𝗶𝗰𝗮𝗿𝘂𝘀 𝗳𝗮𝗹𝗹𝘀, luke castellan

ꜰᴏᴜʀᴛʏ-ᴏɴᴇ

The Silent Beach.

🌎

    RORY SLUMPED BACK DOWN ONTO HER SEAT, HER BREATH STILL UNEVEN. The golden dust from the centaurs' disintegrations still lingered in the air, shimmering in the dim light of the cabin, each particle catching the glow from the fading daylight outside, creating a delicate, sparkling cloud that hung suspended for a moment, almost like a constellation of stars scattered across the sky.

    The dust twirled and spiraled, moving with a strange, ethereal grace, as if it had a life of its own. It lingered in the air, glowing faintly, before beginning its slow descent. The tiny, glittering motes floated downward in a lazy dance, spreading out across the cabin like a thin veil of gold. Some of it settled on the empty seat across from Rory, where the centaur had once stood, now just a memory etched into the golden remnants.

    As the dust finally reached the ground, it formed a delicate layer over the wooden floorboards, like a fine sprinkling of sand on a forgotten beach. It clung to the edges of the seats and gathered in the grooves of the floor, tiny flecks of gold that seemed to pulse with a faint light, like the embers of a fire that had burned too hot and too fast. The final motes hovered in the air for a moment longer, reluctant to join the rest, before they too drifted down, settling onto Rory’s boots and the hem of her jeans.

    With a weary sigh, Rory absently rubbed at the ring on her finger, her frustration bubbling up as it remained stubbornly fixed in place. The metal felt cold and unyielding against her skin. She twisted and pulled at the ring, trying desperately to free herself from its grip, but it still refused to budge.

    Defeated, Rory let her hand fall back into her lap, her fingers brushing against the thin layer of dust that had settled there. She slumped against the cool glass of the window, her body heavy with exhaustion and a sense of futility. Her forehead pressed against the glass, she stared out at the passing scenery, watching as the world blurred into a haze of greens and browns.

    The journey felt interminable, each mile a step closer to the looming uncertainty of Mount Tamalpais and the shadow of her fate that darkened with every passing moment. Rory couldn’t bring herself to focus on the landscape outside. Her mind was a whirlpool of emotions—anger, fear, sadness—all swirling together, threatening to pull her under. As the sun began its slow descent, casting the world in a warm orange glow, she found her thoughts drifting once more.

    Camp Half-Blood. She could almost smell the familiar scent of the pine trees, the salty tang of the sea breeze that swept in from the Long Island Sound. This time of year, the camp would be quiet, nearly empty with most of the campers having returned home for the school year. The few who remained would be preparing for dinner now, gathering in the dining pavilion under the twilight sky. She could almost hear the laughter of the campers, the clatter of plates and cups, the warm, comforting buzz of conversation that filled the air. The smell of roasted marshmallows from the campfire would waft through the air, a reminder of simpler times, of nights spent with friends, sharing stories and making memories that she had thought would last a lifetime.

    But those memories felt so distant now, as if they belonged to someone else. The person she had been at Camp Half-Blood seemed like a stranger to her now, a girl who still believed that she had control over her life, that she could carve out a future of her own making. That girl knew nothing.

    The shrill whistle of the train jolted her from her thoughts, the sound slicing through the fog of her reverie. She blinked, momentarily disoriented, before realizing that the train was slowing down, the wheels grinding against the tracks as it prepared to pull into the station. Outside, the lights of the station flickered into view, their dim glow cutting through the growing dusk. The sky was painted in deep purples and blues, the last remnants of daylight bleeding into the night. Rory sighed. She reached down, fingers brushing against the worn strap of her bag, and hoisted it onto her lap. As the train finally lurched to a stop, Rory peered out the window. The platform was coming into view, bustling with life despite the late hour, crowded with people milling about, waiting for loved ones or hurrying to catch their own trains. Rory felt a pang of something—envy, maybe—as she watched families reunite, children running into the arms of parents, friends greeting each other with wide smiles and open arms.