The next morning, I woke up to a chill running down my spine, followed by the sensation of ice-cold water soaking through my clothes. My breath caught in my chest, and I shot up, heart racing. As I opened my eyes, I saw Felix standing there, grinning like a maniac.

We—yes, even Ethan and Kiara—had been victims of his so-called "fun" prank.

"You piece of Censor from the pits of Tartarus sauce!" Ethan roared, his face red with fury. And wow, that was new. Death glares? Normal. The occasional gun pointed in his direction? I'd gotten used to it. But hearing Ethan shout like that? Off-brand.

"You're dead," he added, his voice trembling with rage. It was almost funny—if it weren't for the fact that I was pretty sure Felix had just become the target of a very different kind of vengeance.

"So... About yesterday..." Lyra started.

"Yeah, we talked about it. We'll go research the Roman Archives today," I told her.

"Great! I'll send Petra and Phyllis along with you so you don't get killed," she said, nodding firmly.

I blinked. "Wait—Petra and Phyllis?"

"Yeah," Lyra answered nonchalantly. "Petra's the tall one with the scar. Phyllis is the short one with the greyish-brown hair. You're gonna need their help."

I looked at them. Petra, the tall boy with a scar on his cheek, was standing by the door, looking stoic as usual. Phyllis, the shorter one, was fiddling with the straps on his armor, his ponytail swishing as he glanced up at us.

"Alright, great," I said, though a bit unsure. "Just... be ready for anything."

As we walked out of the room, Phyllis and Petra fell in step behind us. It was hard not to notice the clear contrast between the two: Petra's imposing stature and scarred face, and Phyllis's smaller, almost delicate appearance. But there was something about the way they carried themselves, something that spoke of experience, of battles fought, that made me trust them—at least a little.

We walked through the camp in silence, the air filled with the hum of Roman soldiers and their daily routines. It was a strange feeling—being surrounded by demigods who weren't exactly like the ones I was used to at Camp Half-Blood. Everything here felt... structured. Controlled. They didn't have the chaos we were familiar with.

Phyllis kept glancing at me every few steps, as if trying to gauge my reaction to their camp. Petra, on the other hand, said nothing. His scarred face seemed locked in a permanent frown, but his presence was like a steady force, calm yet intimidating. I couldn't help but feel like I was walking behind two sentinels.

"Where exactly are the archives?" Kiara asked, breaking the silence. "We're not going to be stuck in some dusty old library, right?"

Phyllis let out a short laugh. "The archives are nothing like that," he said. "More like a vault of secrets. The Romans have a... unique way of preserving their history."

"Unique," Petra muttered, sounding unimpressed. "More like paranoid."

"Still, the archives are important," Phyllis continued, ignoring Petra's grumble. "Everything you need to know about Roman prophecies, past quests, and the legends they don't teach you in the camp tours is in there."

As we approached the entrance to the archives, I noticed how heavily guarded it was. Two Roman guards stood at the door, their faces stern and their hands resting on their spears. It looked more like a fortress than a simple library.

"Let's hope they don't decide to lock us out," I muttered under my breath.

Petra shot me a glance. "If you're planning on getting in, you'd better keep quiet. Roman security doesn't like visitors who talk too much."

I rolled my eyes but said nothing, following them inside.

As we entered the Roman archives, the oppressive silence enveloped us. The air smelled of old paper and ink, but there was an underlying tension here, like we were trespassing in a place where only the most sacred knowledge was kept. The weight of history pressed down on us, every scroll and book containing secrets centuries old.

"Alright," Phyllis said, breaking the silence, "we need to find any mention of 1972. That's our starting point. If this prophecy is tied to time, it's got to be there."

Ethan, arms crossed, gave a skeptical glance around the room. "Right. Because finding one year among thousands of scrolls is totally easy."

"I'm sure we can manage," Petra muttered, his voice as gruff as usual. He had a more straightforward approach, his eyes already scanning the rows of shelves filled with ancient scrolls and books.

Kiara bounced on her feet, clearly intrigued by the mission. "Do we even know why 1972 is important?" she asked, her voice sharp with curiosity.

"No," I admitted, feeling the pressure of the quest weighing on me. "But it's the year mentioned in the prophecy. If we can figure out what happened then, we might understand how it ties into our mission."

I moved towards a shelf, my fingers brushing along the spines of several ancient books. Some were written in Latin, others in Greek, but all seemed to hum with a forgotten magic. I pulled down one of the books, its leather cover cracked from age, and flipped it open to the first page. There was nothing on the first few pages about 1972. Nothing jumped out.

Ethan was already on his own, picking through scrolls. He mumbled to himself, his brow furrowed. "We're looking for a needle in a haystack."

"Not a needle," Phyllis corrected. "A thread. Just a thread."

The more I scanned through the books, the more I felt like we were wasting time. The pressure to succeed gnawed at me, the weight of the prophecy hanging over my head. 1972 had to mean something.

"Found it!" Kiara shouted, her voice breaking through the silence.

We all turned to see her holding up a scroll with a worn seal. Her grin was wide, but it faded slightly as she unrolled it. The text was faded, but legible. I moved closer to her, heart pounding as she read aloud.

"On the cusp of the millennium, a child of time will rise. With a choice to make, the past will bend, and the future shall fall into place. The year of reckoning: 1972. The threads shall mend, but only if the right one is pulled."

I frowned. "So... what does that mean?"

Phyllis stood behind us, reading over Kiara's shoulder. "The prophecy's cryptic, but it's a start. We know the year, and now we know it's tied to a choice. Whatever happened in 1972 is part of your journey."

"But what happened in 1972?" Petra asked, the edge of frustration creeping into his voice.

"That's what we need to find out," I said, my heart sinking. "We need more information. More context."

The silence settled in again as everyone considered the weight of what we just uncovered. 1972 was more than just a year. It was a pivotal moment, and we were getting closer to understanding why.

As we dug through the Roman archives, the air felt heavier with every scroll we uncovered. I wasn't sure what I was expecting—maybe something helpful, maybe a clue. But what we were finding wasn't exactly useful.

"Well, this is a bust," Ethan muttered, throwing another scroll aside. "Not a single mention of 1972 anywhere."

Kiara was flipping through a dusty book, her eyes scanning the pages quickly. "Maybe we're not looking in the right section," she suggested, though she sounded just as defeated as the rest of us.

Petra, who had barely said a word since we entered the archives, pulled out a thick tome and slammed it onto the table. "You know, sometimes the answers are in places you don't expect," he said, his voice gruff.

I glanced over at him. "What do you mean?"

He shrugged. "Sometimes you have to dig deeper. Look past what's right in front of you."

Phyllis was already on the floor, muttering to himself as he sorted through various scrolls. "I think I've found something," he called out after a few minutes.

Ethan and I rushed over. "What is it?" I asked, trying to keep the desperation from my voice.

Phyllis held up a scroll, but it wasn't a regular one. This one was marked with a strange symbol, one I didn't recognize. "It's not about 1972, but it's something about time," Phyllis said, his voice low. "Maybe it's connected. I'll translate it."

He began unrolling the scroll, and as the ancient text came into focus, I felt an uneasy chill creeping up my spine.

"The past is never far," Phyllis read aloud. "Time bends, and so do the paths. What was once lost can be found again. What is seen may never be true."

Kiara furrowed her brow. "That's... that's a little cryptic."

"You think?" Ethan said dryly.

Petra gave us an unamused look. "It's a start, though. Whatever this is, it sounds like it's warning us."

"But warning us about what?" I asked, feeling the unease settle deeper.

"Maybe it's about the consequences," Phyllis said, flipping through the scroll to see if there was more. "Something in the past, something that can't be changed without consequences."

"Great," Kiara said, throwing her hands up in frustration. "Now we have even more to worry about."

"We need to focus," I said, trying to center myself. "We can't get sidetracked by these cryptic messages. Let's stick to the goal: find out what happened in 1972, and maybe we'll figure out the rest."

But the lingering feeling in the pit of my stomach said otherwise. We were wading deeper into a pool of unknowns, and every piece of information we uncovered seemed to raise more questions than answers.

After a few hours of digging through dusty scrolls and flipping through archives, the air felt thick with frustration. We had hoped for something more useful—something that would point to our next move. But all we had found were details about random events from 1992.

"Selena Gomez's birthday, huh?" Kiara muttered, staring at a page. "I didn't expect the Roman archives to keep tabs on pop stars."

"Definitely not helpful for us," I sighed, flicking through more papers. "Maybe we should focus on something... less random?"

"Wait, listen to this," Petra called out from across the room, holding up another scroll. "A huge storm in 1992. A hurricane that caused some serious damage in the Caribbean... but there's no mention of how it connects to anything."

"We're looking for moments of significance, not weather reports," I said, but my voice lacked its usual confidence. We had come here expecting answers, but all we were finding were fragments that didn't make any sense.

"Well, what about this?" Phyllis asked, squinting at a page. "In 1992, the internet was starting to become a thing, like... big time. Maybe that's something we need to pay attention to? Could the internet have anything to do with time travel?"

I shot him a look. "A bit of a stretch, don't you think?"

But deep down, I wasn't sure. The fact that we were grasping at anything to make sense of the puzzle made me feel even more unsure.

"We're missing something," Ethan muttered from the corner of the room, his voice as cold as ever. "This isn't helping us get closer to Janus."

"We need more context," I said, rubbing my forehead. "There's got to be something in here that leads us in the right direction."

"Evelyn, you've been saying that for days," Kiara said, her voice carrying a mix of exasperation and determination. "Maybe we need to do it. Find as we go. Maybe we need to figure out how to go back in time before we figure out why."

I opened my mouth to argue, but the words didn't come out. She had a point. We had been overthinking everything, trying to find answers in places that just didn't make sense. Maybe it was time to stop waiting for all the pieces to align and take action.

"I agree," Petra added, his voice unusually calm for someone who had been caught up in the same frustration as the rest of us. "The prophecy's just a guide, right? We're not going to figure it all out by sitting in this dusty room."

I leaned back against the stone wall, staring at the ceiling. Was this the right approach? The thought of jumping into the unknown, blindly trusting that the answers would come, was terrifying. But it also felt like the only option left.

"We need to take a risk," I said quietly, as if saying it aloud might make it real. "We need to trust that when we move, things will fall into place."

Ethan, who had been silent up until now, finally spoke. "It's not a plan I'm in love with," he said, his gaze hardening, "but we've come this far. Might as well see where it leads."

Kiara flashed a grin. "At least we're finally on the same page."

"Alright," I said, feeling a weight lift off my shoulders. "Let's go. We'll find out how to go back in time, and when we do, we'll figure out why. Together."

"Eureka!" cried Phyllis, his eyes wide with excitement as he jumped up from his seat. "Magic of the triple goddess, magic can do anything. Time is just one small particle to the sorceress."

I raised an eyebrow. "What are you talking about, Phyllis?"

He rushed over to the scrolls he had been poring over, pulling one out that looked ancient even by demigod standards. His fingers ran over the faded text as he began to explain, his voice full of fervor.

"Look here!" he pointed to a passage, his excitement barely contained. "The ancient Romans believed in the power of magic, and not just any magic—time magic. It's tied to the power of the triple goddess, Hecate. She's the one who can manipulate time. All we need is a spell, a ritual. It's not just about who or why—it's about how we connect with her."

Kiara leaned over to get a better look, her expression intrigued. "Are you serious? Hecate's magic... could help us travel through time?"

"Exactly!" Phyllis nodded, grinning. "But there's one catch. It's not a spell you can just cast. The goddess demands something in return. A sacrifice of sorts. If we want to harness this magic, we'll have to prove our worth."

"Great," I muttered. "Another challenge to deal with."

Ethan, who had been quietly listening, finally spoke up. "So, we need to find out what this sacrifice is. We're not just walking in and demanding magic, especially not from a goddess."

Phyllis tapped the scroll again, scanning for more details. "It says the sacrifice isn't necessarily something physical. It could be a choice—something we hold dear, something we have to give up willingly."

"Wonderful," Kiara deadpanned. "Now we get to deal with that on top of everything else."

"Look, we're getting somewhere," I said, trying to sound more hopeful than I felt. "We've got a way forward, a way to move through time. We just need to figure out what the sacrifice is and make sure we're ready for it."

The room fell silent as we all processed the weight of what we'd just learned. We weren't just chasing the answer; now, we were trying to outsmart a goddess. And there was no telling what she might ask for.