"Anything," Tempest Mistral said. "I would love to demonstrate more, but I have much to say." She scanned the crowd. "I am descended from many kings and many queens. My blood is royal and tainted with ichor. Pain is familiar to me, as it is to you. I have experienced things that even those wrapped in chains could never understand." Her gaze briefly settled on Loki before her eyes betrayed some sort of emotion and she looked back to us. "Demigods, most of you are runaways. But did you run at six years old from creatures that should have never existed? Were you forced from your home because of family or creatures unimaginable? Were you told you had a past you could not remember and a curse that would not fade? Did your life seem like a broken soundtrack?" She stopped, letting her questions linger. "For most of you, the answer is yes, but you do not share the same extent of pain as the person next to you or the one speaking to you right now." She smiled bitterly. It didn't reach her eyes. "My story...I can bet you would like to know it. Many of you would go to the extreme to find out my secrets"—once again her eyes lifted to the deities in the back of the amphitheater—"as some of you have already done. But I warn you, you will have little success in finding much about me.
