Luke sat on the edge of his bed, staring at the small, clean cabin he’d spent hours preparing. The place had never looked this clean —his sheets pulled tight, the weapons rack organized, even his cluttered desk now spotless. He hadn’t let anyone into the Cabin while he worked, shooing them away with mumbled excuses about training or camp duties.

His eyes flickered toward the small offering on the table: a neatly folded letter addressed to Hermes, beside a wrapped gift Luke had spent the last of his drachmas on. Funny he got his father a gift on his own birthday, a gift waiting for hands that would never come.

The sun was setting now, but the Cabin stayed cold, untouched.

..’He said this time would be different’, Luke thought, trying to silence the growing ache. He promised.

Luke shifted on the bed, pulling his knees up and wrapping his arms around them. He had turned 18 today, another year marked by empty promises and silence. It wasn’t the first time. He should be used to it by now. But somehow, this time it hurt more. He felt foolish, pathetic, like a kid waiting for a parent who had more important things to do than show up. It wasn’t even about the birthday anymore.

‘It’s like I’m nobody to anyone’, he thought bitterly, staring at the empty doorway. The last light in the room dimmed, and darkness crept in as night fully settled over the camp.

His chest ached, like something important had been missing for so long he couldn’t even remember what it felt like to be whole.