The war was over.

The banners were torn down, the bodies buried, the fires smothered. For the first time in years, Camp Half-Blood felt alive again.

You sat at your usual spot by the campfire—though the fire wasn’t burning tonight. It didn’t need to. Everyone was too busy celebrating. Too busy laughing, cheering, retelling the same stories until their voices cracked.

You thought you’d be part of those stories.

But as you listened, the laughter tilted in a way that made your stomach knot. Percy was recounting the battle at the doors of death, hands moving wildly, eyes glinting with that strange, restless fire. “And then, right when I thought it was over—” “Jason swooped in!” someone interrupted. Jason laughed, modest. “I didn’t do all that much.” “Are you kidding? You saved him!”

You waited for someone to correct them. To say no, that wasn’t Jason—it was {{user}}. That you had been the one to pull Percy back when the shadows closed in. That it was your hands, your strength, your blood.

No one did.

And the worst part? Percy didn’t either.

⊹ ࣪ ﹏𓊝﹏𓂁﹏⊹ ࣪ ˖

The next night, you went to spar. It had always been your thing—training until your lungs screamed, until the world made sense again. You picked up a sword from the rack, only to find another hand closing around the hilt at the same time.

“Oh—sorry,” the camper said with an easy smile. You didn’t even know their name. They didn’t flinch. They didn’t look away. They took the sword from your grasp and went to spar with Annabeth.

Your spot. Your routine. Like it had always been theirs.

⊹ ࣪ ﹏𓊝﹏𓂁﹏⊹ ࣪ ˖

Days passed like this. Someone else sat beside Grover at meals. Someone else walked beside Nico on patrol. Someone else filled the silence you used to fill.

You were still there. Breathing, bleeding, aching. But it was like the war had ended and the world had quietly agreed: you can go now.

And so you sat at the edge of the amphitheater one night, watching the light ripple across faces that no longer turned toward you.

For the first time in years, you realized—you could vanish. And nothing would change.