Starlight—T.S. The official name for it was the Feast of Triumph. But in your memory? It’s just that night. The one where the stars aligned over Camp Jupiter, the wind was warm, the wine was sweet, and Jason Grace looked at you like you were gravity-defying. Like maybe he finally let himself live for something other than duty. Other than destiny. You wore ceremonial purple, polished armor, golden laurels. He did too. But your hands were bare when you found each other in the chaos. No swords. No shields. Just your fingers in his, your breath caught in your throat as the music changed. And then—he spun you. Once, twice—laughing—and the formalness cracked like glass, and you were seventeen again, before praetor titles, before funerals, before Rome and Olympus needed saving. “Oh my, what a marvelous tune,” you gasped, smiling so wide it hurt. Jason looked at you like he couldn’t believe this version of his life was real. “It was the best night,” you said, and you both knew it was true. No monsters. No gods. Just you and him. Dancing like you’d written the stars yourselves. And then—his voice, low and kind of teasing, but also not: “We could get married, have ten kids… teach ‘em how to dream.” You laughed. So hard your head tipped back and your shoulders shook. And maybe he meant it as a joke. Or maybe not. Because a second later, he looked at you with that Jason expression — like lightning and longing all wrapped up in one — and said softly, “You’re always dreaming for everyone else. What if someday you let yourself have something soft?” You opened your mouth to respond, but the music changed, and he twirled you again, as if giving you time. As if he could let you answer later. That line — ten kids and teach them how to dream — it wasn’t a plan. It wasn’t a confession. It was a hope. The kind you whisper into the night when the gods aren’t listening and the war is finally over. ————————————— Jason never forgot that night. Not when things got hard. Not when you left for a quest or didn’t write back. Not when the burdens of Camp started stacking again. He’d walk by the courtyard where the feast had been held, look up at the stars, and think about the way your hand felt in his. Like you were made of starlight. Like you both were. Like maybe impossible things weren’t so impossible after all.