✓ | 𝗶𝗰𝗮𝗿𝘂𝘀 𝗳𝗮𝗹𝗹𝘀, luke castellan

ᴇɪɢʜᴛʏ-ꜱɪx

Icarus Falls.

🌃

But he was faster.

Maybe it was Kronos’s dominion over time, subtly slowing her movements just enough to tilt the fight in his favor. Maybe it was Luke’s battle-worn reflexes, instincts honed over years of fighting.

Either way, his hand shot out, catching Rory’s wrist in his grip before the blade could find its mark.

Pain exploded through her arm, a white-hot burst that sent stars scattering across her vision. Her weapon flickered, wavered, and then—just like that—it was gone, snuffed out as if it had never existed. And she was left standing there, weaponless, breathless, helpless, at the Titan’s mercy.

"Foolish boy in love," Kronos sneered, his voice dripping with contempt as he twisted her wrist cruelly, wrenching a strangled gasp of pain from her lips. "Of course he’d tell you."

The pressure increased, bones grinding together. Her knees buckled, but she refused to fall.

"Love gets you nowhere."

And then he yanked her forward—closer, closer—until she was just inches from his face, his molten-gold eyes locking onto hers with something like amusement. Or maybe boredom.

"I should’ve killed you a long time ago, girl."

And with a sudden, terrifying burst of strength, he hurled her across the throne room.

Her body slammed into a crumbling pillar with bone-rattling force, stone fracturing beneath her like brittle ice. A sharp crack echoed through the room as agony lanced through her ribs, her breath leaving her in a choked gasp. She barely managed to twist at the last second, sparing her skull from the brunt of the collision, but the force still sent her tumbling to the ground in a heap.

Dust and debris filled the air, clogging her throat as she struggled to breathe. Her limbs felt like lead, sluggish and unresponsive, her nerves screaming in protest. She tasted copper in her mouth, thick and metallic.

Distantly, she heard Annabeth call her name. But it was muffled, warped, as if she were hearing it from underwater.

But she wasn’t done.

She wouldn’t be done.

Through sheer force of will, she pushed herself up, her fingers trembling against the cold stone. Her body screamed at her to stop, to stay down, but she gritted her teeth and forced herself upright. Blood dripped, warm and sticky as it carved a path down her cheek. She spat crimson onto the floor and lifted her gaze—fierce, unyielding—to meet Kronos’s once more.

The Titan Lord watched her, head tilted slightly, as if she were an insect that refused to die.

Something flickered in his expression. Amusement. Mild irritation.

Rory wiped the blood from her lip with the back of her hand, her breaths ragged but steady. Her entire body ached, her vision swam, and yet—she was still standing.

She had no plan.

No backup.

Nothing.

But she had rage.

And she would make him pay.

She summoned a sword this time.

A real weapon. One she could wield with precision, with power. Daggers were for stealth, for deception, and any element of surprise she might have had was long gone. Now, it was about endurance. Strength. Who could last longer.