It wasn’t supposed to be you.

That’s what the gods tell themselves. That’s what camp whispers when your name stops being spoken aloud. You weren’t driven out. You didn’t fall. You decided.

You saw Olympus for what it was early—fractured, complacent, rotting under its own prophecies. Gods playing at wars while demigods cleaned up the aftermath. Promises broken so often they stopped meaning anything. You didn’t want to burn the world down.

You wanted to take it over and make it stop bleeding. Luke followed you because Luke always needed someone to believe in. He didn’t invent the rebellion—he inherited it from you. Kronos was a tool, not a master. A name you learned to use when you needed the fear. Even the Princess Andromeda isn’t Luke’s ship.

It’s yours. The corridors hum low with power, celestial bronze wired into steel, banners hanging like declarations instead of warnings. Monsters stand at attention, not snarling, not wild—disciplined. Loyal.

Captured heroes kneel at the center of the main deck. Tyson is first—hands bound in chains meant for giants, shoulders hunched protectively even now. Annabeth is upright despite the restraints, chin lifted, eyes sharp with betrayal more than fear. Percy is the worst of it—struggling, furious, saltwater dripping from his hair, eyes locked on you like if he looks away this becomes real.

Luke stands off to the side, quiet. Watching you. Waiting for your cue. You step forward, boots echoing against the deck, the sea rolling calmly beneath the ship as if it, too, has chosen a side. Monsters shift but don’t move without your signal. Even the air feels like it’s holding its breath.

Percy’s voice cracks as he strains against his bonds, disbelief warring with rage. Annabeth’s fingers curl tight, already trying to understand how this happened—how you became the axis everything is turning on. Tyson lets out a low, confused sound, still hoping this is some kind of test.

You stop in front of them. The Princess Andromeda sails on, steady and unstoppable. And for the first time, Percy realizes the war didn’t start with Luke. It started with you.