𝗶𝗰𝗮𝗿𝘂𝘀 𝗳𝗮𝗹𝗹𝘀, luke castellan

ᴏɴᴇ

A Storm Brewing.

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   NEWS OF THE LATEST ARRIVAL AT CAMP HALF-BLOOD HAD SPREAD LIKE WILDFIRE. By the time lunch had come around, everyone at camp had heard all there was to know about the kid—as well as the big fight that had gone down right outside of campgrounds. Rory heard of it first herself from her best friend Valentine Gibson, who had always been prone to gossiping.

   "Everyone's saying he killed the Minotaur," Valentine couldn't help but express her amazement, before complaining about her own, comparatively modest accomplishments. "Can you believe it? The most I've ever killed were those hellhounds last year."

    The hellhounds in question had been summoned as a practical joke by the Stoll brothers. Rory hadn't found it very funny to be pounced on by a 120 pound monster, but Val was just happy to have been able to actually kill a monster on her own.

    Rory had to admit that it was unfair. Most of the demigods at camp trained for years only to never actually experience a real fight. Even though Valentine only stayed at camp during the summer, monsters never seemed to be too interested in her, forcing her, much to her chagrin, to concentrate on her classes and leaving her incredibly bored. Rory supposed the monsters just didn't care much for a daughter of Aphrodite, probably preferring to go after bigger threats. But she didn't dare say so out loud, after all, it would've bruised Valentine's ego. It sure made them wonder what they were doing at camp at all. To make friends? To sing campfire songs and braid each other's hair? Rory had been living year-round at camp for four years now and she just couldn't help but feel as though she were wasting away her life.

    Seated at the dining pavilion for lunch, Rory and Val found themselves among the few that day who hadn't chosen the strawberry fields for their midday meal. The absence of their fellow campers left only a handful of demigods scattered around the tables, their voices mingling with the gentle rustle of leaves in the breeze. Usually, it would have been considered some sort of blasphemy to sit at another god's table, but Rory and Val didn't care much what the gods thought.

    "He must've been pretty powerful if he had the Minotaur after him," Rory remarked absentmindedly, moving her food around with her fork, her gaze fixed on her plate as she moved her food around with her fork.

    Valentine shrugged, the Minotaur was one of a kind, for it to have specifically gone after this kid could only mean bad news for him. But now he was at Camp Half-Blood and he'd be safe as long as he stayed at camp. As Val launched into yet another tirade of gossip and complaints, Rory found herself struggling to maintain her focus. She had learned long ago to tune out Valentine's incessant chatter, occasionally offering a hum of approval or a gasp of indignation to feign interest in what the other girl was saying. From what Rory gathered, Chiron wasn't letting anyone in to see the kid except for Annabeth and Grover—which Valentine thought was just so unfair—they had claimed it was so that he wouldn't be too frightened upon waking up, and so that he made the transition into camp easier—but that was just ridiculous and so on and so on...

   Despite her best efforts to stay engaged in the conversation, Rory's mind kept drifting back to her dream, to the task that awaited her. Once upon a time, she and Val had been inseparable, sharing secrets and dreams late into the night. But now, their once-close bond felt strained, suffocated.

   As Val prattled on about the latest gossip and trivialities, Rory couldn't help but feel a pang of frustration. She longed for peace and solitude, a respite from the chaos that seemed to follow Val wherever she went. While she valued their friendship, Rory couldn't shake the feeling that she had outgrown it.