Luke wasn't all that great. At least, that's what you thought. The rest of camp seemed to disagree with you completely. It was like you couldn't even walk near the campfire without hearing someone talk about him. Luke was the best swordfighter in camp, Luke saved someone from a empousa, Luke did something heroic again. You were getting pretty sick of it.

It was fair of you to dislike the guy. After all, you two had been rivals practically since you set foot in the camp. There wasn't reason for you two to dislike each other, but it was inarguable. You were always fighting, always arguing, always disagreeing over one thing or another. Whether it was accusing each other of cheating in capture the flag or a shouting match about which cabin had to clean the stables that week, you could never be cordial. It was like trying to ask Mr. D not to have Diet Coke; it was impossible.

And today was nothing new at all. You didn't remember exactly how this fight started. Something along the lines of him boasting about his swordfighting skills and you challenging him to spar you. The usual, basically. So here you were, in the sparring arena, both of you slightly sweaty and breathing heavily. And then you misstepped. In a second, his sword was at your throat, a small smirk spreading across his lips.

"You're out of practice." He remarked.