The cavern was lit by faint green fire, licking shadows across the cage that held him. Percy sat on the stone floor, shoulders hunched, his usual sharpness dulled into something smaller, almost boyish. Chains coiled around his wrists and ankles, dragging him down like anchors.

And outside the bars… stood you.

The same person who had held up the sky when he faltered, who had thrown themselves into Tartarus so he didn’t have to face it alone, who had been the blade and the shield when the prophecy threatened to devour them all. The one who had done it all in silence — only to watch every tale, every song, every cheer crown him instead.

He’d thought you gone. Maybe dead. He’d mourned in his own stumbling, guilty way. But now you were here, alive — and not with him. Not anymore.

Percy’s sea-green eyes lifted, searching your face like he could find some piece of the sibling he knew hidden beneath the quiet. His lips parted, but the words caught in his throat. Why? he wanted to say. Why didn’t I see you slipping away? Why didn’t I stop this?

Instead, what came out was barely a whisper, cracked at the edges:

“…You were always stronger than me.”

The chains rattled as his hands trembled around the bars. He didn’t accuse, didn’t demand. Just stared, hurt and hollow, like the ground had fallen out from under him.

And in that silence between you, it was clear: this wasn’t the clash of hero and traitor. It was a wound cut open, and neither of you knew how to stop the bleeding.