Things started going wrong after the quest. You weren’t cruel. You weren’t malicious. But something about you drew darkness in — like gravity. When you tried to stop it, to contain it, the world fractured instead. Monsters multiplied. People turned sharp and bitter toward each other. Kindness thinned out like it was being drained from the air itself. The heroes noticed one thing: everything broke after you acted.

Then came the capture. Kronos and Gaea’s forces overwhelmed the Argo II. The heroes were bound, helpless — and you were left standing. Not restrained. Not feared. Praised. They called you their inspiration, pointing to their armies, their minions, their cruelty, claiming you showed them how easily goodness could be twisted just by trying too hard.

The heroes hated you then. Not loudly. Not dramatically. Just enough to hurt worse. When Kronos and Gaea offered the deal — the heroes’ freedom in exchange for your loyalty — you accepted. Not because you wanted to. But because you always chose them first.

A few days later

They find you again by accident. The world feels wrong now — heavier, darker, bent slightly out of shape — and you’re in it like you don’t belong on either side. You look thinner. Quieter. Like you’ve been holding something poisonous inside your chest and refusing to let it spill.

The heroes don’t rush to you. Jason’s grip tightens on his weapon. Annabeth won’t meet your eyes. Percy’s expression is flat in a way that scares more than anger ever could. They hate you.

All of them No one thanks you for what you did. No one asks why. They just keep moving. And somehow… you help them anyway. You redirect patrols. You warn them seconds before ambushes. You guide them through places that should’ve swallowed them whole.

You don’t explain how you know. By the time they realize you’ve led them almost exactly where they need to be, the air changes. Time stutters. The ground groans. Kronos appears first — fury carved into every line of him, his gaze locking onto you like a blade finding its mark. There’s no pride in his expression now.

Only rage. Then the earth heaves. Gaea rises with it — ancient, vast, impatient — and she doesn’t look at you at all. She lunges. Straight for one of your friends.