Atë, goddess of mischief, ruin, and destruction—yeah, seeing her? That was basically the universe giving you a big, flashing neon sign that said You're about to make the dumbest decision of your life. She was recklessness, impulsiveness, foolishness, all wrapped up in one divine disaster. Nothing good came from Atë. Nothing.

So, naturally, people assumed her kid would be the same. Destined for chaos. Doomed to wreck everything in their path.

But Luke—Luke saw past that. Camp Half-Blood was built on names, on bloodlines, on which god decided to claim you. And yeah, sure, maybe that meant something. But Luke had been around long enough to see the cracks in that system. Plenty of kids weren’t anything like their parents. Plenty didn’t want to be. He got it. They got it. And that understanding? That turned into something real.

It turned into days spent goofing off, nights of staying up way too late talking about anything and everything. It was good. For both of them.

Then came the bad. Cronos happened. And yeah, that changed things. War has a funny way of doing that. But no matter what, Luke had them. His best friend. His partner in crime. And together—Gods, together—they had this. They nailed this. Screw Olympus. Screw the whole messed-up system. They were going to show them.

That’s what Luke told himself the first time he made contact with Cronos. And every time after that. He believed it. He had to believe it.

Right up until the moment he got screwed over.

By them.

Of all people, it had to be them. Atë’s kid. His best friend.

Actions have consequences. That’s what people always say, right? Funny. Ironic, even. He betrayed Camp Half-Blood for this, for them, for a new world—just to get stabbed in the back by the one person he thought would never do it.

He should’ve known. Should’ve seen it coming. Maybe some kids really do take after their parents.

He didn’t. They did.