𝗶𝗰𝗮𝗿𝘂𝘀 𝗳𝗮𝗹𝗹𝘀, luke castellan

ᴛᴡᴇɴᴛʏ-ᴇɪɢʜᴛ

Race for the Golden Fleece.

🌊

    Finally, the long-anticipated moment of confrontation had dawned upon them like a storm on the horizon. The sea, once calm and serene, now churned with an almost restless energy announcing the arrival of the son of Poseidon.

    Initially, their arrival had gone unnoticed amidst the vast expanse of the sea. The horizon had been a blur of shifting colors and distant clouds, offering no hint of the impending danger. It was only when a vigilant monster on watch, its eyes keenly scanning the beach, spotted movement—dark silhouettes cutting against the sand—that the alarm was sounded.

    But it was too late.

    Luke, flanked by a formidable guard of monsters including both Oreius and Agrius, moved with purpose towards the shore. Their steps were deliberate, the ground trembling slightly under their weight as they advanced to apprehend their adversaries.

    Rory leaned against the ship's railing with an air of nonchalance, her arms crossed as she observed the unfolding scene on the beach below. Below her, Oreius and Agrius corralled the captured heroes onto the deck. Their movements were rough and efficient, treating the demigods more like cargo than living beings, their hands gripping tightly onto them.

    The aft deck where they were deposited had a sprawling swimming pool, its waters shimmering under the sunlight as fountains erupted in cascades of crystal-clear water that caught the light and cast playful reflections on the nearby walls.

    As she watched, Rory mentally tallied the captured demigods. Percy's defiant posture, Annabeth's calculating eyes, Maddie's tense expression, and the pitiful creature that was the cyclops—all were familiar faces in this dangerous game they played. Joining them now were Camille and Grover, their expressions a mix of resignation and defiance in equal measure. But that left two unaccounted for—Clarisse and Valentine.

    "And so, the Fleece," Luke mused. "Where is it?" With the precision of a predator, he scrutinized their captives, probing at their clothing with the sharp tip of his sword.

    Grover couldn't help but protest as Luke poked at his jeans. "Hey!"

    Luke smiled, a dangerous glint in his eyes.. "Just give me the Fleece and I'll leave you to return to your, ah, little nature quest."

    Silence greeted Luke's proposition. Undeterred, he calmly reiterated, "Maybe you didn't hear me. Where—is—the—Fleece?"

    Percy glanced at Annabeth, sharing a knowing look before turning back to Luke and smiling confidently. "Halfway back to New York by now. We sent it on ahead of us. You messed up."

    Luke's gaze narrowed at Percy, a flicker of uncertainty crossing his face before he redirected his scrutiny towards Rory. There was a silent exchange between them, a language of shared history and calculated decisions. Finally, Luke spoke again, disbelief and frustration seeping into his voice. "You're lying. You couldn't have..."

    "Clarisse." Rory determined with a sigh. They had sent Clarisse and Valentine ahead on a plane with tbe Fleece.

    Luke's grip tightened on the hilt of his sword, his jaw clenching visibly. "You trusted... You gave..." His voice trailed off, words failing to fully express his sense of frustration.

    "Yeah."

    Rory swore under her breath in Ancient Greek. Percy's smug expression didn't help matters; he seemed almost too pleased with himself, as if relishing his thwarting of their plans. He had no idea what was at stake. Luke, his attention momentarily diverted from the captive heroes, turned to Rory with a furrowed brow and a question in his eyes.