating manner, before allowing me to push him down the stairs towards the training rink. He looked around. "Do you know who I am?" he asked me.

What an odd question. "No," I replied. "I do know that I have to train you on orders. Now, do you remember the basics?"

He shrugged.

"Alright, we'll fight and see then," I decided. "Let's find you a sword."

He shook his head. "I have one." Out of his pocket, he pulled out a pen. I almost laughed, before he uncapped it, and a celestial bronze sword came out, at least a meter long, and definitely deadly.

It shined, deadly. "Riptide," he whispered to himself.

"I'm sorry, what was that?" I asked.

"Nothing," he replied. "Are we going to fight?"

We surveyed each other, moving slowly, before I lunged. I used the usual tuck method which got beginners, but he merely moved to the side and deflected before lunging.

I tried a bit more, pressing harder, and noticed this boy was extraordinarily good at handling a sword. He seemed familiar, although his fighting strategy was awkward. It wasn't Roman. It seemed-older.

As we fought, a group of campers began crowding over, disobeying orders to watch.

He didn't even break out in a sweat, like this was ordinary.

Finally, I used my most experienced move, and managed to make contact with skin, before my blade was shattered at skin and the camper's sword at my throat.

I heard whispers break out, along the lines of, "That's impossible."

It was rather impossible. I had not been defeated for 28 years and counting. Until today. This new camper remembered nothing-except how to win.

It also didn't make sense. My blade should have left at least a mark on his skin, but instead, it had shattered. I murmured something in Roman to Aria, a camper. "Try stabbing him."

She looked at me, eyes wide, before my eyes hardened, and I glared at her.

She shrugged, before raising her arm and stabbing the new camper in the chest before he got a chance to react.

Her knife broke. Right in half. It hadn't even made a dent.

What was this boy made of?

"Sorry," he shrugged, smiling at us lightly. One thing I don't understand. Fighters with a sense of humor. He could be in the First Legion if he wanted to. Probably.

Who was this boy? I had the feeling he had to be examined. He was nothing like anything I'd ever seen before.

A/N: SO WHAT DID YOU THINK? I actually wrote half of this prior to NYC, and yeah. I'm back, I visited Mt. Olympus (well, i visited the Empire State Building anyways), I went to the Metropolitan Museum of Art (ahem, Ms. Dodds), and yeah. It was epiccccc. But I rererereread The Lost Hero, and finished this when I came back. Do you like it? Tell me. REVIEW! Lots of Love-Catherine