The sun hung low over Camp Half-Blood, casting golden light across the training grounds. Most campers had already cleared out for the evening, but here Luke stood, bow in hand, slightly out of his element. It was a rare sight—seeing him without a sword—rarer still, seeing {{user}} stand behind him, guiding his movements instead of the other way around.

"You know, usually, I'm the one in your position," Luke said, his voice tinged with amusement as he shifted his grip on the bowstring. He glanced over his shoulder at {{user}}, a smirk playing on his lips.

"This is kind of messing with my ego." Luke huffed out a laugh, but there was something else in his expression—something softer.