✓ | 𝗶𝗰𝗮𝗿𝘂𝘀 𝗳𝗮𝗹𝗹𝘀, luke castellan

ᴛʜʀᴇᴇ

The Allure of Glory.

⚡

    BEFORE LONG, PERCY JACKSON RETURNED, his steps cautious as he made his way across the cabin to the sleeping bag Luke had rolled out for him earlier. The weight of the day clung to his shoulders, making him seem even smaller than he was. Luke didn’t look up right away, but he gestured lazily toward the corner.

    “I stole you some toiletries from the camp store,” he said, voice edged with amusement.

    Percy paused, clearly unsure whether or not it was a joke. “Uh… thanks,” he said finally, erring on the side of caution.

    “No problem,” Luke replied with a smile. “Tough first day?”

    Percy hesitated, then sat down slowly. “I don’t belong here,” he admitted. “I don’t even believe in gods.”

    Luke let out a low laugh — not mocking, but tired. “Yeah,” he said, gaze distant now. “That’s how we all started. Once you start believing in them? It doesn't get any easier.”

    Something in his tone made Percy blink — maybe the bitter undercurrent, like he was talking about something personal. Something that still burned.

    "So are you also..." Percy started, unsure of the rules. "Do you not know who your...?"

    "Am I unclaimed?" Luke finished for him patiently. "No, Hermes is my father..." His voice turned flat. "That doesn't matter, we're all of the same team here."

    He jerked his head toward Rory, who was still leaning on the edge of her bunk with her arms crossed, discreetly watching the conversation unfold. “Rory’s been here almost as long as I have, and she’s still unclaimed.”

    Rory’s eyes snapped toward Luke, a flash of annoyance tightening her mouth. She didn’t appreciate being pulled into a conversation she had been perfectly content to observe from the outside—especially when it involved airing out her own divine rejection.

    Still, Percy’s face—lost, disoriented, desperate to understand something none of them truly could—softened her irritation just enough. She let out a slow breath, brushing her hair behind her ear before shifting forward on her bunk.

    “How long have you—” Percy asked, trailing off, clearly afraid of offending her.

    Rory sighed, tugging the leather necklace out from beneath her shirt and letting the beads slide into view. Four beads — clay, cracked and worn, each marked with a different symbol.

    “Four years,” she said simply, voice unreadable.

    Percy stared at the beads as if they might answer questions no one else could. “Why is that okay?” he asked, his voice cracking with disbelief. “Why do they get to bring us here to just ignore some of us?”

    The question landed hard. It always did. It was the kind of thing most campers thought about at least once, in the quiet of night or in the space between battles. Percy just had the guts—or the ignorance—to say it aloud.

    He wasn’t wrong.

    Luke exhaled sharply through his nose, then ran a hand through his hair, agitated but composed. He leaned against the bunkpost opposite Rory, letting the shadows soften the sharpness of his jaw.

    "You spend too much time trying to figure out why the gods do whatever it is they do," he said, "you'll drive yourself crazy. The sooner you stop worrying about that the sooner you can enjoy what this place actually does offer."