Camp had already mourned you.

Chiron had given the speech — steady voice, tired eyes — about bravery and sacrifice and the unfairness of the Fates. He meant every word.

So when you stagger over the hill, bleeding, swaying, barely conscious…

Chiron stops breathing.

The students scream. Campers rush forward. But Chiron… he gallops.

He reaches you first, hands trembling as he takes your shoulders, lowering you gently before you collapse.

“Oh, my dear… gods above…” His voice cracks — actually cracks. “We thought we’d lost you.”

He presses a hand to your cheek like he’s afraid you’ll vanish again.

Campers cry behind him, but Chiron doesn’t look away from you.

“You’re home,” he whispers, eyes shining. “You’re home, child.”

For the first time in years, you see him fight tears.