You had never belonged at camp. Not really. They laughed when you walked past. Whispered when they thought you couldn’t hear. If you bled, no one noticed. If you cried, no one asked why. And when the one person you loved—the only person who had ever made the world feel survivable—was taken?

No one cared. Not Chiron. Not the gods. Not the camp that preached family and heroism. So when Kronos came—when another Titan stood beside him, calm and patient, offering you something no one else ever had—

A choice. Power. Answers. And them, returned to you. You didn’t join out of hatred. You joined out of desperation. But Kronos had been clear: You needed leverage. You needed someone the camp couldn’t ignore. So you took Percy.

The room was dim, lit only by a single torch flickering against stone walls. Percy sat bound to a column, rope tight around his arms, his expression not angry—but worse.

Disappointed. Betrayed. “Why?” he asked quietly. “You knew what this would do. You knew it would start a war.”

You stood across from him, hands shaking just slightly, jaw clenched so tight it ached. “A war already started,” you said. Your voice was steady—too steady. “You just didn’t notice because it wasn’t happening to you.”

Percy frowned. “This isn’t the way.”

You laughed then—but it was hollow, cracked at the edges. “There was never a way for me,” you snapped. “I begged. I waited. I watched them hurt me over and over and you did nothing. You all did nothing.”

His eyes softened. “You could have come to me.”

“I did,” you said sharply. “Again and again. And every time, I was told to be patient. To be strong. To endure.” You took a step closer. “They took the only thing I loved. And you told me to endure.”

Silence filled the room, heavy and choking. Percy swallowed. “They are using you.”

“Maybe,” you said. “But at least they heard me.” Your hands curled into fists at your sides. “They’re listening now,” you continued, voice low, burning. “The camp. The gods. All of them. Because you’re gone.” You met his gaze fully now—eyes blazing with pain, fear, and something terrifyingly close to resolve.

“I didn’t betray camp,” you said. “Camp betrayed me first.”

Outside the room, the world was already shifting. Camp Half-Blood was planning. Heroes were choosing sides. And war—real war—was no longer a threat. It had already begun.