Born To Die

I Runaway from the "dream house"

That night, after the chaos with Ms. Copper and the sword, everything felt wrong. The house, which had once seemed so sterile, so perfect, now felt suffocating. I couldn't breathe. I couldn't stay there.

I didn't even say goodbye.

The moment I knew I had to leave was when I saw the fake sympathy in Darla's eyes that night at dinner. She hadn't said a word about the incident, about Ms. Copper, about the sword. She just kept smiling that same smile. The perfect mother. But it wasn't real. None of it was real. Fred, Delilah—they were all part of it. Part of the game. Part of the lies.

It wasn't just the fear, though. It was the constant pressure. The feeling of being watched, even when no one was around. The way everything I did, everything I said, seemed to be noted and judged. I wasn't Isla here. I was just some stray dog they'd taken in to play their role in a perfect family. The little girl they could mold into whatever they wanted.

And Ms. Copper? I knew she would come for me again. She wouldn't stop.

I wasn't safe here. Not with them. Not with anyone.

That night, I waited until everything was quiet. The house, despite its picture-perfect exterior, was dead silent after 10 PM. Darla and Fred had already gone to bed. Delilah, probably in the middle of another dance rehearsal or some award ceremony in her mind, wasn't around either.

I slipped into the darkness of the hallway, making my way to the front door. My fingers brushed the cold metal of the sword—no longer just a necklace, but a constant presence I couldn't ignore. I didn't know why it was there, or what it meant. All I knew was that it was mine. And I had to protect myself.

I opened the front door slowly, praying the creak wouldn't give me away. The cool night air hit me like a slap in the face as I stepped outside. The moon was bright, casting long shadows across the yard. I took a deep breath, trying to steady my racing heart.

There was nothing left for me here.

I didn't know where I was going, but that didn't matter. I was done.

I slipped down the driveway, past the immaculate lawn and the picket fence, and I kept walking. Every step took me further from the fake family, further from the cage they tried to lock me in. I didn't look back.

After a while, my legs were sore, and the cold was starting to seep into my bones, but I didn't care. I couldn't go back. The only thing I could do now was run. Run away from everything I thought I understood, and run toward whatever it was I was supposed to become.

The perfect storm of my life had torn everything apart. I was alone. I was scared. But for the first time in a long while, I felt something I hadn't felt in ages: freedom.

It was the only thing I had left.

And I wasn't going to let it slip away.

I ran.
——
A year later

The Hydra was massive, each of its six heads snapping at me from different angles, its scales gleaming in the moonlight. I dodged, rolled, and slashed with my sword, but every time I cut off a head, two more seemed to grow back in its place. The fight had gone on for what felt like hours, and my arms were trembling from exhaustion. My sword—the one I could never quite control—had slipped from my hands and skidded across the dirt, far out of reach.

I stumbled back, trying to catch my breath, panic rising in my chest. The Hydra closed in, hissing and snarling, and I had nothing left to fight it with. My hand instinctively reached for my necklace, willing it to turn back into a sword, but nothing happened. This is it, I thought. I'm done for.

Just as one of the heads lunged at me, I heard a sudden whoosh of air, followed by a sharp metallic clang. The Hydra shrieked in pain as a bronze sword slashed across its chest, forcing it back.

I blinked, stunned, as a boy—brown curly hair , tall, and with an annoyingly confident grin—darted in front of me, spinning his sword like he was born with it in his hand. He moved effortlessly, slashing at the Hydra with quick, precise strikes. His movements were smooth, almost like he was playing a game.

Within moments, the Hydra was down. Its heads thrashed in the dirt before dissolving into a puddle of ichor, leaving the night strangely quiet.

The boy sheathed his sword and turned to face me, his grin even wider now.

"You're welcome," he said, his voice dripping with smugness. "I think a thank you is in order."

I stared at him, still catching my breath, my mind racing to catch up. "I had it under control," I snapped, even though we both knew that was a lie.

He raised an eyebrow and let out a short laugh. "Yeah, sure you did. You were about two seconds from becoming Hydra bait."

I scowled. "I would've figured it out."

He shook his head, clearly amused. "Right, because lying there while a monster tries to eat you is a solid strategy." He smirked, then extended his hand. "Luke Castellan, by the way. And you are?"

I crossed my arms, ignoring his hand. "Isla."

"Nice to meet you, Isla," Luke said, unfazed by my cold response. He looked around at the Hydra's remains, then back at me, his eyes narrowing slightly. "So, what's your story? Running around the woods fighting monsters by yourself? Not exactly normal behavior."

I hesitated, still wary of this cocky stranger. But there was something about him, the way he handled himself, that made me think he'd been doing this for a long time. Maybe even longer than I had.

"I've been on my own for a while," I said finally. "A year, give or take. Monsters... well, they're kind of a regular thing."

He nodded like he understood, which surprised me. "Ah, I see. Another demigod on the run."

I blinked. "Wait, you know what I am?"

"Of course," he said, leaning casually against a tree like we weren't standing in the middle of a monster battlefield. "I can spot demigods a mile away. We've all got that same look. Like we've seen too much and trust too little." He smiled again, but this time there was something almost sympathetic in his eyes. "You've been surviving, but that's all you've been doing. How long do you think you can keep it up by yourself?"

I didn't have an answer. I hated that he was right.

"Look," Luke continued, "I'm not saying you're helpless. You held your own... for a while. But you need to learn how to fight better, how to survive longer. And trust me, you won't make it much further alone."

I wanted to argue. To tell him I didn't need anyone's help. But the truth was, I was tired. Tired of fighting, of running, of constantly looking over my shoulder.

"So what, you're offering to help me?" I asked, narrowing my eyes. "Why?"

He shrugged, that cocky grin returning. "Maybe I just like a challenge. Or maybe I see potential. Either way, you're not bad, Isla. You just need a little training... and maybe some luck."

I snorted. "Luck?"

"Yeah," Luke said, stepping closer. "And lucky for you, I'm the best kind of help you're going to get."

I rolled my eyes but found myself smiling despite everything. There was something about Luke that made it hard to stay mad, even if he was the cockiest guy I'd ever met.

"Fine," I said. "But don't think for a second that I owe you anything."

Luke chuckled, nodding in agreement. "Wouldn't dream of it." He glanced down at my necklace. "By the way, you might want to work on that sword trick. You're gonna need it."

I sighed, already dreading the idea of more training. But as much as I hated to admit it, Luke was right. I couldn't keep doing this alone.

Maybe, just maybe, I'd finally found someone who could help me survive this crazy world. Even if he was the most arrogant guy I'd ever met.