▃▃▃ ᴅᴏɴᴛ ʟᴇᴛ ʜᴇʀ ʟᴏᴏᴋ ᴏꜰ ɪɴɴᴏᴄᴇɴᴄᴇ ꜰᴏᴏʟ ʏᴏᴜ ꜱʜᴇ ɪꜱ ꜰᴜʟʟ ᴏꜰ ᴛʜᴇ ʙᴇꜱᴛ ᴋɪɴᴅ ᴏꜰ ʙᴀᴅ-ᴊ ɪʀᴏɴ ᴡᴏʀᴅ
▃▃ ʙᴏᴏᴋ 1 ▃▃ In which the only daughter of Persephone sneaks on a quest to see the world for the first time since she's been at camp. The daughter of wisdom...
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𖥔 ݁ ˖ ⭑ ‧₊˚ ⋅ જ⁀➴๋࣭ ⭑๋࣭ ⭑
It was the middle the of july, and Elara and Lysander strolled through the woods, their conversation punctuated by the distant booms of fireworks painting the night sky with bursts of color.
"He even gave me his jacket, Sandy! He totally likes me," Elara argued with a broad smile, hugging Percy's flannel closer to her chest.
"And his favorite color is blue, so this meant a lot to him—but he gave it to me," she sighed dreamily, her eyes sparkling with excitement.
"I don't think I've ever seen you like someone as much as you like him," Lysander laughed, shaking his head in amusement.
"I don't like him. He likes me," Elara corrected with a playful smirk.
"Whatever—"
Lysander was abruptly cut off by the sound of yelling and the unmistakable clash of swords. Their eyes widened in alarm, and without a word, they sprinted towards the commotion.
As they broke through the trees, they found Luke and Percy locked in a fierce battle, the intensity of their fight far beyond mere sparring.
"The gods are my enemy!" Luke shouted, his voice laced with venom. Elara's heart plummeted as realization struck her like a thunderbolt. Luke was the thief; he had stolen the bolt.
Elara extended her hand, ready to trap Luke to the ground with her powers, when she felt the cold, unforgiving metal of a sword press against her neck.
"I can't let you do that, petal," Lysander said softly, his voice a chilling contrast to the cold steel he held against her skin.
Elara's heart shattered into a million pieces. "You're the other thief? You stole Hades' helm?" she whispered in disbelief, the realization hitting her like a tidal wave.
"You don't understand, petal," Lysander shook his head, his eyes pleading.
"What don't I understand? You wanting to raise Kronos? For what?!" she demanded, her voice trembling with a mix of fury and heartbreak. Lysander flinched at her words. In the six years they had known each other, Elara had never been angry with him, and the look in her eyes now was nothing but pure, unadulterated rage.
With a swift, practiced move, Elara ducked under his sword and kicked Lysander in the chest, sending him stumbling backward. She raised her own sword, pointing it at him with a trembling hand. "I can't let you do this, Sandy," she said, her voice breaking as tears streamed down her face.
