𝗶𝗰𝗮𝗿𝘂𝘀 𝗳𝗮𝗹𝗹𝘀, luke castellan

ɴɪɴᴇ

Brushed Aside.

⚡

    BY THE NEXT MORNING, PERCY WAS GONE, HAVING MOVED INTO CABIN THREE.

    It was the absolute dream. He'd get to leave behind the cramped quarters and uncomfortable  sleeping arrangements of the Hermes Cabin. No longer relegated to the cold, hard floor, he would now find himself with the luxury of an actual bed. But above even the practical benefits, it wasn't just about escaping the Hermes Cabin, it was about embracing his newfound identity and heritage. The revelation of his divine parentage should have been a cause for celebration, a moment of profound validation and acceptance within the world of demigods. After all, so many of the kids from the Hermes cabin had languished for years without the slightest sign from their divine parents, left to wonder if they were truly worthy of their divine lineage.

   And yet, Percy's experience was different. In just a week's time, he had been claimed by his father, none other than Poseidon, one of the Big Three gods at that. It was a stroke of luck—or fate—that seemed almost too good to be true. Typical.

   Whispers of envy and admiration rippled through the ranks of the Hermes campers in the wake of Percy's claiming. It wasn't fair, they murmured amongst themselves, their voices tinged with a mixture of resentment and awe. Why did he get to be claimed so quickly, while they remained overlooked and forgotten by their godly parents? It was a question that gnawed at their hearts, a bitter reminder of the arbitrary nature of divine favoritism.

   But amidst the whispers of jealousy and frustration, Percy himself seemed to bear the brunt of an unseen burden. Since his departure from Cabin Eleven, there was a noticeable shift in his demeanor, a heaviness that weighed upon him like a cloak of sorrow. Rory, couldn't help but notice the change in Percy's behavior in the days following his claiming. He seemed to drift through camp with a sense of aimlessness, engaging in activities where no one volunteered to train with him. Even the Ares cabin steered clear of him.

   Rory couldn't help but feel a pang of sympathy for Percy as she watched him from afar, a solitary figure amidst the bustling crowds of demigods. Night after night, he would sit alone at the Poseidon table, his eyes tracing the laughter and camaraderie of his fellow campers with a mixture of longing and despair. It was a poignant reminder of just how alone he was at his own table, isolated from the bonds and connections that seemed to effortlessly form around him.

   He tried to mask his misery, but it was as if a silent ache permeated the air around him. Rory could see it in the slump of his shoulders, the distant look in his eyes as he watched the joyful interactions of the other campers. It was as if he existed on the outside looking in, a silent observer amidst the lively camaraderie of camp life.

   Each evening, Percy would leave the dining pavilion early, eager to escape the suffocating weight of jealousy and pervading loneliness that seemed to plague him.

    Rory sat at the pavilion at lunch one day, her gaze drifting over the bustling camp. Luke, sitting beside her, was lost in thought, absentmindedly pushing at his food. Valentine, Maddie, and Camille occupied their usual spots at the table, and Chris too had joined them that day, the rest of Cabin Eleven having dispersed to eat with their own friends. As Rory glanced across the pavilion, her eyes settled on Percy. He sat alone. The group of them—Luke, Valentine, Maddie, Camille, and Chris—tried not to make it too obvious that they were looking at him, their gazes flickering away whenever he glanced in their direction.

    "Maybe we should invite him over..." Camille suggested softly, her voice barely rising above the murmur of conversation at the Hermes tables, earning a tentative nod of agreement from Valentine.

    "No way, that's against the rules," Maddie said, drawing skeptical looks from the others, as they were all sitting at the Hermes tables, despite half of their group not being from the Hermes Cabin in the first place.

    "Look at you being a goody-two-shoes," Valentine mocked, prompting a scoff from Maddie.

    Meanwhile, Percy finished his meal in silence and left hastily, evading any potential interaction with the group. They watched him depart in silence.

    "Poor kid," Chris said, breaking the quiet tension with a note of sympathy in his voice.

    "He probably doesn't want the pity anyways," Rory shrugged.

    "He's twelve," Camille responded in disbelief, her voice tinged with frustration as she struggled to understand why her friends were being so apathetic. "Of course he wants the pity. He probably just wants someone to be there for him."

    "I don't know if it's a good idea to be associated with him, he is a forbidden kid," Luke said.

    All of them knew Luke's experience with forbidden children all too well, and it hadn't ended well the first time. Rory reached out, her hand finding Luke's in a gesture of solidarity. He offered her a small, grateful smile.

    "That's not his fault," Camille defended with a heavy sigh, her gaze flickering between Luke's troubled expression and Rory's simmering frustration. Despite her empathy towards Luke's perspective, she couldn't shake the feeling of injustice that lingered. He was just a kid.

    "To the gods it is," Rory said, trying to keep the bitterness out of her voice. It wasn't fair. None of it was. The gods were unforgiving. They always had been towards their children.

    Camille and Valentine exchanged a glance, acknowledging the unspoken tensions within the group. Sensing the need to diffuse the situation, they opted to let the conversation drift, recognizing the futility of debating any further. If they really wanted to associate themselves with Percy, they could do so on their own. Luke, Rory and Chris would prefer not to have Zeus against them any more, and Maddie was just petty.

    As the chatter shifted to lighter topics, the atmosphere lightened momentarily, offering a temporary respite from the weighty discussions. However, the tranquility was short-lived, shattered by the subtle movement of Rory brushing a stray strand of hair behind her ear. The seemingly innocuous gesture caught Valentine's attention. Concerned for her friend, Valentine couldn't help but voice her worries.

    "What happened to your hand?" she asked as she spotted Rory's injury, her voice tinged with genuine concern. Despite her lack of suspicion, she couldn't ignore the nagging sense of unease that stirred within her. The remark had drawn the attention of the entire table, their conversations fading into the background as they turned their focus towards Rory and Valentine.

   Rory's hand had healed since Capture the Flag, but the remnants of the injury were still visible. The edges of the cut were jagged and uneven, as if gnarled claws had torn through her skin with malicious intent. Faint black tendrils still snaked their way outwards from the scar, curling and twisting like malevolent serpents seeking to ensnare their prey.

    Beside her, Luke tensed but Rory's response was swift, offering a simple explanation for her injury.

    "Oh um, just some stupid training accident." Rory dismissed, though the forced nonchalance in her tone didn't escape Valentine's notice.

    Valentine arched an eyebrow, a subtle indication of her skepticism, though she chose not to press further. After all, there was no reason Rory would lie to her. She shrugged off the momentary doubt, opting to let the matter rest. And besides, in the grand scheme of things, a cut was hardly worth dwelling on. Right?

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A bit of a filler chapter but I'll release another one later today! (maybe)

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