I think you should hear. Percy — the Great Prophecy."

 

Annabeth handed me the parchment. It felt dry and old, and my fingers fumbled

with the string. I uncurled the paper, trying not to rip it, and began to read:

 

"A half-blood of the eldest dogs ..."

 

"Er, Percy?" Annabeth interrupted. "That's gods. Not dogs."

 

"Oh, right," I said. Being dyslexic is one mark of a demigod, but sometimes I

really hate it. The more nervous I am, the worse my reading gets. "A half-blood

of the eldest gods . . . shall reach sixteen against all odds ..."

 

I hesitated, staring at the next lines. A cold feeling started m my fingers as

if the paper was freezing.

 

"And see the world in endless sleep,

 

The hero 's soul, cursed blade shall reap. "

 

Suddenly Riptide seemed heavier in my pocket. A cursed blade? Chiron once told

me Riptide had brought many people sorrow. Was it possible my own sword could

get me killed? And how could the world fall into endless sleep, unless that

meant death?