The battlefield was chaos. Steel rang against steel. The sky burned a violent orange as if the world itself had caught fire. Camp Half-Blood’s banners snapped in the wind, torn and smeared with ash. Across the clearing, Kronos’ army surged forward in waves—monsters, possessed demigods, mercenaries who had chosen the wrong side of history.

You were fighting three at once when you heard it. Not a scream. Not your name. Just the sound of metal punching through something it wasn’t meant to. You turned. Percy staggered. For a second, it didn’t make sense. He was always moving. Always steady. Always impossible to knock down. But now there was a blade buried in his side.

Time slowed. The world dulled at the edges. He looked almost confused, like he hadn’t realized he’d been hit yet. His sword slipped slightly in his grip. Blood spread too quickly across his shirt.

You didn’t remember crossing the distance between you. One moment you were yards away. The next you were there, catching him before he hit the ground. His weight collapsed into you, heavy and warm and wrong.

Someone laughed. That was what broke you. The sound of it. You lowered Percy carefully to the ground, your hands shaking for only a second before they went terrifyingly still. He tried to speak.

You didn’t let him. You stood. Something inside you snapped—not loudly, not dramatically. Just cleanly. The battlefield noise came rushing back, but it felt distant now, like you were underwater. Your heartbeat slowed instead of sped up. Your breathing steadied. The person who stabbed him was still there. Smirking.