𝗶𝗰𝗮𝗿𝘂𝘀 𝗳𝗮𝗹𝗹𝘀, luke castellan

ᴇɪɢʜᴛ

The Trident's Heir.

⚡

    THE NEXT DAY PASSED IN A BLUR, swept along by the mounting anticipation for that night’s game.

    By the time the sun dipped below the horizon and the stars began to blink into view, Camp Half-Blood had stirred into a quiet frenzy. Campers gathered at the pavilion in animated clusters, the air alive with whispered strategies and half-joking boasts. When the Ares and Athena cabins finally emerged with their flags held high—bold scarlet clashing with silver and stormy gray—a wave of cheers and jeers erupted from the crowd. The energy was electric, like the final charge before a storm.

    As usual, alliances had already been drawn. The Hermes cabin had joined forces with Athena once more, bringing the strategic minds of Annabeth’s crew together with Hermes' sheer numbers. Apollo had also thrown in with them, their archers sharp-eyed and fast-footed, invaluable for reconnaissance and ambush tactics. That left the Ares cabin leading the opposing side—a brutal coalition that included Dionysus, Demeter, Aphrodite, and Hephaestus. It was an odd assortment, but over the years, they'd made it work. Somehow, Ares always managed to turn chaos into domination.

    Their biggest obstacle, without a doubt, remained Clarisse and her tightly knit squad of Ares brutes. A small pack of four or five, they hunted like wolves, always patrolling the same stretch of forest between the Athena camp’s staging area and the enemy’s flag. It was a bottleneck, and Clarisse knew it. She used it to her advantage every time.

    Clarisse didn’t fight fair—she fought to win. She and her crew took a savage kind of joy in crushing their opponents, especially when it meant tearing through one of Annabeth’s notoriously complex strategies. It didn’t matter how meticulous the Athena cabin's blueprints were, how many hours of planning they'd put into mapping the terrain or coordinating maneuvers with their allies. Clarisse's team didn’t outthink them—they bulldozed through them. Every time. Plans unraveled. Units scattered. The flag remained out of reach.

    Tonight however, Annabeth was in a particularly good mood, eyes alight with something that looked suspiciously like triumph. Whatever plan she had cooked up for the night's round of Capture the Flag, she clearly believed in it—and expected everyone else to do the same.

    Rory, however, wouldn’t be a major player in that plan. Not directly.

    Besides, she had her own scheme to pull off. Rory had never cared much for Capture the Flag. It wasn’t the combat or the risk that bothered her. It was the spectacle. The forced alliances. The performative aggression. The sense that, sometimes, it was less about strategy and more about feeding certain campers’ egos. She usually was on scouting duty anyways. Ever since she had gained more control over her powers a few years back, Annabeth had assigned her a new job that usually involved minimal fighting but was still crucial to their team securing the flag.

    Chiron's hoof pounded on the marble, and he declared, "Heroes! You know the rules. The creek is the boundary line. The entire forest is fair game. All magic items are allowed. The banner must be prominently displayed, and have no more than two guards. Prisoners may be disarmed, but may not be bound or gagged. No killing or maiming is allowed. I will serve as a referee and battlefield medic. Arm yourselves!" He spread his hands and the tables were swiftly adorned with a myriad of equipment-helmets, bronze swords, spears, and oxhide shields coated in metal—transforming the pavilion into a staging ground for the upcoming game.

    Percy marveled at the impressive array of weapons, his eyes widening. "We're really supposed to use these?" he gasped in disbelief.

    Luke, standing nearby, was already strapping on a helmet. "Unless you want to get skewered by your friends in Cabin Five," he quipped, tossing Percy a set of armor