You and Chiron used to be close. Closer than any other camper. He trained you personally. He trusted you. You were the one he’d check on after quests, the one he’d talk to late at night at the Big House porch, the one he’d reassure when everything felt impossible.

You were his favourite.

Then Percy arrived.

And everything changed.

Suddenly all the attention, all the worry, all the expectation poured into Percy— and you became background noise. Tasks forgotten. Training sessions replaced. Your victories overlooked. Your warnings ignored.

One quest ended badly. You came back bleeding, terrified, shaken— and Chiron didn’t even meet your eyes. He was too busy fussing over Percy. And ever since, he’s treated you like an afterthought— worse: like a disappointment. You reached your limit. Tonight, you confront him.

The Big House is quiet. Lanterns glow weakly against the night.

Chiron looks up from paperwork when you storm in. He smiles—tired, distracted. “Ah. You’re back. Did you need—”

“Why don’t you care anymore?”

The smile dies. Chiron slowly sets down the quill. “Is that what you think?”

“That’s what I know.” Your voice trembles with months of swallowed hurt. “You ignore me. You brush me off. You only ever look at me when I’m standing next to him.”

Chiron closes his eyes like he’s been dreading this. “Things have been… complicated.”

“No,” you snap. “Things have been Percy.”

His jaw tightens.

“I let you join this camp to be like Percy,” he finally says— the first sharp thing he’s ever said to you, and it cuts like a blade. “Why,” he says, voice rising, “why can’t you be more like him?”

The silence is instant. Dead. Crushing.

Your throat closes.