✓ | 𝗶𝗰𝗮𝗿𝘂𝘀 𝗳𝗮𝗹𝗹𝘀, luke castellan

ᴇɪɢʜᴛʏ-ꜰᴏᴜʀ

Let the World Burn.

🌃

On the night of the 17th of August—though Rory wouldn’t have known that, not really, not anymore—she sat in the quiet, breathing woods, her back pressed against the rough bark of an old oak tree. Somewhere above her, the moon cast pale slivers of light through the canopy, turning the world into a ghostly, silver-tinged haze. But she wasn’t looking at the sky.

She was still staring at the ring in her fingers, turning it over and over, feeling the cool weight of it press into her skin. The motion was automatic, restless, as if the repetition of it could drown out the thoughts clawing at the edges of her mind.

She was trying not to think.

Trying not to remember.

Trying not to feel.

But she couldn’t help herself.

The question lingered, dark and insistent: What was she going to do next?

She didn’t know.

There was nothing left. No plan, no purpose, no one. No one.

She was completely alone.

For a moment, she considered staying in these woods forever. Just sitting there, still and silent, until the war ended, until the world either fell apart or moved on without her. What did it matter anymore? What did she matter anymore?

But she couldn’t.

Because even now, even after everything, she couldn’t do nothing.

So, eventually, she stood. Stretched her stiff limbs. Pocketed the ring. And she walked.

By the time she reached Camp Half-Blood, the sky had begun to lighten into a soft, sickly shade of gray. It was empty. Dead. No laughter, no sparring, no clanging of celestial bronze weapons. Even the cabins, usually brimming with life, stood still and silent, their doors shut tight.

Rory wandered through the camp with slow, deliberate steps.

No Ares kids in sight.

No Valentine.

No Chris.

Nothing.

They had left. Silena must have convinced them somehow, gotten through even Clarisse’s thick skull that there was no honor in fighting for a war already lost. That glory meant nothing if they were all dead.

By the time she reached Manhattan, dawn had begun creeping over the horizon, streaking the sky in soft pinks and purples. But the city itself was still frozen in unnatural silence.

The streets were empty.

Cars stood abandoned at intersections, doors ajar, hazard lights blinking uselessly. The occasional half-eaten meal sat on outdoor café tables, untouched. It was as if all the mortals had been going about their day one moment, then simply decided to take a nap the next.

Hypnos.

Of course, some of the minor gods had sided with Kronos, sick of being overlooked, tired of being nothing more than background figures. Rory didn’t particularly care.

Not about Hypnos.

Not about the minor gods.

Not even about the mortals, most of whom had been conveniently moved out of harm’s way anyway.

She didn’t care.

All that mattered now was getting to the heart of it.

To the center of the storm.