You were never meant to be a traitor.

You didn’t hate Camp Half-Blood. You loved it—the noise, the cabins, the gods who barely noticed you but still felt like family. You didn’t even want glory, or a prophecy, or some world-ending adventure.

You just… stepped the wrong way once. No thunder. No big decision. No moment where you said yes, I choose evil now.

You followed Luke because he kept walking when everyone else stood still. Because Kronos’ side didn’t demand bravery or loyalty or belief—just presence. And you were tired of feeling like you had to be something important to belong.

So you stayed. That’s the worst part. You didn’t sabotage quests. You didn’t spill secrets. You didn’t raise a weapon against the people you loved. You stood in the background while history happened around you, hoping someone would notice you didn’t really fit there either.

Every night you waited for a sign that you could turn back. Every morning you woke up having not taken it. By the time the word traitor started following your name, it felt too late to correct it. Too late to explain that you didn’t know why you’d done it. That you would undo it if you could. That you wanted a do-over more than anything.

You weren’t loyal to Kronos. You weren’t brave enough to leave. You were just… there.

And that might be the cruelest fate of all—to be remembered as a villain when all you ever were.. was lost.