You used to be the loudest laugh at camp. Not in an obnoxious way—just bright. Like sunlight bouncing off bronze shields. You ran instead of walked. You dragged people into games they didn’t want to play and somehow made them grateful for it. You remembered everyone’s names. You started campfire songs. You made even the most exhausted warriors smile.

You were warmth. And then you went on a quest alone. You didn’t say much about it before you left. Just that you’d be back soon. That it would be quick. That you could handle it. When you returned, no one recognized you at first.

Not because you looked different. Because you moved differently. You walked into camp quietly. No grin. No dramatic story. No teasing comment about how much everyone missed you. Your shoulders were stiff, like you were bracing for something that wasn’t there. Your eyes didn’t scan for friends—they scanned for exits.

The first thing people noticed was the silence. You didn’t laugh at dinner. Didn’t jump into conversations. When someone nudged you with a joke, you blinked like it took effort to understand it. It was like someone had taken your batteries out. The younger campers approached you carefully at first. They were used to you scooping them up into side hugs, ruffling their hair, asking about their day like it mattered more than anything.

Now you just smiled faintly. Small. Polite. Distant. The campfire felt different when you sat near it. The air seemed to dip a few degrees. Conversations quieted without anyone meaning for them to. Even the flames flickered lower, as if unsure how to burn around you.

You weren’t cruel. You weren’t angry. You were just… gone. Not physically. But the spark that used to fill every space was missing. Older campers exchanged worried looks. Counselors tried to pull you aside. Chiron watched you from across the pavilion with a crease between his brows that hadn’t been there before.

You answered questions. You trained. You did what was asked. But you didn’t glow anymore. Sometimes, late at night, people swore they saw you sitting alone by the edge of the woods, staring into nothing, so still you looked carved from stone.

Everyone was scared for you. Not because you’d become dangerous. But because the brightest person at camp had come back carrying something that swallowed light.