𝗶𝗰𝗮𝗿𝘂𝘀 𝗳𝗮𝗹𝗹𝘀, luke castellan

ᴛʜɪʀᴛʏ-ᴇɪɢʜᴛ

Lake Lotus.

🌎

    AS RORY EMBARKED ON HER JOURNEY TO CALIFORNIA, the weight of her decisions and the uncertainty of the future pressed heavily upon her. Each step she took away from Anya's house felt laden with both anticipation and sorrow. The path to the train station was straightforward, a clear route that would lead her to the next chapter of her life, back to the world of demigods, back to Kronos's army where she was meant to be. Yet, as she walked, an inexplicable pull tugged at her heart, urging her to stray from the direct course.

    Without fully understanding why, Rory found herself turning down a different path, one less traveled and winding away from the main road. The decision felt almost instinctual, a subconscious yearning to reconnect with something lost in the whirlwind of her recent experiences. What could one more memory hurt? She knew exactly where she was headed—towards a place deeply embedded in her childhood, a place where time seemed to slow down and the world’s troubles could be momentarily forgotten.

    The landscape around her gradually changed as she moved away from the hustle and bustle of the town. The trees grew denser, their canopies interlocking above her, casting dappled shadows on the ground. The air became cooler, filled with the earthy scent of damp soil and the rustling of leaves. Birds chirped softly in the distance, their melodies blending harmoniously with the gentle breeze that whispered through the branches.

    Before long, Rory found herself standing at the edge of a small, tranquil lake, its waters shimmering like glass under the soft light of the moon. The night had descended quietly, draping the landscape in a blanket of darkness that was gently illuminated by the silvery glow of the moon, casting long, ethereal shadows across the water’s surface. Lotus Lake, as she and her father had lovingly named it, was nestled amidst the lush, verdant landscape not far from Anya's house. This secluded spot, hidden from the world, had been a sanctuary for Rory—a place where the complexities of life seemed to melt away, leaving only the simple beauty of nature and the bond she shared with her father.

    As she stood there, the sight of the lake stirred a deep well of emotion within her, a bittersweet mix of nostalgia and longing that seemed to seep into her very bones. The memories associated with this place were vivid and poignant, each one a thread in the tapestry of her childhood. The lake had been a place where she could escape the mundane and the painful, where she and her father had spent countless hours together, exploring the wonders of nature and sharing stories that seemed to belong to another lifetime—one that felt both distant and achingly close.

    During the day, Lotus Lake had been a playground for their imaginations. The sunlight would filter through the trees, warming the cool, clear waters of the lake. Rory could almost hear the echoes of their laughter as they splashed in the shallows, her father’s voice mingling with the chatter of birds in the trees and the rustling of leaves in the breeze. He had always been eager to teach her about the natural world—the names of the plants and animals that thrived around the lake, the constellations that would slowly emerge in the evening sky, and the stories of the ancient myths and legends that he would weave with such vivid detail.

    But tonight, the lake held a different kind of magic—a quieter, more contemplative allure that seemed to resonate with Rory’s current state of mind. The world around her was hushed, as if holding its breath in reverence for the stillness of the night. The air was cool, almost chilly, but it was a welcome contrast to the warmth of the day, wrapping around her like a soft, comforting blanket. The gentle lapping of the water against the shore was a soothing melody that echoed the rhythm of her heartbeat, a reminder of the cyclical nature of life and the passage of time. Each ripple that spread across the lake's surface seemed to carry with it a piece of the past, a fragment of a memory that was both cherished and tinged with the sorrow of loss.