Betrayed But Never Forgotten

More bonding time

Percys pov

    Percy solidified right outside the cabin door, the air crystallizing around him as he materialized from the shadows. The night had swallowed Camp Half-Blood whole – no lights flickered in the windows of the sleeping cabins, no campfires danced in the distance. The stars had been blotted out by a thick blanket of clouds, leaving the world shrouded in an almost oppressive darkness that mirrored the hollow void growing in Percy's chest.

'Time runs differently on planet Orbiton,' Percy thought bitterly, realizing that what had felt like mere moments in Chaos's realm might have been hours here on Earth. Each second that had passed was another second Ophelia lay dying, another precious moment slipping away like water through his fingers.

He stood motionless for a long moment, his hand hovering over the doorknob, dreading what awaited him inside. The weight of Ophelia's blood – now dried and crusted on his skin – seemed to pull him downward, threatening to bring him to his knees. With a ragged breath that caught painfully in his throat, he pushed the door open.

The sight of Luke's pacing figure greeted him, his friend's footsteps wearing an anxious path in the floorboards. Luke's head snapped up, his scarred face lined with worry that quickly shifted to relief, then confusion.

"Where have you been?" Luke demanded, his voice tight with barely contained panic.

"I had to take Ophelia to Chaos," Percy mumbled, the words feeling like shards of glass in his mouth. He mechanically removed his cloak and hood, his movements slow and wooden, as if his limbs had forgotten how to work properly. Through the haze of his grief, he vaguely registered Charles and Selina on the couch, sharing headphones, oblivious to the catastrophe that had unfolded – that was still unfolding.

Luke's face crumpled when he heard Percy's words, the color draining from his cheeks as he seemed to age years in seconds. "Is she okay?" he asked, his voice dropping to a barely audible whisper, as if speaking any louder might make the answer worse.

Percy fought back the hot tears that burned behind his eyes, swallowing hard against the knot in his throat. He recounted what had happened – the possessed Annabeth, the poisoned blade, Chaos's grim prognosis – each word more difficult than the last. As he spoke, he could see Ophelia's face in his mind – not as she'd been in those final moments, pale and bleeding, but laughing, her eyes bright with life, teasing him mercilessly as only a sister could.

When he finished, Luke did something Percy hadn't expected – he stepped forward and pulled Percy into a fierce hug. The simple human contact broke something inside Percy, and for a brief moment, he allowed himself to sag against his friend, drawing strength from the one person who might understand the depth of his pain.

"After you stopped Piper's dagger," Luke said as they broke apart, his voice unsteady, "Annabeth – or not-Annabeth – teleported me here. I waited a little bit, and then two unconscious girls appeared. I just put them in the room." He paused, running a hand through his sandy hair. "And where were Bianca and Zoe in all of this?"

"They're probably still hunting," Percy replied, the words sounding hollow even to his own ears. He could picture them now, blissfully unaware of the tragedy that had struck in their absence.

"Does Chaos know what poison it was?" Luke asked, desperation creeping into his voice.Percy put his head in his hands, the memory of Chaos's regretful expression swimming before his eyes. "No," he whispered, the single syllable laden with despair. "Sadly."

Luke groaned and banged his head against the wall, the dull thud punctuating the hopelessness of their situation. "We better find out what possessed Annabeth and Piper," he said, but his words lacked conviction, as if he already knew they were fighting a losing battle.

"Tomorrow," Percy said, suddenly feeling the weight of centuries pressing down on him. "Right now, I need some time to register... some stuff." The inadequacy of the word 'stuff' to describe the gaping wound in his heart was almost laughable. "I'm going to go train," he added, flicking his cloak back on, only then realizing he'd taken it off in the first place.

"Want to spar?" Luke asked, already reaching for his own cloak and hood, his eyes reflecting a desperate need to do something, anything, to stave off the helplessness.

"I could use the company," Percy admitted, surprised to find he meant it. The thought of being alone with his thoughts – with the image of Ophelia's blood pooling on marble floors – was suddenly unbearable.

Luke managed a smile that didn't reach his eyes, and together they headed into the night, two broken warriors seeking solace in the only way they knew how – through the familiar rhythm of blades and the temporary oblivion of physical exhaustion.

As they walked, Percy cast one final glance at the night sky, searching for stars that remained hidden behind the clouds. Somewhere, beyond that veil of darkness, Ophelia was fighting for her life, alone. The thought pierced him anew, a fresh wound alongside the others. He quickened his pace, as if by moving faster he could outrun the grief that threatened to consume him whole.

But with each step into the darkness, the bitter truth followed: no amount of training, no clash of swords, could fill the void that Ophelia's absence had left. For the first time since becoming the son of Chaos, Percy felt truly, devastatingly powerless.