𝗶𝗰𝗮𝗿𝘂𝘀 𝗳𝗮𝗹𝗹𝘀, luke castellan

ꜰᴏᴜʀᴛʏ-ꜱɪx

The General's Orders.

🌎

    THE NEXT DAY ATLAS CALLED FOR A MEETING. The summons had come early, a curt message delivered by one of Atlas’s minions. The walls of the meeting room were bare, save for a few maps and strategic plans pinned haphazardly to the boards. The table at the center of the room was long and imposing, its dark wood surface polished to a high sheen that reflected the harsh overhead lighting.

    As they gathered around the table, Rory immediately noticed the change in the seating arrangement. Atlas had taken Luke’s usual place at the head of the table, his presence dominating the room in a way that made it clear there would be no questioning his authority. It was a subtle but unmistakable power play, one that sent a clear message to everyone in the room: Atlas was in charge now.

    Luke didn’t protest, though Rory saw the way his gaze lingered on his former seat, a flicker of something unspoken passing through his eyes before he quietly took his place at Rory’s usual spot, to the right of the head chair. There was no outward sign of discontent, no visible reaction, but Rory knew Luke well enough to know better. But Luke accepted the shift of power without a word, his expression carefully neutral as he settled into his new position.

    Rory hesitated for the briefest of moments, her eyes flicking from Luke to Atlas before she moved to take her own seat to the left of the head chair, directly across from Luke. It felt strange, wrong even, to be sitting here, face to face with him instead of by his side as she had grown accustomed to.

    Once Atlas had settled into his seat, the rest of them followed suit, the sound of chairs scraping against the floor filling the room. It was a small group, consisting only of the inner circle—those whom Atlas deemed most important to his plans.

    Atlas leaned back in his chair, his posture relaxed but commanding, exuding the kind of effortless authority that came naturally to him. His eyes swept over the group, assessing each of them in turn, as though he were measuring their worth, their usefulness to him. There was a chilling detachment in his gaze, a coldness that made it clear he saw them all as tools, pieces to be moved around on a chessboard according to his designs. He seemed to take his time, as if savoring the power he held over them all, letting the anticipation build.

    For a long moment, there was only silence, the kind that stretches out interminably, heightening the tension in the room. Then, Luke spoke. “We need to deal with the demigods at Camp Half-Blood,” Luke began. “Without any heroes to do their bidding and fight their battles, Olympus will fall.”

    “Yes, yes, I know,” Atlas said, his tone bored as if the idea of defeating the gods was nothing more than a trivial matter to him. “Our solution is the labyrinth.”

    There was a collective intake of breath at the mention of the labyrinth, the ancient, deadly maze steeped in legend and myth. The very word conjured images of endless, twisting corridors, of darkness so deep it swallowed the light, and of unspeakable horrors lurking in the shadows. The labyrinth was not just a place; it was a living entity, a predatory force that consumed those who dared to enter its domain. Rory could see the reaction in the faces of those around the table—a flicker of fear that even the most hardened among them couldn't entirely suppress.

    "The labyrinth?" Someone asked. "As in the Minotaur's labyrinth?"

    “Yes,” Atlas replied, his voice cold and steady, as if discussing the weather rather than one of the most dangerous places in existence. "The labyrinth has tunnels everywhere. There is an entrance within the borders of Camp Half-Blood itself. We just need to find it."

    Luke knew about the entrance at Camp Half-Blood. It wasn’t just a vague rumor or a forgotten tale; it was real. He had attempted to use it a couple of times in the past to sneak out of Camp, back when he had been looking for ways to escape the suffocating confines of what he had once called home. Each time, though, he had turned back, deciding it was too dangerous, too unpredictable. In that final year before they had left Camp Half-Blood to join Kronos, Luke had started poking around the labyrinth’s entrance once again, knowing that it would be useful in the future. But even with all his knowledge about the entrance itself, finding that particular exit from within the maze would be a whole other ordeal.