𝗶𝗰𝗮𝗿𝘂𝘀 𝗳𝗮𝗹𝗹𝘀, luke castellan

ꜰᴏᴜʀᴛʏ-ᴛʜʀᴇᴇ

Midnight Confessions.

🌎

RORY SETTLED BACK INTO LIFE ON THE PRINCESS ANDROMEDA. The ship's cold, metallic interior, with its labyrinthine corridors and dim lighting, seemed to embrace her like an old, unwelcome friend. It felt as though she had never left. The days she had spent at Anya's now felt like a distant, hazy dream-a brief respite that had somehow lulled her into forgetting the harshness of her reality. But now, aboard the Princess Andromeda once more, that illusion had shattered. The hard, unforgiving world of war and survival surrounded her, pressing in from all sides.

The rhythm of life on the ship was relentless, a constant drumbeat that echoed through the steel walls and reverberated in her bones. There was no escaping the sense of impending doom that hung over the vessel. Every breath she took seemed laced with tension, every heartbeat a reminder that time was running out. Rory spent the first week or so slipping back into the routine of war, wandering in and out of strategy meetings where plans were hatched, only to be torn apart and rebuilt again. Each meeting was filled with monsters and demigods alike, their eyes filled with that same hatred. They awaited her orders, their loyalty to Kronos unquestionable, yet their gazes always carried a flicker of something more when they landed on her-a mixture of fear, respect, and perhaps a touch of envy.

She was never alone. The ship was a living entity, its inhabitants a constant presence that buzzed in the background of her thoughts. Demigods clustered together, their whispered conversations barely audible over the hum of the ship's engines, while monsters lurked in the shadows, their eyes gleaming with anticipation. Even in training, she was surrounded by others, her every move observed by both allies and enemies alike. Kronos was growing stronger with each passing day. His presence was inescapable, speaking to them even during the day, his voice growing louder, more insistent, as it echoed from the golden sarcophagus that held his slowly reforming form. It was as if his dark energy seeped into every corner of the ship, coiling around her, tightening its grip with every word he spoke.

The training sessions were grueling, a necessary evil that she both dreaded and craved. The ship's makeshift training grounds were filled with the sounds of weapons clashing, the grunts of exertion, and the occasional roar of a monster honing its skills. Even rusty from months without proper combat, Rory was disheartened to realize that she was still better than most of the demigods on their side. It was a bitter pill to swallow, knowing that these were the people she was supposed to lead into battle, to rely on when the time came. But they were unpolished, untrained, and in many cases, unwilling to push themselves beyond what was comfortable. They were soldiers in name only, and that frustrated her more than anything.

But Rory couldn't allow herself to dwell on that. She could only rely on herself-as well as Luke. She threw herself into her training, pushing her body to the limit and then beyond. At first, her muscles screamed in protest, her movements sluggish and uncoordinated as she tried to remember the dance of combat. But she forced herself to keep going, to push through the pain and the exhaustion until her body no longer protested the strain. She had always been driven, but now there was a desperation to her actions, a need to be ready, to be strong enough to survive what was coming. She knew that the final battle would be unlike anything they had faced before, and she couldn't afford to be weak. Not when so much was at stake.

She often trained alone, even though the training grounds were rarely empty. The demigods who shared the space with her would pause in their own exercises, watching her from the corners of their eyes, never approaching, but never fully looking away either.

Rory had always relied on her powers. They had been an extension of herself, as natural as breathing. It had always given her an edge in battle, a confidence that came from knowing she had something more. Maddie and Camille had always complained about it. They said she was getting the easy way out, relying too much on her powers instead of honing her skills with real weapons. Real swords were heavier, they would remind her. They weren't as perfectly balanced, didn't have the capability to phase through other weapons or disappear at will when no longer needed. Real swords required strength, precision, and practice. They didn't forgive mistakes. They didn't come with the safety net that her powers provided.