eclipse [j.grace 1]

xxv. i only have two real friends

The camp had settled into an uneasy quiet after the skirmish, the night air thick with the scent of sweat, blood, and the smouldering remnants of battle. 

Eira sat alone near the edge of the forest, her back against the rough bark of a towering pine. The distant sounds of the camp—murmured conversations, the clank of weapons being stored—faded into the background as she let her mind drift.

The shadows around her flickered, dancing in rhythm with her thoughts. Eira's control over them had become almost instinctive, an extension of herself that she barely noticed anymore. But tonight, the shadows felt different, heavier, as if they carried the weight of her past alongside her.

Eira's gaze fixed on the night sky, the stars barely visible through the canopy of trees. Her thoughts wandered back to her childhood—those early years spent in the oppressive darkness of Tartarus. The memories were murky, like a half-remembered dream, but the emotions were clear. Fear. Loneliness. The constant pressure to survive.

Her mother, Nox, had been a formidable presence, as indifferent and cold as the darkness she embodied. Eira remembered how the other children of Nox—the golden siblings—had tormented her, their cruelty a reflection of their true natures. They had thrived in the shadows, while Eira had always felt like an outsider, struggling to find her place.

The memories shifted, and Eira saw her father, Apollo, standing tall and golden against the backdrop of Tartarus's bleakness. He had come for her when she was five, pulling her from the depths and into the light. Eira closed her eyes, feeling the warmth of that memory, of her father's arms around her, his promise to protect her.

But protection had come at a cost. Her father had kept her close, nurtured her powers, but there had always been a distance between them, a hesitance in his gaze that Eira could never fully understand. He had taken her from the darkness, but a part of her had always remained there, lingering in the shadows of her past.

As Eira's thoughts drifted to her time with Apollo, she felt the familiar sting of abandonment. He had been a god—immortal, powerful, and untouchable—and yet, when the looming threat of war had grown too close, he had sent her away. To Camp Jupiter, to a place where she was meant to be safe but had never truly felt at home.

Her fingers tightened around the hem of her shirt, her father's final words echoing in her mind. "This is for your own good, Eira. You're safer here."

But safety had always been relative. Eira knew that now. She had faced danger, she had fought, and she had survived—not because of her father's protection, but because of her own strength. The shadows she once feared had become her allies, her power growing with each challenge she faced.

She opened her eyes, the memories settling like ash in her mind. Her past had shaped her, had made her into the person she was now. But it no longer defined her. Eira had learned to control the darkness, to wield it with precision and purpose. She was no longer the scared child in Tartarus, nor the confused girl seeking approval from a distant father.

Eira was something else entirely—something stronger.

Her thoughts turned to Jason, to the connection that had blossomed between them. He had become a source of light in her life, a reminder that she wasn't alone. That despite the darkness she carried, there was still room for warmth, for hope. The way they had fought together in the skirmish, their powers complementing each other—it felt like destiny.

But with that connection came a new kind of fear. A fear of losing him, of failing in the face of the final battle that loomed on the horizon. Krios was gathering his forces, and the prophecy weighed heavily on her shoulders. The thought of what was to come, of the challenges they would face—it threatened to unravel the resolve she had fought so hard to build.