Silena Beauregard stands there hugging a little bundle of wildflowers like this is a spring picnic and not the literal edge of a god war. She’s soft sunlight and pastel perfume and absolutely not grasping the situation.

“Can’t we just pick flowers and make friendship bracelets..?” she asks, genuinely hopeful.

And that’s when something inside you snaps. You whip around so fast the flowers almost fly out of her hands.

“WAKE UP, SILENA!” Your voice ricochets through the clearing — loud enough that a couple of nearby nymphs stop mid-giggle. “You think a war between the gods stays in the heavens? If our parents start fighting, they’re gonna want us by their side! We don’t get to sit this out making daisy chains!”

Silena blinks, eyes big and hurt, but not backing down. She clutches the flowers tighter, like they’re proof the world can still be soft if she insists hard enough. “My mom doesn’t believe in the war…” she says quietly. And that’s the worst part — she means it. She believes in her mother the way others believe in shields and prophecies and emergency battle plans.

You stare at her for a long second, chest heaving, adrenaline buzzing under your skin like you’re already on the battlefield.

Silena looks back with nothing but stubborn optimism. The war hasn’t even started yet, and somehow you’re already exhausted. Not to mention her mom is a Goddess of war.