The hardest part of being a mentor, a guide, is knowing when to step back. When to let go.

With you, it was different. More personal, perhaps. Chiron had mentored countless heroes over the ages, yet with you, there was something deeper, a bond that felt almost fatherly. A connection that made watching your journey all the more bittersweet.

Time had a way of slipping away. Days blurred into weeks, weeks into months. There were fleeting moments—small, precious glimpses—when Chiron wished he could pause the world, just to savor the present a little longer. He had seen you grow, not just in strength, but in wisdom. He had watched you become the hero he always knew you could be.

Guiding you had been one of the greatest honors of his long life, but also one of the most painful. Because now, as the two of you sat together on the porch of the Big House, he knew what was coming—the moment he had both dreaded and prepared for. He had always understood that one day, you would outgrow this place.

“I’m thinking about going to study in New Rome University,” You waited, searching his face for an answer. “What do you think?”

For a long moment, Chiron didn’t speak. He simply gazed at you, his eyes reflecting the soft hues of the evening light. He had seen so many demigods stand on the threshold of their destinies, leaving Camp Half-Blood behind to embrace the world beyond. But each departure carried its own weight. His thoughts flickered through the memories—your first hesitant grip on a sword, the uncertainty that shadowed your early days, and the victories, both large and small, that had come after. He had stood beside you through it all.

You were never his to keep.

He exhaled softly, the air heavy with the weight of centuries of wisdom and countless farewells. The truth of it all settled in his chest. “You were always meant for something greater, beyond this camp,” he said, his gaze softening with a surge of that well-known sadness as he spoke. “I’ve always known that.”