✓ | 𝗶𝗰𝗮𝗿𝘂𝘀 𝗳𝗮𝗹𝗹𝘀, luke castellan

ᴛʜɪʀᴛʏ-ꜱᴇᴠᴇɴ

False Promises.

🌎

    As Rory crossed the threshold and stepped out onto the porch, the cool night air enveloped her like a comforting embrace, a reminder of the world beyond the confines of Anya's house. It was the first time she had stepped outside in months, and the sensation was both exhilarating and daunting. The weight of impending departure settled heavily upon her shoulders, casting a shadow over the tender moment shared between herself and the children who had captured her heart.

    Rory paused, her eyes scanning the quiet street, the dim glow of streetlights casting long shadows across the pavement. The familiar scents of the night—damp earth, distant pine—filled her senses, grounding her in the present moment. She took a deep breath, the crisp air filling her lungs and momentarily easing the ache in her chest.

    Sensing her hesitation, Anya stepped forward, closing the door behind her with a soft click as they stood together on the porch. Anya's eyes, filled with understanding and quiet strength, met Rory's. Without a word, she opened her arms, extending an invitation to embrace the young girl just as she had done when Rory first awoke.

    For Rory, the gesture was both surprising and poignant—a silent acknowledgment of the bond that had formed between them, forged in the crucible of shared experiences and mutual understanding. With a mixture of gratitude and sorrow coursing through her veins, she threw herself into Anya's embrace, seeking solace in the warmth of her embrace.

    As she buried her face in Anya's shoulder, Rory fought to contain the flood of emotions threatening to overwhelm her—a swirl of longing, gratitude, and sorrow all vying for dominance within her heart. She had never imagined she would find herself confiding in Anya, seeking comfort in the arms of a woman she had once regarded with suspicion and mistrust. And yet, as she stood enveloped in Anya's embrace, she realized their connection ran deeper than she had ever dared to imagine. Anya Rogers was her mother. James and Chloe were her brother and sister. All these years she had spent avoiding coming home, she now regretted. All along, she should have continued to come back home because, after all, no one would have understood how she had felt after her father's death more than Anya. She regretted staying at camp now. But she never would have been able to face coming back then. She wouldn't have been able to face missing him in the very house she had been raised in.

    The memories of her father flooded back, the nights they spent stargazing in the backyard, his deep voice narrating tales of heroes and gods, filling her young mind with wonder and awe. It was in those moments she had felt closest to him, and his absence now felt like an unhealable wound. She remembered the way he would lift her up onto his shoulders, making her feel invincible, as if she could touch the sky. But those days were gone. She had avenged him, but at what cost?

    Though she tried to stifle the tears that threatened to spill from her eyes, Rory found herself unable to hold back the tide of emotion that washed over her. Each tear was a testament to the depth of her sorrow, a silent acknowledgment of the pain of separation that gnawed at her heart. Her time here had reminded her of Camp Half-Blood, what with the laughter, the shared meals, the comforting presence of her newfound family. It was so different from the Princess Andromeda, so different from Kronos's army. Here, Rory had been a daughter, a sister. And now she would go back to being a soldier.

    Anya held her close, offering silent comfort in the face of uncertainty. With each gentle stroke of her hand, she sought to ease Rory's burden, to impart a sense of peace amidst the turmoil of departure. The warmth of Anya's embrace was a brief sanctuary where Rory could allow herself to be vulnerable, if only for a moment.

    As they reluctantly pulled apart, Anya's question lingered in the air, an unspoken acknowledgment of the separation that loomed over them. "You'll come visit?" she asked, her voice soft but carrying a note of hopefulness that seemed to cling to the edges of her words. The question was both a plea and a promise, a reflection of Anya's desire to maintain their newfound connection despite the impending distance.

    Rory felt a knot tighten in her stomach, a surge of uncertainty and apprehension coursing through her veins. It didn't seem likely she would ever return. She was acutely aware of how fragile and uncertain the future was, given the dire circumstances she was facing. The weight of the moment pressed heavily on her, and she struggled to maintain her composure.

    Yet, as she met Anya's gaze, Rory forced a reassuring smile, a gesture that belied the turmoil within her. She could see the concern in Anya's eyes, the unspoken fear of never seeing her again. Rory's own doubts were a constant undercurrent, threatening to unravel the fragile facade of confidence she presented. Her heart ached at the thought of leaving Anya and the children behind, knowing that the path ahead was fraught with peril.

    Rory's thoughts drifted to the grim reality of Kronos's plans—the looming threat of destruction that cast a dark and ominous shadow over Western society, and indeed, the entire world. Kronos's insidious machinations were not merely aimed at conquest but at complete annihilation. The cataclysmic event he envisioned threatened to obliterate everything in its path, leaving behind nothing but a vast expanse of desolation and ruin. Rory could almost see the devastation in her mind—a landscape marred by chaos and despair, a world transformed into an inhospitable wasteland by the wrath of the ancient titan.

    Rory didn't want that, Rory had never wanted that. But that had been Kronos's plan all along of course. All they had really wanted was to undermine the gods and push them to their breaking point, to simply threaten them with what Kronos was capable of. But what if it went too far? What if he did succeed in the end? The enormity of the impending catastrophe weighed heavily on Rory's shoulders, a burden too immense to bear alone. She felt the crushing pressure of the responsibility thrust upon her, the knowledge that her actions might dictate the fate of countless lives, including those of her family.

    The idea of returning to Anya's house in the aftermath of such widespread devastation seemed like a distant fantasy—a shimmering mirage in an arid desert of uncertainty and despair. Rory grappled with haunting questions that clawed at her mind: Would there even be a home left to return to? The comforting, familiar surroundings of Anya's house—its warm kitchen, the laughter of James and Chloe, the simple, everyday moments of peace—could they possibly survive the onslaught of destruction? Or would they be reduced to mere memories, echoes of a world irrevocably altered by the calamity? Would there be anyone left to greet her with open arms, or would she return to find an empty, desolate space where warmth and love had once flourished?

    The enormity of the task ahead seemed almost paralyzing. Rory’s resolve wavered as she faced the daunting unknown, and the burden of what lay ahead felt almost too heavy to bear. The looming shadow of Kronos's ambition made each step forward seem fraught with peril and uncertainty. The personal stakes felt incredibly high; the kids were mortals full and through. They had nothing to do with this fight against the gods. And yet they would suffer just as much when Kronos razed everything to the ground.

    The lie came frighteningly easily to Rory’s lips—a deceptive veil woven from the fabric of false hope and desperate optimism. "Of course," she said, her voice tinged with a forced cheerfulness that felt brittle and insincere. She hoped that her words would offer Anya some measure of comfort, even though she knew that they were more a facade than a promise. Beneath the surface of her outward confidence, a kernel of doubt lingered—a nagging whisper of uncertainty that threatened to unravel the fragile threads of her resolve. Did she really want to do this? To keep going?

    With a heavy heart, Rory turned to leave, her footsteps echoing on the wooden porch as she made her way down the path. As she reached the end of the path, Rory paused and glanced back at the house. The porch light cast a soft glow, illuminating the doorway where Anya still stood, watching her with a mixture of pride and sorrow.

    Then she walked on. As she did so, the streets of the quiet neighborhood seemed to stretch endlessly before her. The soft glow of streetlights cast long shadows, and the night was filled with the distant sounds of a world continuing on its course, unaware of the battles being fought in its name.

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Another filler chapter but like I have to write her actually leaving lol so hope y'all understand.

She's almost back

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