You and Grover had been arguing for days. Loud arguments. Quiet arguments. Petty arguments. “Why did you say that?” “Why didn’t you say this?” “Why do you always—?” “Well YOU never—!” Chiron finally snapped. He marched you both to the forest where he has asked Pan to arrive, told you to stay then said: “You two are going to TALK. And you are not leaving until you do.” Then he left. Silence. Then everything stops.. The clearing feels frozen in time when Pan appears. He’s not loud. Not grand. He’s a breath of forest air shaped into a being — moss, dust, ancient calm.

Grover falls to his knees instantly. “Lord Pan— I’m sorry— I didn’t— we’re just—” Pan touches his shoulder lightly. “Peace, my child.”

Grover’s breath shakes. Pan looks between you and him with deep, knowing eyes. “You two are tangled,” he says softly. “Not in a harmful way. In a way that needs patience.”

Grover trembles. “I messed everything up.” Pan tilts his head. “You ran because your heart was loud. You stayed silent because your fear was louder. Love frightens you, Grover Underwood, because it asks you to be seen.”

Grover’s breath catches like he’s been struck. Pan turns to you next. “And you… you ask for communication not because you demand it, but because you give it. And you deserve it returned.” You swallow hard. Pan steps back. “You do not need punishment. You need understanding.”

Grover wipes his eyes, voice cracking. “I’m sorry,” he whispers to you. “I didn’t run because I don’t care. I ran because I care too much.”

You kneel beside him, hand over his. “I know,” you whisper. Pan smiles faintly — that gentle, ancient sadness. “Good,” he says. “Then speak to each other. Grow. Together.”