Born To Die

We finish the death sword

Every night, after the camp had settled down and most of the campers were tucked away in their cabins, Luke and I would slip away from camp, making our way to the forges. The quiet hum of the anvils and the flicker of the forge's flames created a perfect backdrop for us to work—and to let everything else fade into the shadows.

Luke always insisted on working on Backbiter first. It was his project, after all. I couldn't help but admire the way he meticulously shaped the celestial bronze and steel, fusing the two materials with expert precision. I had my own small task too—adjusting the grip, testing the balance—but mostly, I watched him work, feeling his presence in every click and spark of the hammer against metal.

But there was always a lingering tension between us. The kind of tension that never quite went away. As much as we tried to focus on the task at hand, our touches became more frequent. A brush of his hand against mine as we passed tools. A quiet laugh as I messed something up, and he'd lean in, teasingly fixing it. And sometimes, when the air between us grew thick, the sound of the hammer stopped.

One night, I caught him staring at me. It wasn't the usual gaze of concentration, or the one he used when discussing strategy. No, this was something different. Something more intense. Before I could ask what was going on, he was right in front of me, his hand reaching up to tuck a strand of hair behind my ear.

"Isla," he whispered, his voice thick with something that made my heart race. "I can't get enough of you."

I swallowed, my breath catching in my throat. "Luke... we need to focus on the sword," I murmured, but the words felt empty as they left my lips.

He leaned in closer, his lips brushing against mine before I could even respond. The heat between us ignited instantly, and suddenly the forge, the project, and everything else faded away. All that existed was him and me, the pulse of our hearts matching the rhythm of our kisses.

We pulled apart only when we heard a faint noise outside the forge. Breathing heavily, I glanced at Luke, his face flushed, his eyes dark with desire.

"We need to get back to work," I said, but my voice didn't sound convincing even to me.

He chuckled, a knowing smirk on his face. "Right. Work."

But the moment passed, and we went back to the forge. Still, there was this lingering electricity between us. Every touch, every glance, every stolen kiss seemed to make everything feel like it was spiraling out of control in the best possible way.

And so, the pattern continued. Work, make out, work again. But no matter how much we tried to focus, we knew one thing: we were in this together, both with the sword, and with each other.

As the final touches were put on Backbiter, the hammer struck the blade one last time, and the forge's light gleamed off the edge of the sword. It was complete. Half celestial bronze, half steel, and deadly sharp, with a wicked curve that reflected the darkness of our plan.

Luke stepped back, wiping the sweat from his forehead, and let out a satisfied sigh. The sword was perfect. Every inch of it was crafted with precision, and it felt alive in my hands, like it was waiting for the right moment to strike.

"Looks good, doesn't it?" Luke said, his voice low, and his eyes glinting with the familiar mix of pride and excitement that always seemed to surface when he made something. "One last piece of the puzzle."

I looked at the sword in my hands, running my fingers along the hilt, but I could feel the weight of what was coming. Everything we'd done—everything we were planning—was leading up to tomorrow.

"You know," I said softly, breaking the silence, "I've been thinking. If Percy doesn't join us tomorrow—"

Luke turned to face me, a flicker of concern crossing his face, but he quickly masked it with a grin. "You don't need to worry. Percy's going to come around. He has to."

I nodded, but deep down, there was a knot of unease I couldn't shake. "What if he doesn't? What if he decides to fight us instead?"

Luke's eyes darkened for a moment, and he stepped closer, his presence filling the space between us. "Then it's up to us to convince him. You've seen how he is—he's strong, smart, and has the potential to be so much more than a pawn for the gods. He'll see that. He has to."

I bit my lip, looking down at the sword again. "And if he doesn't believe you? What's the backup plan?"

Luke took a deep breath, his gaze never leaving mine. "If he doesn't believe me... you'll do what we planned."

I knew what he meant. It was the backup plan we'd discussed in hushed voices, our only contingency if things went wrong. I'd act like I was just finding out about the betrayal, like I was innocent to the whole thing. I'd cry, make a scene, and make Percy believe that I had no idea what Luke was up to.

But if it worked—if Percy came over to our side, joined our cause—I'd reveal myself as Luke's accomplice. I'd stand beside him, no longer hiding in the shadows.

I nodded slowly, my heart pounding in my chest. "I can do that. But what if... what if it doesn't work?"

Luke took my hand, his touch grounding me in the moment. "Then we make it work, Isla. We always do. We're in this together. We always have been."

The warmth of his touch calmed the storm inside me, and for a moment, I allowed myself to believe in the plan. In us.

"We've come this far," I said, my voice steady now. "We can't back down. Not now."

Luke smiled, and for a moment, his expression softened. He leaned down, kissing my forehead. "I know you've got this, Isla. We'll do whatever it takes. Tomorrow, Percy's either with us—or he's against us. But we'll be ready either way."

I squeezed his hand tightly, feeling the weight of what was about to happen. It wasn't just about the sword or our cause anymore. It was about everything we'd fought for—and everything we had to lose.

Tomorrow was the turning point. And no matter what happened, we were ready. Together.