Rewriting to improve writing.
"Gods are born out of the need of humans but they shall die at the hands of the ones they've wronged."
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The world of demigods has never been a safe one, plagued by monsters, the wrath of gods, and the impending d...
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Some children are born with tragedy in their blood.
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Luke's point of view.
I knew I was a traitor.
I mean, not just in the obvious, stab-your-friends-in-the-back way (though, yeah, technically that too), but in the deep, gut-wrenching, no-going-back way. The kind where you've already picked a side, already seen the path stretched out in front of you, and you still go through with it because—because fuck, what else are you supposed to do?
I'd already made the decision. Already burned the bridge. Or I would've.
If Annabeth hadn't punched me in the goddamn face.
Gods. That was embarrassing.
One second, I was right there. I'd gotten away with so much. I'd outmaneuvered Chiron, tricked Percy, played every single one of them like a perfectly tuned lyre. I had Kronos supporting me(read- manipulating me). I was about to run through the teleportation ripple I'd carved open with Backbiter, ready to leave these ungrateful fucks behind forever—and then—bam.
Twelve-year-old Annabeth fucking clocked me.
And listen, I'd been hit before. I'd taken punches, kicks, and the occasional goddamn celestial bronze dagger to the arm. But this? This was insulting. She got me right in the jaw, knocked me flat on my ass like I hadn't spent years raising her, like I hadn't carried her through storms, like I hadn't fought monsters with her strapped to my back. Like I was just some guy she could take down with a well-timed sucker punch.
Which. Okay. Apparently, I was.
I'd barely even hit the ground before Percy was on me. Percy. The kid who hadn't even known he was a demigod a month ago. The kid who still got distracted by shiny objects in battle. He had me pinned, and I could already hear Chiron's hooves pounding against the dirt, the war cries of the other campers— my campers—rushing to stop me.
That was the moment. That was when I knew.
I was the traitor.
Not in some grand reveal kind of way. No dramatic realization, no villain monologue. Just... cold, hard truth. I was the guy people spat at in history books, the one who almost got away with it. If I had been just a little faster, a little stronger—if Annabeth had hesitated even a second—I would've been gone. Would've been in Kronos's ranks before they even figured out what hit them.
