✓ | 𝗶𝗰𝗮𝗿𝘂𝘀 𝗳𝗮𝗹𝗹𝘀, luke castellan

ᴛᴇɴ

The Quest Begins.

⚡

    THAT SAME DAY, Rory noticed Percy slip quietly out of the woods.

    That alone was strange—there were never any scheduled activities in the forest. Campers weren’t forbidden from going in, but there was an unspoken understanding that the woods were reserved for solitude, reflection, or, in some cases, secrecy.

    Still, Rory didn’t think much of it at first. Maybe he just needed some space, a moment alone without the constant weight of wary stares and whispered judgment. She and her friends had their own hidden spot deep in the trees, where laughter could rise freely and the gods felt far away. She knew better than most that everyone needed an escape sometimes.

    But her curiosity stirred when, not long after Percy disappeared back toward the cabins, Luke emerged from the same patch of forest—his shirt slightly damp at the collar, his expression unreadable.

    Something clicked. Too quickly. Too easily.

    Rory didn’t say anything that day. She kept her thoughts close, her face carefully blank. Maybe it had been a one-time thing, she told herself. A coincidence. Luke had every right to walk in the woods. But that nagging feeling wouldn’t go away—the sense that something had been unfolding behind her back, quiet and intentional.

    The next day, just after lunch, she found herself lingering by the edge of the forest, arms crossed and eyes narrowed. She didn’t have to wait long.

    Sure enough, Percy appeared again, slipping through the trees with a slight spring in his step. His hair was tousled from movement, his cheeks pink from exertion, and his hands smudged faintly with dirt or weapon oil. He looked… lighter. Like someone had finally taken the time to speak to him like a person instead of a mistake.

    Rory waited until he was out of sight before stepping into the woods herself.

    The air changed as she crossed beneath the canopy—cooler, quieter, tinged with the earthy scent of moss and fallen leaves. The towering trees loomed above her, their branches arching like the ribs of some great cathedral, filtering the sunlight into soft golden shafts that danced across the path. Her footsteps were careful, deliberate. She followed the faint trail of broken twigs and disturbed undergrowth, winding deeper until the sounds of camp were completely gone.

    It didn’t take long to find him.

    Luke stood in a small clearing, surrounded by the ancient stillness of the forest. His tall, lean frame was silhouetted against the shifting light, his back partially turned, unaware of her approach. He was holding two training swords loosely at his side, their hilts worn smooth from years of use. The blades, though dulled, caught the sun now and then in flickers of silver.

    “So…” Rory’s voice slipped through the hush of the forest, low but unmistakable, slicing through the quiet like the edge of a blade.

    Luke spun toward her, startled, eyes wide with surprise. He hadn’t heard her approach—a rare thing. She read the guilt flicker across his face before he even said a word.

    "I can explain..." he began, already on the defensive.

    “Can you?” she asked, arching an eyebrow. She wasn’t angry exactly—but she wasn’t pleased either. Her arms were crossed, weight shifted to one leg.

    He took a breath, trying to recover. “I was going to tell you... I knew you wouldn’t like it...”

    “So you didn’t.”