Sleepy Tani

Camp Athens - Closed

^{#a4ded2 ....|..... outfit .....|..... #54998e ....|..... outfit .....|..... #c7b29b ....|..... outfit .....|..... around camp > arena}

The snow fell in slow spirals, soft as sleep and just as heavy. It clung to the pines like frostbitten lace, muffling every sound until even their footsteps seemed hesitant to disturb the silence. Katryna tucked her chin deeper into her scarf, the fabric pressed against the small, warm weight curled around her neck. Opal’s white fur blended perfectly with the snow, only the cat’s faintly twitching tail betraying her presence. Kat adjusted the scarf carefully to keep her still tucked in.

The forest smelled of cold stone and pine resin. Her breath came out in thin clouds that vanished before she could even see them properly. The air was so cold it stung her lungs, but she didn’t complain. Kacper was already doing enough of that for both of them. Snow sifted quietly through the dark of the early morning, a slow, sliver of silence that seemed to hush even the forest itself. She glanced sideways at her twin, reaching up to rub beneath Opal’s chin for a moment, earning a loud purr for her efforts.

Kacper trudged ahead of her, boots crunching through the snow like he was punishing the ground for existing. He carried both of their bags, his slung over one shoulder, hers strapped tightly to his back. The straps dug into his coat, but he said nothing about it, which for Kacper meant he was probably very aware of it. The twin of Opal, Onyx, was little more than a sleek shadow draped across the top of his backpack. The black cat’s blue eyes popped against the frost covered landscape around them, seemingly unbothered by the cold.

“You know,” Kat murmured, breaking the silence, “I could carry my own bag.”

He shot her a look over his shoulder—flat, unimpressed, and sharp enough to cut through the frost. “And ruin my fun? Not a chance.”

She smiled faintly, though her temples throbbed. The ache behind her eyes had started the moment they stepped off the bus that had dropped them at the end of the narrow, tree-choked road. It wasn’t just the lack of sleep, though that never helped. It was that odd, humming tension, the kind that prickled in her bones before something changed. Something she could never quite see, only feel. “You hate hiking,” she teased gently.

“I hate cold hiking,” he corrected, his voice muffled as he rubbed a hand across his face. “I hate cold, and I hate hiking before sunrise. Together, it’s my personal version of Tartarus.”

Kat snorted, the sound fogging in the frozen air. “You sound like a cat who got locked out in the snow.”

“I am a cat who got locked out in the snow,” he muttered. “Except this cat has to carry luggage, and babysit his sister, while trudging through a Greek forest that looks like it belongs in Siberia.” She rolled her eyes but didn’t argue. Her brother’s sarcasm was a kind of comfort, it meant he was still steady, still him, even with everything that had changed. If Kacper ever stopped making dry comments, then she’d know something was wrong.

“This is ridiculous,” he grumbled after a few moments of stretching silence. “A… what? Three mile hike. In snow. Uphill. Who builds a secret camp for demigods and doesn’t spring for a driveway?”

Kat smiled faintly, the corners of her lips trembling with the effort. “Maybe it’s part of the test.” Melantha had alluded to the idea of some sort of impending test when she’d sent them off to the camp, but their mentor was always so… vauge. It was hard to tell if they were already being tested, or if it hadn’t begun yet.

“What test? Surviving frostbite?” His voice was sharp, but beneath it was that familiar edge of worry—the one he didn’t think she’d notice. Kacper always made his concern sound like irritation. It was his way of holding the world at arm’s length.

Her head was starting to pound, the dull ache blooming behind her eyes, pressing against her temples. She blinked against it, trying to focus on the trail winding between the trees. Her vision wavered slightly, just for a moment. The snow seemed to shimmer, shapes flickering at the edge of her sight—-shadows that weren’t shadows, whispers curling like fog between the branches. Were they close to someone sleeping? When she blinked again, it was gone. She shook her head gently, regretting it immediately as pain rippled behind her eyes.

“Kat?” Kacper’s tone softened, still gruff but touched with that familiar note of concern. “You good?”

“Fine,” she lied, not looking at him. “Just tired.”

He gave her a skeptical look over his shoulder. Lying to him was pointless, but it wouldn’t do for them both to have headaches. “You’re always tired.”

“That’s kind of my thing,” she said with a small, crooked smile. He huffed like a dog not receiving enough attention, but Kas let the subject drop. Onyx stretched lazily across the bag, yawning in perfect sync with his owner’s harsh exhale. Opal’s tiny white paw flexed against Kat’s neck in reply, her warmth radiating faintly through the scarf. The forest grew steeper as they climbed. Snow gathered in the folds of Kacper’s scarf, clung to Kat’s lashes. The world felt both too bright and too quiet, the kind of stillness that made you afraid to breathe too loudly. Kat tried to distract herself from the pressure building in her skull by talking. “Do you think he’s watching us right now?” she asked softly. “Father, I mean.”

Kacper’s boots crunched harder in the snow. His resentment toward Hypnos had not gone unchecked, he blamed the God for their childhood in the orphanage perhaps more so than he blamed their mother, whoever she was.“If he is, he could at least send a blanket. Or a ride.”

“I meant—-” she hesitated. “Not like that. I just… I keep feeling like he’s there. In the air somehow. Watching us through the trees.”

He didn’t answer right away, but Kat could see the muscles in his jaw flex. This was a touchy subject, and she knew it was akin to poking a bear, but where Kacper would snap at anyone else for pursuing the topic, he controlled himself with her. “That’s comforting,” he said finally, tone dry as the frost. “The God—-” there was a mocking edge to his voice, “—of sleep working as a forest security camera.”

Despite herself, Kat laughed. It was quiet, brittle, but real. The sound melted a bit of the tension in the air. The trees began to thin as the path wound further onward. The early light, pale and weak, filtered through the canopy, glinting on the frost. Kat’s boots slipped once, and Kacper reached back automatically, steadying her with a gloved hand. He didn’t even look at her, just grunted softly and kept walking. She smiled again, petting Opal.

They walked in silence for a while after that, the wind whispering through the trees around them. Somewhere far off, a bird called once and fell quiet. Kat’s breath came in short bursts; her lungs ached, head pounding, fingers stiff in the cold. Her thoughts drifted, back to Szczecin, to Green Manor orphanage, to the polished marble halls of their adoptive father’s estate, to Melantha and her soft words. ”Your real father is someone very old,” she’d said when they’d invited her in after that first day, eyes flickering like candlelight. ”Someone who deals in dreams.”

Katryna had laughed then. Kacper hadn’t.

Now, trudging through snow toward some secret camp in the mountains of Greece, the idea didn’t seem so funny anymore. By the time they reached the clearing, the sky had turned pale gold over the peaks. The air was sharp with cold, but the scent of pine was clean and bright. Before them stood a tall gate. Kas set her bag down in front of the entrance, breathing hard. “Finally,” he muttered, rubbing his gloved hands together. “If this place doesn’t have heated cabins, I’m turning around.”

Kat stepped forward, squinting at the gate, surprised to find… a fingerprint scanner. The words beneath it read: biometric scanner. Kacper raised an eyebrow. “Seems secure. What happens if it doesn’t recognize us?”

“Then we go home” Kat said softly, her breath ghosting against the air.

She hesitated a moment, tugging off her glove from one hand, the weight of the forest pressing around them. Her eyelids felt heavy, always heavy—but there was something else there now, something curling behind her vision. A flicker of something she couldn’t quite see. A door. A flash of golden light. A whisper: Welcome home. Someone was most certainly dreaming, quite close if she had a guess, multiple people, probably. That would get frustrating fast. She pressed her thumb to the scanner. It flared white for a second, then green, and then it clicked. Kacper exhaled. “Guess we’re invited.”

Kat smiled faintly, though her eyes were distant. “Yeah,” she whispered. “I guess we are.” They stepped forward together, twins, half-awake, half-dreaming, as the gates closed softly behind them. The forest had swallowed sound, but here, in the open clearing, everything seemed to exhale. The air was sharp, full of woodsmoke and pine, and it burned her lungs when she tried to catch her breath.

The camp spread before them in muted shades of brown, black, and white. Cabins crouched sporadically throughout the camp, some roofs sagging beneath the weight of fresh snow. Smoke drifted from a few chimneys, and the faint orange glow of light flickered behind frosted windows as they passed. Through the camp, paths wound like faded scars through the snow—worn, trampled, lived-in. Kat’s boots sank into the slush with a wet crunch. Every step made her head pound harder, a slow, throbbing pulse behind her right eye that had grown heavier with time. Now, with the cold pressing in, it felt like the world was vibrating, snow, air, heartbeat, all at once.

She could hear voices somewhere beyond the nearest cabin, laughter carried thinly through the wind. The sound didn’t seem entirely real, nothing here did despite how mundane it appeared to the naked eye. The camp felt old, older than the trees around it, older than the snow that blanketed it, and though it looked half asleep beneath winter’s weight. Something about it hummed quietly, like a chord struck low and waiting to resolve. Katryna had imagined something warmer, brighter; heroes in training, golden campfires, maybe a banner flapping in the wind. Instead, there was only this; cold breath, aching muscles, and a silence that seemed to be listening.

There was also a stand with maps on it.

Katryna stepped up to the wooden stand, taking in how the structure leaned slightly, as if it too, had weathered too many winters. Her fingers brushed away a dusting of snow, revealing a layout of the camp beneath cabins marked by small house shapes, paths like veins winding between them, a lake smudged in pale blue ink at the far edge. Kacper stepped up beside her, squinting. “Looks like we’re somewhere near the center,” he murmured, tapping one of the labels. His voice felt too loud in the quiet, swallowed quickly by the cold air.

“Guess we’re supposed to pick one?” Katryna asked, uncertain. Her head still throbbed, the dull ache pressing behind her eyes as she traced one of the paths with her finger.

As her fingertip slid across the parchment, she winced, the bare tips of her ungloved hand brushing the map. For a heartbeat, nothing happened. Then, the ink shimmered faintly beneath her touch, as if the lines themselves were breathing. The cabin her finger rested on, one tucked near the further treeline across the camp, darkened, its outline deepening until a single word appeared where none had been before:

Katryna.

Her breath hitched. “Kacper, did you see that?” He leaned in, frowning. Then, with the kind of grin that always managed to look both reckless and reassuring, he pressed his pointerfinger to the map beside her own. The ink rippled again, and the neighboring cabin flared softly before resolving into a new label:

Kacper.

The twins exchanged a glance. The moment hung heavy and strange, like the world had just acknowledged them, claimed them. “Guess we’ve got our places,” Kacper said finally, his tone lighter than his eyes. Katryna nodded, folding the edge of her scarf higher over her face as the wind picked up, mindful of Opal. They followed one of the narrow paths carved through the snow, their boots sinking deep into the slush. The sound of the camp grew and faded around them.

When they reached the cabins, the world seemed to hold its breath. Katryna’s new home stood with its slanted roof dusted in white powder, a thin curl of smoke rising from the chimney, dark windows reflective and cool like still water. Beside it, Kacper’s cabin looked smaller, a perfect triangle with a roof snow slid from easily, though its window flickered with a faint, uncertain light—as if it was waking up to them, lacking the reflective edge of Kat’s.

She wondered if there was something more magical at play here, if the cabins somehow reflected the owner on some level. They hesitated outside of them, silence filling the spaces around the twins, when a door to a nearby cabin clicked open quietly, a bark cut through the peace they’d tricked themselves into feeling, and their eyes slid to follow the noise.

"I’ll be back. I promise," Sloane reassured Rocco through the crack in her door as she tried to slip out. The pup was less than thrilled at the prospect of being left behind in the cabin without her. Since he came into her care after Liam left he has been at her side… for everything. It never really crossed her mind that at some point she’d have to leave him behind in her cabin. She did her best to make him a snuggly nest of pillows and blankets on her bed, set out some water, gave him a bone, and even played some calming music on the little bluetooth speaker on her nightstand. But in the end, even with all the additional comforts, he still looked at her through the window like she was abandoning him forever.

"Aww, don’t look at me like that." She hurried back inside, giving him one last kiss and pet good bye… for the seventh time. Then, before it could break her heart more, Sloane slipped out the door without looking back. There were a couple muffled barks that followed her as she hurried down the snow dusted path, but once she rounded the corner, disappearing out of sight behind some trees, Rocco grew silent.

Sloane stopped in her tracks, standing in the intersection of diverging trails as she took a deep breath and ran her hands over her face. How people left their pets behind at home everyday to go to work, she’d never understand. In the few seconds she took to compose herself and fight the urge to go back and bring Rocco with her, she had the growing feeling that she was being watched. Her fingers brushed back from her temples, pushing loose hairs out of her face as she looked around until her gaze fell on a pair of unfamiliar faces staring at her from down the path. She waved her hand awkwardly at her side while the corners of her mouth tugged into a tight lipped smile.

At first, Sloane took a step forward having had her fill of ‘welcome committee’ duties for the next… eternity, but as she went to continue forward her attention fell to the bags they were carrying. Her eyes closed, sucking in a sharp breath as she steeled her nerves to actually initiate a conversation. She was starting to wonder if this was some cruel joke of Eris’s for her not praying or something. Well, I’m still not going to, she told herself or her mother… if she was somehow listening.

With a soft sigh that left a puff of visible breath in her wake, Sloane pivoted and took a handful of steps towards the newcomers. "Hi… um, I couldn’t help but notice you both are new," she greeted them while pointing at their bags. "There’s training in the arena in…" Her voice trailed off as she pushed up the sleeve of her coat and hoodie to check the time on her small gold watch. "Like ten minutes." She shook her arm slightly so her large sleeves slipped back down over her hand. "Just figured you might want to know."

“Training,” Kacper repeated flatly, the word falling from his mouth like it tasted bad. He looked at the girl in front of them, shorter, bundled up, a kind of frazzled energy clinging to her like static, and then down at his boots, which were currently half-submerged in slush and snow. “You’re kidding.”

Katryna winced inwardly, though she didn’t look at him, her head was pounding too hard for sharp movements. The cold felt like it had crawled behind her eyes, nesting there, pulsing in time with her heartbeat. She forced a small smile anyway, stepping forward before her brother’s tone could sour the air any further. “What he means is… hi,” she said, her voice soft, breath fogging faintly. “We just got here.”

Kacper snorted quietly. “Literally. Like, five minutes ago. Two days on trains, a hike through Siberia Junior, and now—training.” He gestured vaguely at the camp around them, one gloved hand emerging from his pocket for all of two seconds before he stuffed it back in again. “Do you people just hate warmth here, or is this some kind of initiation ritual? Heat lamps are a thing.”

The man’s prickly nature took Sloane a bit by surprise. She took a slight step back in a silent sort of guarded defensiveness. The initial bitterness in his tone reminded her faintly of her brother, finding a way to direct his frustration at anything or anyone rather than the actual cause. It disarmed her and left her on unsure footing. After all, she was just the messenger. She was the last person to want to train in the early hours of the morning. "Well, it is winter. So…" she replied with a flat sarcasm, dragging out the last word as if it was answer enough.

Kat nudged him gently with her elbow, the motion half-hearted. “Don’t mind him,” she murmured to the other girl. Her tongue felt slow, her head heavy, words dragging slightly as she spoke. “He gets cranky when he’s cold.”

“I get cranky when I’m freezing and haven’t slept,” Kacper corrected under his breath. “Or when people tell me I have to swordfight before breakfast.”

Katryna bit back a smile despite the ache behind her eyes. “You don’t even know if it’s swordfighting,” she pointed out, voice soft, teasing in that way only siblings could manage when they were bone-tired.

“It’s a demigod camp in Greece. It’s swordfighting or some redundant obstacle course,” he said dryly, tone brooking no argument. “Or wrestling monsters. Or something equally stupid for someone who hasn’t had coffee.”

Sloane’s gaze bounced back and forth between the siblings as they bickered. She crossed her arms in the subtle way that made her feel a little more closed off and shielded from the bite of his ire. It wasn’t like she had any love for Camp. She fucking hated the place. Still, his annoyance with his predicament felt directed at her as the easy outlet, at least for the time being. The girl, at least, was nice and probably the only thing that kept Sloane from continuing on toward the arena while the girl’s brother had his temper tantrum. It reminded her of her and Sylas, oddly enough. Although where there seemed to be compassion behind their jabs, Sylas used her as an outlet… an emotional and physical punching bag to unleash his wrath in a ‘controlled’ manner. But even with the guy’s shitty attitude, she found herself jealous of the relationship and ease they shared.

"Last training was random duels. I didn’t use a sword, but if that’s your thing," Sloane interjected with a noncommittal shrug, meeting a fraction of his sass with a far more gentle sarcasm that was laced in truth. "Monsters would be in poor taste… All things considered." She didn’t elaborate. But considering they all had just healed from Pandora’s box, throwing them up against monsters so soon just sounded… cruel.

Something about that made Kat’s head tilt ever so slightly, a strange tingle sliding down her spine. “A shitty obstacle course, then.” Kacper muttered, but his sister jabbed him in the ribs harder this time, cutting him off.

The other girl’s eyes were kind, even if she looked like she’d rather be anywhere else. The fact that she’d stopped despite cutting it so close to training meant something, but her head hurt too badly for her to quite decide what that was. “I’m Katryna,” Kat said carefully, shifting her bag higher on her shoulder. The movement made her head spin, and she blinked hard until the white spots faded. “This is my brother, Kacper.”

“Resident optimist,” he muttered.

“And chronic exaggerator,” she added, earning the faintest glare from him that she pretended not to see. “We can change quickly, if you don’t mind showing us where to go? I’m sorry for the inconvenience.”

Kacper huffed a laugh that wasn’t quite friendly, seeming to give up on the idea that he could somehow get out of training. “Yeah, sure. After we drop our stuff, thaw out, and regain feeling in our fingers, we’ll go play soldier or whatever.” He gave the stranger a wry look, one corner of his mouth twitching upward. “Unless ‘hypothermia chic’ is the look everyone’s going for here.”

Kat shot him a sidelong glance, the kind that said please stop antagonizing people before we’ve even unpacked, and turned back to Sloane with an apologetic half-smile. The wind gusted between them, carrying a sting of ice and pine. Somewhere behind her, Opal shifted beneath Kat’s scarf, a small white paw pressing against her neck in a way that made her throat tighten with warmth. She looked back at Sloane, eyes softer now despite the ache swimming behind them. Onyx stirred on Kacper’s shoulders, arching his back before perking up at the sight of a new person, eyes bright and curious.

It wasn’t until the small black mass stretched across Kacper’s shoulders that Sloane realized it was a cat and not an extremely fluffy scarf. Her cold and guarded demeanor softened slightly at the sight of the small ball of fur and how it reminded her of Rocco. Animals were always better judges of character, at least in her experience. That, and only that, was enough for her to be a little less on edge, even if he still complained a lot. There was a second where she considered asking if she could pet it, but ended up keeping the thought to herself.

"I’m Sloane," she offered up her name in response, doing her best to give Katryna a genuine smile before turning her attention toward Kacper. "You know," Sloane continued, shifting her weight from her left foot to the right. "If you stopped wasting so much hot air whining, you might not be so cold." She laughed softly, finding in that moment, no matter how bitter he came off, that his attitude was nothing compared to Sylas. That... she could handle.

"Anyway," Sloane shrugged, steering the conversation back toward the matter at hand. The ghost of a smile lingered at the corners of her mouth showing the faint air of pride at her comment. "I can wait. I need to go apologize to my dog again for like the millionth time anyway." She pointed her thumb backwards over her shoulder in the general direction of her cabin. "I can meet you both back here… Unless Elsa needs more time to thaw." She nodded her head toward Kacper, smile growing a fraction, before she turned around and headed back to her cabin.

Katryna blinked after Sloane as the girl turned away, the faintest smile tugging at her lips despite the cold gnawing at her bones and the ever present pain in her head. There was something disarming about Sloane’s sarcasm, dry, almost weary, but it was tempered by the kind of warmth that didn’t need to be loud to be genuine. It made the biting wind sting a little less, and the hangman that was the approaching training session feel less daunting. Beside her, Kacper was unusually quiet for all of two seconds. His eyebrows had lifted a fraction, clearly surprised by the sharpness of Sloane’s last jab. Then, a slow grin, small but real, creased one corner of his mouth.

“Huh,” he said, tone thoughtful in a way that never meant anything good. “Did she just… sass me back?”

Kat let out a small, breathy laugh, her voice nearly swallowed by the wind. She lifted one hand, rubbing at her temple as she turned toward the cabins. “Looks like someone finally met their match.”

“Match?” He scoffed, feigning offense. “She wishes.” His grin deepened into something far less prickly and far more amused. “Though… she’s got a decent right hook. Verbally speaking.”

Katryna rolled her eyes, but there was warmth in the gesture. She adjusted her scarf higher, feeling the soft weight of Opal tucked beneath it, the kitten’s tail twitching faintly against her throat. “Just try not to pick a fight with everyone who has a sense of humor, please.”

“Me? Never.” Kacper turned slightly, watching Sloane disappear down the snowy path, then muttered under his breath with a faint smirk, “Hot air, my ass.” Onyx had been watching the exchange with laser focus. The little black creature’s head tilted sharply when Sloane had laughed, ears pricking forward as if memorizing the sound. Now, as her figure vanished into the pale fog, Onyx’s muscles tensed, tail flicking in eager anticipation.

“Don’t even think about it,” Kacper warned, one hand rising automatically to steady the cat as it shifted on his shoulders. “You jump off, and you’re sleeping in the snow, buddy. I’m not chasing you this early.”

Onyx replied with a low, chiding chirp that, if Kacper could speak cat, would suspiciously sound like you’re no fun, before curling sulkily around his neck again. Kat couldn’t help but laugh softly, even if it hurt, her voice warm against the cold air. “He likes her.”

“He likes anyone with better judgment than me,” Kacper replied dryly, though the edge in his tone had dulled, his earlier irritation tempered now into something almost lighthearted. He nodded toward the cabin doors. “Come on. Elsa needs to get her frozen ass inside.”

The door to Kat’s cabin creaked open on stiff hinges, releasing a faint breath of cold, stale air. The interior was dim, none of the lights were on, the interior paint was dark, offset but lighter wood tones. It was small, but more cozy than cramped, with a dark fireplace situated in front of the bed between the large windows, the kitchen toward the back of the cabin was a comfortable size, and the bathroom was connected right off the room. Up a set of stairs seemed to be some sort of sitting room with bookshelves already filled to the brim. The windows seemed to have some sort of film on them, making the outside reflective, but the interior see-through, an added touch of privacy that reflected who Katryna was as a person.

Katryna stepped inside first, exhaling in quiet relief as she dropped her pack near the wall. Her fingers trembled slightly when she unbuttoned her coat, Opal poking her head out and mewing softly in protest at the chill. “Sorry, sweetheart,” Kat murmured, easing the kitten into a small fleece-lined basket she’d spotted beside the hearth. “Just a few minutes.”

Kacper, still bundled in layers, crouched by the fireplace and inspected the pile of kindling. “You’d think if they made us live out here, they’d at least pre-heat the cabins,” he muttered, pulling off his gloves. His fingers were red and stiff, but practiced as he arranged the logs. A few sparks later, the fire caught, crackling softly, painting the room in orange warmth that chased away some of the cabin’s gloom.

Kat watched the flames build, the reflection flickering in her eyes. The warmth began to thaw the ache behind her temples, though her exhaustion still hummed just beneath her skin. “You always did like playing hero with matches,” she teased lightly, her voice quieter now, gentler. It reminded her of the orphanage, how the matriarch wouldn’t light the fires for the children in their rooms once they’d reached a certain age, nor would she teach them. Kas had always insisted on lighting it for their room, he’d get mad at her if she even tried.

“Someone’s gotta keep us from becoming popsicles,” Kacper shot back, though there was no bite to it. He straightened, brushing soot from his hands, and glanced toward her with a faint grin. “Besides, it’ll warm up your cabin for when you get back.”

Kat smiled faintly, tugging off her gloves and rubbing her hands together before moving toward her bag. The sound of the fire filled the silence between them, soft and steady. His admission made her chest feel warm, no matter how much they snapped at one another, Kacper cared deeper than he’d even admit aloud, showing it in the smallest, most thoughtful gestures.

“She said she’d wait,” she reminded him after a moment, glancing toward the door. “Try not to scare her off before then.”

“Who, me?” He gave her an exaggerated look of innocence that didn’t fool her for a second. “Please. I’m a delight. Go get changed.”

“You’re a headache,” Katryna corrected, smiling despite herself as she tugged out a pair of fleece lined leggings, moving toward the bathroom to change out of her jeans.

Kacper chuckled, low and warm, as the firelight caught on the sharp edge of his grin. “Same thing.” He pulled out sweatpants from his own bag once the bathroom door had shut, changing into them and a hoodie quickly, careful to fold his clothes into a neat pile by his bag.

A few short minutes later, she stepped out of the bathroom. Kacper was already outside, so she took a second to offer soft apologies and promises to the cats that were staring at her expecentally.

Back in Sloane’s cabin she peppered Rocco’s face with kisses and muttered apologies for disturbing him the second he managed to settle and get comfortable with her gone. Meanwhile her tiny little Keurig burbled and roared as it brewed a second steaming cup of coffee. It was a special happenstance that she had a stock of those shitty cardboard coffee cups in her cabin that she stole from the main hall. She kept them on standby for the early mornings or late nights she had to take Rocco on a walk in the freezing cold. It wasn’t really her goal when she came back to her cabin, but seeing her Keurig tucked away in the corner on her small table triggered the thought. If the Gods or fate felt the need to make her a camp counselor she could at least be helpful and she knew if she had just hiked up the mountain she too would need coffee before training. After all, she could use some friends… Although having like ten different people thrown at her within a single day wasn’t really what she had in mind.

After putting the lid on the second cup, Sloane dipped into her bathroom and rummaged through her medicine cabinet for her bottle of aspirin. She wasn’t a mind reader, but she knew the telltale signs of a headache and was also abundantly aware of how a pain in the ass brother didn’t really help ease those aches either. She grabbed two pills, palming them, and made her way back to the table. With a little juggling, she managed to shove two granola bars in her pocket, keep ahold of the pills, and grab each of the coffees. It took some inventive coordination to get the door open but without a convenient table outside she found herself trying to hook her heel around the side of the door and pull it closed, all without falling over or dropping everything.

She had to try a couple times and there was one incident where she almost fell over, but eventually she figured it out and got the door closed. With a satisfied sigh and head nod, Sloane made her way back down the path and around the bend toward the siblings’ cabins. When neither of them were outside yet she waited a moment or two before resolving to perch herself on the steps of one of the porches while she waited, keeping the warm coffees clutched in her chilled hands, utilizing them like two little heaters.

Kacper had just finished tugging on his boots when he caught movement through the frosted window, a familiar figure settling herself on the porch steps outside, two paper cups steaming between her hands. The sight startled him more than it should have. Kindness, from a stranger. It had weight to it. The kind of weight he didn’t quite know where to put. He’d grown up in a place where people learned early to count what was theirs–food, space, warmth, safety, and to keep it close in order to safeguard it. The orphanage hadn’t been cruel by design, but it had taught him everything he needed to know about the world; that survival was a competition, and generosity was just another way to end up cold and empty-handed.

You learn fast, in places like that. You learn that no one’s coming to save you, and that love, when it exists, is an accident of proximity, not a promise. Kat had been his only exception. Then their adopted father, the man who took them in, who saw past the hard edges they’d already begun to grow. But everyone else? They were just the blur of faces that came and went, too busy trying to keep their own heads above water.

And yet, here was Sloane. Coffee in both hands, cheeks red from the cold, doing something no one had asked her to. No angle, no debt, no trade. Just… offering warmth because she could.

It made him uneasy, that kind of softness. Like standing somewhere the ground might give way. Maybe she was just being polite. Maybe this was nothing. But a small, treacherous part of him, the part that hadn’t completely frozen over, wondered if this was what people meant when they talked about good intentions.

Maybe, he thought, not everyone was built to bite first.

He exhaled through his teeth, the sound half a laugh, half a surrender. Kat was still inside somewhere behind him, getting dressed in the bathroom, so he slipped out to mingle of his own volition, for once. The air bit instantly at his fingers, he’d left his gloves on the table beside his sister’s scarf, but he ignored it, shoving his hands into his jacket pockets instead.

"Tell me one of those is for me, before I start calling you a saint and start believing in miracles." He said in lieu of greeting, kicking the door shut behind him so the heat wouldn’t escape the cabin.

Sloane’s mind started to wander as she waited, fingers lightly tapping against the sides of the cups while she bounced her legs to keep some of her blood circulating. Somewhere lost in her thoughts—questioning how many more new campers she was going to have to give a shitty orientation to or trying to decide what she’d say if she ran into Ace—she missed the door opening. The sound of a voice coming from behind her made her start slightly. She shook her head at her own jumpiness as she got up and turned to face Kacper, standing a few stairs lower than him. She held out one of the cups toward him, the corner of her mouth faintly tugging into a timid smile. "It can be our secret. I’d hate for people to think you’re friendly," she teased softly.

When she offered him the cup, he accepted it with both hands, savoring the brief burn of heat seeping through the cardboard. He tilted it slightly in mock reverence. "Bless you, oh merciful caffeine saint. Truly, you’ve saved a life today." He took a sip, and made a low sound that was half-groan, half-laugh. "Okay, maybe I take back half of what I said earlier. Just half, though, I’ve got a reputation to keep. If someone thinks I’m nice, I might spontaneously combust."

Some of the tension that had tightened across her shoulders eased as a soft, but genuine, chuckle fell from her lips creating fleeting clouds in the space between them. She raised an index finger and crossed an X over her heart. "My lips are sealed as long as you don’t start telling people I’m actually social." Sloane’s voice dropped slightly as if it was a secret and someone could eavesdrop… Like the trees or the wind. "I just got the whole loner thing figured out," she joked, poking fun at her own solitude. In reality she didn’t really enjoy being as lonely as she was, but the 180 her life had taken in the past 24 hours was throwing her in a tail spin. Her social batteries could only handle so much and they hadn’t even gotten the chance to fully recover from the night before.

"I didn’t realize how much having a dog was going to force me to be social," she mused, nodding her head to the side with a little shrug. It took a second or two for her mind to fully catch up to what she said. Her eyes squinted as she pursed her lips slightly. "And he’s not even here." She laughed at her own stupidity, clicked her tongue, then lightly kicked the toe of her shoe against the step. "Guess he’s rubbing off on me."

Kacper huffed a laugh, quiet but real this time, the kind that came more from the chest than the throat. The sound misted faintly between them, caught in the pale air before dissolving. "Yeah, I get that," he said, shifting the cup between his hands and he rolled his eyes fondly. "My cat’s the same way. Onyx thinks every living thing exists to adore him—people, birds, probably even the wind."

"Duh," Sloane interjected with a dramatic but playful eye roll. "I was this close—" She squinted while holding up her index finger and thumb with the tiniest bit of space between them. "—to asking to pet him. He could have the world if he wanted."

He had three weaknesses that were undeniable. The first and foremost one being his sister, but the other two were undeniably Onyx and Opal. Kas supposed, privately, certainly not aloud lest Sloane develop an ego, that she really wasn't too bad after all. "There’s two of them," he said, clearly a little smug, as if trying to goad her into jealousy, his lips pulled up into a smirk. "Opal blended into Kat’s scarf, so she’s harder to see. Knowing my sister, she’ll invite you over after training for tea, as thanks for the coffee. You could pet them then, I suppose." He shrugged nonchalantly, as if he weren’t planning to make the suggestion to his sister once they were out of earshot. It was good manners, after all, to repay kindness.

"Hmm," Sloane mused quietly, shifting her weight from one foot to the other. The prospect of an afternoon petting cats and avoiding the majority of the new crowd at camp sounded like a nice day. "That does sound enticing." She paused. The thought of pets brought her back to Rocco and his sad face when she left him behind in her cabin. Her smile faded, gaze falling to the crescent shaped dip in the snow from her shoe. "Rocco doesn’t do well with being left alone after—I don’t want to leave him alone too long," she corrected herself and redirected before accidentally saying too much.

He took another sip, lips pulled up into a soft smile, letting the warmth anchor him, eyes flicking toward the cabin window where a dark shape moved behind the glass. "I didn’t realize how much a pet could force you to… exist outside yourself," he added, voice quieter now, less sharp. "Half the time I’m just trying to keep up with Katryna."

A small smirk tugged at his mouth again, faint but there, as he tried to recover from sharing too much of himself too soon with a stranger, mentally berating himself and falling back on his sarcasm to cope. "So yeah, guess we’re both failing the loner thing. Congratulations, you’re officially in bad company, just in case there was any doubt."

Sloane hummed, mulling over the thought as her hand slipped into her pocket. Her thoughts momentarily drifted to what it must have been like having a brother who cared for her in the way Kacper seemed to care for his sister. The concept was so foreign that the image struggled to form. Before she could even try to paint a picture of what a kind Sylas would look like, the crinkle of a foil wrapper brushed against the tip of her finger, snapping her out of it. "Oh right," she muttered, fishing out one of the granola bars. "I don’t really cook or even have a kitchen," she mentioned while holding out the small offering toward him with a guilty shrug. "But you shouldn’t train on an empty stomach."

The steam drifted up between them, carrying a faint smell of roasted beans and something almost like peace. He looked over at her again, taking the granola bar after a moment of hesitation, as if he didn’t know what to do with so much offered kindness all at once, the smirk still there but quieter now, less armor and more habit. "Guess I’m not Elsa anymore. Though I’ve still got range—I can belt out Let It Go if you think it’ll get me out of training."

A quiet snort like laughter slipped out for just a fraction of a second at the thought of him—or anyone—trying to get out of training with shitty Disney karaoke. Sloane cleared her throat, trying to muffle her laugh although the faint growth in her smile betrayed her. "I’d pay to see that."

His lips twitched, his smirk taking a more playful edge, veering toward flirtatious. "I’m not sure anyone has enough money to pay for that performance." He shifted his weight, and he took another sip, letting the bitter heat steady him as he prepared to do what he knew his sister would want him to. "Seriously, though," he added after a moment, voice softer. "Thanks. Sorry about..." Kacper’s voice trailed off, a grimace pulling at his face, as if apologizing actually caused him some form of physical pain, and he didn’t elaborate further.

"You underestimate how much money I have," Sloane rebutted with a comfortable air of levity in her tone. She was never one to flaunt her wealth, nor was she proud of the life she came from before camp, but Kacper had no way of knowing if her playful threat was a bluff or not.

She brushed off his apology with a small wave of her hand. While it was obvious the act pained him, Sloane wasn’t going to force him to stumble through the words on her account. "I’m tougher than I look. It’s not even the worst thing that’s happened to me in the last day." She didn’t explain the meaning behind her words. While there was a slight dourness to what she said, her tone was overall light and unbothered, like someone who was so used to living under a permanent cloud that an additional shadow was just another drop in the bucket.

She shifted the coffee she held onto for his sister into her other hand and caught sight of the pills that were still clutched beneath her fingers. "Oh," Sloane added, climbing one of the steps to get slightly closer to Kacper. "This is actually why I went back to my cabin." She extended her hand toward him revealing the two pills resting in her rosy palm. "They’re for your sister. I know a headache when I see one."

He’d snorted at her comment about money, but Kacper’s smirk faltered at her first words, the casual way she brushed off something that she’d considered bad. Something in the way she said it, soft, unbothered, but heavy underneath, made his chest twist in a way he didn’t have a name for. It reminded him too much of his sister when she was withholding things that he would argue were important to be shared. He opened his mouth to say something, anything, but she was already stepping closer, holding something out to him.

When he saw the pills in her hand, it took him a second to understand. Then her words sank in.

"Headache?" he echoed, brow furrowing, concern threading through the cracks of his usual sarcastic tone. "She didn’t say anything." His jaw worked, throat tight. "She only gets a headache before—"

He stopped himself. Too late. The words hung there between them, brittle and sharp.

The cabin door opened behind him with a slow creak that cut clean through the moment. Kat stepped out, her hair mussed from changing, her color wrong—the healthy flush from earlier drained to something wan and hollow. The warmth inside hadn’t touched her. A tissue peeked between her fingers, stained with a bright, accusing spot of red before she tucked it into her sleeve as though that could make it disappear.

"I’m fine," she said firmly, every syllable pressed into a strict shape of enunciation. Her voice was gentle but carried that edge, the one she used whenever she wanted to keep him from worrying. "It’s just a headache. Stop stressing, you’ll get wrinkles." Kacper’s frown deepened, the concern in his eyes softening into something helpless. He watched as she took the pills from Sloane with careful fingers, her gratitude genuine even through the exhaustion that clung to her like frost.

"I appreciate it," Kat murmured, and the faint curve of her smile, though small, held warmth enough to thaw something fragile in the air between them. "I get migraines pretty bad, sometimes, I forgot my medication at home though."

Kacper looked between them both, the steam from his cup curling in faint, ghostlike tendrils. The tension he’d carried all those months ago when their mentor showed up on their doorstep coiled tighter beneath his ribs, though he forced a slow breath past it. He didn’t say it aloud, not in front of Sloane, but the thought echoed through him anyway, quiet and uneasy. Was it the heralding of another one of her dreams, or the approaching remnants of one she’d had that always seemed to haunt her, as if in punishment for not being able to intervene in things she was utterly uninvolved in.

Sloane returned the smile best she could, waiting patiently to offer Katryna the other cup of coffee to help her take the pills with the granola bar ready in her other hand. It didn’t go unnoticed the way Kacper’s concern ignited at the mention of a headache or the unfinished thought he nearly let slip, but she didn’t ask or point a light on information that she was not privy to. He didn’t pry about her comments and she’d return the act in kind. There was a silent unspoken respect she had for people who didn’t try to forcibly unpack her words or thoughts and she always tried to mirror that with her own actions.

With her hands empty, she ran them down the tops of her legs as she took a small step backwards to give them space. Coincidentally that was near the edge of the porch, but luckily Sloane looked down at the right moment just before her clumsy nature won out. She lowered herself one of the steps and regained her balance with as much poise as possible. "If you need more, my cabin is down that way and like a U turn." She pointed and curved her hand as she spoke to give them a general idea of where her cabin was. "I don’t sleep much." She stopped herself before saying too much and quickly averted her gaze. "I just mean you can knock whenever. I don’t mind," she hastily tried to brush past her slip up with rushed words and a slightly forced smile.

Katryna blinked at Sloane’s words, her hand curling around the paper cup, the faint heat bleeding into her chilled fingers. The coffee’s scent rose up in gentle waves, making her feel both relieved and a little nauseous, but it was the offhand comment that snagged her attention, sharp and bright as flint striking stone.

"You don’t?" Kat asked, the words slipping out before she could temper them.

"You don’t?" Kacper said at the same time, turning to look at Sloane with one brow raised, his confusion plain and a flicker of worry still lingering beneath it, not just for Sloane now, but for his sister, whose sudden interest in the topic made his stomach twist. He reached out automatically when Sloane slipped backwards, fingers curling around her bicep, helping to halt the movement even as she righted herself, before he let go as if the warmth of her burnt his hand.

Sloane’s gaze fell to where Kacper grabbed her arm to steady her. She cleared her throat, eyes following his hand as he withdrew before looking between both of them a bit stunned at their shared response to her sleep habits. Her cheeks grew the faintest bit more pink beneath the prominent flush from the bite of the cold wind. "I—yes?"

While her brother was looking at Sloane’s blush the same way a cat would look at a mouse that had just wandered in front of it, the light behind her own eyes brightened with something almost like relief, though she fought to dull it before it could show too much. "Neither do I," she admitted, that faint, too-quick spark dimming into something more fragile, almost conspiratorial. "Always feels like there’s… too much noise when the world’s quiet, I suppose."

Kacper glanced sidelong at her, the muscle in his jaw tightening and flexing. They couldn’t keep their Godly parent a secret for forever, but they could limit what everyone knew about what they could do. He wanted to say something, anything, but he wasn’t sure where to even start. Instead, he settled for the smallest shake of his head. Kat smiled faintly, unbothered by his silent disapproval. Her gaze returned to Sloane, eyes soft and oddly knowing, as if she recognized something of herself in the other woman’s tired smile.

"Our father is Hypnos," she said with false lightness, and Katryna watched when Kacper’s face screwed up in distaste, as if he’d bitten into sour candy, with vague amusement. She ignored him, though. "You can always come knock if you want to sleep, but can’t. I’m better at it than Kas, anyways."

He scoffed, but there was no heat behind the noise. In fact, the tips of his ears had turned pink ever so slightly, like he was embarrassed. "I doubt she’d want me hovering over her for a nap anyways." He muttered, thrusting his hands into his pockets.

Sloane’s smile, weak and easy to miss, returned slightly at the kind gesture. The thought of a night of peaceful sleep was almost too good to deny, but there was one glaring problem with that… Letting anyone see the cause of her restless nights in the first place. She sighed softly, her gaze temporarily shifting toward Kacper as she muffled an awkward laugh. "It’d be cruel to subject either of you to my dreams." Her voice had that same light ease that juxtaposed her words, disregarding the heavier meaning behind them as a way to mask their true depth.

"Plus, I don’t have anything to offer in return." Sloane attempted to shift the conversation away from her nightmares while descending the remaining stairs of the porch as if to put a little more space between herself and the attention that was directed toward her. "My mother’s Eris. So unless you want me to—I don’t know." She shrugged her shoulders trying to think of something comparable that she’d actually be willing to do. "Compel someone to pee their pants or something, I don’t have much to offer."

Katryna watched her with that same soft, steady gaze—the one that seemed to see through words without ever pressing against them. "I wouldn’t expect anything in return," she said after a moment, her voice hushed but certain, like a secret meant only for the air between them, as if Kacper wasn’t there. "Kindness doesn’t have to be a bargain."

She paused, glancing down at the steaming cup cradled in her hands pointedly, a small smile tugging at Kat’s lips. When she looked back up though, her smile had softened into something almost wistful. "But I understand," she continued quietly. "Dreams are… personal." Her fingers traced the rim of her cup absently, as if trying to gather her own thoughts before they drifted too far. "Mine aren’t peaceful, either. My dreams, I mean." She admitted, though her tone was gentle, not confessional, more a thread of shared truth than revelation. Sleep and dreams would never be peaceful for someone like Katryna, who couldn’t sleep within a ten mile radius of someone else without accidentally falling into their dreams, or when she had dreams that weren’t always dreams. "The line between rest and memory gets… thin. For me, at least."

Kat’s smile brightened, almost into a conspiratorial smile then, as if to pull the mood back toward something lighter. "Still, if you ever change your mind," she said tentatively, "I make a mean cup of chamomile tea. It doesn’t fix much, but it tastes like what I’d imagine sweet dreams could taste like."

Behind her, Kacper made a faint, disbelieving sound—half a scoff, half a sigh, but Kat didn’t look away from Sloane, her expression warm and steady against the winter air.

"I appreciate the offer... My dreams aren’t weird," Sloane attempted to clarify without actually clarify anything. Ironic. "‘Memories’ is… a good way to describe it," she added while tugging the sleeves of her coat over her hands in a subconscious way to close herself off from the vulnerability of her words and the conversation.

Sloane knew that kindness wasn’t a debt to fill or a bargaining chip in hopes of something in return. That was a Christian’s ideology, not hers. Hell, she literally brought the pair of them coffee, food, and medicine just because it… felt like the right thing to do. It was easy and went without much forethought to be kind to others, but she was still struggling with being on the receiving end. She had grown complacent with the harsher pieces of reality. She had accepted that her place was to bear the cruelty so others didn’t have to. Her own silent burden. A hidden kindness that would go unnoticed and unrewarded.

Camp had been a gentle reprieve, but her solace only lasted so long. She thrived in solitude before Liam, but now that he was gone the loneliness felt more stark and ever present, like tinnitus always ringing in the back of her mind. She appreciated Katryna’s kindness but a nagging tug at the pit of her stomach was a reminder of what letting others close usually led to. The past day had given her whiplash from the rollercoaster of social encounters she had. She needed a step back to regain her footing before slipping too far out of her familiar solitude.

And yet…

"Chamomile tea sounds nice," she replied like a whisper on the wind, accented with a timid smile that brought a glimmer of warmth to her eyes.

Kat’s smile deepened at the soft admission, blooming slow and luminous like frost catching sunlight. The wind toyed with the ends of her hair, brushing them across her cheek, but she didn’t seem to notice. Her attention stayed tethered to Sloane with a gentleness that felt deliberate, like she was afraid to spook a bird already half-ready to take wing.

“It would also be nice, I suppose, to have a friend here.” Her fingers wrapped tighter around the warm cup, grounding herself.

Kacper made another noise behind her—not quite a cough, not quite a scoff, something between disbelief and oh my god, Kat, please. He dragged a hand down his face dramatically. “Subtle, Kat,” he muttered, voice dry as driftwood. “Very smooth. Ten out of ten. No notes.”

At first Sloane's smile changed, a little uneasy, but no less warm. She was confused at the realization she had been called a friend twice in a single morning. It was a foreign word used to describe her. Lesser still to describe someone else in relation to herself. Then her gaze moved to Kacper and she couldn't help but laugh at the way he rebuked all familiarity. "Relax," she goaded him gently. "Your reputation is still intact. You don't get friendship from me by proxy of your sister. " Her head cocked to the side like a subtle unspoken challenge. "You have to earn that yourself."

Kacper blinked at her, slow, incredulous, like he couldn't decide if she’d just insulted him, challenged him, or accidentally flirted. Then the corner of his mouth tugged upward, sharp as a blade catching light. "Oh, don’t worry," he drawled, folding his arms as if settling into the game she’d just invited him to play. "If I wanted your friendship, I wouldn’t need Kat as a middleman."

A beat. His eyes glinted, winter-cold and interested despite himself. "But I’ll bite," he tilted his head a fraction, mirroring her challenge. "What does a guy have to do to earn it?" The words slipped out smooth, almost lazy—but the air around him felt charged, like the moment before a storm decides where to strike.

She didn’t know why she was surprised at his reaction. Kacper seemed like the type of guy who would jump at any and every opportunity to prove someone wrong. He had a subtle sort of arrogance that wasn’t quite to the level of unbearable, but definitely enough to get him in trouble. While caught off guard by his curiosity, Sloane didn’t show it beyond the faint quirking of a brow and the subtle way her body turned a fraction more toward him. "Get to know me." Her answer was humbly simple. There were no caveats, or strings, or hoops to jump through. It was such an easy solution that most people seemed to overlook it entirely, like they overlooked her. Perhaps that was why she had no friends. It wasn’t complicated… just no one tried.

Kat stepped down one of the porch steps, closing just enough of the space Sloane had created without crowding her, keeping her eyes on the stairs so she didn’t slip. Her gaze flickered over Sloane’s posture, the way she tucked her sleeves over her hands like armor. Kat softened in response, not pity, but understanding, the quiet kind built from nights spent awake when the rest of the world slept too easily.

“Either way, you’ll have to meet the cats after training, and I’d love to meet your dog.” A tinge of excitement laced into her voice, followed by the throb of pain, and Katryna let out a soft sigh before she took the medicine that had been offered with a swig of the coffee. It was, in short, disgusting. The heat of the coffee broke down the integrity of the pills with swift effinence, leaving a bitter taste coated on her tongue long after she’d swallowed them.

"Rocco loves everything in existence: people, animals… snow." Sloane motioned around them at the vast sea of white that blanketed the camp. "He'll be thrilled."

Katryna smiled brightly at that, the brightest she’d managed thus far, even with her head throbbing. The idea that she’d get to see and pet a dog soon improved her mood by leaps and bounds. Kacper stepped down beside them both then, boots thudding against the snow-packed ground, watching with vague amusement as his sister's face puckered and twisted in a grimace. He nudged Kat lightly with his elbow, then looked at Sloane with raised eyebrows—a look torn between doubt and reluctant amusement. ”Lead the way to training, we’ll bombarded you with questions on the way, every girl's dream, right?”

"Mmm," Sloane hummed vaguely with a shrug of her shoulders then slowly started down the path. She glanced back over her shoulder once to make sure they were following before she replied, not looking to add crazy girl that talks to herself to her roster. "Oh, I don't know. Most people don't think to ask." She slipped her hands into her coat pockets as she walked, finding her fingers growing exceptionally cold without the coffees in her grasp to warm them. "Although, I'm afraid I'm not all that interesting," she added, sparing both of them a quick glance before looking back down at her feet to make sure her clumsiness didn't make a devious return.

Kacper matched her pace without effort, boots sinking into the snow with a steady crunch, crunch, each step releasing a small puff of frost into the cold morning air. The path unfurled ahead of them in muted whites and grays, winter swallowing sound except for their footsteps and the occasional hiss of wind weaving through the trees.

He glanced at Sloane from the corner of his eye, the hunched shoulders, the hands tucked deep into her pockets for warmth, the way she kept watching her footing as if the ground might betray her at any moment. A faint, crooked smile tugged at his lips. “Not interesting, huh?” he drawled, letting sarcasm color the words. “Yeah, sure. That’s definitely the impression you give.”

Before she could respond, something smacked his arm—Kat’s mitten. Hard. His sister shot him a look full of dramatic exasperation, her hot breath puffing out into the air like a dragon’s sigh. “Why are you like this?”

Kacper shrugged, as if the universe itself had forced him into lifelong sarcasm. It was the strangest defense mechanism, he was aware. “The orphanage, probably.”

She snorted, muttering something under her breath that sounded suspiciously like “Menace.”

He ignored her entirely, an older-brother specialty, and tilted his head just slightly toward Sloane. “Point is,” he added, tone slipping into something quieter, not soft but… less sharp around the edges, “People aren’t great at noticing things. Doesn’t make those things any less interesting.”
Snowflakes drifted down around them, catching in Kat’s dark hair, clinging to the fabric of Sloane’s coat. The cold settled in their lungs like crystal, but the walk felt strangely easy, a small pocket of warmth between three people who weren’t quite strangers anymore. “Anyways,” he said slowly, slyly, his smirk turning a little arrogant. “I had meant questions about the camp.”
Sloane chuckled softly at the siblings’ banter, releasing visible puffs of air from her nose. Their relationship was endearing but also made her chest ache in a way she was unfamiliar. There was a time when she was young and naive enough that she hoped for Sylas to be like that, incredulous but silently protective… for a comfortable rapport of sibling bickering that tip-toed the line between love and loathing. She didn’t know what healthy familial love was supposed to look like, but when she witnessed it, it filled her with a forlorn longing for something she’d never have.

She blinked once, then twice as Kacper’s head dipped into her periphery pulling her back to the conversation at hand. Sloane forced a tight lipped smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes, showing a small crack in her careful facade before she managed to lock it away. "Ah, right. Camp." She nodded her head in that bashful, and slightly self-deprecating kind of way that acknowledged her stupidity without saying it. "Ask away," she prompted them, thankful for the diversion.

Kacper let out a low, unimpressed sound, half sigh, half scoff, as if she’d just invited them to interrogate her about tax law instead of… well, anything remotely fun. Snow crunched beneath his boots as he lengthened his stride enough to come up alongside her again, shoulders brushing close but never quite touching. Now that he thought about it, knowing more about their new friend sounded incredibly more entertaining than the camp. He shot her a look, pale eyes narrowed with theatrical disappointment.

“Well then,” he said, tone dry. “I’m not gonna grill you on cabin numbers and camp etiquette, your idea is better.”

"Oh?" Sloane mused with a small bit of curiosity as she looked over at him.

Kat made a soft hmm of agreement behind them, though the amused lift of her brows suggested she wasn’t entirely convinced about where he was going with this. Kacper ignored her. They were both quite good at that.

The path curved, carrying them through drifting curtains of powdery snow that kissed their coats and hair. The wind whispered through the pines above, scattering flakes in lazy spirals that caught the weak morning light. For a breath, everything felt temporarily suspended—white air, quiet trees, three uneven heartbeats.

Then, with absolutely no warning at all, Kacper asked; “What’s your favorite color?” Which elicited a strange, choking sort of noise from his sister, who was looking at him like she’d never seen him before.

Sloane was almost startled as the peaceful serenity of the snow blanketed morning was disturbed with a surprisingly innocent question and a strange sound of disbelief from behind her. She adjusted her stance slightly, staying in stride with Kacper while also allowing herself to catch a glimpse of Katryna’s confused expression. Sloane's cheeks flushed slightly as she noticed the subtle hints of a shared wordless conversation that she couldn't quite follow. Out of all the questions she could have imagined being bombarded with between herself and camp, her favorite color wasn't even the realm of possibility. She tucked her lips between her teeth as she pondered his question, having never been asked or thought much about it. "I guess it would be burgundy," she finally replied, looking up at him with warm brown eyes.

Kacper blinked once, slow and deliberate, as if processing her answer required far more effort than expected. Then his brow arched, not sharply, but with the dry, unimpressed lift of someone preparing to commit to a bit. “Burgundy?” he repeated, tasting the word like it was somehow personally offensive. A beat passed, then— “You mean red.”

Katryna made a scandalized noise, stepping around a patch of ice just to get closer so she could glare up at him properly. “Burgundy is not just red,” she insisted, offended on Sloane’s behalf. “It’s deeper. Richer. More—”

“Red,” Kacper cut in, deadpan.

Kat swatted his arm with the back of her hand, which he took with a grunt but no real protest. He didn’t break stride, only shoved his hands deeper into the pockets of his coat as if to protect them from further assault. He looked back to Sloane then, eyes narrowing with exaggerated scrutiny, as though she’d become far more interesting by offering an answer he didn’t expect. Snow crunched beneath their boots in an uneven rhythm, hers light and careful, Kat’s quick and muted, his steady and grounding.

"It's like dark reddish purple… wine," Sloane attempted to elaborate. After a beat or two of silence and Kacper's incredulous side eye, she sighed softly and rolled her eyes with false frustration, but the small way the corner of her lips curved upwards showed a hint of appreciation that he had a clue what the color was in the first place. "I don't know. It's kind of sophisticated like rich leather, or leaves on the cusp of fall, or the perfect shade of lipstick that matches my favorite sweater." She shrugged her shoulders not really knowing the best way to describe why she liked it. She just did.

The arena slowly came into view as the path started to curve. Snowflakes speckled Sloane's dark hair while loose strands were gently blown across her face from the breeze. "Well what's your favorite color then?" She asked, her shoulder accidentally bumping his slightly as she turned to face him, walking sideways but keeping pace. "Is it blue? I bet it's blue." She shot a quick glance toward Katryna for confirmation. "You seem like a blue type of person."

Katryna’s reaction was instant; a soft, startled laugh that puffed into the cold air like a breath of warm tea. She pressed a hand to her mouth, shaking her head, amused but trying not to embarrass anyone. Kacper shot her a sidelong look, one brow lifting. He knew why she’d find that amusing, considering blue was a softer, calmer color. “Really?” he muttered, before turning his attention back to Sloane.

The light off the snow caught the faintest quirk at the corner of his mouth, too dry to be a smile, too deliberate to be accidental, and he’d reflexively reached out to steady her when their shoulders bumped. “Blue.” He tasted the word like it was wildly inaccurate. He clicked his tongue, shaking his head once.“Try again, since this has turned into a guessing game.”

Kat leaned in behind Sloane, stage-whispering loudly enough for both of them to hear. “Pick a moodier color. It’ll fit.”

Kacper elbowed her—not hard, just enough to make her yelp and hop out of range, grinning. God, the two of them together would be enough to give him a headache, he could already tell. God forbid they actually become friends, he would never know peace again.

Sloane’s eyes widened as she held Kat’s gaze, disbelief prevalent across her face. "Oh my Gods, you’re joking," she drawled, shoulders slumping forward while her head tipped backwards dramatically. It felt like too obvious of an answer that she didn’t even humor it as a possibility. Her dark eyes shifted back to Kacper studying his moody facade and generally closed off devil-may-care attitude. Then there was his whole ‘reputation’ bullshit and reluctance to being seen as soft… Of course it was. "It’s not black. You can’t be that predictable."

Kacper let out a sharp, inelegant snort, the kind that cracked out of him before he could clamp his teeth down on it. Kat’s shoulders shook with another soft laugh behind them, but she stayed mercifully quiet this time. He fixed Sloane with a look, half incredulous, half amused in that bone-dry, sandpaper way of his. “Predictable?” he echoed, as if the word physically offended him. “Please.”

He rolled his eyes skyward, breath fogging faintly in the cold, then tipped his head toward her with a crooked sort of challenge glinting in his gaze. “And no, it’s not black.”

A beat. A faint twitch at the corner of his mouth. Almost daring her to react. He let the moment stretch. “It’s purple.” Delivered flatly, unapologetically, like he’d just stated that gravity existed. Kacper shrugged once, shoulders rustling under his coat. “Unpredictable enough for you?”

Sloane’s lips scrunched in a guilty kind of way where she was trying to hold back a laugh at how easily she seemed to ruffle his feathers while somehow enticing him to keep talking. It was like a strange game of chess where neither of them were trying to win, just bluffing and baiting each other to move. Her face grew a bit more red at her miscalculation. She held her ground though, not moving or backing down when Kacper tilted his head toward her in a confident, almost arrogant sort of way. Her pace slowed until they stopped short of the arena’s entrance. Sloane turned fully toward him, waiting for him to fill the silence with an answer, knowing her patience would out match his.

... Purple. She should have known.

A soft laugh of failure and acceptance slipped out in a small cloud as she nodded her head. Sloane leaned towards him, just a fraction, while squinting her eyes and studying his face. "So…" she dragged out the word, building the faintest bit of suspense between them. "Diet black?" She cocked her head to the side before her smile grew until it cracked into a fit of light, genuine laughter.

For half a heartbeat, Kacper simply stared at her—baffled, affronted, and momentarily robbed of whatever retort had been perched on his tongue. Diet black? The audacity.

Kat, beside them, was already grinning like she’d been waiting for this exact train wreck. Kacper’s jaw clicked once as he recalibrated, shoulders tightening beneath his coat before he exhaled sharply through his nose. “Purple,” he corrected, voice low and clipped, “Like the sky between day and night.” He gave her a pointed look. “Much better than whatever wine–leaf–leather color you’re trying to convince me exists.”

The sarcasm hung between them like frost, but the edges of it were warm, softened by an undertow he failed, refused, to name. Her laughter, bright and unguarded and real, landed somewhere uncomfortably close to the ribs he usually kept shielded. He didn’t show it. Not outwardly. But a private part of him— quiet, territorial, annoyingly pleased, preened at having drawn it out of her.

"Burgundy." Sloane held out one hand. "Purple." Then she held her other hand right beside it with no space in between. "By guy logic they’re basically the same color," she rebutted just barely above a whisper, leaning in slightly for emphasis. All the while her smile remained ever present even taking the slightest of sinister tinges knowing how he’d probably react. With a lopsided tilt to her grin she reached out and lightly patted his shoulder. "It’s ok. I can teach you."

Kacper stared at her outstretched hands, burgundy in one, purple in the other, as though she’d just presented him with incontrovertible proof of a crime he hadn’t realized he was accused of committing. Then she whispered that traitorous line—guy logic, and leaned in. His eyes narrowed. Slowly. Deliberately. Like a wolf deciding whether to bite or merely loom.

Kat pressed her lips together to muffle a laugh. Sloane’s hand landed on his shoulder, light and maddeningly self-assured. He didn’t move away. He didn’t let himself move toward it either. Instead, he inhaled once, deep, the kind of breath taken by someone absolutely determined not to rise to the bait… and absolutely rising to the bait regardless of personal wishes.

“First of all,” he said, voice dropping into that dry, razor-edged register he used when he was half a second from being too honest. “If you think purple and burgundy are the same color, that’s on you. Not on ‘guy logic.’” He lifted a hand, tapped the air vaguely between her two palms. “One is the sky. The other is…” his mouth twitched with the effort of holding back a grin. “…a fruit someone left out too long.”

Sloane scoffed and rolled her eyes. "Leaves and lipstick," she corrected under her breath, too quiet to throw him off his little rant.

Kat snorted, and Kacper angled his head, meeting her gaze with the kind of steadiness that felt too serious for the conversation they were having. Too intent. “Secondly,” he added, a hint of indulgence slipping in despite his best attempts. “If you think you’re teaching me anything about color, you’re going to be sorely disappointed.”

A brief pause, and he allowed his suppressed grin to bloom into a small smirk. There were worse ways he could spend his time, he supposed, than listening to a pretty girl lecture him about colors. “But… if it makes you feel better, you can keep trying.”

Her brows raised, quietly surprised at the way Kacper half conceded. Sloane studied his face while her own smile curved to one side, changing to something a little more bashful and slightly defeated. "It’s not fun if you let me win," she grumbled.

Kat only grinned wider, eyes flicking between the two like she was watching a play she’d already paid for twice. Kacper dragged a hand through his hair, muttering under his breath as if to smother the moment before it grew legs. “Diet black,” he repeated, scoffing. “Gods save me, you’re a menace.” And despite his words, there was a touch of fondness that cut through his tone.

Sloane’s head tilted to the side in thought. "I’ve never been called a ‘menace’ before," she mused under her breath, more to herself than anything. She had been called quiet, antisocial, melancholy, a burden… but never a menace. While others might be offended at something like that, to her it was almost endearing.

Not particularly in a rush to get to training, Sloane allowed herself to linger a minute or two longer before she made a fool of herself in front of all the new campers. She turned slightly, shifting her attention to Katryna with a warmer smile, not an ounce of deviousness to be found like there was with her brother. "What’s your favorite color?" she asked. "Unless it’s also purple. I know twins supposedly are always in sync or whatever. But that couldn’t be farther from the truth for me and my brother." Sloane couldn’t think of a single thing her and Sylas had in common other than their genes and surnames. Hell, she couldn’t even recall what his favorite color was… or if he had one in the first place. She supposed Kacper and Katryna could be that freaky type of twins who liked all the same things, but that definitely wasn’t the vibe she got.

Kat’s grin faltered and softened, like someone had gently thumbed over the sharp edges. She blinked, almost startled to be included, then tucked a loose curl behind her ear as her cheeks warmed a faint, rosy hue that made perfect sense the moment she opened her mouth.

“Oh—um. Mine’s pink,” she admitted, shy in a way she rarely was. She was more familiar with sitting in the wings, letting her brother, black cat that he was, be the more social of the two. “Not the bright kind. The soft one. Like… like Meadowsweet… our adoptive father, he planted some for me outside my window, when he found out.” Her voice trailed off, turning sad around the edges like a wilting flower. She missed home already, missed the man that had become a father to her more than Hypnos ever would be. Katryna cleared her throat, and tried to ignore how homesick she was.

Sloane’s face slowly softened at her words, growing warmer and more sympathetic. She hadn’t been homesick for a single moment since she arrived, quickly seeing camp, for all its chaos, as her new home where she could finally find herself. But the concept of homesickness wasn’t lost on her because at the end of it all, it was just… sadness, something she knew very well. "Maybe we can find some. Between Demeter kids or a couple greenhouses I’ve seen around there has to be some somewhere," Sloane offered, always finding it easier to find solutions for others’ problems compared to her own.

"That’s sweet though. My father wouldn’t know my favorite color if he had a cheat sheet," she added with a soft laugh, like what she said was a corny joke rather than a sad fact. Her father was always about legacy, which was a man’s role. Women were homemakers, childbearers, and mothers… And not his problem. Sloane had accepted that truth a long time ago and had stopped vying for her father’s love once he sent her away. Now she poked fun at it with jokes and levity, finding it an easier outlet than focusing her attention on the elephant in the room… Sylas.

Kat’s breath caught, barely, but enough that she felt it. A tiny tightening in her chest, a warmth rising behind her eyes that she tried, unsuccessfully, to blink away before it betrayed her. It wasn’t the big things that undid her. It never had been. It was the small kindnesses. The quiet ones. The ones no one owed her. Sloane’s offer hit her like a soft touch to a bruise she’d been pretending didn’t hurt. Her throat tightened. Her vision blurred just slightly at the edges. Gods, she was not going to cry on the path to training.

She swallowed once, steadied herself, and when she looked at Sloane, her smile was small, fragile at the corners, but entirely genuine. “Thank you,” she murmured, voice a little too thin, a little too warm. Her fingers curled into the fabric of her coat like she needed something to anchor her. “Really. That… that would mean a lot.”

For a moment, she didn’t feel like a daughter of Hypnos. Or a camper. Or a girl trying very hard not to miss home. Or a girl who had been cursed with weird, prophetic dreams. She just felt like Katryna—and someone had seen her.

In the end, the flower suited her and who she was—warm, hopeful, a little wistful around the edges. Kacper’s head had turned at that, eyebrows lifting a fraction as if he hadn’t known that detail either. But before he could comment on it, something else she’d said landed belatedly in his brain.

Twin.

His attention cut back to Sloane sharply, boots shifting in the snow as he angled toward her. The sarcasm cooled, not gone, but tempered by genuine curiosity. “Hold on,” he said, brow furrowing, “You’re a twin?” He studied her for a moment, really studied her, as though trying to map that information onto the person he’d just spent the last ten minutes verbally sparring with.

Sloane’s eyes went wide like a deer caught in headlights, unable to look away from his calculated gaze. "I—yes?" she echoed her earlier bewilderment. "It’s not like I broadcast it."

Then, hands sliding deeper into his pockets, he added with a bluntness softened only slightly by interest. “Where’s your brother, then? Not here?”

Kat watched the exchange with keen eyes, the kind of look that suggested she was filing every detail away for later—every tone, every hesitation, every shift in the snow between them.

This had quickly grown to another moment where a passing comment was thrown under a spotlight. Sloane’s quiet confidence that she had slowly been building up from their playful banter quickly started melting away, replaced by her usual quiet and guarded timidness. "He’s here… Well, probably in there," she replied, pointing a sleeve covered hand toward the arena. "Our relationship is…" Her voice trailed off as she tried to think of the right word. Many came to mind, but none that she was willing to admit out loud. "... Complicated." That would have to do.

Before she had the wherewithal to stop talking, one last comment slipped out. "I wish my brother was more like you." The admission caught her off guard, redness quickly blooming across her nose and cheeks, reaching the tips of her ears. Sloane’s gaze fell. Desperate for a distraction or an exit, she pushed up the sleeve of her coat to check her watch. Two minutes. She pointed at the arena a second time but no words fell from her lips. Hoping to avoid being asked further questions, Sloane pivoted, snow crunching beneath her soles in protest before she headed into the arena. She didn’t stop to see if they were following, nor could she hear their footsteps over the thrumming over her own pulse in her ears. Her accidental slip up, or whatever the fuck that was, left her panicked, evident in the way her small strides picked up pace and her gaze remained fixated on her feet.

Sloane emerged from beneath a stone archway under the stands to the site of what looked like a military obstacle course. For a moment she hesitated, taking in what was likely the day’s training, their new leader, and all the other demigods who lingered about, waiting. Then with a gut wrenching magnetism, like he knew she was just speaking about him, she found Sylas watching her with a piercing gaze and furrowed brow. Sloane sucked in a breath, quickly sliding onto the closest bench, far away from anyone else, and started taking off her winter coat, half lost in her own spiraling thoughts.

Kat slowed first. Not by much—just a soft hitch in her stride, enough that the snow beneath her boot fell quiet instead of crunching. Kacper, a half-step ahead, noticed only when her hand caught his sleeve. He stopped, confused, eyes tracking Sloane’s retreating figure as she all but fled toward the arena entrance. He frowned. Not annoyed. Not amused. Just… confused. Kat’s gaze was far sharper. The gentle kind, the kind that didn’t cut but illuminated. She watched Sloane disappear beneath the archway, watched the way her shoulders had tightened, the way her boots had stuttered unevenly like her breath was catching on something she couldn’t swallow.

“Maybe her brother isn’t… kind?” Kat whispered, the idea both soft and terrible on her tongue.

Kacper stared at her like she’d spoken in a language no one used anymore. “What? Why wouldn’t he be?” His brows creased, earnest confusion taming his usual sharpness. “He’s her twin.” As though that alone should have been enough to explain everything.

But Kat only pressed her lips together, eyes sad and bright and knowing. “Not every twin gets what we have,” she murmured. Not every twin grows up safe. Loved. Chosen. Kacper didn’t argue, not because he agreed, but because the knot between Kat’s brows was one he’d learned not to tug at. He exhaled sharply instead, fogging the cold air. Then he shoved his hands deeper in his pockets.

“She shouldn’t have walked off alone.” Which, for him, translated roughly to: I’m worried and I hate that I’m worried.

Kat’s smile turned wry. “Then don’t let her.” They stepped forward together, boots crunching in unison as they followed the path Sloane had fled down. Neither rushed. Neither spoke. But something in the silence between them shifted, protective, wary, a little bristled.

Inside the arena, they spotted her instantly. She was just a small figure on a bench, coat half-shrugged off, movements tight and distracted. The air around her felt thinner somehow, strained, brittle, like glass chilled too quickly. Kacper didn’t comment. Didn’t ask. He just made his way to the bench with an ease that pretended he didn’t care at all, even as he deliberately sat close enough that she wouldn’t feel alone. Kat took the spot at Sloane’s other side, quiet but present, offering warmth without pressure. Neither said her name. Neither demanded an explanation. They just sat, one on each side, as if forming a silent shield against whatever had made her eyes look like that.

“It’s warmer here,” Katryna rubbed at her eyes, willing the medication to work and push away the headache that made her head throb. The conversation earlier had been a good distraction, but it wasn’t enough to make the pain shrink, it was warmer but still too bright, too loud.

Sloane had barely managed to lay her coat across her lap when she noticed someone step closer out of the corner of her eye. There was a fraction of a second where she expected it to be Sylas, but as she slowly turned her head she was surprised to see Kacper lowering himself onto the bench beside her. It wasn’t too close to give her the impression they were friends, of course, but close enough that it looked intentional. Her lips parted but no words came out, her thoughts short circuiting as Katryna filled the space on her other side, closer and a bit more familiar. Her cheeks flushed as she looked between the siblings, but said nothing.

She felt like the cream filling of an oreo, stuck between two concerned parties who didn’t dare say or ask the questions that crossed their minds. Sloane appreciated the unimposing silence and how they didn’t pry further, but there was also a subtle dread that fell in the pit of her stomach like lead knowing that her brother was staring daggers into the back of her head… and theirs too. It took all her self control not to peek over her shoulder, but she didn’t need the confirmation. Sylas’s gaze was unmistakable, like the subtle feeling of a chill down her spine or the way she could feel her skin burning beneath the sun.

It took a moment for her thoughts to catch up and register Katryna’s comment. Sloane cleared her throat, turning her attention toward her slightly, thankful for the casual conversation rather than drilling her with questions. "Some kind of camp magic. I don’t understand it, but it was warm at last night’s party too."

Kat blinked slowly, as though the world had gone slightly out of focus around the edges. Her fingers pressed into her temple, rubbing gentle circles, not enough to banish the headache, just enough to keep it tolerable. Her breathing stayed soft, careful, as if anything louder might make the throbbing behind her eyes worse.

“Magic or not…” she murmured, letting her eyes fall half-lidded, “I’m grateful. The cold was starting to feel like my skull was going to crack open.” Her tone was light, an attempt at humor, but her voice wavered with the ache she couldn’t quite mask. She managed a faint smile for Sloane anyway, soft and apologetic, as though she worried her discomfort might somehow burden her.

"Here," Sloane spoke quietly for only Kat to hear. She took her coat and rested it across the girl’s lap for extra insulation, hoping it might ease her head some by warming her blood faster.

“Thank you,” Katryna smiled softly at her, running her fingers over the fabric of the coat, using it to focus on something other than the throbbing in her head.

On Sloane’s other side, Kacper settled deeper into his coat, broad shoulders slouched with practiced indifference. He leaned back, stretching out his legs in front of him, boots planted like he was bracing against the world. The warmth didn’t seem to touch him; he still looked cold, and somehow more annoyed because of it. But his eyes were sharp. They swept the arena with the lazy thoroughness of someone who’d been trained not to ignore his surroundings. People were gathered around the arena, other campers he supposed, but none of them were particularly interesting to him. There was a burn in the back of his neck though, the unfamiliar weight of someone else's stare.

Kacper stretched lazily, head tilting to the side, his arm brushing softly against Sloane’s shoulder, and that’s when he caught another man a few paces away staring. He didn’t know who he was, sitting rigid as a blade and watching them with a stare sharp enough to cut bone. Kas’s gaze was half-lidded, unimpressed as he caught the man's gaze, holding it for a second too long before he allowed his arms to drop. He turned toward Sloane deliberately, lips pulling into an easy smile.

“Warm or not,” he muttered, tone dry enough to freeze over, “That obstacle course looks miserable. Hope you stretched.” It was delivered like a jab, but the undertone was unmistakable—I’m not pushing you, but I’m not leaving you, either.

Sloane’s gaze drifted over to Kacper when his arm brushed hers, at first unknowing if it was intentional or not. She watched as something—or someone—must have caught his attention. She stiffened slightly but didn’t dare look as a familiar hollow feeling tugged at the pit of her stomach. His smile caught her off guard and she couldn’t help but wonder if it was part show for their unwanted observer. Either way, she tried her best to ignore anything outside their bubble and focus solely on his words. With a forced small smile and dejected chuckle she replied. "I’m about as athletic as a rock. No amount of stretching will help me."

Kacper huffed a soft laugh through his nose, the sound low, indulgent, and entirely too amused at her despair. Sloane’s self-deprecation hit that part of him—quiet, protective, irritatingly fond, and he let it show in the lazy drag of his gaze over her, the faint narrowing of his eyes that meant you’re being dramatic, but I’ll allow it.

“Well, neither is Kat,” he murmured, tilting his head toward her with a smirk that was all teeth and trouble, “So you two can cry together about it after training.” He didn’t get another word out before Kat reached around Sloane and smacked him squarely in the arm.

“You’re an ass,” she chastised, though her voice was bright with warmth. Then, softer, to Sloane but loud enough for him to hear: “Ignore him, I certainly do.”

Sloane leaned forward with a soft laugh, dodging the slap while also giving Kat a better angle. "No crying," she corrected Kacper, if only to prove she had at least a little more dignity than crying over training. "But a lot of cursing… and wheezing."

Kacper scoffed, rubbing the spot Kat had smacked like she’d mortally wounded him. The dramatic roll of his shoulders was pure performance, but the glance he cut Sloane’s way, steadier and grounding, was something else entirely. Under the sarcasm, an unspoken promise lingered. You’re not doing this alone. After all, Sloane was stuck with the twins now. It was a little, he admitted privately to himself, like being stuck with a fungal infection. She wouldn’t be shaking them anytime soon.

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Descendants

^{#796e9c .....|..... alloy ....|..... outfit ............... #bdddff ....|..... polar ....|..... outfit ............... new york highway}

The sound of shattering glass, the scream that echoed through her childhood home, and dread that had filled her dad’s face, it all played on repeat in her head. He’d shoved his bag into her arms, told her to pack what she could and to run, to go out her bedroom window and not look back. "There’s an old pager in the bag." Bobby’s voice had been strained, fingers digging into her shoulder painfully as he shoved her toward her bedroom. "You’ll be safe there, I’m sorry. I love you."

Everything after felt like a blur. Her bedroom door had slammed shut in her face, and a chill permeated the air as her dad froze it over. She could hear him taking the stairs two at a time, hear the sound of raised voices, of ice cracking, and all she could do was…listen to his instructions. She opened the bag with shaking hands, pulling out most of his clothes and shoving her own in, leaving everything else behind as she slipped open her bedroom window.

This was a practiced move, when she was younger her parents had gone over evacuation drills with her. She threw the bag out first, could hear feet thumping up the stairs toward her room, and rolled out of the window when the first thump shook her door. Bella landed in a tuck and roll that was only a little clumsy, her ankle twinging painfully, but her hands found the straps of the bag and she threw it onto her shoulders, glancing through the kitchen window out of reflex and a sick sense of curiosity. She wished, desperately, that she hadn’t. If she’d just run, if she hadn’t looked back, she wouldn’t have seen the crumpled body of her mom in the kitchen, blood seeping into the hardwood.

She froze, feeling like an ice statue, unable to look away as life drained from her mother. A movement in the kitchen drew her attention though, gaze raising in slow motion to connect with her dad’s. His nose was broken, ice crawling up his arms, and when he saw her he shook his head. The moment of distraction cost him, and Bellamy watched as a bullet cut into his shoulder. He yelled at her again, told her to run, and this time she didn’t look back.

It all felt like a blur, and yet she couldn’t stop replaying it over and over in her head. She’d spent hours crashing through the woods behind her house, skirting along highways, crossing only once, until she’d remembered herself and grown a little more tactful with her retreat, looping an obvious path onto a highway before slinking back into the woods more discreetly. The sky was dark, sun setting, storm clouds rolling in from the north, and she’d only just found a hollowed out tree big enough for her to squeeze into before the rain started.

It was for the best, the small part of her brain that wasn’t revolting in panic and horror knew that the rain would help cover her trail, and she’d be relatively safe for the night. Bell fell asleep replaying the day's events over in her head until she’d grown numb. She woke up with a damp patch curled up in the center of her chest, something small and wet was purring loudly against one of her collarbones. It was still raining, the temperature had dropped while she was sleeping, and now there was a little maine coon kitten nestled with her in her hiding hole.

"Where did you come from?" she’d whispered, holding the little animal with one hand as it blinked at her in the darkness, eyes a beautiful mix of blue and green. Bella had melted at the sight, tucking the kitten closer to herself when it let out a truly pathetic sound and shivered. She stroked through its damp fur with stiff fingers, helping it warm up just as she struggled to. They stayed there for a few hours, Bellamy whispering to the little kitten. When it made no move to leave her, she decided…she had a companion now.

"What should I call you?" She mused to herself, watching the kitten sink its claws into the fabric of her shirt happily, it had puffed up to an unreasonable degree now that its pitch black fur had dried. "How about…Binx?" The kitten dug its claws a little too deep into her shirt, and she let out a small and quiet yelp of pain. "Not Binx, fine, fine…I ought to name you Mister Fluff." She watched the cat's tail flick back and forth, and it pulled its claws from her shirt, raising the paw as if to threaten her. It was so cute… "You’re pretty mischievous, how about Loki?" It purred loudly, and she grinned, almost missing the sound of a branch snapping in the distance.

Loki stopped purring instantly, the small creature's body growing stiff atop her chest and Bell froze too, holding her breath as she tried to listen over the sound of rain hitting the wood around her. A few tense minutes passed, and then her pulse jumped as a man’s voice cut through the moment of reprieve she’d found.

"Clear over here," a gruff, unfamiliar voice, the kitten shrunk back against the base of her throat, and Bella held her breath. "Let’s do another sweep and circle back, we know the general area she’ll be headed to." His voice faded as he walked away, steps loud enough that she ought to have heard his approach the first time, but the fact that she hadn’t set her on edge. She waited fifteen minutes until all sound but that of the nature around her had disappeared, eyes set on the faint glow of her watch, before she shifted Loki up onto her shoulder and dragged the bag from between her legs closer to her face.

She dug through the bag blindly, getting elbow deep before she felt the cool metal of something beneath her fingers. She dragged it to the top of the bag, reading over the message once, twice, three times, before she zipped the bag shut and let out a slow breath.

41.158558, -73.166693 September 23, 18 00 hours

Her dad was cutting it close, he’d never been the most punctual, but maybe if he’d left earlier… she swallowed around the urge to cry, and instead clambered out of her hiding spot. Rain soaked through the fabric of her sweater and jeans almost instantly, the downpour was relentless, a chill that may have been uncomfortable for anyone else sinking into her bones, but it just made Bellamy feel more awake. Loki made a rumbling hiss of discontent from her shoulder, but he stayed put as she started glancing at her Google Map’s app and began to follow the direction of the coordinates.

The rain fell like a monsoon, windshield wipers furiously swiping back and forth but did little to nothing to increase his visibility. Tobias drove nearly double the speed limit as he weaved through traffic, white knuckling as he held the steering wheel with a death grip. It was a miracle he didn’t hydroplane into the highway divider with how recklessly he had been driving since he left the tower. His phone rested on his shoulder, pinned in place by his cheek while Imogen’s voice rang out from the other end. "You’re three miles out."

"Imogen, I can’t see anything," Tobias replied as he skimmed the treeline frantically for any sign of life.

"I know. I know," she replied with a panicked weight to her words. The line was silent for half a minute as the highway curved onto a long straightaway. "Due west," Imogen’s voice abruptly cut through the silence.

Tobias’s head snapped to the right. "There’s nothing there—"

"Stop! You’ve gone too far!"

"Fuck." The phone slipped from beneath Tobias’s cheek and fell to the floorboard as he cut the wheel to the right, doing a 180 onto the shoulder of the highway. The Jeep fought to heed his control, threatening to tip to the left from the force of the turn. With the steering wheel held tight in his left hand, he extended his right hand, willing the axles to lower and get all four tires on the ground before he flipped the car and went rolling into the ditch. The second he came to a stop, Tobias threw the gears into park and jumped out of the driver’s seat into the rain. He kept his hand pointed at the running car, guiding the lug nuts to unscrew themselves from the two closest wheels and float after him as he sprinted off into the woods.

Thirty minutes had changed everything about her little jaunt in the woods, Bellamy wasn’t dressed to be hiking through New York’s wilderness, nor was she prepared for the relentless rain, but more than anything she wasn’t ready for the men that had been following her for close to fifteen hours. She’d thought she’d have time, that she’d be safer once she got further away from her hiding spot, but apparently doing another sweep included further than she’d first traveled because she ran into two men not long after she started walking again.

There was a moment of stunned surprise between the three of them, and then panic lanced through Bella’s chest as one man reached for his gun, and the other for his radio. Everything narrowed down to a single point, panic overriding all of her senses. Her vision dimmed, breathing heavily, anxiety rising up in her chest. She watched as one of the men’s fingers curled around the grip of his gun, the other one lifting his radio, everything moved so slowly. I’m going to die. Bella realized this dimly, her hands trembling, and—

Something sharp cut into the delicate skin of her throat, blood welling up from the scratch, but the sudden and sharp pain focused her all at once. Loki puffed up around the back of her neck, hissing, and Bellamy’s hand jerked up on instinct. A wave of cold lashed out, a little too late. The man with the radio had already started to share their location, but the ice cut the other man off before he could shoot.

She stared in mute horror at the trail of jagged ice spikes she’d left in her wake toward the two men, who were now frozen over like some sick intimation of ice sculptures. A drop of rain hit her wrist, sliding down and dripping against the bracelet that was used to stifle and augment her powers. It was a jarring and horrifying thought, to realize what she’d just done could have been so much worse without it.

"Bellamy Drake?" Her train of thought was halted as an unfamiliar woman’s voice punctured the usual peace of her mind. Bella choked on her shriek of surprise, both hands slapping around her temples as she doubled over. Loki yowled in protest around her shoulders, scrambling to peer around behind them, as if looking for more attackers. Oh my God, I’m having a psychotic break. It was the most coherent thought she could form, a decently logical one in her opinion all things considered. "Please don’t panic. My name is Imogen Frost." Frost? Why did that sound familiar? Bell made an incoherent sound in the back of her mind, because she wasn’t sure if imagining voices in her head was better than a telepath in her brain, but she could hear bodies crashing through the undergrowth not far away and something primal in her took over.

Nothing else mattered, Bellamy was being hunted and she needed to move now. She’d wasted enough time standing there, realizing she was losing her damn mind, and the logic of trying to place the woman’s name fell to the wayside in favor of her sudden, all consuming desire to run. A shout sounded not far behind her, and she had the foresight to jerk to the left just as the sound of a gun firing filled the air, and a tree at her shoulder height exploded into a spray of splinters.

So yeah, she ran.

"There is someone close by on his way to help you." The voice, Imogen, cut through the steady and repetitive stream of fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck that was bouncing around in her head, and while she appreciated the sentiment any relief the statement ought to have brought her was lost as she focused on running in a slobby zigzag pattern, shooting a haphazard spike of ice behind her anytime someone got a little too close. Loki ducked down between the backpack and the back of her neck, clinging to her sweater with his claws, blending into the trail of her hair. Having the kitten added a secondary sense of panic for Bella, knowing if the cat got hurt because of her she’d never forgive herself.

Her ankle twinged in escalating pain with every step, she was breathing heavily, and she’d only been running for ten minutes when she stepped on a rock with her bad foot and it rolled out from under her. Bellamy instinctively twisted, so she didn’t fall on Loki as she tumbled down. A bullet whizzed by her ear, shattered bark raining down on her head from the impact. As she looked up, a figure clad head to toe in an orange and black combat suit was racking another bullet on a large rifle 50 yards from her flank. They were settled in on one knee, lifting the scope up to a large white lens in the mask before their head snapped off somewhere behind Bell. The barrel was swung around in that direction, the mercenary clearly lining up a shot somewhere behind her. They took the shot.

The sound of a gunshot made Tobias freeze in his tracks and his blood run cold. His head turned in the direction of the sound, taking off as fast as his feet would carry him. In the dark of the night and thicket of the forest, he could barely see more than a few feet in front of his face. The rain that fell on his head ran through his hair and dripped into his eyes. More focused on speed and weaving through the trees, Tobias narrowly tripped over her. With too much momentum he had no choice but to jump over her. As he landed, his feet slipped in the mud and lost traction. He braced himself with a hand on the ground, saving himself before he ended up helpless on his back beside the girl.

As he stood up, he ran his hand back through his hair, a mix of rain and mud running down his face as he quickly took a head count of the group of mercenaries that surrounded them. Twelve. There were twelve. Tobias stood at the ready as ten steel lug nuts hovered in the air beneath his outstretched right hand. There was a brief glint of light reflected back at him from his left, then another gunshot quickly followed. He barely managed to catch the bullet, curving it away mere inches from his chest and redirecting it through the throat of the nearest soldier. His left hand extended in the direction of the shooter. Mental tendrils reached out, wrapping around anything metal in its path, guns, bullets, buckles. His fist closed and jerked his arm backwards, yanking the sniper from their perch, pulling them toward him.

Tobias continued to drag the metal closer as lightning struck overhead, illuminating his surroundings. He clocked where the remaining eleven attackers stood in the brief light, but also noticed that the sniper wasn’t pulled closer with their rifle and a few bullets. His eyes narrowed realizing whomever that was had been prepared in case he showed up. While his goal had shifted to catching the shooter before they got away, he first had to make quick work of the men that quickly closed in on him. His fingers wiggled slightly before he whipped his right hand like he was flicking a card. The lug nuts shot through the air, diverting in different directions until they passed through ten of the eleven mercenaries’ skulls like a hot knife through butter. The remaining one barely had a chance to aim at Tobias before he flicked two fingers in his direction, tilting the gun backwards and pulling the trigger. Bone and brain matter splattered on the tree behind him before his body crumpled to the ground.

He held out his right hand, recalling the blood and rain soaked lug nuts to him as he ran in the direction of the sniper. The sniper slowly stood up, cocking their head slightly at the man’s approach. Their next movements were swift. They removed a palm sized canister from the back of their nylon belt, quickly twisting off the top. They ducked between trees, obscuring direct line of sight as they zigged and zagged while still approaching. The mercenary’s arm cocked back, and the canister was launched through the air in Tobias’ direction.

Ice instinctively covered her arms and legs as she’d fallen, twisting up from her hips to coil around her waist, hardening her body for the impact of the ground. There was a distinct part of Bellamy that knew she couldn’t allow it to spread across her entire body, if only for her fluffy tag along. Splinters of a fractured tree rained down on her, the bullet had been so close she could hear it, but the sight of a mercenary dressed differently from the rest of the men sent a chill down her spine.

The arrival of another person almost didn’t break her from the spiral of her thoughts, they weren’t trying to detain they were trying to kill her like they’d killed her mom, and the realization sent her on a spiral. Ice swirled around her palm, and the man who landed in front of her almost was greeted with a spike of ice to the chest, but she realized that he was helping her in time. Bella sat in the mud, a mix of horror and surprise as she watched each man meet an efficient and brutal end before they could get too close. She was out of her depth, this wasn’t a fight Bell was ever expecting to win, but the ice in her palm burned with the desire to be utilized, and her eyes flickered around them, trying to spot something.

How was he even killing them? He was already gone, tearing off into the forest, Bella saw the glint of something careening through the air toward the running man and the ice was shooting from her extended hand before she’d even processed what she was doing. It connected with the object, knocking it off course and—it exploded. She scrambled to her feet, her heart in her throat, Loki was hissing against her neck low and discontent. There was a moment where her brain stalled with everything she didn’t want to do, with the desire to be very far away from this moment, but Bell had spent summers at the X-Mansion before its inevitable close, her dad had been an X-Man, and there was something in him that was fundamental to the concept of hero.

She caught the glance of orange and black moving ahead of where the man had run off too, recognizing the fact that this person had tried to kill her, and Bellamy was on her feet, more ice shooting out at the mercenary. The bracelet around her wrist burned some, but she ignored it in favor of pushing her powers further than usual. A particularly large spike of ice toppled a tree behind the figure, and Bell hesitated, looking toward the mud soaked man before she did anything else.

Instinctually, Tobias raised his hand to try and stop the projectile that was thrown at him but it didn’t bend to his will. He quickly sidestepped, trying his best to dodge behind a tree when he noticed a shard of ice collided with it, sending it careening off course. The explosion rang in his ears as he barely ducked behind a tree. Plastic shrapnel sliced his cheek and peppered his left arm in small cuts. His gaze darted toward the retreating sniper, catching faint glimpses of orange vanishing deeper into the woods. He continued his pursuit, flicking his hands toward the attacker and sending the lug nuts flying through the air after them. Most of them smacked into trees or just barely missed. He immediately recalled the small pieces of metal and sent them back out toward them. Again, most of them missed, but one lug nut threaded the needle, slipping between two trees just as the sniper weaved and cut through their left calf.

Tobias hurdled over the recently toppled ice covered tree and continued hot on their trail. The figure reached for their belt, pulling out a small plastic ball with their left hand while reaching for a pistol strapped to their thigh with their right. They looked away for a moment, a modulated gasp of pain from the calf injury. They tossed the plastic ball at their feet, and a bright flash of disorienting light and smoke erupted from it. All signs of the figure were lost for a moment, until another rip of lightning and thunder across the sky revealed a flash of orange in the trees above. A bullet ripped in Tobias’ direction, and a modulated voice called out above the din of thunder. "You can’t save them all. You couldn’t even save Helena." Several more gunshots rang out as the sniper emptied the magazine of carbon fiber ammunition, some bullets intercepting the lug nuts Tobias was using as projectiles.

The bright light blinded Tobias. He faltered, stumbling into a nearby tree, frantically trying to blink the sunspots out of his eyes. Their words cut through the loud rumbles of the storm like a piercing scream in a silent hall. The blood drained from his face and a chill ran down his spine. He barely had a chance to take in the sniper’s words and there was another gunshot. Out of instinct, he tried to curve the bullet away but like with Helena, they didn’t bend to his will. The shot narrowly missed him, grazing his tricep. He had a split second to act, and while hearing Helena’s name spat back at him triggered something feral inside of him, if he ignored the woman he was trying to protect then he’d be playing right into their hands.

"Damn it," he hissed as he quickly spun around to face Bellamy. Tobias was to her in a second, tackling her to the ground. Bullets whistled overhead as he hovered a few inches above her, hands braced in the mud on either side of her. His face contorted and grimaced as two of the shots sliced across his back making one of his arms buckle and his weight shift down to his elbow, but he didn’t move.

She had maybe ten milliseconds to process the fact that her supposed hero was rapidly approaching where she was, and it wasn’t nearly enough time to do anything more than stand there with a dumbfounded expression as he tackled her to the ground. The sound of a bullet impacting the tree behind them was warning enough, but she hadn’t been able to brace herself for the impact properly this time. Her choked wheeze was drowned out by a howl of anger from around her neck, Loki scrambling around in her hair and swiping at the man in anger. Bella squeezed her eyes shut, using one hand to catch the angry kitten behind the neck and jerking her other arm up. She twisted her wrist, ice spreading around them in a small, bitingly cold dome.

It wouldn’t do much against a bullet, but it gave them the illusion of safety for just a second, and that was all she needed. Bellamy fumbled with her free hand, struggling to hold back Loki, but she followed the warm trail of blood up his arm, fingers brushing clumsily along his bicep. "I’m sorry," her voice was little more than a hoarse whisper, and then she froze over his injury, stopping any more blood loss for the time being. The dome cracked around them, and Bella let go of his arm, twisting beneath him to wrap both hands around the kitten that was, evidently, not fond of mud.

Tobias looked down at the woman beneath him with a confused expression as her fingers climbed up his arm. He looked over just in time to see ice grow across the cut and seal it. He cleared his throat as he looked back down at her. "Thanks," he whispered.

When there was nothing but the sound of thunder and rain he pushed his right hand up against the ice dome, pressing against one of the cracks and breaking it open. Tobias pushed off the ground and rolled back to rest on knees half sunken in the muck beneath him. He already knew what he was going to see, or what he wasn’t going to see, but his gaze slowly drifted over in the direction of where the sniper was but there was nothing. There was no way he’d be able to track them… They were gone. His chest heaved to take in ragged breaths as his head fell. It wasn’t a loss. He had to remind himself of that, but it was hard to think that way when the one person who could have given him answers was out of grasp.

Beyond the point of drenched, he took a minute or two to catch his breath before climbing to his feet. Tobias took a step toward Bellamy, then reached down to her, taking one hand in his while the other gently took hold of her shoulder. Slowly and carefully he helped her to her feet. "Are you hurt?" he asked as his eyes scanned her for any visible injuries, especially bullet holes.

The few moments of reprieve of distance between them allowed her time to soothe Loki, cooing at the angry cat and using her sleeve to try and wipe away the mud from behind his ears. He didn’t seem to enjoy that very much, but he wasn’t hissing or growling when she settled him back around her shoulder so she counted it as a win. She’d been so distracted with the damned cat that she’d barely registered the man coming back until his hand curled around her own. Bellamy reflexively flinched back, but she didn’t pull away from him, he was gentle in a way that thawed her ice almost instantly. "No…" her eyes glanced at his arm, her ice there was still holding strong, and then she looked away. Her gaze caught on a crumpled body in the distance, she couldn’t make out his distinguishable features, but she could see that his chest was not moving. Her eyes stayed there, breath hitching in her throat, and she realized how utterly out of her depth she was. "Are they all dead?"

Bellamy’s voice trembled, and her horror stricken whisper was almost washed away by the sound of the rain. Lightning cracked open the sky and her gaze jumped back toward him, catching a glimpse of his face clearly for the first time, even if it was fleeting. The first thought, louder than all the rest, was that her hero was actually quite handsome. The second thought that battered away the first like an angry ram, was that he looked strangely familiar. Bella’s mind kicked into overdrive as she tried to place how she knew him, the briefest of memories of her dad showing her pictures of well-known mutants she should steer clear of, at all costs he’d said, flashed across her mind as thunder rumbled above them.

Magneto.

Dread slid into her chest like the rain drops that dripped between her collar, cold and cruel, and she shrunk in on herself some, logic fighting with fear. This man was too young to be him, there were differences in his appearance, she was sure of it, but the lighting was too dim to differentiate at the moment. He’d saved her, tried to protect her, so…not Brotherhood, right? The woman, Imogen, had said he’d come to help her, but the voice had gone silent. "What’s your name? What happened to the…" she trailed off, looking down at her mud soaked shoes. It was only then that Bella realized she was trembling so hard it looked like she was shivering, it was almost comical. She didn’t want to finish her sentence, because asking a stranger what happened to the voice in my head? sounded like an awful idea.

Noticing the way she shook and how she struggled to look at the bodies, Tobias took a slight step into her line of sight. "Don’t look," he spoke quietly, calmly, knowing that not everyone had grown so numb to death and murder like he had. He glanced over his shoulder slightly, quickly clocking the various dead mercenaries scattered around them. "Yes," he replied while holding out his right hand, pulling the lug nuts from wherever they rested on the forest floor and guiding them into his pocket. "I killed them. Your conscience is clean." While there were no sounds of approaching soldiers or gunshots, Tobias’s gaze continued to scan the treeline around them rather than looking at her. He was on edge and was going to remain on edge until they were back in his car.

When she asked his name, Tobias’s gaze snapped back to her, noting the way she trembled and the fear that hung on her words. It had been awhile since he encountered someone who knew of his father. He had almost forgotten what the initial reactions were like. With a defeated sigh, he took a step back from her and held his hands up slightly, trying to make himself appear as harmless as possible… considering the bodies that littered the ground around them, dead by his hands. "My name is Tobias Lehnsherr," he answered, hesitantly meeting her gaze.

He was trying to reassure her, trying to protect her even though there weren’t any more enemies around, and what was left of the ice that clung to the tips of her fingers thawed completely. Bellamy’s shoulders slumped some, but she looked back up at him, meeting his gaze with less fear. "I’d be dead without you," her voice still shook, but this wasn’t Magneto and, given the fact that Tobias wasn’t trying to put a little bit of metal through her head, she figured she could afford him more than a little bit of grace. "Thank you."

Bella shifted her weight some, favoring her left leg, before she looked back down. Her gaze settled in the center of his chest, finding it easier to find her words looking there than keeping eye contact. "This is going to sound insane, but um…a voice in my head told me you were…coming?" She winced at the words, feeling ridiculous and a little bit like she ought to be in a psychward. "Is-Is that normal, like, for…you, or am I actually going crazy?"

Tobias slowly lowered his hands. He wasn’t good at receiving gratitude, never knowing what to say. He swallowed and nodded his head in acknowledgement. Before answering her question, he took a cautious step toward her, not wanting to alarm her or make her frightened of him. "We can’t stay here, but I promise I’ll answer any questions I can." He hesitated a moment beside her, noticing the way she favored her leg and knowing that the highway wasn’t exactly close. "I’m sorry," he whispered. Tobias guided her right arm across his shoulders as his left arm wrapped around her waist. There was an almost imperceivable wince that tensed across his face as his right arm swept beneath the bend in her legs and he lifted her up off the ground. The stitches in his shoulder tugged against his skin, fresh wounds stung from rain and sweat, and his legs threatened to buckle after a day full of working out, training, and sprinting through the muddy woods, but he pushed all the discomfort the back of his mind and focused on reaching his car.

Her brows had furrowed in confusion, a drop of rain sliding down between them and off the tip of her nose, but she hadn’t moved away even as Tobias closed the distance between them further. She ought to have, but Bella was tired and they’d established the fact that he wasn’t planning to hurt her, but she really should have. She’d gasped as he lifted her up, instinctively raising her free hand to catch Loki before he could sink his claws into the back of her neck, dragging the kitten to the front of her chest, and feeling a wave of guilt as the man tensed and flattered for a moment. Was he hurt somewhere other than his arm? "I can walk!" Her words were lost to more thunder, and she had a feeling he’d protest regardless, so she gave up on arguing and simply held on.

It took them several minutes to reach his car at a far slower and more cautious pace. Tobias didn’t risk talking, focusing his attention on being hyper aware of their surroundings in the off chance the sniper came back. Once they stepped out onto the shoulder of the highway, he let out a sigh, reveling in the false security of being out in the open and no longer obscured in the forest. His Jeep was still running, driver’s side door open, windshield wipers beating quickly, and headlights pointed the wrong way down the interstate. He waited until the coast was clear then walked around to the passenger side and opened the door. Carefully, he set her into the seat. As he helped Bellamy with her seatbelt, he looked down and properly noticed the tiny drenched ball of fur that tried to swipe at him earlier. "Cute cat," he commented, looking over at her with a weak smile.

Loki wasn’t in the same charitable mood he’d been in when he’d first found Bellamy, if his answering and subsequent hiss was anything to go off of, but considering the fact that he was just sort of drenched and pathetic looking it wasn’t the threat the kitten likely thought it was. "He found me," Bella glanced down at the cat, face soft and open as she stroked at one of his ears, a small smile curling her lips as he stopped hissing to preen under her affection. "I named him Loki, it felt fitting." She glanced back toward Tobias, eyes adjusting to the light, even as dim as it was, it still felt jarring after so long in the darkness.

A tired chuckle escaped his lips. "Yeah, I think so," he agreed.

Beneath the dim overhead light, not feeling like he was two seconds from being shot at, Tobias finally got a good look at her. Even drenched in rain and covered in mud he couldn’t deny how attractive she was. The brightness of her blue eyes was jarring, catching him off guard. He froze, for just a second before clearing his throat, withdrawing back out into the rain and closing the door for her. As he made his way back around the car, he willed the lug nuts out of his pocket and mentally screwed them back onto his wheels. The driver’s seat was drenched, but he hardly paid it any mind as he sat down, soaked from head to toe himself. After closing the door, he immediately cranked up the heater. He reached into the backseat, grabbing a discarded hoodie and held it out to her. "Here. You’ll get a cold."

Not that it would do much, but paranoid that they could be attacked again, Tobias hit the button to lock the doors. He took a second to catch his breath, letting his head fall back to rest against the seat. "The voice," he spoke up between heavy breaths, chest heaving as the adrenalin started wearing off. "Was it Imogen?" he asked, slowly rolling his head to the right to meet her gaze.

Her bag rested between her feet on the floorboard of the jeep, warmth rolling over her chilled and cold flushed cheeks as the heaters kicked into overdrive, and Tobias’s hoodie was soft between her fingers as she pulled it toward herself. Despite the sudden warmth that flooded the cabin of the vehicle, Bella was still shaking. She felt, for perhaps the first time in her entire life, truly cold. Her mind had begun to wander toward the memory of how it all started when his voice pulled her back to the present, and she hastily pulled the hoodie over her head, pretending she didn’t want to hide her face and the tears that burned her eyes inside of the fabric. Loki stayed nestled against the hollow of her throat, half beneath the warmer and dryer fabric of the hoodie, and for once the kitten looked at Tobias with something closer to approval. "Yeah," Bella ran a hand through her drenched hair, trying to pull it away from where it was sticking at the back of her neck. "Imogen Frost…so, I’m not crazy? That’s good." Despite the effort to pull humor from the situation, her voice sounded flat and dull, eyes stuck on the dashboard.

As the rush faded and the cold of the rain seeped into his bones, Tobias began to shiver. He went to rub his arms and boost his circulation, but his hand nicked something in his left arm and he winced. Looking down he noticed small pieces of plastic shrapnel sticking out of his bicep. He took a deep breath and gritted his teeth before attempting to pull the pieces out with his trembling right hand. "She’s a friend." His nostrils flared as he plucked out another piece.

Then nearly deafened by the loud beating of the windshield wipers and the continuous thunder, he heard a muffled voice. "Tobias!?"

"Shit!" His right hand dropped to the floorboard between his legs, feeling around until he found his phone. How it was still on and not damaged by the rain, he didn’t know. "Imogen. Imogen," he began before he had the phone fully pressed to his ear. "It’s ok. I’m fine—" his gaze drifted over to Bellamy, "—we’re fine."

"Thank god," she sighed out of relief. "Magni was two seconds away from going to find you."

"No. Don’t leave the tower," Tobias tried to reassure her and Magni, who was most likely listening. "I’ll be back soon and get off that machine before you give yourself a stroke, Imogen."

"Yeah, ok. Be careful. Call me if anything changes. If you’re not back in two hours we’re coming to get you."

"Got it." He hung up the call and sighed.

Tobias slid his phone into one of the cup holders. "Imogen helped me find you," he admitted, looking back over at Bellamy. "Imogen, me… A handful of others like us… We have somewhere safe. I can take you there, but if there’s somewhere else you’d rather go I can take you there too. I won’t force you. The choice is yours."

She’d flinched when Tobias dived down, searching for something beneath his seat, but relaxed at the sight of his phone. She’d zoned out for a moment, physically she was in the jeep with him, but mentally she was several miles away, standing at the window to her kitchen, watching her dad get shot while her mom lay bloodied and broken only three feet away. The shock she hadn’t allowed to form earlier was taking root in her chest, and Bellamy just wanted to make herself as small as possible so she could find a way to hide from it all. The sound of Tobias’s voice directed at her, rather than the phone, pulled her back from the edge.

Bella turned her head slowly to look at him, actually seeing him clearly for the first time since they’d met. Her eyes slid from the tattoo’s along his throat, up to the line of his jaw, hesitating on the cupid's bow of his upper lip, before their gazes met fully. She felt like she was in a fog, coherent thoughts slipping between her fingers. "I don’t have anywhere to go, Bellamy’s voice was still monotone, but it was fracturing like glass. A touch of despair slipped in, and she felt like she was drowning in it. "They killed my mom…she wasn’t even a mutant." Her voice caught in her throat, and the temperature in the jeep plummeted for a moment, the heaters trying uselessly to keep up.

Her whole body shuddered, and just as quickly as the chill came, it was sucked back out. She twisted the bracelet around her wrist twice, using it to get a smidge of control back. "I’m sorry," Bellamy whispered, glancing at Tobias and then looking away again. He really was more handsome than anyone that was covered in mud and drenched in rain ought to be. "I’ll go with you."

Tobias studied her face as she spoke, noting the way she struggled to hold on and keep it together. The cracking in her voice triggered a pang in his heart and a desire to ease the pain without the knowledge of what to do. He nodded his head, silently acknowledging everything she said. "Don’t apologize," he kept his voice calm, trying his best to reassure her in what ways he could without overstepping or making it worse.

His gaze shifted forward while his face remained partially turned toward her. Tobias quickly pulled any remaining plastic from his arm, rubbing his hand aggressively to knock out any last pieces without a care if he made the cuts worse. He couldn’t be bothered to waste the time. After buckling his seatbelt, he went to put the car into drive and paused. "I can’t fully relate to what you’re going through. They took my niece two weeks ago, but they never killed anyone I care about," he admitted while watching the rain pelt the windshield. "I’ve been trying to help for over a year and you’re the only person I’ve been able to save." Tobias slowly met her gaze. His voice was calm, but deep and carrying a heavy weight of seriousness. "Don’t blame yourself for any of it."

His left hand rested on the steering wheel, thumb tapping lightly. "I can’t offer much," Tobias continued, filling the silence. "I don’t know if the others at the tower can either, but…" his voice trailed off for a second as he tried to find the words. He was never the best at emotional support, often expected to be the strong and silent body guard, not the therapist. But he tried his best to find the words that he’d want to hear if he was in her shoes. "If you need a shoulder to cry on, I won’t judge you and I won’t ask questions."

Her walls crumpled like the ice dome had earlier, cracking and falling apart by the time Tobias was finished speaking. A sob caught in her throat, and Bellamy twisted her face away from him in shame. She wasn’t a trained hero, wasn’t accustomed to trying to contain her emotions when faced with something as overwhelming as all of this had been. Her dad trained her with her powers, making sure she knew what to do in the event of an emergency, that she knew how to survive if push came to shove, but all things considered Bella had led the most normal life a mutant of her caliber was allowed to live. This was more than anything she’d ever thought she’d have to deal with, and she was still scared, reliving those first few moments over and over again.

Tobais’s presence was like a balm to her soul, despite the fact that she felt so ashamed with breaking down in front of him, she felt safer in that stupid jeep than she had the whole time she was alone. Loki mewed at her, struggling to pull himself from the hoodie, paws that were a little too big for his little kitten body smacking at her cheeks as tears fell. Those big green eyes turned onto Tobias, ears flattening back some, giving the man the impression that the cat wanted him to do something about this because he’d started it.

"I’m fine," Bellamy’s voice was soft, steady in its false bravado despite how her breath hitched between sobs. It was a lie, but she was an emotionally private person and being so vulnerable with someone who was still a stranger was, as bizarre as it sounded, just as scary as being shot at had felt. "Sorry, I’m—I’m fine."

He swallowed and clenched his jaw, watching her fight the tears and sobs he could hear fighting for control in her voice. Unfortunately, there wasn’t much he could do. There were no reassurances that words could give, he was already painfully aware of that. He contemplated, if only for a moment, to offer her a hug or… something but again it felt out of place for two strangers. Tobias just nodded his head and tapped his hand on the armrest, choosing to respect her privacy and not ask questions, as he promised. "Ok," he replied quietly while pushing on the clutch and shifting into first gear.

Tobias spared the small kitten a sideways glance before turning the car around and pulling out onto the highway. "I don’t think your cat likes me," he commented, trying to fill the silence with easier conversation. Anything was better than dwelling on what happened or how they were both probably on the edge of hypothermia.

She appreciated the space, the fact that he didn’t address it, that he gave her some space to try and get her emotions under control, it meant more than she could put into words. It took a few minutes of Bella focusing on her breathing, trying to steady the roll of her turbulent emotions, but soon she’d managed to slow the tears and stop the sobs all together. There would be a time later, she was sure, where she could break down properly. Now wasn’t that time, not when her emotions were tied so closely to her powers, if she let it go right now it would be like a scene out of that stupid kids movie, and she wasn’t trying to reenact Elsa at this point in time, not when Tobias was still shivering beside her.

"He’s just cold," she finally said, tugging the kitten from the hoodie and holding him closer to one of the vents. It was a little funny how, as his fur dried more and more, he began to puff up like a little ball of lint. Her lips pulled up into a weak smile at the sight, but Loki looked back at her steadily, not amused. "I…I ran for a few hours, and then I found this hollowed out tree, it was just big enough for me to slip into. I dozed off, and woke up with him on my chest." She brushed the fingers of her free hand across his head, crumbling away some of the dried mud that was sticking to the back of his neck with careful and steady fingers. "You could pet him, he likes it right under his chin…but uh, driving, right, maybe later."

Bellamy glanced at Tobias out of the corner of her eye, before she looked back down at Loki, trying to work through everything she wanted to say, all the questions she had, all while keeping a careful seal on her emotions. "I’m sorry, about your niece." She bit the inside of her cheek when those words slipped out, because that hadn’t been what she’d planned to say but it had bubbled out before she could stop herself. Bell blinked a few times, trying to keep her own tears at bay. "Thank you for…saving me." She shrugged one shoulder. "I thought I was on my own."

"Sounds like he was lucky you showed up," Tobias commented, sparing a quick glance at the puff ball with eyes.

His driving was far less erratic and death defying than it had been on his way there. Tobias drove under the speed limit given the heavy rain and was far more cautious with two more passengers’ lives in his hands. When he came to one of those little gravel lanes that connect both directions of traffic where cops usually scanned for speeding, he pulled into it and turned them back in the opposite direction. It wasn’t technically street legal, but he cared more about getting back to the tower than breaking a stupid traffic law. His knuckles were tight around the steering wheel trying to steady the tremors in his arms. The heater helped but the cold felt like it had burrowed itself into the marrow of his bones and laced its way into his blood.

He blinked and nodded his head, struggling to know how to respond to her gratitude. "I uh…" Tobias cleared his throat, trying to organize his thoughts. "We were told about your family last night. Everyone else had just accepted it but… Hearing you were unaccounted for bothered me," he admitted, keeping his gaze ahead and focused on the road. "I couldn’t sleep. Something in my gut told me we needed to try something. I asked Imogen to try Cerebro. It uh… doesn’t work on people who’ve been taken but you’re a mutant so… I figured…" His voice trailed off for a second as he looked over at her briefly. "When she found you I got in my car and got here as fast as I could. Sorry I didn’t come sooner."

Leave it to Tobias to find failure even in his successes. Bellamy was the first person he had actually saved and while he should have been happy about that, all his mind could focus on was the countless other ways he failed. How he didn’t go to Imogen last night. How he didn’t pull over the second Imogen told him too which cost him another minute. How he let the sniper get away… He lost sleep because his gut told him that she needed help. Now he was going to lose sleep replaying every mistake he made like a broken record.

"Don’t apologize," her voice was firm, and louder than it had been since they’d met. Bella flinched at the tone, and ducked her head some, embarrassed by how adamant she felt about that. She cleared her throat, and tried again, voice softer and a little shaky. "It sounds like you, and Imogen, did more than anyone else. I don’t think they were going to kill me, not until I ran." The memory of the bullet whizzing by her ear still set her on edge, if she hadn’t tripped at that exact moment she would have been dead before Tobias even got there.

"They usually don’t," he stated plainly, having studied anything and everything he could on the disappearances since they started. Tobia’s thoughts started drifting towards his missing sister, brother… niece. He cleared his throat, pushing them away and focusing on what he did know. "From everything I’ve learned they don’t leave behind bodies." He spared a quick glance over at her in a silent apology, realizing how insensitive he probably sounded. "Sorry," he muttered before continuing. "I haven’t heard of anyone else being caught in the middle. Any of their own that gets killed is retrieved… quickly. It’s good we left when we did. I wouldn’t be surprised if more arrived to clean up after us."

There was a moment where he paused, considering if he should say his final thought or keep it to himself. Considering she seemed to have a decent enough idea who he was, Tobias might as well get it out in the open. "I uh… I’m the only one, that I know of, who’s been intentionally left behind and not killed," he confessed barely above a whisper. "I think... they’re scared of my father," he added, this time intentionally not letting himself look over at her out of fear of what her expression could reveal.

She let out a slow breath, digesting his words and turning them over in her head before responding. It made sense, anyone with two brain cells would be absolutely terrified of angering Magneto, though she wasn’t quite sure if it made sense for Tobias to be here but…she couldn’t judge him based on who his father was, especially after he’d saved her. "That makes sense," Bella chewed on her bottom lip for a moment, not sure if she should bring it up but feeling like he at least deserved to hear it. "I’m sorry, for being scared at first. I wasn't thinking clearly, and I just… my dad has shown me pictures of your dad before, told me to stay away from him. I didn’t know he had a son." She stared down at Loki, and her mouth kept moving before she could stop it. "I was a little more caught off guard by how handso—" Bellamy coughed, privately mortified, and cleared her throat loudly. "I mean, I was just surprised."

Tobias’s brow raised as he turned slightly to look over at her. There was a second or two where his brain struggled to catch up, trying to determine if she was saying what he thought... No, no. He looked back toward the road, adjusting how he sat and secretly thankful he was cold enough that there wasn’t enough warmth in his body to make him blush. "It’s ok," he reassured her. "I’m used to that type of reaction. You didn’t try to kill me, so that’s a bonus," he added with a tight lipped smile.

He sighed and brushed his wet hair back out of his face to keep the water from dripping into his eyes. "What would you like me to call you," he asked quietly. "I mean, I know your name but…"

Finally, Bella looked at him again. She watched his arms trembling and a keen sense of uselessness bubbled up inside of her, she hadn’t helped in the fight, and there was absolutely nothing she could do to help him warm up now. She naturally ran a little colder than the average person, if he was overheating she could help, but even treating hyperthermia was something that was currently beyond her capabilities. Her dad could have, but it was too delicate for her to fuck around with and potentially give Tobias organ failure.

"Bellamy is fine, but um, I mean, my friends call me Bella, or Bell… So, either of those is fine." Loki was relatively dry now, it was the luxury of being so small and fluffy she supposed, and rather warm too. She sat the kitten down in her lap, freeing both her hands to twist anxiously as she glanced back toward Tobias every few seconds. The kitten stood up, shaking himself out and stretching, before carefully and timidly stepping off of her lap, and onto the middle console.

Bella’s eyebrows rose some as the kitten sniffed at Tobias’s arm, sneezed once, and then flopped over into the man’s lap, curling up into a little warm ball against his lower stomach. She stared for a second, genuinely surprised, and then glanced away blushing. "Guess he does like you," she whispered, not having the energy to smile but feeling just a little lighter than she had before. "Do you prefer Tobias?"

Tobias’s gaze flicked between the road and the small kitten that climbed into his lap. A faint smile tugged at the corner of his mouth as his right hand slowly fell to gently hold the kitten securely in place. It was strange how such a tiny little creature could bring a foreign comfort, given everything that happened. The small act of kindness from an oblivious animal was nearly enough to undo him and make the cacophony of emotions that stirred in his mind pour out. His thumb idly stroked the cat’s fur as he steeled himself, pushing down his own feelings. "I’ve never been asked." He paused for a moment to ponder the question before continuing. "My mom calls me Toby, but that also kind of sounds like a dog’s name." He laughed weakly.

She’d reflexively glanced back at him, catching the faintest hint of a smile, and her shoulders relaxed a fraction of an inch. Bella glanced down at her hands, one of her palms was scrapped raw from falling, and a few slivers of wood were embedded in the soft skin at the base of her wrist. She grimaced, not even having registered the injury earlier but now that the adrenaline was wearing off she could feel every ache and twinge across her body, her ankle actually hurt a lot worse than she’d initially thought, and she shifted a little in discomfort. "I like Toby," she murmured, trying to distract herself. "At least your nickname wasn’t used in a bad vampire romance novel." It was a poor attempt at a joke, but Bella managed a small and weak smile of her own. Her dad had always joked about that, teasing her occasionally about it. "Does your arm hurt?" She glanced toward him, gaze lingering on the cut there. The cab of the jeep was steadily growing warmer, and even though her clothes were wet and uncomfortable it was better than hiking through the woods in converse.

A tired snort of a laugh rumbled in his chest. "Well, Bell’s better anyway," he replied, the faintest bit of a smile still lingering across his face. "Easily the best Princess and my favorite Disney movie. So, it’s like a double bonus there." The shift to lighter conversation helped release some of the tension across his back. As he let his shoulders fall slightly to try and rest, he felt his stitches tug in a way that almost certainly meant he popped a couple of them. He sighed knowing that there was no way he’d be able to disappear into his room without Alfred sneak attacking him and forcing him back into the infirmary.

Something in her chest tugged and softened at his words, a genuine but small smile pulled at her lips, the slightest tinge of pink coloring her still cold flushed cheeks, but the jeep was too dark for him to notice and she appreciated that. Something about the fact that he’d watched enough Disney movies to have a favorite Princess warmed her to him more than she’d expected it to. "Mine is Mulan, though I don’t know if she counts."

He nodded his head, looking over at her for a second. "It definitely counts. You don’t get to save all of China and not be classified as a Princess while a whiny mermaid gets legs and becomes one."

Her smile, still small and timid, widened just a fraction. "Twice," she added, playing with the sleeves of his hoodie absentmindedly, they were a little too long for her and only the tips of her fingers poked out, but it was comfortable and, weirdly enough, made her feel safer. "She saved China in the second movie too."

Tobias noticed he nearly glossed over her question and his gaze reflexively fell to the cut on his right arm that was still tightly sealed with ice. "I actually don’t feel it much right now. Everything else, on the other hand." He shrugged his shoulders and winced slightly. "I think I popped a couple stitches and my back is definitely bleeding all over the upholstery," he added with a laugh that was exhausted but more humorous than concerned. "I’ll be fine. I’ve had worse." He nodded his head toward her feet. "How’s the ankle? We’ll go to the infirmary first thing when we get back."

"Did you pop your stitches carrying me?" Panic laced her tone, and Bellamy turned her whole body toward him, eyes wide and a little frantic. Her hand slid forward, curving around his shoulder blade tentatively until she felt something warm and slick. Her breath hitched as she pulled back, catching the dim sight of red smeared across her hand, and leaned even closer to Tobias. "How far is the drive? You’ll bleed out if it takes us two hours to get there, I–I could…freeze it over too, my ice will hold, but you’re already so cold." She was panicking more, hand trembling against his shoulder. He was actively bleeding over there, but worried about getting her to the infirmary for her ankle? Christ.

"I have medical training, but we don’t have any equipment for me to stitch you up." Bella was babbling softly, a nervous trait she’d always had since she was a child, too anxious to shut up. Her inadequacy was crushing, she couldn’t do anything to help him, not really. The ice on his arm wouldn’t cause frostbite, as long as they got it off within the next two hours he’d hardly have ice burn, but it was all she could do to help, and it didn’t feel like enough.

"I don’t think—" Tobias’s words got caught in his throat like a dry pill as Bell’s hand frantically ran across his chest and searched his shoulder. He swallowed, forcing himself to focus on driving and not how quickly she filled the space between them. While he had about five whole minutes of being calm, his pulse was racing for entirely different reasons. His hand subconsciously pulled the sleeping kitten in closer, concerned it would slip from his lap with all the fuss. "It’s old… I’ll be ok." He looked over into her blue eyes that almost seemed to glow in the darkness of the night. He blinked, then looked straight ahead. "We’re 45 minutes out. It’ll take more than an old bullet would to kill me," he tried to reassure her with a faint smile. Two seconds ago he thought nothing of it, but for whatever reason Bell’s concern made him concerned, if only because he didn’t want to weigh down her conscience with his own obstinacy.

She hesitated for a moment, studying his face, and then she pulled back a little, wiping his blood on her jeans until her hand was as clean as it would get, she didn’t want to get any on his hoodie. "Keep your eyes on the road, please, and don’t crash." She murmured, unbuckling her seatbelt and tugging his hoodie off. She trusted Tobias to not look, which was a little ridiculous considering how long they’ve known each other for, but he seemed the respectable type, so Bellamy wasn’t too horribly flustered as she tugged her ruined sweater off, throwing it into the backseat haphazardly, and then stripped off the long sleeved black shirt she’d worn under it.

There was a fraction of a second where Tobias ignored her warning and looked over at her confused. But the moment the seatbelt unfastened and the light dinged on his dashboard his eyes widened. He turned his attention back toward the rain covered windshield with determined concentration. "Yes ma’am," he muttered under his breath with a small nod.

The fabric peeled off her skin uncomfortably, and one of her shoulders twinged with a shock of pain as she lifted her arms above her head to tug the fabric free from her chest, likely bruised from one of her tumbles. Goosebumps rose across her exposed upper body, her bra was thin and just as drenched as the rest of her clothes, so it offered little to no warmth, but Bell quickly pulled back on his hoodie, shoving up the sleeves some and trying to remain respectable. She twisted back toward him, not bothering with her seatbelt as she leaned closer with the shirt.

"Lean forward some, please." Bellamy’s voice was soft and tight as she stretched out the shirt by the sleeves, focusing for a moment so ice curled around her biceps, augmenting her strength so she could pull and twist the wet fabric further than she’d have been able to otherwise. "Brace yourself, it’ll hurt." She breathed, ignoring how close they were so she could focus on what she was doing, instead of becoming flustered. Despite how wet the shirt was, it was notably warm as she wrapped it diagonally around Tobias’s shoulder, making sure the twisted fabric was pressed flush to where the injury was before tying it tightly across his chest. It was the best she could do to put some pressure on it until they got to wherever they were going.

Tobias’s hand curled under the kitten, lifting it so he didn’t accidentally squish or pin it. He heeded her commands without argument, leaning forward so there was roughly an equal amount of space in front and behind him. When he was told to brace himself, he quickly looked over at her front corner of his eyes then down at Loki. It took a surprising amount of coordination to brace his left side, while leaving his right hand relaxed and focusing on driving. His knuckles went white as his grip tightened around the steering wheel. He sucked in a sharp breath, gritting his teeth at the tight pressure against his shoulder. The muscles in his neck tensed but he remained frozen in place, not moving an inch.

Once Bell was done, he slowly leaned back in his seat with a grimace. Tobias wanted to argue and say he would have been fine, but when his lips parted other words slipped out. "Thanks."

It wasn’t until his warm breath fanned across the cool and damp skin of her throat that Bella realized how close she was to him, eyes set on the makeshift bandage, but her gaze snapped up to the side of his face, a few strands of her wet hair brushed along his lower cheek, Loki perked up from between Tobas’s fingers in interest at their proximity, purring loudly, and she could see how his lashes fluttered across his skin when he blinked. He’s sort of…pretty. The thought was fleeting before she realized she was staring, and clumsily rearranged herself back into her own seat, fumbling with her seatbelt twice before she got it to buckle.

"It was my fault, so it’s the least I could do." Bell managed after a moment, tucking her hands back into the sleeves of his hoodie resolutely, eyes on the dash instead of looking back toward him. "My conscience isn’t clear," Bellamay blurted the words before she could stop them, half of her trying desperately to distract herself, and the other part knowing if she didn’t tell him it would keep her up tonight... if she slept at all. "You said earlier that you—" she stumbled over the word, it caught in her throat for a second but she squeezed her eyes shut and pushed on. "That you killed them all, but before you got to me I… There were two others, I froze them solid. So, it doesn’t all fall on you and your conscience." For some reason, it felt important that he knew that.

Tobias did his best to remain still and concentrate on driving. When her wet hair brushed his cheek, temporarily clinging to his skin, his body tensed and fingers tightened their hold on the wheel. He looked over at her from the corner of his eyes then back at the road. Bell fumbling with her seatbelt masked the sound of him letting out a shaky breath that he hadn’t noticed he was holding in. "It’s not your fault," he corrected her. "I was shot two weeks ago so… Unless you’re a really good liar, this isn’t your doing."

He remained quiet as Bell nervously confessed whatever had been weighing on her. He nodded his head silently, showing he was listening but didn’t want to interrupt. When she was finished, Tobias spared her a glance as he spoke. "I don’t regret it. Killing people like that doesn’t keep me up at night," he confessed resolutely. There was a seriousness to his tone as the dark shadows from his brows masked his eyes. "Do you… regret it?"

The silence stretched for a few minutes as Bella contemplated her own twisted mix of feelings on it all, and how to reply. "I don’t know," she finally admitted, voice breaking on the last syllable. She cleared her voice, trying to sound stronger if only because her fragility was embarrassing in the face of his own strength. "Part of me doesn’t, but then there’s this other part that wonders if… If they had families too, if I stole someone else's dad away from them." She swiped away a tear before it could roll down her cheek, voice soft and uncertain. "I’ve never… that was my first time, and I didn’t even think about it, I just did it. Isn’t that wrong? Shouldn’t I have paused, even just for a second? I killed them, and I don’t even remember what their faces look like."

Bellamy had curled in on herself by the time she was finished speaking, knees tucked up to her chest, pressing her face into the fabric of his hoodie to hide the fear and shame that felt like it was suffocating her. The faintest smell of cinnamon, cedar, and something that was a mix between floral and earthy that she couldn’t quite place, filled her lungs with every shaky breath. She realized distantly that this was a smell that was likely unique to Tobias, and yet it calmed her more than it had any right to. Bella lifted her face some, cheeks flushed and her whole face felt hot. "I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to dump all of that on you." She whispered.

"I said no judgement, and I meant it. You don’t have to apologize," he reassured her with a calm and soft tone. Tobias tapped his thumb against the wheel trying to recall the first time he took a life, but his mind drew a blank. He knew there was a lot of blood on his hands, but it wasn’t until that moment that he realized how soaked they really were. "Maybe I’m cynical, but a dad for a dad seems like a fair trade to me. I’ve done worse for less," he confessed, keeping his gaze forward. "I… don’t know if you should look to me as a moral compass."

She…hadn’t thought of it like that, but a dad for a dad rang in her ears, and Bella felt relieved that he said it. It was wrong to feel that way, she was sure, but something about having her darkest, innermost thoughts vocalized on his lips reassured her that maybe she wasn’t as bad as she’d feared, though she also wasn’t sure if using Tobias as a meter for moral ambiguity was the best choice, he was right.

His mind drifted back to the night he was shot. Tobias couldn’t remember how many men there were or how many he killed, but he remembered the damp crimson rug in the Italian hostel. He remembered the sounds of Helena’s screams as they dragged her away, breathing in the pools of blood they pressed his face into. Nine men stayed behind to subdue him, eight died quickly. The last one lived for 53 more hours. 53 hours where Tobias pulled the iron from his blood, watching as his body grew blue with oxygen loss, where he meticulously broke every bone in his body… Where he found out exactly how many cuts a person could withstand before dying. It wasn’t a thousand.

All of that and worse, yet the guilt that weighed on him wasn’t for the lives he took or the pain he caused, but for the person he could have been and how there wasn’t a shred of remorse in him. All of that murder and pain… and he was numb.

"I don’t remember my first kill," Tobias admitted when the silence grew too heavy. "I don’t feel anything when I kill anymore." His brows furrowed at the realization he had never admitted that outloud, not even to himself. "Don’t let yourself become like me," he warned her while his thumb lightly stroked the purring kitten. "There’s nothing wrong with killing out of self defense… but," he sighed, "You should leave the rest to me."

The silence had stretched as she turned over his words, but his admission made her finally twist back toward him, eyes widening ever so slightly. A rush of conflicting emotions swept through her, unease, fear, curiosity, but more than anything else… Bella felt an inexplicable sense of safety. The muscles in her stomach tensed, her heart feeling as if it was doing a weird flip in her chest as a rush of cold slid down her spine. There was no reason for her to feel anything but fear at a confession like that, and yet he had saved her.

"I don’t think it’s wrong of you to feel that way…or to not feel, I guess." She couldn’t bring herself to look away from him as she said this, searching the bit of his face she could see in the dark Jeep. "It’s not like you’re… I mean, they weren’t innocent, they chose their path," Bella did realize it was extremely silly to try and reassure him of his sins whilst condemning herself for her own, but the way he spoke about it gave the impression that no one had in awhile, and that didn’t feel… fair. "There’s nothing wrong with how you feel about it," she unintentionally parroted his words back to him. "You’re just… stronger than me." Her voice grew softer toward the end, trailing off as she looked at the shirt wrapped around his chest. If she’d been shot… Bella looked away, feeling a little queasy.

The way Bell turned to face him directly rather than cower from his truth caught him off guard. Maybe it was just because he saved her and it clouded her judgement. That'd make sense. She'd eventually come to her senses and change her mind, but the reassurances made a small bit of weight lift from the nearly unbearable burden he carried on his shoulders. There was a faint smile that grew in the darkness of the car as a strange warmth grew within his chest. "We’re all strong in our own ways. You shouldn't sell yourself short." He might not know in what ways she was strong, not yet, but she had to be strong to survive what she did and not be shattered into a million pieces.

Tobias's gaze fell to the clock after they passed under a highway sign. "It’ll be another half an hour before we're there. You should get some rest. I'm sure you're exhausted." He turned his head toward her slightly, meeting her gaze for a second while giving her a tired but reassuring smile.

She wanted to tell him that he was wrong, she wasn’t strong, especially not like he was. Stubborn, maybe, but not strong. She was barely keeping it together, and the fear of the unknown, where they were going and what exactly it all had in store for her, made her chest feel tight with anxiety. "Okay," Bella sighed instead, accepting that whatever came next, it was out of her control. She shifted in her seat, resting her injured ankle back on the floor of the Jeep in an effort to ease the twinge of pain that pulled from it every few seconds. She turned some, arms curling beneath where she rested her head on the middle console, half tucked in on herself. "Thank you." Her voice was so soft it would have been easy to miss, muffled by the sleeves of his hoodie, Bell dropped off into a restless sleep almost instantly, the warmth of his side radiating against where her arms just barely touched him, the faint smell of his cologne filling her head.

^{interactions ....|.... imogen ............... mentions ....|.... none ............... collabs ....|.... @mjolnir}

Camp Athens - Closed

^{#A64017 ....|..... outfit .....|..... his cabin > arena}

Colton hadn’t made it five steps down the path before the grin faded from his face, not in a bad way, just in that quiet, settling way things did when you were alone again. The cold felt sharper without Sloane’s easy presence beside him, but not unfriendly. More like a reminder that he was somewhere new, somewhere real, somewhere that demanded he pay attention.

Snow stretched across Camp Athens like a fresh coat of paint, soft and unbroken except for the single trail of bootprints he was leaving behind. The morning had shaken itself halfway awake; distant doors opening with muted thuds, the muffled scrape of someone shoveling out a walkway, or perhaps cleaning off the stairs of their cabin, it was peaceful in a way he hadn’t expected, and some of the tension that had lined his frame seemed to drain away. It was the sort of place one could grow to call home, if they wanted.

His breath fogged in front of him as he walked, hands tucked deep in his jacket pockets, map edges poking his ribs like a persistent reminder. But truth be told, he didn’t need the map for this first stretch. The camp might’ve been new, sprawling, and strange, but there was a rhythm to it he recognized. Snow crunching underfoot. Pines creaking overhead. Somewhere to his right, a cabin door slammed and someone cursed loudly when they realized how biting the cold bit was.

It wasn’t silence, not really. Just quiet with personality.

Colton exhaled slowly, letting the cold nip at his cheeks and nose. He’d grown up with rare winters that buried tractors and iced over the creek till the cattle drank from buckets instead. Most of the time, it stayed pleasantly cool, not much snow to speak of. This… this felt familiar enough to tug at something warm in his chest, but it was still a little colder, different in a way he couldn’t quite put his finger on.

Then he saw it.

His new home away from home, stood tucked between two tall pines, looking like it had been plucked straight off a postcard of rural living. Rustic barnhouse bones, white siding with the faint texture of old paint, a dark brown door sturdy enough to survive a bull trying to nudge it open. Firewood was stacked neatly beneath the windows, sheltered by an awning that sagged slightly under the weight of collected snow. And off to the right side, a sturdy looking wood shed attached like an afterthought— or more likely, like someone had needed space for tools and built it with their own two hands.

A breath hitched in his throat unexpectedly. Looks just like home. The thought slipped in before he could brace for it. Not painfully, no, it landed gentle, warm, like seeing an old quilt you’d forgotten you loved. He stepped up to the porch, boots thumping softly against the wooden planks. The woodpile smelled faintly of pine resin and cold bark, and for a moment he could almost hear the distant hum of his family’s farm. Dad splitting logs in the early hours, Ma humming while she rolled biscuits, the sounds of his younger siblings laughing and playing in the yard.

Colton swallowed, jaw tightening for half a second before he let the feeling move through him and ease. “Well,” he murmured to himself, hand wrapping around the doorknob. “Ain’t half bad.” The cabin’s door creaked when it opened, which, honestly, made him grin again. A place with character. A place that didn’t feel temporary. He stepped inside, warmth brushing over his cold-nipped skin, and shut the door behind him. His duffel landed on the floor with a soft thud as he pulled off his jacket, rolling his shoulders to shake out the chill.

Training waited for him. New faces, new expectations, new everything. But for the first time since starting that long hike toward Camp Athens, Colton felt something settle inside him, a quiet certainty that maybe, just maybe, he’d landed exactly where he was meant to be. He grabbed the fresh clothes he’d stuffed in the top of his bag and began changing, breath steady, heart a little lighter. Outside, beyond the snowy windows, the camp continued waking, and he took in the old white paint, the wooden beams in the roof, the worn floors, and the small kitchen. It was all quite nice, so him that it felt absurd to think this cabin had belonged to anyone prior to now.

Colton tugged his fresh shirt into place before tugging on a crewneck, the fabric warm and familiar against his skin. The chill still clung to him, lingering in the ends of his hair and along the backs of his hands, so he made his way to the woodstove tucked neatly in the corner. Someone had left it cleaned out and ready, a generosity that eased something in his chest he didn’t quite have a name for. Or, he wondered vaguely. Was it waiting for me like this? Untouched before now? It was a question he had no answers for, so he didn’t bother chasing it. He knelt, stacking a few pieces of split pine the way his father had taught him, smallest kindling first, then the thin sticks that snapped easily between his fingers, then one good log to catch and hold. A spark from the flint, one quick breath, and the fire crackled to life, orange light blooming against the iron walls of the stove. He knew he could have done it the easy way, calling the flames to the tips of his fingers to light the fire, but this was more soothing to Colton.

It wasn’t much, but it’d warm the place by the time he got back. A small welcome for his future self. “Atta boy,” he muttered to the flame like it was a skittish horse, dusting off his hands before grabbing his duffel. The stairs creaked on his way up, each wooden groan echoing pleasantly in the quiet. The bedroom was simple, bed, dresser, window overlooking the pines, saloon style doors that led to the bathroom, but the moment his eyes landed on the mattress, every bone in his body seemed to sigh. A soft, bright looking duvet, thick pillows, the kind of bed that asked kindly rather than demanded a good nap.

For a dangerous heartbeat, he imagined faceplanting right into it. Boots off, flannel on, out like a light. He scrubbed a hand over his jaw and exhaled through his nose. “Nope. Nope, we ain’t doin’ that,” he said to the empty room, dropping the bag beside the dresser before the temptation swallowed him whole. Training. Sloane. The day ahead. He had things to do, people to meet, ways to not embarrass himself by showing up half asleep. With one last longing look at the bed, traitorous, cozy thing, he turned and trudged back downstairs. The cabin felt warmer already, the fire settling into a steady crackle. He crossed to the little kitchen and tugged open the fridge, expecting maybe… nothing. Or worse, something left by the last inhabitant he’d have to throw out. Instead, a row of water bottles greeted him, lined up like someone had been thoughtful, and clearly diagnosed with OCD, ahead of time.

“Well I’ll be damned,” he murmured, a grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. He grabbed one, the plastic cool in his hand, and shut the fridge with a gentle tap of his knuckles. Jacket on, scarf looped once around his neck, he stepped into his boots by the door, giving each heel a firm stomp to settle them. For a moment he paused, hand braced on the frame, taking in the quiet of his new home, the soft glow of the fire, the scent of warming pine, the stillness that felt like it had been waiting specifically for him. He wished— Colt swallowed around the thought, smothering it before it could fully form.

Then he stepped back into the cold. Snow whispered under his feet as the door shut behind him, and he set off toward the arena, bottle in hand, breath fogging the air, heart steady and ready. The cold met him like an old acquaintance, sharp at first, then familiar, then almost welcoming. Colton took his first few steps down the porch, boots sinking into the soft layer of fresh snow, and the world around him breathed its quiet winter rhythm. Snowflakes drifted lazily through the air, catching on his hair, melting on the heat of his cheeks. The path toward the arena wasn’t difficult to follow, a faint groove where countless feet had already passed, but right now it felt like it existed for him alone.

Pine clung to the air, sweet, cold, resin-thick. Somewhere not too far off, a cabin chimney released a steady plume of smoke, the scent of burning oak and cedar curling through the camp like a memory. Woodfire always made him think of home. Of rare early winter mornings with frost on the windows and Ma standing over the stove, stirring something warm and slow. Of his Pa’s laugh echoing through the workshop. Of—

His chest tightened.

The house fire came back to him the way it always did, not as a clear picture, but as a swell of heat and noise, of orange light and choking smoke. The shape of his brothers behind it, unreachable, fading. The sound he made, something raw, something that didn’t even feel human, still lived somewhere in him, lodged like a splinter he couldn’t dig out.

Colton slowed, breath catching. Not now.

He blinked hard, let out a slow exhale that clouded the air in front of him, and nudged the memory aside. Not forgotten. Never forgotten. But set down gently, for the moment. His mind grabbed for something brighter, something lighter, and, naturally, it found Sloane. The corner of his mouth twitched up. Funny how fast that’d happened. He’d known her all of what, an hour? Two? and yet the thought of her made the cold feel less sharp, made his steps feel steadier. Making a friend in a place where everything was new should’ve felt impossible, but instead it felt… easy. Maybe that was her doing, with her tired smile and her puppy and her quiet but undeniable warmth. Or maybe he’d just been lonelier than he let himself admit.

The arena came into view through the trees, its tall walls dusted with snow, banners hanging stiff and frosted. Colton’s steps slowed a fraction, the first flicker of nerves tapping at the back of his ribs. Training. Gods, what if he looked like an idiot? Everyone else probably knew what they were doing. They’d been here longer. They’d have technique, experience, and reputations. He had… a farm background, a forge, maybe, and the ability to accidentally set things on fire when stressed.

Terrific résumé, he thought wryly.

His stomach fluttered, just enough to make him aware of it. A soft, crawling anxiety that he expected to grow teeth and sink them in deeper. Except… it didn’t. He kept walking, and it softened. Faded. As if the cold air and the pine and the snow underfoot took the edge off before it could settle. As if the heaviness he expected wasn’t quite as heavy anymore. Maybe it was the cabin. Maybe it was the fire. Maybe it was Sloane’s laugh echoing in his memory like someone tossing him a rope in the dark. Maybe it was just knowing he wasn’t headed into this day completely alone, that he had a sister somewhere in this camp. Whatever it was, the fear couldn’t get its footing. Not today. Colton rolled his shoulders, tightened his grip on the water bottle, and let the cold refill his lungs. He wasn’t fearless. Far from it. But walking toward the arena, breath fogging the air, snow whispering beneath his boots, he felt, strangely, ready.

Or at least willing. And sometimes, that was all a man needed to start.

Colton slipped through the archway into the arena, boots scuffing lightly against stone instead of snow, and the first thing that hit him was the warmth. He blinked, confused and startled. It wasn’t hot by any stretch, this was still a massive, open-air space afterall, but it was warmer than outside, enough that the bite of winter eased off his cheeks and fingertips. Maybe some kind of enchantment. Maybe just good design. Either way, it made his shoulders unclench more than he expected.

The arena stretched out wide before him, packed earth dusted with the faintest skim of frost, rows of benches carved into the stone, scattered clusters of early arrivals, some talking in low murmurs, others sitting by themselves. Most looked like they already knew each other, though he didn’t spot Sloane amongst their numbers. Colton hesitated only a moment before angling toward the edge of the seating. No sense in inserting himself into a group that didn’t know his name yet. He found an empty bench a ways up, tucked against a pillar where the shade cut diagonally across the stone, and dropped onto it with a quiet exhale. The bench was cool beneath him, but not unpleasant. Warm enough that he didn’t immediately miss the fire he’d left crackling back in his cabin. He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, bottle hanging loose from his fingers as he looked out over the arena floor. His breath didn’t fog anymore, not really, which only confirmed that the warmth wasn’t his imagination.

Colton took it all in as slowly, the steady hum of a place waking up to its own rhythm. The nerves flickered again, small, manageable, almost polite this time, but they didn’t stick. Didn’t grow. Instead, he felt… settled. Grounded. Like the earth beneath the arena floor had a pulse, and for once, his own heartbeat didn’t feel out of sync with it. He sat back, letting his shoulders relax against the stone wall behind him.

^{interactions ....|.... none ............... mentions ....|.... sloane ............... collabs ....|.... none}

Camp Athens - Closed

^{#ebceed ....|..... outfit .....|..... #3b9ae1 ....|..... outfit .....|..... near rae's cabin}

The sky was a soft, stretching shade of grey, the barest hint of the rising sun peaking through the rolling clouds overhead, the mountains dreaming under their woolen blankets of white. The snow swirled; it reminded Zelia of dandelions, with their little puffs of white whirling through the air, distracting her with their elegant beauty. It clung to everything, glittering and glimmering, and when a gust came, it turned into white fog. A grin pulled at her flushed cheeks, and she spun in a wide circle, laughing as the wind swirled around her, kicking up the powdery snow and raising it into the air.

"Upon Olympus’ storm-crowned throne, Zeus spoke in a thunderous, wrathful tone." She practically sang the words up to the sky, relishing in the distant rumble of thunder that echoed back down to her. She’d reread the poem for what felt like a hundred times since opening the letter, over and over, despite not needing to physically look at the page, the tip of her pointer finger tracing the elegant script. "Let me shape them, bold and bright, with minds like flame and hearts of light. They’ll build with stone, they’ll climb the skies, their dreams as vast as eagles rise." The wind kicked up harder around her, a small whirlwind of biting cold that filled Zelia with overwhelming joy. She’d strayed from the initial path, following the small pawprints that dotted the top of the snow, the creature too light to break through the thick glaze of it. She’d found a fox den, the little creatures poking their noses out at her with curiosity lining their furry faces, and she’d taken time to share her jerky with them.

Days of sunlight caressing the top of the snow melted an ice layer, reforming over several days. She could feel the fragile sheet break, a craquelure spreading from her feet with every step. Zee spread her arms wide as she finally stopped spinning, feeling the wind bite at the tips of her frozen fingers, little snowflakes catching in her hair and holding their shape due to the temperature. Weather like this always held an air of winsomeness for her, especially when tromping through scenery that ought to be on a Christmas card. " From shadowed halls and molten floor, rose Hades, Lord of Death and War." She continued onwards, giggling high and bright as wind whispered nonsensically in her ears, following the swirls of it as it led her further into the forest.

Her fingers dragged across every surface she passed, the rough bark of a tree, the dark green pine blanketed by snow, hardy shrubs, and ice-slicked ground. There was a sense of unyielding wonder with every step, as if she’d stepped into the world of Narnia at some point when she hadn’t quite been looking. "You give them fire, but I give fate. Each heartbeat ticks toward my gate. You build them high, but I make them whole. What good is man without his soul?" Zelia’s voice echoed dreamily through the silent forest, a clap of lightning arcing through the grey sky followed by a rumble of thunder that, oddly enough, sounded quite appreciative of the brooding and sad voice she’d used for Hades. "They are not yours! the thunder cried, They breathe beneath the open sky! Let them rejoice in song and feast, let love and war be theirs at least!" More thunder, and she found it fitting, really, that Zeus would advocate for his creations. She’d put it together at some point between putting in for leave with her college and the long plane ride to Greece, that it was more than likely that her father was Zeus.

The idea still felt…outlandish, even for Zee. She focused on the snow for a moment, the wind guiding her on her path enchantingly. It was wild and beautiful at the same time; rebellious and whimsical. The wilderness around her felt like a liminal space, a crossing point between the mundane and the magical. "Hades laughed, in low despair,” her tone flipped from the impression of loud, powerful, and masculine, to that softer and sadder breath, respectful in the gentleness with which so spoke, after all, if Zeus was her father, that made Hades her…uncle? How odd the family tree must be, a tapestry sewn not unlike a quilt, not a single square the same as another. "And yet, they whisper to me in prayer. You give them hope, I give them truth. The mirror time holds up to youth. Their gods may lie, their hearts may roam, but every man comes crawling home." A rumble in the sky, it always told her that the lightning appreciated not only her reading, but the theatrics that she put into the stories she shared. For a moment, standing between two towering pines, Zelia tried to recall where this habit began. The wind spun back toward her, tangible because of the snow, spinning three fast loops before going back from whence it came, and the train of thought trailed away with it as she continued to follow.

"They shall defy you! Zeus proclaimed, With temples, towers, songs unnamed! They’ll name me father—" her voice caught on the syllables, choking for a moment, and the thunder rolled softly over the sky, encouragingly, and so she carried on, bypassing the moment as if it were a glove discarded and forgotten in the snow. "—King of Kings, Their lives uplifted on my wings!" She jumped from one spot to the next, arms extended, wind kicking up, a moment of unnatural suspension in the air, and then Zee landed with an audible crunch upon the snow, her grin still fixed upon her face. Ahead of her, there was the curve of a wall half hidden by a heavy pile of snow along its edges.

"But when the wine runs dry, Hades said, They’ll find their way from gods to me. Let them rise but not forget, their roots are born in ash and debt. For what you raise, I shall receive, the last to hold them as they leave." Her voice was softer now, mindful of where she was as the numb palm of her hand dragged along the side of the wall. Zelia followed the wind still, though she reckoned she’d have found the entrance without its guidance, eventually. It was a comforting thought, a distant part of her registering, even after she left this world her family would still be there no matter what. "And so the world was born of strife, between the spark and end of life." Each word was murmured slowly, eyes trailing along the edges of the snow bank, until she drew closer and closer to the entrance. Snow was falling in fat flurries now; it would hide her steps within the hour, Zelia was quite certain of that.

She stopped in front of the entrance, head tilted to the side with open interest at the gate that awaited her. Was the poem a warning in its own sort of way? It wasn’t what she’d pictured, but the world was a wild and unpredictable place; perhaps this was actually a secret government organization, and she’d be experimented on upon entrance. That would be quite the adventure. She thought idly, pressing her thumb over the little scanner, smiling serenely when the gate clicked open. Zelia stepped through without fanfare, the wind finally leaving her be now that she’d found her way. The back of her heel kicked at the door idly, snapping it shut, before she began to pace forward, a slight skip in her step.

She wandered in a way that felt senseless to any but Zelia herself, following the path for several long minutes, taking in the camp with wide and wonder-filled eyes. Despite the wind's departure, it still swirled around her ankles on occasion, twisting the snow up into soft swirls of beautiful white. The sight of it made her smile turn soft, chest warm with affection that felt misplaced. "One gave will, the other doom, and man walked bravely toward his tomb." Her voice was pulled away by the wind, and behind her, lightning split a spiderweb’s pattern into the sky. She tilted her head back, pausing in her exploration to look upwards.

"With dreams from Zeus and dusk from shades, a creature born of both light… and grave." One last low rumble overhead as she finished the poem, and Zee took a theatrical bow mid-step, twisting around as she did to spin with the remnants of the wind, feeling it tug gently at her hair in a way that could only be characterized as playful. The camp felt quite large, her walk bringing her in further than what she knew to do with, blankets of snow covering cabins and smothering well-worn trails. She hesitated beside a tree that was quite tall, head tilted back as she considered what the snow from the higher branches would taste like. It looked fluffy, not unlike cotton candy, without the hard and slick shell of ice over top. Her grin widened, and she began to climb upwards, boots fitting into notches on the cold tree, numb hands warming against the ragged bark.

She only made it a few branches up, high enough to see over the tops of the closest cabins, scooping up some snow and unceremoniously plopping it into her mouth as she took in the camp around her. It was quaint, calm and quiet as the sun lazily rose; a few cabins had the faintest wisps of smoke curling up their chimneys. The snow tasted vaguely of the pine it had been sitting on, enjoyable in the strangest of ways. "I’m very hungry," she told the wind, because it was her only companion thus far and she’d given all her jerky to the foxes she’d found earlier.

Another scoop of snow went into her mouth before she began to climb back down after a few long moments. The red of her jacket was a bright pop of color against the washed-out scenery, and a few branches down, Zee paused, hooking her legs around the edge of a thinner branch, and allowing gravity to take her downward. She grinned as the camp flipped upside down. She found it compelling to take in the view from all angles, after all, and so Zelia hung there for a moment, smiling and flush with victory from having found the camp in her letter.

The sky was still the pale blue-gray of pre-dawn when Rae stirred, though calling it stirring was generous as she hadn’t slept more than a few hours, her mind refusing to quiet after the night’s events. She’d spent what little rest she managed drifting in and out of shallow dreams where Wes’s voice repeated that same self-deprecating joke about hiding in his cabin, and Trinity’s cool expression hovered just at the edge of her vision. By the time the first light began to creep across her cabin’s windowpanes, painting faint silver lines across the walls, Rae had pretty much given up pretending to sleep.

A profound hush had settled over the camp as she left her cabin, a stillness so complete it felt like a held breath. The air outside was a sharp cold that nipped at her exposed skin, and somewhere in the deep woods, a single crow announced the coming day, its call a lonely sound in the quiet.

Her boots crunched softly as she crossed to the small structure just off the main path to the side of her cabin, the one she’d noticed the night before but hadn’t dared to investigate, given how late it had been. Now, in the thin morning light, the workshop seemed almost to blend into the landscape, its simple lines camouflaged by the frost-kissed pines.

After a moment’s hesitation, Rae’s fingers found the cold metal of the latch and lifted it. The hinges gave a soft groan as she stepped inside, and the world instantly shifted. The space within was immersed in a honeyed, buttery light streaming from the skylights overhead, where the nascent predawn filtered through. And then the scents enveloped her: a comforting aroma of rich cedar, machine oil, fresh sawdust, and worked steel. They were the fragrances of diligence and invention, and they wrapped around her with the immediacy of a long-lost recollection.

All in all, it honestly felt like coming home.

Every surface spoke of meticulous care. The workbenches were worn smooth by use, their wood grain a topography of past projects that Rae was sure had never truly happened; she was the first to make use of the place, after all. Some tools were hung on the walls in an artistic arrangement, sorted by function and size. Pegboards held bins of sorted hardware—washers, screws, bolts—and pinned near a gooseneck lamp was a half-finished sketch, its graphite lines smudged by a touch she recognized instantly. It was her own drafting style or perhaps a flawless facsimile of it. After her recent encounter with her divine progenitor, however, it wouldn’t surprise her if it was the real thing.

Rae ran her fingers along the edge of the nearest table, tracing the tiny imperfections in the grain. Her reflection wavered in the sheen of a freshly polished wrench, and for the first time since arriving and, fortunately and unfortunately, running into her old crush, she felt a spark of calm ignite in her chest.

"Thank you for this," she whispered, unsure if the words would even travel beyond the four walls. The irony was not lost on her either that a sanctuary crafted by an immortal hand could feel more authentically her own than any makeshift workspace she had ever pieced together in the mortal world.

Rae shed her coat, hanging it on a nearby peg, and worked her fingers to restore circulation, the chill of the morning still clinging to her joints despite her naturally warm disposition. The heft of the first tool she picked up was a solid, reassuring presence in her grip. "Alright," she murmured, her attention shifting toward the window and the eventual dawn beyond."Let’s see what we can make of—"

The thought evaporated, unfinished.

Beyond the glass, the world was not softening into the gentle gold of a typical sunrise. Instead, the sky was a chaos of sudden, brilliant filaments, arteries of blue-white energy that pulsed and forked without warning. This was not distant sheet lightning; a shattering report accompanied the flash, a percussive force that vibrated through the very air and made the windowpane shudder. For one frozen instant, the entire landscape was bleached in a spectral glare, every snowdrift, every branch, every wall of her workshop etched in impossible detail before the light was snatched away.

Rae stood motionless, her mind struggling to reconcile the vision."Okay…that’s new," she breathed, the statement a little inadequate if she were being honest. Where was all this even coming from?

She set the tool down with a clink and moved to the window. As she did, the phenomenon repeated itself. Another lance of energy unspooled across the heavens, but this time her eyes caught a detail that stripped the event of any natural explanation. There was a figure at the epicentre of the display, poised at the tree line. A red coat. A young woman, much like herself.

Rae pressed closer, her breath fogging the cold pane. The stranger’s posture was one of open embrace, her body turning in slow pirouettes as if moving to a silent, storm-born rhythm heard only by herself. The snow itself seemed to be in thrall to her, whipping into elegant vortices that caught and refracted the violent light. Though the glass muffled all sound, Rae could see the girl’s lips moving, forming words with a cadence that felt less like speech and more like a recitation.

And with every syllable, the lightning appeared to respond.

A deep frown settled on Rae’s features. "Oh, you have got to be kidding me…"

This was not how she’d envisioned her morning with thunder poetry at dawn. She considered ignoring it, going back to her workbench and pretending this wasn’t happening. Another rumble rolled through the ground beneath her boots, and this time a prickling sensation ran across her skin as if the air itself had been ionized.

She sighed, muttering, "You better not be setting anything on fire out there." Theoretically, she could manage a fire, but the promised training today was a complete unknown. What did one even learn at a demigod boot camp anyway, beyond a mastery of one’s powers? Shaking her head, she retrieved her coat and stepped back out into the biting cold, curiosity ultimately trumping her desire for a simple start.

Her boots made a series of crisp impressions in the snow as she approached, each exhale a plume of condensation. When she finally closed the distance, the scene that greeted her was more bizarre than she could have anticipated. The girl’s face was flushed with exhilaration, split by a wide, unselfconscious grin. And most confounding of all, she was now suspended upside down, utterly indifferent to the frosty conditions.

Alright. How much was she in for here?

Regardless of the many answers that internal question caused, Rae cleared her throat, offering a tentative, small wave. "Uh…morning? Hanging in there?"

The sun slipped through the cloud in bursts, reminding the snow-covered landscape that it was still there, the beginnings of the day creeping along the edges of the sky, gentle as it smothered out what remained of the night. Zelia was transfixed from where she hung, watching the light sprawl across the ground, turning sheets of ice into luminescent crystalline panes of fractured art. She counted her heartbeat, taking measured breaths of air so cold it burned her lungs, feeling the rush of blood to her head. For a long moment, all there was around Zee was the cold, the wind, the snow, and then— her.

"Winter fire," she breathed, blinking at the other girl with a vague sense of surprise, her warm breath visible in the chill. The starkness of her hair stood out so brightly against the fine sheen of sugary frost that blanketed their surroundings. She was bundled up in her jacket but presumably still in her sleep clothes, looking both intrigued and weary. The wind crooned softly in their ears, ruffling locks of amber and curling around cheeks flushed from the cold. Zelia made a vague sound of disapproval in the back of her throat, and the wind twisted away from Rae with mischievous delight, swirling up the loose powder that blanketed the ground several feet away. "I wanted an alternative perspective, everything is quite beguiling when you aren’t right side up."

Rae stared for a beat, half-expecting the girl to resume her silent communion with the clouds. "Winter fire?" she repeated, her expression shifting to one of confusion as she glanced down at her own form. A lingering smear of workshop grime darkened the cuff of her sleeve, but she knew instinctively that wasn’t the reference. Before she could form a question, a capricious breeze swept through, tossing a lock of her auburn hair directly across her eyes. The penny dropped.

"Oh," she said, the sound soft with revelation as she tucked the strand back into place. "You meant my hair."

The weak morning light caught the rich russet tones, her hair colour igniting momentarily against the monochrome backdrop of snow and leaden sky."Yeah. I suppose that’s one way to put it. Winter fire." The phrase felt foreign in her mouth, an unfamiliar label Rae was testing for fit. She wasn’t certain if it chafed or carried a strange, poetic appeal. Her mother had always favoured simpler terms like chestnut or auburn, but her peers throughout her schooling had inevitably landed on more combustible monikers. She’d learned to shrug them off with a forced laugh, a defence mechanism against the juvenile teasing. These days, however, the comparison struck a different, more unnerving chord, especially when the potential for literal combustion was a nearly constant negotiation in the back of her mind because of her demigod status.

"This particular shade does tend to make you stand out," she acknowledged with a wry twist of her lips, conceding to the girl’s observation. "And not always for the best." Yet, there was an undeniable lack of malice in the way the comment had been offered. It felt less like a label and more like a genuine observation, as if this stranger had looked at her and identified a unique, natural phenomenon that others routinely failed to appreciate. That quiet sincerity threw Rae off balance, leaving her with a sudden, unexpected urge to put the hood of her coat up. It was the sensation of being pulled into a picture’s focal point after a lifetime of preferring its frame.

"Right," she continued, clearing her throat. "So, is this inverted meditation your standard practice? Can’t say it’s a technique I know well."

"Not always for the best." Zelia parroted the words, head tilting to the side like a bird. Her gaze slid away from the other girl, toward the snow-crested tree behind her. Light was a soft, golden illumination as it blanketed the branches, creating stretching shadows of contrasting grey against the white. Everything was so beautiful here, it seemed reasonable to become distracted so easily. "In the presence of the sun, no one can see the stars. People tend to be jealous when one's beauty eclipses their own." She slid one hand into her pocket so she would withdraw her letting and fiddle with the paper. The creases where it was folded were worn, the ink over the word Daughter fading from how many times she’d run her fingers over it. Distractedly, Zelia ran the edge of her thumb along the side of the parchment, still feeling relatively victorious about having found the camp from the letter, whilst her brain was rolling over Rae’s words. People still wrote poetry about the sun, just as much as they did for the stars. It often took an artist’s gaze to truly appreciate the things other people would treat negatively. At least, that’s what Zee liked to believe.

Rae found herself at a loss for a moment, caught between the impulse to laugh and the urge to glance away from the pleasant but unexpected words. People tend to be jealous when one’s beauty eclipses their own. That wasn’t the kind of response Rae was used to hearing, certainly not before eight in the morning, and definitely not while standing in the snow in mismatched socks under her boots. Still, the way she’d said it wasn’t arrogant; it was matter-of-fact, like she was quoting an old proverb she really believed.

"Well, that was…something," she finally said, the words leaving her mouth in a cloud of condensed vapour. She watched the tiny crystals gather on her interlocutor’s eyelashes and make a frame of a completely tranquil gaze, wondering if she was looking at a depiction of wisdom or a delightful kind of madness.

Zelia’s eyes fluttered back toward those bright stands of auburn, her smile serene. "The problem with introspection is that it can have no end, though I’d like to believe meditation could be useful to some people, just…not me."

Zelia offered a small shrug, shuffling her feet a little in the snow as the cold began to creep back into her limbs. It was the first time since she’d begun her journey that she allowed her body to actually process just how cold she had become. The stiffness in her fingers ached, cold air biting at her cheeks and nose, a slight shiver rolling down her spine. It was absolutely exhilarating, and victory was singing in her veins because of it all, which gave Zee a stronger sense of confidence than usual.

"Yeah," Rae responded to the mention of introspection with a thoughtful expression on her face. "Introspection’s kind of a trap if you’re not careful. One minute you’re thinking about your day, and the next thing you know, you’re reliving every stupid thing you’ve ever said since you were twelve." She gave a self-deprecating laugh.

Zelia laughed, chest warming, and there was an odd and transfixing hush without the wind; the only noises that cut through the silence were their breathing and the sound made by trapezoidal sections of snow falling from branches overhead. Zee’s mind wandered for a moment as snowflakes fell ever so gently all around them. She couldn’t help but wonder if the snow loved the trees and earth with how gently it caressed the land, covering it up in a snug quilt of soft white as if to tuck everything away into a restful sleep until summer emerged once more. The thought made her lips tilt up ever so slightly more, and she unhooked her legs from the branch, letting gravity do the work for her as she fell, twisting in the air to land on the balls of her feet in a way that spoke of years of practice.

"Good morning," Zelia pushed an irate curl away from her face, frost clinging desperately to the dark strands she could see from her peripheral vision. Snow was catching in the other girl's vibrant hair as well, small dots of white decorating the crown of her head like a winter's celestial constellation. Zee rocked back and forth on her feet for a moment, considering the stranger and her dusting of freckles, blue eyes reminding her of the sea at high tide when a snow storm was lingering on the horizon, each crashing wave grey and ghostly with the tinge of arctic blue to them. "I’m Zelia, did you know red hair and blue eyes are exceptionally rare? Both traits are recessive, which means the estimated global prevalence is around…0.17 percent. " Her hands fiddled with the hem of her jacket for a moment, tugging and smoothing the fabric before she let them drop to her sides once more, expression flickering with a sort of bashful embarrassment.

A short laugh escaped Rae’s lips as she found herself straddling the line between bewilderment and amusement. "Wow," she managed, her mouth curving into an unresisting smile. "That’s… the most poetic introduction and the most statistical one I’ve ever gotten in the same breath."

She adjusted her stance, absently brushing at the snow already dusting her sleeve. The tiny flakes vanished into fleeting, dark constellations against the fabric. "I suppose that officially makes me a statistical anomaly, then," she added, accompanied by a shy lift of her shoulders. Her fingers moved to her hair, dislodging a small shower of melting ice. "But a word of advice? Maybe let a person have some coffee before you hit them with their own rarity percentage."

"I like anomalies," the words were leaving her mouth before she could even think to filter the thought, but there wasn’t an ounce of embarrassment in her tone or face, smile fixed on her face genuine and open. "Sorry, I ramble when I’m nervous." After all, in her entire life, Zelia had made a total of five friends, and so far she had the impression she wasn’t off to such a great start.

Rae couldn’t help the fact that Zelia’s words pulled another small laugh from her. There was something oddly endearing about how unfiltered she was, like every thought that passed through her mind simply refused to stay there. Rae could almost admire it.

"Hey, I think anomaly might be the nicest way anyone’s called me weird," she said, the teasing in her tone mellowing into reassurance. "Don’t apologize for that, by the way. Rambling’s kind of my native language, too. I think it’s a side effect of having a brain that never shuts up."

Zelia’s laughter bubbled out before she could stop it, a quiet, breathy sound that misted in the cold air between them. The tension that had been clinging to her shoulders melted just a little more with Rae’s words. She hadn’t realized how tightly she’d been holding herself until now.

"My brain is a bit like a radio stuck between stations. Lots of noise, occasionally music." For a moment, she looked down at the snow, tracing lazy shapes with the toe of her boot. The flakes were catching on her lashes, melting into tiny drops that she could almost pretend were starlight instead of frost. When she looked back up, her eyes were bright, earnest.

"Weird is a compliment anyway, to me anyways" she said lightly, though there was a quiet truth beneath the humor. "Normal’s never made the world more interesting." Her smile softened, a little uncertain but full of warmth. "I’m glad you don’t mind my rambling. It’s nice not to feel like I have to hold my breath while I talk."

A gust of wind loosened a crimson strand of hair, and Rae brushed it back from her face. Her fingers paused at her temple, a silent acknowledgment of the unusual sensation of being truly perceived without having to contort herself into something smaller. Zelia’s final confession—It’s nice not to feel like I have to hold my breath while I talk—sank deep, finding a home in a part of Rae that understood that particular exhaustion all too well. A look of recognition, soft and unguarded, passed over her features. In that bit of recognition, Rae also realized how much distance there really was between who she’d been and who she was now: the girl who survived cafeteria politics by making herself a shadow in the corner when she could versus the woman standing outside a workshop at dawn, hair full of snow and spine unbowed, not apologizing for taking up space.

"I know that feeling exactly," she replied, her voice lowering into a more intimate register. "Holding your breath so your presence doesn’t become an inconvenience and to avoid being seen as…too much. I get it…." A knowing smile touched her lips. "Consider that a non-issue with me. And you know what? I’ll make you a deal. If you start to ramble, I’ll keep up with you. Thought for thought. Cool with you?"

The promise was unexpected, but it felt like the first real exhale of air after holding her breath for far too long. She tilted her head slightly, her eyes glinting with quiet amusement, though there was a depth in them, a sort of quiet relief that couldn’t be masked. For a moment, she simply stood there, boots pressed against the cold earth, watching Rae with a quiet intensity. The snowflakes had started to settle more densely in her hair, catching the light in tiny prisms, and Zelia was struck by how still Rae was, how entirely present. She felt her chest expand, her breath catching just slightly. There was something in that, something she hadn’t known she was waiting for.

"I think," Zelia began, her voice softer now, more contemplative, "that I’ve been waiting for someone who gets it. I think the only person who ever really tolerated my rambling was my mom." She swallowed, face twisting into something that was wrought with pain for a second, her fingers nervously tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, but there was no self-consciousness in the motion, just the ease of someone not afraid to show a little bit of themselves. Rae had made space for her. Without question.

"So yeah," Zelia said with a grin that felt lighter now, the warmth in her chest spreading into her words. Painful memories were easy to push aside in the face of the prospect of someone who understood her."It’s cool with me, thank you."

"They are," Rae agreed, a little nostalgic. "They have a way of giving you the one piece of advice that sticks forever. Mine always told me not to sit around hoping for a miracle and that if I needed something, I could always build it with my own two hands."

An affectionate smile graced Rae’s features as the memory solidified. "She worked two jobs most of my life, and she’d come home dead tired a lot but still find a way to check in on whatever disaster I’d left on our kitchen table. Never told me to stop taking things apart either. Just… asked that I put them back together again before dinner."

Rae’s gaze dropped to her own hands, fidgeting slightly. "I think that’s where it started, honestly. This whole need to fix things. Machines made sense. People didn’t. But Mom? She always found a way to make both work, even when she shouldn’t have had to." At least one of those, Rae felt, should have been held up by her divine father.

She looked up, meeting Zelia’s eyes directly, the personal history receding to make room for the present moment."But you know…you’re welcome and all."

Zelia laughed, and it felt strange to laugh so easily, as if she hadn’t spent years bracing herself for the weight of a world that refused to slow down. Rae’s presence made that easier somehow, steady, grounded, like lightning finding a safe place to strike. "My mom used to say," she began softly, almost as if speaking to herself, "that there’s no such thing as coincidence, only the universe trying to tell you a story." A small, wistful smile tugged at her lips. "She always found a way to make everything sound like poetry— even burnt toast or power outages, most of which I caused."

Her voice trailed off for a moment, lost to the hush of falling snow. She blinked, once, twice, the motion quick and deliberate, and for a heartbeat her expression faltered, the smile turning brittle, the light in her eyes flickering like a candle caught in a draft. She ducked her head slightly, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, the motion gentle, reverent, almost like she was afraid to disturb the memory.

"She’d probably have loved it here," Zelia continued, voice steadier now. "We’re like myths walking around like they’ve just stepped out of a dream. She was the one that told me I had lightning in my veins, and not to be scared of it." Her laugh now was soft, airy, full of fondness that almost, but not quite, covered the ache beneath it.

The sky rumbled faintly in the distance, a faraway growl of thunder rolling over the mountains, and the corners of Zelia’s mouth curved upward again. She looked toward the sound instinctively, as though she were listening for something only she could hear, head tilted ever so slightly. When she turned back to Rae, her expression had gentled into something warm and quietly luminous.

Rae glanced toward the rumbling sky, then back. "What did the thunder say that time?"

"I’m still learning its language," she admitted, biting her lip as a sharp wave of anxiety rolled through her. Zelia had always believed thunder was the world’s oldest language. Not a warning, not a threat, just the sky remembering how to speak. A deep, bone-heavy murmur that rolled across the earth as if the heavens themselves were clearing their throat after too long a silence. Others heard danger in it. She heard honesty.

Thunder did not pretend.

It didn’t mask its unrest with pleasantries or restraint. When the pressure grew too great, when the weight inside the clouds became unbearable, the sky simply… split itself open. It bared its turmoil, let the sound loose, and did not apologize for the force of its own truth.

Zelia admired that.

The storm never feared being too much. It never softened itself for the comfort of bystanders. It spoke in the only voice it had—a raw, resonant declaration that something within it had changed. Sometimes she wondered what it would feel like to do the same. To release the held-in weight of unspoken things, to let her own thunder roll across the quiet places inside her without worrying who flinched or stared. To be heard in a way that did not require permission.

Thunder was not cruel. It was simply unavoidable.

And in her quieter moments, she wished she could be too.

Zee glanced down at the ground, snow curled around the edges of her boots, tracks from the night before half covered with the fresh powder. They intersected, going in all different directions, leaving the impression that the camp was quite full, unless it was only a few people with very busy schedules. She took a steadying breath and glanced back up at the other girl through her lashes. "It’s very pretty here, I feel as if I’ve stepped out of a wardrobe into the world of Narnia. Though I haven’t met any talkative animals yet, just a small den of foxes earlier. I shared the beef jerky I’d bought at the airport with them. They were very cute, and— sorry, what was your name?"

The darkening of her cheeks had very little to do with the crispness of the air, and everything to do with being very aware of how odd other people found her. Her mom used to quote Alice in Wonderland to her when she was young and easily discouraged after long days of teasing and ridicule; it was easier to try and pretend that only the best of people were mad, but she knew not everyone adhered to such opinions. To normal people, someone like Zelia was weird. She wore her optimism on her sleeve, though, a proud badge of honor even in the bleakest of conditions, and thus she’d privately latched onto the idea that in a camp full of other people like her, she wouldn’t seem quite so strange.

Her grandma would say to not be too hopeful, because it was all the more crushing when you were proven wrong, but Zee clung to the idea of hope like it was a fallen star she’d caught with her bare hands; it required a tentative and tender passion to clutch it just so, too delicate for anything more fierce. She supposed hope could be akin to a snowflake, so fragile but so arrestingly beautiful. Her train of thought derailed from there, because the girl in front of her could be described as beautiful, reminding Zelia of Patupaiarehe from Māori folklore with her fair skin and red hair. They typically lived in forests and mountains as well, though it was the lack of flute song that convinced her this was an ordinary girl and not some enchanting and ethereal being.

Learning that Greek mythology was real filled Zee with so many questions, and there was no one who could answer her properly. Did it mean other historical mythologies and folklore were real as well? She bit her lip, pushing down the urge to ask with a valiant sort of effort. Her excitement could be stifled for the time being, because for the very first time in quite a long time, Zelia was presented with a prospect that was often foreign to her. The thought was even more fragile and indefinite than hope was, but the idea that she could make a friend here was a catalyst for years and years of optimism bottled up in her chest, set free at last. She’d make at least one friend and be happy with just that one if it was all she could manage.

A response rose to Rae’s lips, one that was not the socially acceptable kind but an unbidden, authentic reaction that felt disarming in its simplicity.

"Hey, don’t apologize. I really was just kidding before," she said, her voice gentler than she’d intended. "You’re speaking to someone who holds full-volume conversations with inanimate objects when a project isn’t going right. So, consider this a judgment-free zone."

A genuine warmth spread through her at the story of the foxes. "You gave them your airport jerky?" she asked, her head tilting slightly. "That’s… pretty thoughtful. I’m not sure many people would have even noticed them, let alone shared their last good snack." Her gaze dropped to the fine layer of powder clinging to Zelia’s boots before meeting her earnest, slightly anxious eyes. "Sounds like they had a much better welcome than most of us probably get around here." The comparison might have been a bit of a low bar on her part, yet it was one she couldn’t help but trip over.

Zelia’s direct question, however, caught Rae off guard, highlighting the social oversight. "Oh, right. Introductions." An imperceptible flush touched her cheeks. "I’m Rae. Rae Kowalewski. But just Rae is fine for everyone, honestly."

The line of tension that had collected in the delicate slope of her shoulders drained away with a surprising amount of ease at the softness in the other girl’s voice, her smile rising the corners of her lips until each cheek dimpled. So many questions lifted up within her at the mention of speaking to inanimate objects and projects, and she had to temper her sudden and violent surge of curiosity, reminding herself of the story of Icarus. It wouldn’t do to fly so close to the sun before proper introductions had even been formed, lest her figurative wax wings begin to melt. Zelia knew that there was such a thing as being too curious, and that it often deterred and off put others, people tended to not like people who were too enthusiastic.

"I followed the paw prints in the snow," she admitted, feeling oddly shy about this fact, running her pointer finger over one of the creases in the letter helped soothe the sudden swelling of emotion. "Lovely to meet you, Rae. I’m Zelia Darling, yes like Wendy Darling from Peter Pan, I know it sounds ridiculous." The way she said the last part was almost rehearsed, as if she was familiar with the reactions her last name warranted and wanted to skip an interaction that commonly had an unfavorable turn. Zee shifted, the toe of her boot pressing an indent into the snow in front of her.

"Zelia is fine, but…my friends call me Zee." She didn’t look at Rae when she said this, blaming the color of her cheeks on the cold and not giving her embarrassment the oxygen it needed to breathe and therefore live. Instead, she forged onwards with little delicacy, eyes tracing the tracks in the snow at their feet— were those pawprints? Right, focus.

Rae’s lips curved into a more curious smile as she gestured vaguely toward the sky. "So, was that your handiwork earlier? The whole… atmospheric light show?"

"It was, did I wake you up? I’m sorry, I got lost in it." Zelia let her eyes trail back upwards to connect with the solid blue of Rae’s gaze, lifting her letter a little so the other girl could see it clearly. "I was reading the poem that was in my letter, the lightning likes when I read to it." While she was perfectly aware that this was a bizarre statement, Zee knew in her heart that it was true. She’d been reading to the sky for as long as she could remember, and even on days clear and full of sunshine, there would be a distant rumble in response. She’d latched onto it, feeling safer each time a flash of lightning had split the sky growing up.

Rae blinked slowly, processing what she’d just heard. For a moment, her mind scrambled to decide whether Zelia was joking or if she had genuinely just confessed to performing interpretive poetry for lightning. The absolute lack of guile in her delivery, however, left little room for doubt.

"...The lightning likes when you read to it," Rae repeated, not quite a question but not disbelief either. "I can honestly say I’ve never heard that before." She leaned lightly against the nearest fencepost, a small smile creeping across her lips despite herself. The girl’s words were strange, sure, but there was something about the way she said them, like it wasn’t meant to impress or explain. It just was.

"You didn’t wake me by the way," Rae felt the need to clarify. "I was already awake. Sleep and I aren’t on the best of terms since getting here." Her attention drifted to the letter in Zelia’s hand. The parchment looked well-handled, like something read so often that it had memorized the reader as much as the reader had memorized it.

"That poem sounds like it means a lot to you," Rae observed, her voice gentler now. "If I’m guessing right, you’re a Zeus kid, yeah? Mine’s Hephaestus."

For a second, she let herself just breathe— just be —and in that space, the snow around Zelia seemed to take on a life of its own. The light hit the snow at a perfect angle, making the tiny crystals shimmer like a blanket of diamonds spread over the earth. A few flakes drifted down in a soft cascade, catching the light as they twirled lazily through the crisp morning air.

Zee’s eyes followed one of them as it floated past her cheek, drawn to the way it danced in the wind, as if it had a secret only it knew. She reached up, fingers brushing her hair back behind her ear once more when the wind ruffled that same irate curl free, trying to focus on what Rae had said, but the snow had captured her attention, like a gentle call to curiosity that was impossible to ignore.

How could something so tiny… She blinked again, pulling herself out of the trance just in time to catch Rae’s words again. "Zeus kid," she repeated quietly to herself, as if the words were an unfamiliar melody she needed to remember. A small, thoughtful hum escaped her lips as she met Rae’s gaze. "Well, yes," she admitted, her voice quiet and almost hesitant, as if testing the waters. "I am a Zeus kid, that’s what the letter implied, at least. I like to believe lightning doesn’t just strike, it chooses. I just keep wondering why it's only just…chosen me."

She supposed trying to find sense in the whims of Gods was illogical, though Zelia did many things that could be considered as such. It was the sort of thing that could drive a man crazy, though, and she didn’t reckon going genuinely insane would be a very pleasant experience. It would be easy to lose herself puzzling over it, to wonder why her father had taken so long to find her, claim her. It would be even easier to resent him for it all, for allowing her to go through a childhood without the father figure she so desperately yearned for. And yet, despite it all, she’d chosen to do the significantly harder thing, and forgive him, to move on from the dizzying questions. He was her father; it was as simple as that.

A look of deep, shared comprehension softened Rae’s features.

"Hephaestus isn’t exactly the poster god for timely Hallmark moments either, " she said, her tone laced with familiarity that spoke of personal experience. "Either way, you’re here now. If lightning chose you today, then today is the first day it has to answer for that. You get to decide what you do with it." As if to punctuate her words, a low, disgruntled gurgle came from her stomach. The timing was almost comedic. Rae froze for half a second before sighing through her nose and offering a sheepish laugh. "...And apparently I’m hungry." She brought a hand to the nape of her neck, a faint warmth rising to her cheeks. "Sorry. I haven’t eaten yet. Got distracted by the new workspace and forgot I’m still a mortal being who requires food." Her hand gestured vaguely in the direction of the cabins. "I don’t really know what the dining sitch is like here, but I’m down to find out. You’re welcome to come along, if you’d like. You could tell me more about that letter."

^{interactions ....|.... none ............... mentions ....|.... none ............... collabs ....|.... @Qia}

Reign of the Usurper

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T H E . F R O S T H E A R T H . K E E P Perched upon a wind-scoured ridge above the frozen valleys of Ironcrag, Frosthearth Keep stands as both refuge and reminder of endurance. The Járnbjørn family has ruled from its gray granite halls for generations, their family crest etched above the gate. The keep’s thick walls and narrow windows make it a fortress against the relentless northern cold. Inside, warmth and stone intertwine: every chamber boasts a hearth of carved basalt, and the heart of the keep is its grand sitting hall, where the family gathers beneath beams blackened by centuries of smoke. A vast library lines one wing, and in the central courtyard, soldiers and kin alike train among the snowdrifts, while a small walled garden clings to life beside them, its hardy herbs and pale winter blooms a quiet testament to resilience. Though the winds howl endlessly beyond its walls, Frosthearth Keep endures, unyielding, solemn, and ever-burning against the cold.

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V A R G S T A D Set deep within the shadow of the jagged Ironspine Mountains, below Frosthearth Keep, Vargstad, the capital of Ironcrag, is a city built from stone, smoke, and steel. It clings to the valley floor like a forge-born beast. The air is thick with the scent of coal and the glow of molten metal; even in winter’s deepest freeze, the city breathes heat. The Great Forge is the blazing heart of Vargstad, part temple, part workshop, and wholly sacred to the people of Ironcrag. Built from black granite and veined with iron supports that gleam like dark rivers in the firelight, it stands at the city’s center, its great dome visible from nearly every street. Inside, the Great Hall of Flame dominates the structure: a vast, circular chamber crowned by a massive dome of darkened steel that traps the warmth and smoke of countless forges. At its apex, a clever system of gears and pulleys allows the dome to open to the sky, letting the heat and sparks escape in a fiery plume on clear days. Beyond the dome lies an open courtyard, cobbled in dark stone and ringed with water troughs and quenching barrels. Here, finished works cool in the icy air, and traders inspect goods before hauling them down the mountain passes. Statues of past Forge-Masters, grim, soot-faced figures wrought in iron, stand guard around the perimeter, their gazes fixed forever toward the peaks that gift the city its lifeblood of ore. The people of Vargstad say that when the dome is open and the forges roar, the mountains themselves glow red in answer. The Great Forge is a living flame that binds its people in purpose and pride. Smithing is not merely a trade here, it is a calling. The streets echo with rhythmic strikes as apprentices and masters work iron, steel, and the rare “crag-ore,” a strong, enduring, bluish metal found only in the surrounding mountains. Houses are hewn from dark granite and timber, their roofs steep and shingled with slate to bear the heavy snows. Narrow alleys wind between workshops and taverns, where the glow of forge-fires flickers through shuttered windows at all hours. Despite the cold and the grit, Vargstad hums with life.

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H V A L V I K . H A R B O R Carved into the jagged northern coastline below Vargstad’s mountain pass, Hvalvik Harbor is the beating maritime heart of Ironcrag. Sheltered by two vast, rocky arms that thrust into the gray sea like the jaws of some ancient beast, the harbor is one of the few places along the island’s coast where ships can find calm waters amid the roaring northern tides. The bay’s deep natural basin and proximity to the capital made it the ideal home for Ironcrag’s proud and formidable fleet. Hvalvik is a smaller city of stone and salt, its docks paved with black granite. The Iron Fleet, Ironcrag’s naval might, makes its home here. Sleek longships, their prows shaped like bears, line the harbor’s inner walls, each bearing the sigil of the Járnbjørn family, a mark of the island’s enduring power. Beyond them, traders from the southern kingdoms barter for metalwork, saltfish, and the famed Crag-ore forged weapons, their brightly painted vessels a stark contrast to the blackened hulls of the northern fleet. At the harbor’s highest point rises Stormwatch Keep, a stout fortress of dark stone overlooking the bay. Its beacon fires burn through the thickest fog, the same family for as long as the lighthouse had been formed tending to it's flames at all hours of the day and night, guiding ships home through the treacherous coastal shoals. Below it, taverns and sailors’ halls line the wharves, alive with song, stories, and the clamor of trade long into the frozen nights. When the fleet sets sail, locals say Hvalvik roars like a living creature—the sound of drums, creaking timbers, and the crash of surf echoing against the mountains. It is a city of toil and tide, the lifeline of Ironcrag’s wealth and its first defense against the dark horizon.

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T H E . D U S K S P I N E . R E A C H E S A vast, brooding forest that stretches across Ironcrag’s central wilderness, the Duskpine Reaches are a sea of towering black pines whose needles drink in the sunlight. Even at midday, the forest floor lies in perpetual twilight, blanketed in moss and frost. Wolves and elk roam the depths, and travelers speak of pale lights flickering between the trunks, whether spirits or tricks of the mist, none can say. Old logging trails wind through the trees, long reclaimed by root and snow. The wood harvested here is dense and dark, prized for shipbuilding and weapon hafts, but the weather makes such endeavors perilous, so it is rare and heavily sought after. Loggers are only able to venture into the Reach during the few days where there are clear skys.

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T H E . I R O N S P I N E . R A N G E The Ironspine Range forms the jagged backbone of Ironcrag, a chain of mountains that thrust into the clouds like broken blades. Their peaks are veined with ore and perpetually cloaked in ice, feeding the forges of Vargstad and the wealth of the Járnbjørn line. The mountains are riddled with mines, some thriving, others abandoned and swallowed by the dark. Avalanches echo like thunder across the valleys, and in the highest passes, ancient runestones mark the routes of the first settlers. Few climb higher than the goat paths and watchtowers, for it is said that the wind atop Ironspine carries the voices of those who never returned.

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T H E . G L O O M R A V I N E S Cutting like scars through the foothills of the Ironspine Range, the Gloomravines are a network of narrow chasms and plunging gorges carved by ancient glacial melt. The walls drip with ice and shadow, their depths filled with the roar of unseen rivers. Mist hangs heavy here, and echoes play cruel tricks on the ear, a man’s own voice might return to him as something unrecognizable. Hidden within these ravines are caves where hermits, smugglers, and outcasts dwell, living on meat turned into jerky, mushrooms, and meltwater. It is whispered that the oldest ravine, the Wyrmcleft, descends so deep that its bottom touches the roots of the world.

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T H E . I R O N C R A G . S E T T L E M E N T S Hjarnvik – Port and Fishing Town: The second-largest port in Ironcrag, focused on fishing, salt-curing, and trade with nearby islands. The town is built of timber and stone, with stilted wharves extending into the frigid water. Fishermen tell tales of sea spirits and whirlpools beyond the bay. Bjørnholm – Northern Watchtown: A fortified outpost and harbor for the northern fleet that overlooks Hjarnvik. Its inhabitants are hardy sailors, hunters, and naval recruits. Known for its cliffside beacons and signal fires. Surrounded by small forests and ice-covered hills. Orestead – Mining Village: Small but bustling, with a population of miners, smiths, and their families. The village is founded at the base the Ironspine Range. Tunnels lead deep into the mountains, rich with iron, silver, copper, and crag-ore. Miners’ songs echo through the ridges, and miners leave small offerings for the “Heart of the Mountain.” Rimefall – Mountain Hamlet; Small population of herders, hunters, and mountaineers are settled in the high valley's of the Ironspine Range. Known for producing hardy livestock, goat cheeses, and cured meats. The hamlet is often cut off in winter by snow, giving rise to strong community bonds and fierce independence. Gloamreach – Ravine Settlement; Within the Gloomravines’ upper ridges a small, reclusive community of hermits, smugglers, and mineral prospectors thrive. Houses are carved into the cliffs and connected by rope bridges. They are secretive and wary of outsiders, living by the legends of the ravines and the strange whispers of the stone. Herbsgate – Northern Garden Village; Foothills near the Ironspine Range, where sunlight breaks the snow early in the day, known for its winter-hardy herbs, medicinal plants, and small greenhouses. Residents trade herbs and remedies with other towns. Some villagers are rumored to practice old forest and mountain folk magic. Smeltford – Forge Town; In a town in the eastern valley near iron mines and a river for waterpower, hosts smaller, specialized forges and workshops that supply Vargstad and coastal ports. Known for bellows, tools, and war gear. Houses are blackened by smoke, and the town smells of coal and molten iron.

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^{I R O N C R A G . F O L K L O R E . & . L E G E N D S}

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T H E . A S H W O L F . W A T C H E S Hunters tell of a great white wolf that roams the Reaches during snowstorms, the Ashwolf, its fur stained gray with ash, its eyes burning like forge coals. In the old days, before Ironcrag’s forges burned, the Ashwolf was said to be a spirit of balance, sent by Vertus, punishing those who hunted for greed and guiding those who took only what they needed. According to legend, a lost child once followed the wolf through a blizzard and returned days later, unharmed, carrying a pine branch that never burned in flame. Even now, some woodsmen leave the first kill of winter out beneath the trees, whispering thanks to the Ashwolf so that their fires might not die in the coldest nights.

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T H E . L A N T E R N . B R I D E When the mists roll low through the Duskpine, travelers sometimes claim to see a pale figure wandering between the trees — a woman in a tattered wedding cloak, carrying a lantern of flickering blue light. The old songs name her the Lantern Bride, a spirit searching for her betrothed who vanished into the forest centuries ago. They say she calls softly to the lost, offering warmth and a way home — but those who follow her light are found days later, frozen and smiling, with frost upon their lashes and pine needles in their hair. The woodsmen say: If you see her light, bow your head and look away. Love that lingers in death is not the kind that lets go.

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W H I S P E R I N G . B O U G H S On windless nights, the forest hums, a low, droning song that rises from the pines themselves. The elders claim these are the voices of the first folk, those who lived in Ironcrag before the coming of kings, whose spirits fled into the trees when their flesh grew cold. To hear the song clearly is a blessing or a curse, depending on who you ask: some say it grants a gift of foresight, others that it steals the listener’s voice forever. There are those in Vargstad who still hang carved wooden charms on their doors, shaped like circles with detailed and personalized runes chiseled into them, to keep the whisper-song from entering their dreams.

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T H E . W Y R M . O F . T H E . D E E P Long before the Járnbjørn line, when the world was still cooling, a great serpent— Vethrung the Hollowcoil, was said to dwell beneath the Ironspine peaks. Its scales were iron, its breath pure frost, and it slept coiled around the mountain roots. Miners who dig too far beneath the oldest ridges claim to hear the sound of scales scraping in the dark, or a slow, echoing hiss that shakes the lanterns on their hooks. A saying among the mine-folk goes: If the walls begin to breathe, flee — for the Wyrm is turning in its sleep.

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T H E . F L A M E . T H A T . W A N D E R S High among the crags, shepherds and hunters sometimes glimpse a flickering orange light moving along the ridges at night — the Wandering Flame. Some say it’s the spirit of a miner who found the Heart of the Mountain and stole a spark from it, doomed to carry it forever as penance. Others claim it’s the soul of a mountain god’s messenger, leading the worthy to hidden ore. Many have tried to follow it; none have ever returned. The light still wanders, and the old saying goes: If the mountain lights your path, pray it is not your pyre.

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T H E . H E A R T . O F . T H E . M O U N T A I N It is believed before the first miners ever walked the rugged slopes of Ironcrag, the mountain was not silent. The Ironspine Range was alive, pulsing with a heartbeat that could be felt in the very bones of the land. The Heart of the Mountain is the source of all iron, silver, gold, and the famous crag-ore, within the island, but it is much more than just a vein for shapely metals— it is the heart of the world, the pulse of creation itself. The old legends tell that long ago, the Gods Lux and Rimeran, shaped the mountains to protect the lands and provide for the people. They made the Heart of the Mountain to be a source of life and wealth, but one that demanded respect. The cave, which leads down into the darkness of the mountain’s heart, is a labyrinth of twisting passages, jagged rock, and shadow. Its entrance is an enormous archway of stone, shaped like the open jaws of a wolf, its teeth sharp and fanged. The locals call this entrance the Wolf’s Maw, for it is said to be a gateway into the very soul of the mountain. The first miners who dared enter the Wolf’s Maw were not foolhardy adventurers, but men and women who understood the land and its rhythms. They were guided by the ancient knowledge of the mountain, passed down through their ancestors. According to the Miner’s Pact, the mountain would offer its riches to those who respected it and took only what they needed. The Pact was simple, but it was one that was believed it could not be broken without consequence: Take only what you need, and the mountain will provide. Take greedily, and the mountain will take what is owed. To the people of Vargstad, the Heart of the Mountain is not just a physical force, but a spiritual one. Each year, the people of Vargstad gather at the mouth of the Wolf’s Maw to celebrate the Ritual of the First Hammer, a sacred ceremony to honor the Heart and ensure the mountain continues to give. The ritual is led by the High Smith, a revered figure chosen by the people for their skill in forging and wisdom in dealing with the mountain’s spirit. The High Smith stands before the Wolf’s Maw with a hammer created in the Great Forge, a new one each year that the High Smith spends months upon months craftiing, a symbolic weapon for their pact with the mountain. The ritual begins with a chant, passed down from ancient times: "Heart of the Mountain, we honor thee, In iron and stone, our legacy. We take what is needed, and give what is owed, To the Heart, whose pulse is the blood of the road." The High Smith then strikes the Ironstone, a sacred anvil created by their ancestors, placed at the entrance to the Wolf’s Maw, using the hammer. This blow is said to call upon the Heart’s power, and it is believed that if there is no answering rumble, it is the mountain’s way of acknowledging the pact and granting the miners the right to continue their work. The Heart of the Mountain is believed to not just be a source of wealth to the people of Vargstad; it is the lifeblood of their culture, their beliefs, and their very survival. It is both a giver and a taker, a force that demands respect and gives power in return. For the people of Vargstad, their lives and livelihoods are forever tied to the Heart— its pulse, its rhythm, and the great wolf that guards it. To honor the mountain is to honor their ancestors, their craft, their Gods, and the very soul of Ironcrag itself.

Camp Athens - Closed

^{#a64017 ....|..... outfit .....|..... #c7b29b ....|..... outfit .....|..... around camp > arena}

It was bitterly cold, Colton’s every breath trailed after him in pale puffs of smoke. The glazed snow crackled underfoot, and he walked on in a state of raw awareness that seemed to transform the whole of his being into something electrified. Each step brought about a moment when all the disparate shards of his life seemed to knit themselves together, every gnawing fear and all consuming anxiety, every drop of sorrow and dredge of guilt, hidden now beneath the soft white layers of snow, it was cathartic in the barest sense of the word.

A dozen meandering snowflakes fell, they drifted about the air like thrums, listless in their descent. It felt as if color had gone from the world. Shapes, sounds, the charged energy of the woods, were muffled in the dull white that covered both earth and sky. No rays of sunlight broke through the thicket of grey clouds overhead, but the light reflected off the white scenery all the same, making his eyes water and burn. All there was, was Colt, the ache of the cold, and the consuming heat of his body as he trudged through the wilderness.

There was something beautiful in the absence of color that clung to the woods now, the early morning weight of grey and white holding to every surface, as if the snowfall had winnowed it down to the essence of what a forest truly ought to be. Colton had never experienced a winter quite like this, not with the snow that went up well past his ankles, crunching beneath his weight with every step. He could recall a family vacation, only once, in which he’d thrown snowballs with his brothers, and the sound of their joyous laughter echoed in his ears, reverberating in the stillness of woods that felt ethereal.

He pulled his hands from his pockets, flexing the muscles of his fingers and feeling the flush of warmth return to them. It didn’t seem to matter how cold it was outside, he ran warm and so the bite of chill that curled around his cheeks left his skin flushed, but not uncomfortable. He’d been walking for quite a bit now, the journey up to this point feeling rougher compared to his hike, but it was nearing three miles and Colt felt if he didn’t find this Camp Athen’s soon, he wouldn’t find it at all. He patted the front pocket of his jeans, feeling the weight of the letter for the hundredth time, reminding himself that he hadn’t lost his marbles and imagined the whole thing in some twisted psychotic break. It had been real, as real as the fire that had rolled off his skin not hungerily, but almost…lovingly.

He shuddered at the memory, shoving his hands back into his pockets despite not necessarily needing to conserve warmth but taking comfort from the action. He didn’t feel like himself, not since the fire, the fear that was like a form of vertigo that made him shake afterwards just wasn’t there anymore. It was like Colt had been baptized in the flames and made anew, the moment he’d taken every step afterwards had burned away his fears. They were still there, haunting the edges of his mind like ghosts in the night, but for the first time in quite possibly his whole life, Colton could think past the fear.

He paused, glancing down at the imprint of where his foot sunk into the powder, eyes trailing up and along the path he was taking with a sense of fascination. There were no marks ahead of him, not from a wild dog nor bird, if anyone else had come to the camp this morning they’d gone a different way. He continued through the soft, silent snow, a feeling of peace starting to radiate through him, helping make his next steps lighter and easier. In due time, after what was about an hour and three miles, the gate emerged from the wilderness.

Colton paused, flummoxed at the sight of it. It… wasn’t what he’d been expecting, Camp Athen’s seemed more secure than any camp he’d ever seen or been to. A seed of apprehension unfurled in his stomach, anxiety blooming like flowers in spring, but he was able to push it aside with a surprising amount of ease, wandering closer to the entrance with pursed lips. His eyes caught on the words biometric scanner and it drew a surprised laugh from his chapped lips. He swiped his thumb over the scanner, clearing away the frosting of snow that had settled on the slope, and shook his head in mute amazement when the gate clicked open in response. The idea that they had his thumb print made him just about as nervous as a cat in a room full of rocking chairs, but he’d come all this way and it couldn’t be for nothing.

Colt stepped through the gate, taking care to close it behind him, before he began to move through the camp. There were paths here, distinguished by worn snow and frozen over mud, the imprints of others boots from likely the night before leading him through what felt like the heart of the camp, past a few cabins. All was still and quiet in the early morning hours, and while he hadn’t been expecting a welcoming committee… he’d expected something.

Sloane rose with the sun like she had every day since Pandora’s box. She actually slept better the night before, getting nearly three hours before the tossing and turning started, inevitably settling for lying in the dark and snuggling Rocco until the rays of sunlight crept through the slits in her blinds. Most of her time in the silence had been spent replaying the past day over and over in her mind. She had barely spoken to anyone since Liam left, barely let herself be caught outside her cabin in months, opting to live in quiet isolation rather than allowing herself to grow close to anyone again. It wasn’t something she could avoid forever, especially not when the Gods had plans of their own. Camp, practically a ghost town, doubled in size within a matter of hours. Statistically it was unlikely she could remain invisible, yet the whirlwind of it all still caught her off guard and left her social battery depleted after a night alone.

Not that it was all bad, on the contrary most of the people she talked to were kind and unobtrusive. But then there was Ace… Of course, he was the one that festered in her mind compared to everything else. He looked like a walking red flag, which should have been her first warning, but he was deceptively kind and made her laugh, and not in that self deprecating or placating sort of way, but a true genuine laugh. Sloane couldn’t even recall the last time that happened. There was a part of her that was thankful his true colors were exposed sooner rather than later, but it didn’t change how ridiculous she felt for letting her guard down around him.

Duke’s words just kept circling in her mind like an omen. But if that’s your type… Gods, for someone who knew little to nothing about her, he seemed to hit the nail on the head. Maybe that was her problem. She was attracted to lost causes or people more fucked up than she was because it actually made her feel normal. A sardonic laugh filled the silence of her cabin and roused Rocco who was nestled in the pillows beside her.

"For fuck’s sake," she muttered under her breath and threw her blankets off of her. Rather than fall deeper into the dark spiral of her thoughts, Sloane forced herself out of bed. The silver lining to never sleeping was she could often traverse camp without the risk of running into anyone else. It was the only way she managed to avoid people as long as she had, eating on off hours, being a recluse, and the relative seclusion of her cabin made it easier to remain anonymous.

She pulled on the warmest and most unassuming clothing she could find. Sloane didn’t have these new campers’ schedules memorized like she did with the others and the more likely she could remain invisible, the better. Casual wasn’t really something she had in abundance in her wardrobe, but it would draw less attention than a skirt and there was still the whole new leader thing to take into account. Something tugged at her gut telling her to dress practically, so at that point it was really a two birds one stone type situation. By the time she finished lacing her boots, Rocco was awake, wired, and ready to set out on their morning walk for breakfast. Sloane glanced over at the clock, groaning at the realization it was barely seven in the morning before grabbing her scarf and jacket, then heading out.

Camp was silent like it was asleep after a late night of revelry and celebration. There was no distant chatter, no hum of music drifting along the breeze from the field, and the freak warmth that let people like Blair dress like strippers had disappeared with the new year. A new day and everything was back to normal. The air was frigid, nipping at her cheeks whenever it whipped by, snow fell soft and consistent as it blanketed the camp in white clouds, and the lull of the lake’s tide vanished beneath a layer of ice. Rocco was happy at the return of snow, jumping and bouncing around to try and catch every white flake that fell threateningly near his face. Having learned her lesson from the day before, Sloane didn’t attempt to throw any snowballs, hoping to avoid a repeat incident. But deeper down, there was a fraction of her that was soured by the whole memory of it… Fucking men.

Rocco bounded up the trail, running ahead of her past the stables and out into the openness of the field. Where there once was an ice rink, sledding hill, bar and whatever other party attractions, now was the familiar empty and undisturbed white blanket of snow. Every shred of evidence that a new year’s celebration had been there the night before vanished with the rising sun like a drunken fever dream. There was a moment where she couldn’t help but wonder if it happened at all. The party, the new campers, Ace? Was it all the result of months of exhaustion catching up to her in a singular messed up dream?

As if the Gods themselves needed to give her a reality check, Rocco barked and snapped Sloane out of her wandering thoughts. Across the opposite side of the field someone was walking up the trail from the main entrance and her dog was bolting straight for him.

"Rocco!"

Ah. There was the welcoming party. It was funny, a few months ago the sight of a dog running full speed at him, barking its head off, would have been enough to give Colton heart palpitations. It was like the fire opened his eyes for the first time, fear raged in the back of his mind but he could ignore it in a way he never had before. He could clearly see the excitement in the dog's face, the barks boarding on playful rather than malicious, and so he kneeled down in the snow, grinning in greeting.

It may have been a little naive for him, because even though the dog was young and not big, balanced the way Colt was when the pup barreled into his chest he fell back with a surprised laugh, throwing one hand back to catch himself. The snow beneath his palm grew wet, hand sinking down until he could feel the cool and rough earth against his skin. "Hey buddy," his other hand rubbed along the dog's neck, turning his face to the side just in time to avoid french kissing the very enthusiastic animal. "You’re a good boy, aren’t ya?"

Colton adjusted his awkward position as the dog barked, rather enthusiastic, right in his face, shifting to properly kneel in the snow. Moisture seeped into the fabric of his jeans, darkening the denim, but he didn’t mind all that much. He glanced up, catching sight of the woman headed toward them, and offered a lopsided smile. His cheeks were flushed from the cold, but Colt’s smile seemed to light up his whole face like the sun breaking through the clouds. "Mornin’, ma’am." his southern accent was on the thicker side, not hard to understand but prevalent in his tone. "I take it this rascal belongs to you?"

Sloane’s approach slowed as she watched Rocco knock the man over in excitement. Her face scrunched in a grimace while she rubbed her forehead awkwardly. It was becoming quickly apparent that Rocco’s training wasn’t as sound as she thought it was. Something for her to do in her downtime hiding away from the plethora of new demigods that kept flooding into camp. Her soft sigh was muted by the crunch of snow beneath her boots and the ecstatic barking from her dog making another friend. "I’m sorry. He’s usually better behaved than this." She waved her hand vaguely over her shoulder. "I wasn’t expecting anyone to be up this early after the party," she admitted, as if it made any of it better.

Her gaze was fixated on the tips of her fingers as she toyed at the cuff of her winter coat, but when she heard him call her ma’am in a distinctly southern drawl, she looked up and finally met his gaze. "I… yes. This is Rocco," Sloane conceded with a sigh and a faint smile. The Gods really were cruel. As if she wasn’t already acutely aware of how every person that set foot into camp was unreasonably attractive, fate felt the necessity to throw five of them at her within 24 hours when she hardly had a handful of five minute conversations for months. Duke might have been her fault, but the rest? Sloane was probably the worst person to be on a welcoming committee, yet there she was… again.

She took a small step forward and held out her hand in a silent offering to help him back on his feet. By the looks of him compared to her, Sloane doubted she’d be much help and stood the chance of just getting pulled down in the snow beside him, but she still felt bad… And it was her fault—well, her dog’s fault. "Sorry," she apologized again, feeling like once wasn’t sufficient enough.

"No need to apologize," Colton took her offered hand, because there was no reason to turn down a kind gesture, but he used the strength in his legs to straighten up, only relying a little on her offer so as to not tug her down onto the ground with him. The unnatural heat of his hand cut through the chill that had settled in her own, calloused fingers gentle where they curled around her wrist. His eyes caught hers for the first time, properly, his tongue seemed to stick to the top of his mouth for a moment. Instinctively, he bowed his head, sliding his hand from hers until just the tips of her fingers were still caught in his hold, tilting her hand and raising it up so the backs of her knuckles faced his lips. Colt didn’t kiss them, it would be awfully presumptuous of him, but the gesture and its meaning was clear. "Colton Shepherd, pleasure to meet you and Rocco."

Sloane’s gaze fell to their joined hands, thrown off by the heat that radiated from his palm into her own chilled skin. It didn’t go unnoticed that she did virtually nothing to actually help him up besides maybe helping him steady himself, but she tried nonetheless. She went to withdraw her hand from his but instead he adjusted his hold like he intended to kiss her fingers. He stopped a bit shy, although he still bowed his head. The entire gesture threw her through a loop to the point where she stumbled faintly as she shifted her weight from one foot to the other. Thankfully the cold wind made her face about as pink as they could manage, so if there was a subtle blush that tinged her cheeks, it’d be imperceivable. When was the last time someone introduced themselves to her like that? Her debutant ball?

Realizing she had been quiet for far too long, she cleared her throat, and gave his hand an awkward shake. "Sloane Astor. Nice to meet you too."

His smile was disarmingly unguarded as he dropped her hand, taking a half step away to keep a more respectable distance between the two of them as her dog pounced between them, tail wagging and tongue lulling from his mouth. "I reckon you aren’t actually the welcoming committee," he lifted a hand, rubbing at the back of his neck with a tinge of embarrassment. That would be a more southern thing, he supposed. "I don’t want to sound crazy, but…" Was there any good way to say it? It would sound crazy no matter how Colton phrased it. "Is all of this—" he lifted a hand, swirling his pointer finger up into the air. "...Real?" He raised his eyebrows, shifting the bag hanging from his left shoulder with his free hand.

"Rocco." Sloane’s voice was soft but commanding as she snapped her fingers together to get the puppy’s attention. He immediately turned to look at her with a cocked head and one ear inside out from his excitement. She pointed her finger at the ground beside her as she spoke. "Sit." Her dog heeded her direction, plopping his butt in the snow beside her while his wagging tail stirred up a cloud of snow behind him.

Sloane turned her attention back to Colton, tilting her head up slightly to meet his gaze. It was hard not to match his grin when it had that infectious optimism she was never quite able to understand. Her own smile was smaller and far more timid, only tugging at the corner of her mouth slightly. "No," she admitted, dragging the word out as she pressed her thumb into the palm of her opposite hand. "I don’t know if I’m the best choice at the whole orientation thing. I like avoiding the crowd." And people. And she couldn’t sleep. She shrugged her shoulders in that silently apologetic way that said this was about as good of a welcoming committee as he’d get.

Her gaze shifted toward his hand, watching the subtle gesture before looking back up at him. "I… think so?" Sloane cocked her head to the side slightly as an awkward laugh fell from her lips in a visible puff of cold air. "I can pinch you if that’d help." She turned slightly, glancing over her shoulder toward the sleepy, snow covered hell that was camp. "It is a demigod camp," she added with a sigh as she looked back up at the tall blond. "So… If you’re not a demigod I might have to help you forget you were here." There was a jovial air to her words considering she assumed he had to be a demigod to make it through Andy’s new security protocols and was standing in front of her… She hoped. The last thing she wanted was to erase an innocent man’s memories because he happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time.

"Well," a slow breath escaped him, watching it puff into the air, and letting his head fall back so he could look up at the clouds. The sun was struggling to break through the thicket, and a fat snow flake landed right between Colt’s eyes. "I’ll be damned." His voice was very soft, shoulders slumping ever so slightly. He wasn’t sure what he’d expected, or hoped, but… there was a small part of him that had held onto the idea that it wasn’t true and that he could go back to whatever sense of normality he could hold on to, but no.

Colton glanced back down at Sloane, and though his smile had slipped by a fraction it was still there, tugging at his lips and keeping his eyes bright. "I had hoped I was hallucinating," he admitted this with a tinge of embarrassment, glancing back down at Rocco and narrowly resisting the urge to reach out and pet the puppy again. "I met my… father, and he gave me a letter with directions to this camp, it said he was Hephaestus." The name rolled clumsily off of his tongue, Greek and southern mixing with all the elegance of oil and water.

"I think everyone has that reaction initially," she admitted with a shrug before tucking her chin beneath the brim of her scarf to break some of the biting wind. Sloane knew her circumstances weren’t the norm and that she had far more time with her mother than most, not that she was particularly fond of it. But either way, it was never easy having your world turned on its head like that. Greek Gods were myths… until they weren’t. "If it’s any consolation, I think you have one of the better ones." Sloane idly kicked a small bit of snow before looking back up into his eyes with a halfhearted smile. "Parent, I mean. And your half brother is one of the good ones too." Duke was one of the few people at camp that felt like a genuinely decent person. There were far worse people to be related to… She knew that struggle all too well.

Sloane’s brows raised slightly at the way he kept looking down at Rocco. Her smile shifted to something a bit softer, more genuine and less forced as she stepped to the side. It might have been a bit cliche, but anyone who showed her dog kindness and affection immediately gained a small soft spot in her heart. It might have been what got her into her whole predicament with Ace, but it wasn’t fair for her to withhold attention from Rocco. She could only give so much. "You can play with him," she commented, nodding her head down at the eager pup as she slid her hands into her coat pockets. "He likes snowballs, and if you rub his belly he’ll never leave you alone again," she added with a quiet laugh.

"Really? He seemed…" Colt let the thought trail off, because really, his father had seemed like a God. That was it, they had their own flare of arrogance that was justified in its own way, he supposed, but he knew fuck all about Greek mythology. "Well, he only mentioned a sister in any case," he offered his own shrug, eyebrows raising just a little when she stepped aside, and then his entire face seemed to light up like a child who had been told they could buy whatever they wanted in a candy shop. "It would be impolite to keep a pretty lady out in this sort of weather." Colton said, instead of moving to play with the puppy like he really wanted to.

"Were you headed anywhere in particular?" He, very pointedly, did not ask Sloane who her Godly parent was, it felt like something more personal, though considering the fact that Colt was new to all of this, he wasn’t sure how sensitive people could be in regards to it all. It was better, in the end, to be polite and cautious.

"Well… He has to be better than the Goddess of Chaos," she shrugged her shoulders while pinching the fabric on the inside of her pockets. Sloane had never met Hephaestus, but she had to imagine most of the Gods had to be at least moderately better than Eris. It sort of felt self explanatory. "I don't know much about a sister. But a bunch of demigods arrived yesterday. You missed the party but…" Her voice trailed off for a second as she looked back over her shoulder toward the field that was teaming with festivities less than 12 hours before. "Well, I hate parties so you picked the better time to arrive in my opinion." She laughed softly and shrugged her shoulders innocently.

"Parties aren’t really my favorite rodeo either," he had grimaced just a little at the mention of a Goddess of Chaos, feeling more than a little out of his depth. If they needed machinery fixed, he was who you called. Anything to do with Greek God’s was utterly lost on him. "Do ya’ll have any books on…all of this," he gestured vaguely at the air around them. "I could read? I reckon I know about as much about all of this as a squirrel knows about the atmosphere."

"There isn't really a camp library." Her brows furrowed slightly as she tried to recall which books she actually had in her cabin. Mostly romance and fantasy if she remembered correctly, which wasn't very helpful. "I might have something you could borrow. If not, my mother made sure I was knowledgeable about Greek mythology, so I could help you fill the gaps," she offered. It wouldn't be much different than when she had to do the same for Sylas. Although she imagined Colton would be kinder and far more patient.

"I would appreciate it greatly," This was so far beyond any realm of possibilities for Colt that everything he knew about Greek mythology had been learned on Wikipedia, on the plane ride there, not that he’d admit that to someone who seemed smarter than him. He didn’t need to embarrass himself too badly on the first day.

Sloane was so focused on his elated expression at the prospect of playing with Rocco, that his comment almost went entirely unnoticed. It took her a solid couple of seconds for it to really sink in. Then her cheeks found some way to deepen its rosy tint beyond the wind burn that flushed her skin. She couldn't recall the last time someone complimented her and the way the words fell from his lips so effortlessly made it more difficult for her to know how to react. A hand slipped from her pocket to brush loose hairs out of her eyes and behind her ear. "It's ok. He could use the exercise and I won't turn into a popsicle for at least five more minutes." She did her best to meet his gaze and flash him a friendly smile despite her growing bashfulness. "I was just going to get breakfast before there's a crowd."

Colton seemed to perk up visibly at the mention of food, if he were a dog his ears would have gone straight into the air. "Five minutes then," he grinned at her, setting his bag down in the snow and leaning over to scoop up a handful of snow. "Then, if you’d be kind enough to show me where ya’ll eat breakfast, I’d be in your debt, Ms. Astor." The snow held its shape in his hands for exactly six seconds, and then the warmth turned it into a sort of loose slush. Colt frowned at the wet mess between his palms for a second, expression turning a little crestfallen as he realized snowball making may be beyond him now, and then his face lit back up and he turned toward his bag.

"Please, just call me Sloane," she commented quietly. While she was an Astor, and there was no changing that, the weight of her surname also carried the burden of her father and Sylas. It was a part of who she was, unfortunately, but it wasn't something she wished to be called on a regular basis.

He hesitated, hand curled around the edge of his bag, eyes flickering up toward Sloane. "Yes ma’am," Colton’s smile softened some, green eyes bright in the backdrop of white and grey against his cold flushed cheeks, the twang of his accent thick as the words rolled from his tongue. He paused for a moment longer, eyes tracing the delicate slope of her nose, noting how her dark hair stood out starkly against her pale skin. Blinking a few times, feeling a twinge of surprise coil in his chest, he turned away.

He unzipped the bag quickly, digging around in its recesses for a few short seconds, before he withdrew an orange colored baseball. "This’ll do the trick," Colton grinned at Rocco, holding the ball up and watching as the dog's attention zeroed in on it, tail wagging even harder in the snow. "Here ya go bud, catch." He gave it a strong throw, clearing fifty feet, and Rocco spun in the spot to give chase, barking with enthusiasm.

While Colton played with her dog, Sloane wandered over to the map stand Andy had conjured the day before. Her cold fingers struggled to pinch the folded paper, but after a try or two she got a decent enough grip. She slowly made her way back toward him, waiting until he threw the ball again before she held out the map to him. "You'll probably want this. I'm not sure how it works, but knowing the girl who made it, there’s probably some magic trick to it."

Rocco bounded across the snow, leaving pawprints and swirls of white in his wake as he barreled toward the ball, scooping it up into his mouth before turning around and running back toward Colt. The puppy slid a little in the snow once he got closer, clumsy in a way only young dogs could be, snow sticking to the fur of his backside as he righted himself and dropped the baseball at his feet. He couldn’t help letting out a small laugh at the sheer cuteness the puppy exuded, scooping up the ball and giving it another strong throw before he turned to the sound of Sloane’s voice. "Thank you," Colton accepted the map, warm fingers brushing against her cool ones, and his smile dimmed just a little as he looked the woman over, worry creasing his brows. "Ms. Sloane, your hands feel like icicles, shouldn’t we head somewhere warmer?" The concern was palpable in his voice, folding the map and sticking it in one of his back pockets, Colt held out both his hands toward her, wiggling his fingers expectantly when she just stared. "C’mon, give me your hands for a moment, they’ll be warmer before you could snap your fingers. I run warm, like a broken thermostat." He grinned wryly at her, his palms held up toward the sky patiently.

"Sloane," she corrected him again with a soft sigh. She appreciated how polite and respectful he was, but miss felt too formal… at least for someone like her. Sloane’s attention temporarily shifted toward Rocco as he chased after the ball a second time, before looking back toward the man in front of her. It was foreign to her, well all of it really, but specifically having someone else fuss over her wellbeing. Liam made a big deal about her brother but, that’s because Sylas is an asshole. The blatant concern over something as small as the chill in her fingers by someone who’s known her for the better part of five minutes left her a bit off kilter. "I’m Russian... I’m used to being cold," she commented under her breath as her gaze fell to his extended hands.

Her fingers extended and flexed at her side as a pensive expression tugged at her brows. It seemed fairly obvious that Colton meant nothing beyond being kind by the offered warmth, but it sent her mind reeling. She couldn’t help but think about her past and how gullible she had been around other men. Was it a kind gesture or some ploy to take advantage of her? Could she even tell the difference anymore? Between Ace and her conversation with Duke, Sloane was left on unsure footing, finding herself struggling to know what was genuine anymore. The cold air chilled her teeth as she sucked in a soft breath. Not wanting to be rude or prolong the growing awkward silence, the corner of her mouth tugged into an apprehensive smile as her hands hesitantly slid into his.

"Sloane, He conceded, pressing his lips together to refrain from chuckling at her comment. While he was sure that was true, she’d clearly been at the camp for some time, but she was also cold and this was something he could fix. Colton caught her hands between his own, fingers overlapping as he held her palms together and pressed his own over the tops of her hands. His hands were almost comedically large compared to Sloane’s, heat instantly seeping into her icy skin. "Just because you’re used to the cold, doesn’t mean I can’t help."

Sloane’s gaze met his briefly, before falling back to her hands swallowed up in the furnace of his palms. The roughness of his skin, evidence of years of manual labor, was contrasted by the fragile softness of her own. She had the hands of a pampered rich girl who never had to raise a finger for anything in her life. The juxtaposition caught her off guard, only reaffirming the stark image of her being a porcelain doll, displayed and hidden away rather than living. She cleared her throat, searching for something to fill the silence rather than spiral deeper into her thoughts. "Winter’s just started. I don’t think you can be there every time I’m cold," she jested with a quiet laugh, trying to ease some of the awkward tension that had tightened along her shoulders.

"I can’t," he admitted, but his smile didn’t dim. "But I am here now, and well…" Colt’s expression turned a little bashful, and he shifted his weight. "It’d be nice to say I had at least one friend here." He didn’t look at her when he admitted this, too shy and awkward to see her reaction.

She spared him a sideways glance, studying his face for deception but was surprised to find only authenticity… or from what she could tell. Sloane was struggling to trust her intuition but someone that was openly kind couldn't be that bad, could they? "I would warn you that I have a habit of attracting the wrong kind of people, but you sons of Hephaestus don't seem like the type to take my word for it," she mused, shifting her weight from one foot to the other, trying her best not to twiddle her fingers beneath his hands. "But… I am a little low in the friend department." The corners of her mouth curved into a small tight lipped smile and she shrugged her shoulders. She didn't know if she could say they were friends after barely a conversation but she wasn't going to turn away the prospect either.

Colton’s head tilted to the side in a way that was reminiscent of the puppy, looking politely perplexed. "What, like city folk?" His nose wrinkled slightly before he soothed out his expression, shifting to something verging on embarrassed once more. "Not that there’s anythin’ wrong with people that enjoy the city atmosphere, they just don’t do polite the same way as southern folks." He lifted a hand for a moment, rubbing at the back of his neck, ruffling the strands of blond hair there before he remembered he was trying to warm up her hands and quickly replaced it. "No offense, if you’re from New York or somethin’, I had my layover there and those people can be foul." he was rambling, like an idiot. "I uh…right, sorry, I’ve been a bit of a recluse for the last month, haven’t done much talkin’ so I know I’m making a right fool of myself."

Colt shook his head, grinning a little at how ridiculous he felt. He’d always struggled some with making friends, being naturally more reserved, more fearful, always weighing the worst case scenario, intentionally trying to make a friend that wasn’t an extrovert looking to adopt an introvert felt as foreign as all this Greek mythology. He found that he didn’t mind it too much, Sloane made it easy, at least, and a private part of him hoped everyone at the camp would be this kind.

Sloane laughed softly at his comment about ‘city folk’, not that he was entirely wrong. The only memories she had in regards to New Yorkers were fairly negative ones. There were several reasons she spent most of her time lost in libraries or locked away in her room. "Not exactly," she replied but didn’t elaborate further on her meaning. The last thing a fresh face like Colton needed was the pathetic story of woe that was her life. "I did live in New York for about half of my life. But it’s fine. I never really fit in, so there was no love lost coming here."

It was a blessing in this sort of weather to run so warm, because in just a few short seconds her own hands were growing hotter, pale skin flushing a little as he rubbed his calloused palms over her soft knuckles, every touch respectful in nature. Once her hands felt as warm as his own, he dropped his hold, smile brightening impossibly. "I reckon that’ll do for now, we best head inside somewhere warmer though, won’t last for long."

She nodded her head in surrender, quickly learning that Colton would keep insisting on getting her somewhere warm until she inevitably agreed. Sloane pivoted on her heels, looking back out over the field where Rocco happily ran back to them with the baseball in his mouth, tail wagging and ears flopping with every bounce. She whistled and motioned for him to come to her. He ran right over to her, plopped his butt down in the snow, and dropped the ball at her feet expectantly. "We’ll play later, bubba," she reassured him with a soft pat to his head before reaching down to pick up the ball, now covered in frozen slobber.

With the baseball clutched in her palm, Sloane pointed toward the Main Hall while looking back at Colton. "That’s where most people eat… Unless you cook in your cabin or whatever." She shrugged her shoulders and started heading in that direction at a leisurely pace. Rocco ran ahead of her, knowing it was breakfast time. He slipped up half of the stairs to the porch then sat and waited impatiently for her to catch up. As they walked, she did her best to clean off the ball, wiping it off on her jeans before holding it out to the man beside her. "Sorry… There might be teeth marks."

"He can keep it," he shrugged one shoulder, following along beside Sloane, lips twitching as Rocco slipped and slid up the stairs, taking extra care as he went up the steps to not slip and make a fool out of himself. "I doubt I’ll be playing catch with anyone else while I’m here." His eyes trailed across the main hall, taking it all in, before Colton paused to hold the door open for Sloane. "Do we hike out of camp to get our food?"

That seemed like an awful idea, at least during winter. He’d lived pretty rural on the farm, but they always had their truck to get to town for shopping, so this was… different. It was an experience at the very least, not a bad one, but so far out of the norm for Colton that the very thought of it felt pretty bizarre.

Sloane looked down at the neon ball in her palm, rapping the tips of her fingers along its blemished surface before slipping it into the pocket of her coat. "I don’t know. There are plenty of athletic people here… Just not me," she replied with a laugh as she carefully ascended the slippery stairs, making sure to hold onto the railing so she didn’t have a repeat of the night before. Even with her caution she still managed to slide a bit along the deck before finding traction.

When Colton opened the door for her, she first ushered in Rocco, then followed after, flashing him a soft smile of silent thanks as she passed. Her dog immediately made his way over to Sloane’s favorite table that was closest to the hearth and sat down like he had been trained to. "I don’t know," she began answering Colton’s question as she weaved around tables and chairs to the far side of the cafeteria. "My cabin doesn’t even have a kitchen," she admitted with a small shrug. "But I’ve never really noticed anyone wandering in or out of camp with arms full of groceries… So I imagine some sort of camp magic fuckery plays a part."

As Sloane approached the table, she pulled off her coat and hung it on the back of her usual seat, along with her scarf. She was left in a comically oversized sweatshirt, old jeans, and boots that were far out of the realm of her normal attire. Before camp she wouldn't have been caught dead in something that casual and still she rarely did, but waking up to take care of a puppy in the middle of winter had a way of lowering her standards a bit. She crouched down to give Rocco a kiss to the head and rub his ears. "Good boy. Stay." She gave him another little scratch, waiting for Colton to discard his belongings.

"Magic," Colt whispered the word, his face a little slack with awe, remembering the stories his Ma had told him about his childhood. It was a bittersweet feeling, remembering how his brother's laughter had echoed down the halls at her animated story telling. "When I was younger," his voice was softer as he followed Sloane, gaze a little distant, smile small but present. "After my folks first adopted me, I kept burnin’ handprints into my crib. My Pa called their priest to the farm, tried to exercise the demon outta me, they were all pretty stumped." He placed his bag carefully onto the floor, making sure it was neatly tucked out of the way, before tugging off his jacket and laying out onto the back of the chair across from Sloane’s. "Magic is a foreign concept to me."

Sloane’s brows furrowed as she pivoted on the balls of her feet, still crouched, to look up at him genuinely surprised that anything like that actually happened outside of movies. She wasn’t able to hide the bewildered grimace that crossed her face as she searched his face like she was waiting for the punchline. "Christians," she muttered under her breath before slowly standing up. "That’s… cruel." She couldn’t begin to understand or empathize with something like that. Her abilities weren’t tangible like flames and fire, but an exorcism? The thought sent a cold chill down her spine and made the hair stand on the back of her neck.

"I don’t remember it," his smile was a little wobbly, because it was clear that a reaction like that was extreme and not good, and he’d always struggled to hold onto the same faith the rest of his family clung to. "It is cruel, though, southerners have charm, but they also have… religion." Colt grimaced.

"I don’t know what’s worse, southern charm and religion, or Russian anger and politics," she mused with a weak, but sympathetic smile. Sloane wasn’t trying to dismiss what he had been through, but find some shared common ground when it came to not quite fitting the mold of where they came from. "I suppose it’s probably best if you don’t remember." She rested her hand on top of her coat on the back of the chair as a question bounced around her head in regards to his parents and their faith. She knew it wasn’t her business, but curiosity beat out her caution. "Do they know the truth? Your parents?"

"No, I…" his eyes trailed down to where his jacket rested along the ridge of the chair, small dots of moisture collected along the shoulders and collar from where snow flurries had landed and subsequently melted, darkening the fabric further. "I left a note for them, said I needed time after the—" Colton froze for a split second, just long enough for a brief and fleeting expression of pain and guilt to flicker over his face, there and gone as fast as a channel on a TV being changed. "The funeral. I figured mentioning Greek gods would make them think I lost my marbles fully." The joke fell flat, and Colt looked anywhere but at Sloane, it had just slipped, but now he felt too vulnerable with someone whom he’d only just met. He’d never been one to share his own issues so blatantly, it was easier to be the steadying rock for others, than to accept the support yourself. "It wasn’t a lie, I don’t like lyin’, and I do need time, but there’s no good way to break this sort of news in a note."

Sloane listened intently, studying his face while he looked anywhere but her. The mention of a funeral stuck out compared to the rest of his words and while the temptation was there, at the edge of her mind, begging to be asked… She remained quiet. Her and Colton barely knew each other, it wouldn’t be fair to press him with more personal questions. She nodded her head in silent understanding. "There’s no textbook when it comes to being a demigod. I’ve never told anyone normal about it… sort of kept it to myself." Sloane never really had to consider breaking the news to anyone. Her father already knew about Eris. And Lochlan? She was never able to bring herself to tell him out of a similar fear that Colton had in regards to telling his parents.

Slowly, the tension that had collected in his shoulders drained, a quiet breath leaving him. He was thankful, and knew in that exact moment that a friendship with Sloane would be something he’d want. She was kind, and quiet, and she was the sort of person he’d want around himself, especially as everything he thought he knew became as unsteady as a ship in a storm. The entire journey to camp had left Colt feeling uncomfortable in his own skin, but something about her quieted those discontent thoughts and allowed him to breathe fully for the first time. "Maybe we ought to write a text book on it," a wiry smile tugged at his lips, face lighting up again. "Or maybe just a pamphlet, like the sort they keep on a shelf in the doctor's office for pre-teen’s." Mirth sparked in his eyes at the idea, smile tugging up further until he was grinning at her.

She laughed softly. "Demigods for dummies." Her fingers idly tugged at the cuffs of her sweatshirt as she shook her head playfully and shifted her weight from one leg to the other. "Maybe if you took someone with you to tell them… Like—Oh, I don’t know—maybe a Poseidon or Hecate kid. You know, someone with tangible powers to kind of back you up?" Sloane raised her brows while considering the options, but the weight of his parents being Christians sapped some of her initial inspiration and dulled the faint light behind her eyes. "Right... The whole faith thing makes it complicated." The corner of her mouth curved into a lopsided, sympathetic smile as her gaze fell to Rocco who sat patiently at her feet. She didn’t have the first clue how she’d break the news to someone and not sound crazy. Maybe that was why people like them remained hidden away on some mountaintop in Greece rather than facing the regular, mortal world.

"Poseidon, Hecate…" Colton tapped his chin with his left pointer finger, whispering the names as if to dedicate them to memory. It was a sweet thought, the idea that she was trying to find a solution so he could have his family in his life on a more stable level. "I reckon they’d believe me, after some time." He offered a sort of uncomfortable shrug, hand dropping down to his side. "Walking through fire and not having any burns afterwards makes everyone question… everything, I suppose. Is… is it polite to ask you who your parent is?" His brows furrowed, head tilting ever so slightly to the side as he blinked down at her, not wanting to come across as rude.

"Oh, people at camp usually ask that right off the rip, either because they’re nosy or want to make sure they don’t sleep with their sibling." Sloane’s mouth pulled into a grimace as she shrugged her shoulders. If the party last night was proof enough, most demigods seemed to be pretty horny. She could only hope they had the forethought to cross reference family trees before following in their parents’ footsteps. "My mother is Eris." There was a momentary pause where she quickly remembered Colton’s lack of knowledge when it came to mythology. "The Goddess of chaos and discord. Not a common household name like Zeus or Aphrodite."

Colton blinked a little owlishly at Sloane for a moment, surprise and confusion crossing his face for a split second before he wrestled the expression under control. "I suppose that makes sense, an accident like that would be…" he shuddered a little, appetite waning for a second at the mere idea of accidentally sleeping with one of his sisters. Disgusting. "Eris," he nodded, committing the name to memory. He’d heard of Zeus and Aphrodite before, mostly in passing, but never Eris before. Sloane didn’t seem to fit that bill, but he wasn’t sure how often a child of one of the Gods was similar to them. "So… Do you like rodeo’s? I can’t think of anything more chaotic, other than maybe tax season." He grinned at her, expression open and earnest.

Sloane laughed. It was quiet but genuine and showed a fraction of her bewilderment. She was probably the farthest thing from southern or country, maybe aside from like Blair. Sure, she handled the adjustment of going from New York to camp better than most, but she was still very aware of the privileged life she had before moving across the world to Greece. Her father would rather be caught dead than send his children to something like a rodeo. "Can’t say I do. The farthest south I’ve ever been is DC. But the New York subways were more than chaotic enough for my liking." She usually took taxis around the city, but there were a handful of times she had to navigate the subway system, and she hated every minute of it. Apparently she looked like a prime victim for some of the seedier types. She was lucky to be a demigod in those moments, or for her brother’s cruelty, or it might have gone a lot worse for her.

"I’ve never been to the city," he offered, bracing his hands on the back of his chair, smile a little lopsided. It was clear they’d come from vastly different walks of life, and yet they both still ended up here. It made Colt wonder how different the other campers were. It felt foreign to him to be excited at meeting new people, he’d always been more introverted, but without fear swelling in his chest like a balloon with too much air to feed it’s growth the prospect wasn’t as overwhelming as it usually was. "Rodeo’s were weekend outings for my family, I only went to… two, I think." He pushed off the chair, scuffing his shoe against the floor as embarrassment made color flush the back of his neck. Colt clenched his jaw for a moment, muscles tensing, before he let out a small breath as the tension drained from his shoulders again. "I was scared." It was posed as a joke, but the shame in his tone was startlingly clear.

Her brows furrowed slightly, not because of the confession, but because of the way he seemed ashamed of it. Sloane tugged the sleeve of her sweatshirt over the heel of her palm. "Everyone’s scared of something." She shrugged her shoulders like it was no more embarrassing or shameful than admitting a favorite color. There was a second where she parted her lips to offer up her own fear in exchange, but like a tether pulling taut, the words couldn’t break free. It was hard to admit to herself that she was terrified of her brother, let alone to a person she just met. She quickly searched her mind for another answer, but everything else felt significantly less consequential in retrospect.

Before she could find a better answer like spiders or snakes or the dark, the P.A. speaker in the cafeteria chimed, followed by the sound of an unfamiliar voice filling the empty room. "Good morning campers. This is your new leader, River, speaking. It is currently 7:30 a.m. on January 1st. Your first training will begin in one hour at 8:30 a.m. in the arena. Please arrive promptly and dress accordingly."

"New leader?" Colton’s eyebrows rose, gaze moving from where it had reflexively fixed on the speaker back toward Sloane, expression flummoxed. He hadn’t been sure what exactly to expect at the camp, but he hadn’t been expecting to feel like… "Did I accidentally sign up for a boot camp?" He grinned at her, a laugh catching in his throat. "I knew it wouldn’t be a normal camp, but I wasn’t expecting for us to have a leader and trainin’." The unspoken is this normal? floated in the air between them, unspoken but present all the same. He glanced toward his bag, trying to think if he had anything that qualified as dressing accordingly for physical training that didn’t involve basketball shorts, and with this weather that didn’t seem exactly smart.

"We’ve had two—no, three different leaders since I came to camp at the beginning of the summer. Although the last one stepped up out of necessity rather than being appointed," Sloane clarified as if the matter of having so many leaders in a short amount of time was a comfort. She doubted it was. "Training has been moderate but the Gods left a message for us yesterday about this new leader and a new ’rigorous training regimen.’" She shrugged her shoulders, not really having any information beyond that. She wasn’t keen on the prospect of camp taking a turn towards ROTC rather than whatever it was before. But considering three people died during the whole Pandora’s box fiasco, it only made sense that the Gods wanted them trained harder, to be more prepared.

"Training regimen," He parroted the words back, shaking his head slowly. Just what had he gotten himself mixed up in? It was startling and refreshing for no wave of fear to rise up in his chest, the usual strength it heralded akin to a tsunami, but there was also an edge to it all. It felt as if he were waiting for the other shoe to drop. "Well," Colton chuckled more to himself than anything. "It’s not like I was doin’ anything better."

A weak laugh slipped out as Sloane shrugged in a pathetic sort of acceptance. She didn’t like training but had grown to accept it in her time at camp. "I’m sure you’ll do fine," she commented, motioning a hand toward him, as if his muscles and general stature weren’t obvious indicators.

"Maybe, this is all from work, not workin’ out." He pushed off the back of his chair, nodding toward the buffet. "I suppose we ought to get hustling if we have trainin’ in an hour, not sure what I have that I could wear."

Sloane nodded her head. "I’m probably not the best person to ask about training advice." An awkward laugh mixed with a sigh escaped her lips as she took a step toward the buffet on the opposite end of the hall. "Something you can move quickly in is probably your safest bet."

She cleared her throat and motioned her hand generally at the various tables of food that lined the far side of the cafeteria as they approached. "There’s always fresh food here. So this is where I’ve always eaten. It’s also a good place to run into people… If you’re into that sort of thing." The shift in her tone subtly showed that she was not into that sort of socialization… as if going out of her way to get there before everyone else wasn’t already an indicator. While Colton started gathering his own food, she detoured over to the hidden corner where she could usually find Rocco’s water and food bowls. To her surprise, there was a second set of brand new dog bowls, filled, ready, and waiting. She paused for a moment at the realization that one of the new campers must have a dog too. The thought of Rocco maybe having another animal to play with made her smile slightly as she grabbed his bowls in either hand and made her way back toward the table.

Colt nodded his head, pausing for a moment longer before he headed to fix himself a plate. There was a slight chill in the air, though it was exceptionally warmer inside than outside, he could still feel the bite of cold through the thin cotton of his white t-shirt. For the first time in his life, it felt like a blessing that he ran warmer than the average person, even if it often felt like he was one second away from combusting like a badly wired bomb. The wiry muscles in his arms, evidence of years of hard labor on a farm, flexed as he pushed the chair all the way in, pivoting to trail after Sloane towards the buffet, eyes widening some at the spread of food. "Well, I’ll be damned." He scooped up a plate, hesitating in a moment of pure indecisiveness at where to start. Eggs seemed safe, and then some bacon, a decent helping of raspberries and blackberries, and two slices of toast. He carried his plate back over, collecting silverware and napkins for both of them, setting Sloane’s down on her side of the table, before he turned toward where several pitchers and coffee pots took up space. "Would you like anything to drink?" Colt glanced toward her, bright smile lighting up his face once more.

Sloane set down the food and water bowls for Rocco who promptly went to town, like he hadn’t eaten in over a week. She couldn’t help but chuckle. Dogs were so dramatic. Turning back around and heading toward the buffet, she brushed past Colton as he returned with a full plate of food. "Sorry," she apologized, stepping aside and accidentally bumping her hip into a neighboring table. "Jesus," she muttered under her breath to herself, embarrassed at her own clumsiness.

Like muscle memory, Sloane moved around the buffet area with a habitual effortlessness. First she grabbed a plate and then a bowl. She filled the bowl with oatmeal topped with blueberries and set it on top of the plate, where she also placed two links of sausages. That day though, for whatever reason, she decided to deviate slightly and also grab a chocolate chip muffin. After the night she had, she felt like a little treat was warranted. She turned around to head toward the drinks, but was met by Colton smiling back at her. His continuous and almost unwavering radiance caught her off guard. It felt out of place, like he was a golden retriever in the middle of the cluster fuck that was camp. There was a faint pang of guilt that knotted in her chest knowing that it was only a matter of time before camp dampened his spirits. Someone that kind deserved to be somewhere, anywhere better.

Sloane did her best to match his smile, although hers could never match his brightness. It was weak and laced with a subtle melancholy air that tinged everything she did, but no less genuine. She was trying anyway. "Orange juice… please," she replied sheepishly before making her way back over to the table and taking a seat.

He noticed, as someone who lived in a near constant state of fear every day, always over analyzing how each and every scenario could go horrifically wrong, he was observant enough to see how her smile didn’t quite reach her eyes. It wasn’t that Sloane wasn’t genuine, she was nice enough to not just ditch him at the very least, but it was almost like she was Eeyore from Winnie-the-Pooh with a vindictively diligent storm cloud chasing her down. She tried to hide it, that was abundantly clear, but the subtle flex of her jaw, the way her eyes would flick away from his own gaze with the lightest hint of guilt, as if she felt bad for not being able to match his energy.

There wasn’t much he could do about it, besides remain as positive as he could, besides Colton was horribly low in the friend department and she’d agreed they could try to be friends. He wouldn’t complain if Sloane was just a little sad, it made the rare smiles feel more rewarding. So, he returned with two cups of orange juice, smiling as bright as he could manage whilst focusing on balancing the cups without any of the liquid sloshing over the edges. "Here we go." he set hers down first, then his own, before pulling out his chair to sit. Colt hesitated for a moment, glancing from his plate of food up to Sloane. "We don’t have to like… pray to our parents or somethin’, right?" He was only half joking.

Sloane had already scooped a spoonful of oatmeal into her mouth when his comment caught her off guard. She snorted through her nose, covering her mouth with her hand as she desperately tried not to spit the food back out. It took a great deal of determination and willpower to refrain from laughing before she made a mess on either one of them. She coughed and took a sip of juice. "No." She coughed again mixed with a soft chuckle. "Well…" Her head cocked to the side in thought. "I never really considered it but I haven’t been smited. So I think we’re ok."

Colton ducked his head a little, a shy grin tugging at his chapped lips. “Well, it can't hurt, I s’pose.” He rubbed the back of his neck, then laced his fingers together on the edge of the table, eyes flicking briefly toward the ceiling, or maybe skyward beyond it, before he shut them. “Uh, hey… Dad,” he started, voice low and a touch awkward. He tried to think back on all the prayers his adopted father had led them through before dinner, but Colt had been blocking it out for years. The words felt heavy and stiff on his tongue, unfamiliar. “Thanks for the food, and the company, and directions to the camp? I reckon I would have gotten lost otherwise.” His lips twitched into a faint smile. “I’ll try not to embarrass the family name too bad.”

He opened one eye to peek at Sloane, half expecting her to laugh, then finished softly, “Guess that’s it. Amen—or, uh, however you like it.” He cleared his throat, picked up his fork, and nodded toward her food with a sheepish smile. “Alright. Now that I feel like a moron, we can eat proper.”

Sloane’s head cocked to the side, watching him in a stunned silence. Her expression was a mixture of amusement, half wondering if it was a joke or some ploy to make her laugh, and bewilderment at the act of piety. Maybe it was just her who didn’t pray? She wasn’t sure. It wasn’t like she ate around others often or creeped on people to observe their nighttime routines. The thought of Colton kneeling beside his bed and praying to Hephaestus painted a comical image. It was obvious he cared about his father’s opinion or how he presented himself as a tangential part of the God. While people at camp were rarely thought of separately from their parents, she could’t say she was ever overly bothered about how her actions rippled back to Eris. But perhaps it was different when her mother was the Goddess of chaos versus blacksmiths.

"If it brings you peace…" She shrugged her shoulders while pushing around a stray blueberry across the top of her oatmeal with her spoon, but didn’t meet his gaze. "But I won’t be praying to my mother," Sloane added quietly before scooping a bite of food in a subtle way that subconsciously put the topic to rest. That wasn’t a can of worms she was willing to open up.

Colton chuckled under his breath, the sound low and warm, like gravel shifting in the sun. He set his fork down for a second, giving Sloane a small, understanding smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. It wasn’t because it wasn't genuine, rather there was something about what she’d said that resonated deeply with him. "Yeah, I get that," he murmured after a pause, voice easy but edged with thoughtfulness. He leaned back in his chair, thumb tracing the rim of his plate. "Back home, my ma and pa—they prayed every night like clockwork. ‘Course, I just said the words ‘cause that’s what you were expected to do. Sunday church, bible study, praying over meals to a God I never believed in. Never really meant any of the prayers. Guess I figured it was easier to fake it than have them think somethin’ was wrong with me, more than they already thought."

His gaze drifted toward the window, where the faint shimmer of the sun on bright white snow caught the light like a heat haze. "I suppose I like the idea of it now because… well, I know he’s real." Colton gave a little shrug as he reached for his fork again. "So, you don’t pray, that’s fine by me. Ain’t my place to tell anyone how to talk to their folks, Godly or not. I just… never had anything to believe in, before."
He speared a bit of his breakfast, gesturing toward her with it. "Besides, I figure Hephaestus doesn't mind me lookin’ like a fool every once in a while. Man’s gotta stay humble somehow." He grinned at her then, lopsided and bright as the sun, the kind of smile that took the edge off his words.

The right side of Sloane’s mouth tugged into a pensive smile. It was hard to imagine a God being ok with their child being anything other than a perfect progeny, but perhaps that was just Eris. While she knew her mom better than most others at camp knew their divine parent, that didn’t sway her to be more devout or pious. Her mother was chaos incarnate. Prayers to her were fruitless. Sloane wasn’t the type of person to have discord on her mind… That was Sylas’s territory.

"Humility is a good trait to have," she mused, her smile growing faintly before taking a bite of her food.

The pair continued their casual conversation as they ate, learning more about the stark differences between city and farm life that neither one of them had even considered before, while Sloane continued to clarify what she could about camp to Colton’s bewilderment. After finishing their meals and no longer being able to delay anything further, they found themselves back outside in the chill of winter, while Rocco, with a full belly and recharged energy, ran around trying to catch snowflakes.

"Did you pick a cabin?" Sloane asked as she slowly descended the stairs to the main hall, making sure not to slip on any ice or snow. There were a couple steps where she lost traction momentarily, but managed to use the railing to keep her balance and reach the ground safely. "We have like…" She pushed up the sleeves of her coat and oversized sweater to reveal a small, dainty gold watch. "Half an hour before training. So that’ll give us enough time to get changed."

Colton’s hand shot out instinctively when Sloane’s boot slid on a patch of ice, his fingers brushing her elbow just long enough to steady her. “Careful there,” he said softly, a touch of worry in his tone before he realized he might’ve overstepped. He let go just as quickly, trying not to topple head over feet either. “Wouldn’t look too good if my first friend here took a tumble.”

He fished the folded, slightly crumpled map from his back pocket, squinting at the mess of lines and symbols that all seemed to blur together. “Let’s see…” he murmured, spinning it around once, then twice, before giving a quiet laugh. “Reckon I’ll just pick one at random. Can’t be too bad, right?” He jabbed a finger toward a cabin near the edge of the camp, by the lake. “That one,” he said, decisive now, even if he hadn’t the faintest clue what the cabins actually looked like. He glanced over at her, his smile softening. As much as the letter had helped him find the camp, he’d have been lost if Sloane hadn’t showed up with her dog. “Thanks, by the way. For helpin’ me figure all this out. Honestly, without you, I’d probably still be wandering around.”

Sloane peeked around his shoulder, catching a glimpse of the cabin he chose. "It’s not far from mine," she commented while pointing a single finger that stuck out from her oversized sleeve at her own cabin that rested on the far side of the beach. When she looked up she was a bit surprised to be met by Colton’s ever present smile. She swallowed softly, motioning the same hand in the general direction they needed to head to reach his cabin and her own. "You seem capable of reading a map," she replied with a weak attempt at softening the seriousness of his gratitude. Half a dozen nonchalant and partially disregarding comments crossed her mind before she finally replied more seriously. "You’re welcome."

Colton folded the map back up carefully, tucking it into his back pocket like he wouldn’t be pulling it out again in a few seconds, once they’d said their goodbyes. He gave the spot a little pat, as if to reassure himself it wouldn’t disappear on him, then nodded to Sloane, his grin taking on an edge of easy charm and lopsided confidence.

"Alright then," he said, glancing toward the path behind him, having a rough estimate of the direction he ought to go. "I’ll go track down my new home away from home, get changed, and meet you at trainin’. Figure I oughta at least look like I know what I’m doin’ before they hand me a weapon or somethin’." His tone carried that familiar teasing warmth, the kind that could make even a goodbye sound like part of a joke.

He took a few steps backward, still facing her, the heel of his boot crunching lightly in the thick snow. "And don’t worry, I’ll try not to get lost. Ma said I was only allowed to get lost on Tuesdays, anyways." With a final nod and a quick wave, leaving her with that bizarre statement, he turned toward the path, shoulders relaxed and stride easy. Even from behind, there was a certain brightness to him, a quiet kind of optimism that clung to every step, like he genuinely believed the day ahead might just work out fine.

Sloane nodded her head in silent acknowledgement. Under normal circumstances she might have offered to help him find his cabin, but she also needed to change and get Rocco settled for her to be gone for a couple hours. She took a step in the direction of her cabin then hesitated briefly. The snow crunched beneath her boots as she pivoted slightly to look back over her shoulder at him. "If you don’t find your way there I’ll send out a search party," she commented with a soft playfulness and a weak smile. "It’s Rocco—" she nodded her head toward her puppy that sat happily at her feet, "—he’s the search party."

Colton’s laugh echoed through the camp around them, warm and bright, head tipped back ever so slightly as he did so. Knowing he now had a friend in Sloane, a daughter of chaos, made his chest feel warm and his steps feel lighter. The exhaustion from his hike seemed to slip off his shoulders as easily as the snow fell from the branches of the trees around him, and in a bizarre twist, he found himself looking forward to the approaching training. This was, in the end, infinitely better than mourning his losses back home. "He’d enjoy that!" He called back, waving to Sloane.

After giving Colton a small wave, Sloane turned back in the direction of her cabin. She looked down at Rocco who sat impatiently at her side, his furiously wagging tail stirring up a small cloud of snow and anticipation. "Alright buddy," she smiled down at him while giving him a gentle scratch behind his ear. "Home." The second the word left her lips, Rocco kicked off the ground and sprinted down the snow covered path toward their cabin. Sloane tucked her hands into the pockets of her coat and followed lazily in his wake. Knowing that training was looming around the corner, she gave herself a few minutes of peace, enjoying the chilled breeze from the lake and the way the small flakes melted into a sea of white at her feet.

By the time she reached her cabin, Rocco was waiting by the front door, happy and panting like the best of boys. Sloane smiled as she approached. "What a good boy." She kicked her boots against the side of the cabin, knocking off any snow before opening the door. "Let’s get you ready for a nap," she mused, closing the door behind her, shutting out the winter’s chill and camp so they could both prepare for their first time apart since he came into her care.

^{interactions ....|.... none ............... mentions ....|.... none ............... collabs ....|.... @mjolnir}

Reign of the Usurper

H O U S E . J Á R N B J Ø R N

^{— . lords of the ironcrag . —}

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H O L D . ironcrag

S I G I L . bear’s head & runes

C O L O R S . red & white

W O R D S . Iron Blood, Iron Will

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L O R D . E I N A R R . & . L A D Y . S E R E N E L O R D . F C . michael fassbender . L A D Y . F C . jessica chastain H E X C O D E . #365699 . H E X C O D E . #B55B5B Ironcrag is a rugged, unforgiving hold, its towering, jagged peaks rise like sentinels against the endless gray sky. The harsh winter clings to the land year-round, with blizzards that rage for weeks on end and temperatures that can freeze a man’s breath before it leaves his lungs. Einarr was the seventh son of a seventh son, and he was taught from a young age that a son of Járnbjørn must be as cold and unyielding as the land they inhabit. They pride themselves on their strength, resilience, and unbreakable will—values ingrained in them from birth. He is not kind, for kindness in the Ironcrag is a weakness, and weakness is a liability that is not tolerated. Serene carries the warmth of summer in the heart of an unrelenting winter. Though she lives under the shadow of a husband whose temper is as cold and unpredictable as the winter storms that rage around Ironcrag, there is no bitterness in her heart. Her love for her children is unwavering, a steady flame that never flickers despite the harsh winds that batter it. Even when he is cruel, she is still the hearth of the household. She has the patience of someone who has long accepted that love does not always come in the ways one hopes, but she loves regardless.

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S H I E L D . O F . I R O N C R A G .—. E L R I K A G E . 30 . G E N D E R . male . S E X U A L I T Y . heterosexual H E X C O D E . #5B90B5 . F C . leo suter • . reserved . • . cynical . • . blunt . • . dismissive . • . temperamental. • The eldest son of Lord Járnbjørn has inherited his father’s icy demeanor and ruthless drive. He is a man of few words, and even fewer feelings. He holds people at arm's length, displaying a calculating, impersonal attitude toward others. Elrik does not harbor the same harshness toward his family, particularly his mother and sisters. He is deeply protective of them, especially his mother. While his father’s coldness and abuse shaped his external persona, his mother’s nurturing nature left a mark on him. Emil is everything he is not— soft-hearted, compassionate, and less inclined to fight for honor or power. This difference in temperament has led to a deep-seated resentment toward him. The eldest son sees his brother as weak, unfit to carry the family name. He cannot understand how someone so soft can exist in a world as brutal as the one they live in.

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F R Ø Y A ' S . B L E S S I N G .—. S E L J A A G E . 28 . G E N D E R . female . S E X U A L I T Y . demisexual H E X C O D E . #C77652 . F C . sophie turner • . cunning . • . resilient . • . resourceful . • . secretive . • . charismatic . • Selja is an enigma, a woman of secrets who keeps her true intentions closely guarded. She is not one to speak freely or wear her heart on her sleeve. Deeply curious and driven by a thirst for knowledge, the eldest daughter has spent much of her life submerged in books, scrolls, and herbs. Her interests lie in the study of medicinal remedies—learning how to heal wounds, cure illnesses, and ease pain. She is dedicated to her studies, pouring over ancient texts and spending hours in the quiet corners of the library or hidden spaces of the Hold. In a world that prizes strength and brutality, she has learned that knowledge is her greatest weapon. Selja shares a close, almost unspoken bond with Soleil. She is fiercely protective of her, offering guidance and comfort in the face of their father’s cruelty. While her relationship with her father is defined by silent rebellion and distance, her relationship with her younger sister is a source of genuine love. She keeps her deepest secrets from everyone except her sister, she helped Soleil plan her escape, and will take her secret to the grave.

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T H A N E . O F . I R O N C R A G .—. E M I L A G E . 27 . G E N D E R . male . S E X U A L I T Y . pansexual H E X C O D E . #943131 . F C . sam heughan • . patient . • . compassionate . • . altruistic . • . softhearted . • . charitable . • Unlike the rest of his family, Emil has inherited his mother’s warmth and compassion. He is naturally kind and generous, and while most of Ironcrag are hardened by the cold and cruelty of their surroundings, he remains soft and tender, valuing empathy above all else. His desire to care for others and ease their burdens often puts him at odds with his father and eldest brother. However, the youngest son believes in the power of kindness and that even the harshest of winters can be made bearable with a bit of warmth and understanding. Emil has a deep sense of responsibility for the people of Ironcrag. While his father rules through fear and control, he sees his role as one of protector, not tyrant. He spends much of his time traveling between the different settlements in the Hold, watching over the families who live under his family’s banner. He is deeply connected to the land and its people, taking great care in tending to their needs, whether that means helping with a harvest, treating illnesses with remedies sent from his sister, or simply offering a listening ear.

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T H E . R U N A W A Y .—. V A L K Y R J A .—. S O L E I L A G E . 26 . G E N D E R . female . S E X U A L I T Y . bisexual H E X C O D E . #B5C7EB . F C . eleanor tomlinson • . brave . • . determined . • . independent . • . loyal. • . outspoken . • Soleil has a strong will and a fierce desire for independence. She despises being controlled and has been rebelling against the restrictions imposed by her father since she was young. Ironcrag’s oppressive walls, both literal and figurative, have always felt suffocating to her, and she dreams of a life where she is free to make her own choices. Her independence is the core of her personality— she refuses to be defined by the expectations placed upon her as a noblewoman, and she has spent her life resisting any attempts to mold her into a docile, obedient daughter. The youngest of the Járnbjørn is driven by a singular goal: to escape Ironcrag and join the King’s Guard. This dream has consumed her for years, and she has carefully planned her departure, always keeping her aspirations hidden from everyone except her eldest sister. She’s intelligent and tactical, biding her time until the moment is right. She spent months planning her escape—learning routes, studying the movements of Ironcrag’s guards, saving enough money to make the journey, and gathering supplies in secret. Nothing was left to chance; everything she did was part of a carefully calculated plan. Disguised as a man, she finally saw her dream to fruition, and escaped from Ironcrag nearly a year ago.

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^{N P C s . O F . N O T E}

A S T R I D . U N N The Unn family owe the Járnbjørn a life debt, as such for decades they have served the Lord's of Ironcrag. Astrid is the handmaiden for the women of the family whilst they travel. She's closest with Selja and acts as her eyes and ears throughout the Hold. Quiet, patient, and kind, Astrid keeps to herself and stays out of view in order to spare herself a similar level of abuse that the children of house Járnbjørn endure. .................................................................	.	L E I F . U N N Serving under the same debt of life as his younger sister, Leif has taken his fathers place amongst the Járnbjørn families guard, The Shieldbearers, and worked as a valet to the sons of the family when he was younger. Harboring affection for the youngest daughter, he grew up alongside her and taught her how to fight. Soleil's disappearance left what felt to be a hole in Leif's that seemed to only be filled with anger. At what, he is not quite sure. .................................................................
R A G N A R . T O R E Close confidant to both Einarr and Elrik, Ragnar is fiercely protective of the Járnbjørn family, he went as far as to aid in teaching Soleil how to fight when she expressed a desire to be able to protect herself. He is the head of The Shieldbearers, and works alongside Elrik in his training to eventually take over the hold. He is the only one who can stand up to Einarr when he is one of his fits of anger without paying dire consequences, and often uses this to protect Lady Serene. .................................................................	.	T O R S T E N . A E L F W I N Torsten is a rare breed among the King’s Guard, unyielding in duty yet disarmingly human in the quiet moments between. His humor ran dry as old parchment. He never pried, never pressed, never angled for secrets; he simply appeared at one’s shoulder with a low murmur or a sly, sideways quip that landed sharper than any blade. In a court full of watchers, Torsten was the anomaly, present without intruding, loyal without suffocating, and perceptive enough to know when silence was the truest kindness he could offer. .................................................................
A T H A N A S I U S . M E R C Y Athanasius walks the Valley like a steady flame, gentle, dutiful, beloved. He tends the sick with bare hands, speaks with a calm that softens tempers, and offers counsel that seems carved from quiet wisdom. To most, he was the rare kind of priest whose compassion felt effortless, whose faith wrapped the community in warmth. Yet faint rumors clung to him like dust in a sunbeam. Some whispered his convictions cut deeper than his smile suggested, that his followers obeyed with an unsettling fervor. Others noted how those who challenged him drifted from public view, though such talk vanishes beneath his serene, kind gaze. He is the Keeper of Faith, for none are as faithful than Athanasius. .................................................................	.	C A S S I A N . G O D D A R D Cassian stands as the Valley’s quiet pillar, a High Magistrate carved from principle yet softened by an instinctive gentleness. He upholds ancient law with the same care one might use to cradle a fragile relic, weighing each verdict with a reverence for truth rather than pride. Though unwavering in duty, he carries no sharpness, only a steady compassion that made even the guilty feel seen. People seek him not just for justice, but for understanding; his presence alone softens fears. Children smile when he passes, elders rest easier knowing his judgment never bowed to power. In a world of shifting loyalties, Cassian remains beloved, fixed, fair, and quietly luminous. .................................................................
C Y R I L . G O D D A R D Cyril has a mind like a sharpened quill, elegant, precise, and capable of cutting far deeper than expected. Though named second to Cassian, he wears the role with a poised smile, the kind that never quite reached his restless eyes. Adopted into the Magistrate’s household after witnessing the ruin of his own family, he clung to Cassian with a mixture of fierce loyalty and something far more complicated. To the people, he is brilliant, a man who danced through legal texts, unearthing precedents others overlooked. Yet some whisper that he bends the law too smoothly, too cleverly, as if shaping it to fit a private design. And when his gaze lingers on the High Magistrate’s seat, where his adoptive brother sits, there is a hunger no kindness could soften. .................................................................	.	N A M E . N A M E Let's be honest, I'm sure I'll think of someone else eventually... .................................................................

Descendants

^{#217c85 ....|..... jinx ....|..... outfit .....|..... #feffb5 .....|..... redback ....|..... outfit .....|..... descendant tower}

It seemed that the training was going less well than expected when two of them, back to back, had ended in a tap out. There was only one remaining simulation and it didn’t take a rocket scientist to connect the dots to figure out who was left. Phil clicked the final buttons and turned toward the room. "Veronica and Theodore."

Ronnie’s hand that rested on Luke’s knee pushed off of him as she stood up. She slipped past him and made her way toward the door. She rested her fingers on the handle, glancing back over her shoulder at Theo with an amused grin. "Let’s go, handsome. Just like old times." With that she opened the door and stepped inside.

Theo hesitated, face twisting into a grimace. He turned, only once Ronnie stepped through the door, toward Myla. "I hate her." The confession felt more vulnerable than he wanted to be at that moment, before he had to step into combat without her by his side, but it felt important to voice it. "I’ll make it fast." He promised, pressing a featherlight kiss to Myla’s cheek before turning around to follow Veronica into the room.

While she had some idea of what to expect after watching everyone else, each simulation was entirely different, hand crafted to expose their weaknesses like picking at a scab. Ronnie had no idea what that could mean for her. It wasn’t like kryptonite or something would work on her, but she also wasn’t a fucking God either. There was no way she could handle what Magni could singlehandedly. She’d be lucky if she could even keep up with Theo, not that she’d ever voice such a thing. But she had to do it… be part of the team. Whatever the hell that meant.

She sighed softly, stepping onto the X. As Ronnie slowly turned to face Theo, her confident mask slipped back into place along with her flirtatious smile. "I’ve missed this," she confessed.

"I haven’t." He snapped, keeping his back to her as he stepped onto the yellow X, waving at the glass window impatiently. "Let’s start, please." Theodore couldn’t think of a single nice thing he had to say to Veronica, and his mom had taught him that if he didn’t have anything nice to say, it was better not to say anything at all. He would work with her, and be cordial when it was required, but otherwise he meant what he’d said. The person he knew, the Ronnie he’d cared for, was dead to him.

"Thumbs up when you’re both ready," Phil replied.

Ronnie puffed out her lips with an exhale and rolled her eyes. "You’re so serious now." She shook her head and held up a thumb lazily. Theo was so quick to hate her, no different than Myla. He acted like she was so different when this was the exact same person he fell in love with, whether he wanted to admit it or not. While she might have disappeared, he was the one who changed. And from where she was standing the only thing different in his life was Hell’s fucking Angel. Every angle pointed back to that woman and while her attention might be onto bigger, better and far more rigorous endeavors with Luke, that wasn’t going to stop her getting her own little piece of revenge after the bitch’s little threats earlier that morning.

"Emergency shut down word is ‘watermelon’. Simulation will begin in 3… 2… 1."

The room grew dark as the concrete walls faded to a starless night’s sky, while the yellow glow of light pollution emanated around them. The wind whipped around them, sharp and cold as white flurries of snow collected on their shoulders. The temperature plummeted. The chill apparent in the way the hair along Ronnie’s bare skin stood on end and the protrusion of her nipples against the thin material of her shirt. She crossed her arms over her chest, attempting to retain what body heat she could as she looked around. They stood on what appeared to be a fairly basic New York rooftop, but they weren’t closer to any other buildings to run to and lacked both her grappling hooks and Theo’s webs. So, basically stranded. Awesome.

Ronnie walked over to the edge of the roof and looked down. It had to be at least twenty stories, easy. But they were in a simulation, so it was safe… Right? Curious, she dipped a foot over the edge. There was no resistance. No invisible floor. "What the—" Her brows furrowed. She picked up a crushed beer can that rested on the ground beside her and tossed it over the edge. Her heart sank as she watched it plummet all the way down to the alleyway below. "Fuck this."

Her head snapped around as the sound of dozens of loud footsteps could be heard hurrying up the stairs towards the rooftop entrance. Ronnie looked over at Theo for a split second to see if he had some kind of plan then rushed the door. The first man out wasn’t ready for her. She jumped up, hooking her legs around his neck and used her body weight to flip him right over the edge of the roof. It wasn’t until she heard him splat on the ground that she realized she should have taken his gun first. Damn it.

The chill in the air cut through his clothes, goosebumps rising across his arms, slicing into Theo as sharply as any knife could. Fuck. He could already feel the edges of diapause sneaking up on him, mind growing more hazy, but it wasn’t too bad yet. They needed to end this quickly, or he’d end up going into fucking hibernation. He missed her analysis of the roof, looking around instead to make sure there weren’t any obvious snipers on nearby rooftops. Without his webs, Theodore felt trapped and vulnerable.

He twisted around at the sound of the door banging open, and then a body launching over the ledge. If he’d had his webs—but he didn’t, and there was no point in thinking about that now. Theo looked around, feeling a little desperate to go into the fight with something other than his fists, and his gaze caught the sight of some kind of pipe jutting out through the roof. "Bingo!" He jolted forward, running toward the men spilling out from the door that stood between him and his goal, Theo waited until he was within arms length of one of the men to launch himself into a graceful flip over his head, landing right on the edge of the rooftop, hand curling around the pipe before ripping it free with a loud and hideous screech of protest, and then he launched himself into the fray.

It was easier to stay warm when he was fighting, twisting out of the way to avoid a punch, he swung the pipe with enough force to break the man's arm, and his gun clattered to the ground. Begrudgingly, Theo kicked it toward Ronnie before spinning around to smack another man in the face with the pipe. "Man," he laughed, knowing it was a simulation but unable to resist. "You have a face only your mom and my pipe could love." The simulation was surprisingly accurate in its offended expression of the man, which only added to Theo’s fun as he swung the pipe again, knocking him clean out.

Ronnie smirked, scooping up the gun and immediately emptied the clip in the next three men that burst through the door. "You still do that?" she mused with a laugh as she tossed the gun into the air. She caught it by the barrel and pistol whipped the next guy. Before he could get his hands on her she kicked him in the side of his knee, breaking his leg with a sickening snap. While she could have left that guy there, it wasn’t like he’d be doing anything else, she just wanted to be extra sure. She blew the man a kiss before slamming her foot into his chest and sent him falling over the side like his friend before him. "That’s five," she called over her shoulder to Theo, keeping count of her kills like it was a game.

His good mood plummeted the moment he heard Ronnie’s voice and was reminded of…everything. The pipe connected with another man's head, but Theo’s careful clutch on his control slipped for a second. Three things happened at once; the man's face caved in, the momentum shot him clean off the roof and into another building, and his pipe snapped in half with a thunderous clang. "Damn it," he muttered, scooping up the other half of the pipe and chucking it another merc, watching with mild amusement as it bounced off his head and into another man’s, making them both stumble and fall.

He wasn’t keeping count, it wasn’t a game for him, and he wasn’t having fun. They were training today because Myla had been attacked yesterday, because his dad and other heroes had gone missing, because they had no other choice. "Just shut up, Veronica." He grunted, dodging a punch to the back of the head but taking a fist to the ribs for his troubles.

"Veronica," she mirrored with a playful sarcasm. Ronnie made the nails on her right hand grow and curve into piercing claws before grabbing one of the approaching men by his family jewels. She smirked, giving it a little yank and twist while reaching for his gun with her free hand. She pressed the barrel to his head. Bang. Dead. She fired two more shots and two more mercenaries fell to the ground in what was quickly becoming a pile.

"You haven’t called me that since—" A punch caught her in the side from out of her periphery and knocked the wind out of her. Ronnie stumbled to the side gasping for air. She sucked in a sharp breath and clenched her teeth before shooting her attacker between the legs. Then, for good measure, she swiped her nails across his neck, ripping open his throat and covering her in whatever synthetic blood pumped through… Whatever the fuck he was.

"Since you faked your death and disappeared, yeah, I know." He snapped, catching the arm of the man who punched him in the ribs, clenching his fingers until the sickening sound of bone cracking filled the air. Theo lifted him by the broken appendage and used the man to knock another one off the roof. They fell, screaming all the way to their messy death, and he was glad this was just a simulation. The back of his neck tingled, and he jerked his head to the side before a fake bullet could lodge itself into his skull, twisting around to kick the goon in the stomach before he drove his elbow into the man's spine, snapping it.

Theodore let out a breath, eyes darting around them. He’d only stay angry if he didn’t start blocking her out, it didn’t matter what Veronica said, not anymore. The tension slipped from his shoulders, eyes narrowing as instinct and concentration took over. Theo darted around the rooftop, kicking, punching, and throwing whenever he could. If he had been keeping track, his numbers would easily be in the fifties after only a few minutes. His breathing was heavier, little puffs forming into the air in front of him, fingers going numb from the cold. He was slowing down a little, diapause becoming more of a threat with every passing second. His eyes felt tired, and he decided if this didn’t end in the next fifteen minutes he’d call the damn safeword if only to save himself going into hibernation.

"I mean, I was going to say the last time we fucked, but sure." Ronnie emptied another clip into whoever poured out of the door next. "And I didn’t fake my death," she scoffed and rolled her eyes before dodging a punch to the left, grabbing the guy's head and slamming his face straight down into her knee. "I just… Didn’t tell you I was alive," she added as if it clarified everything.

Distracted with her taunting of Theo, she nearly missed the man that charged at her. Ronnie dodged out of the way just in time for him to dive past her and fly right over the edge of the roof. As she watched him fall two gunshots rang out followed by a searing pain in her calf and hip. The force knocked her off balance. She stumbled and tripped, tumbling over the edge with a sharp gasp that sucked the air from her lungs.

His hand locked around her wrist, stopping the downward descent of Veronica’s body wrenched his shoulder from its socket, a wheeze of pain escaping Theo’s lips, and he heard a gun fire behind him, pain lacing over his back. Fuck. This. Shit. He should have let her fall, it wasn’t like it was real, it wasn’t like he actually cared about Ronnie anymore. It had been pure instinct, his mind had shifted from it being Veronica to being Myla for a moment, he’d only seen the tips of her fingers disappear over the edge and he’d moved without thinking, all of his worst fears rising to the surface again as he remembered finding her yesterday in her apartment, broken and bleeding and–he’d caught her, for what? For a second, just one horrible second, Theo thought about letting her fall.

Then, because he was a better person than Veronica and a hero, damnit, he hefted her over the ledge before he could get shot again, letting go as soon as she was safe, staggering to the side as his arm fell awkwardly at his side. "Yeah, I’m done." He muttered, shivering and not above forfeiting. Theo opened his mouth, watermelon on the tip of his tongue.

Ronnie sucked in a sharp breath when his arm reached over the edge and he grabbed her wrist just before she slipped out of reach. Her body swung into the side of the building from the moment with a thud. In that split second her mind raced back in time over two years ago. Her and Theo were playing a game of cat and mouse for months and that night he chased her across rooftops on the Upper Eastside. She had stolen something from some rich twat, she couldn’t remember what. But she remembered that night. How she made one wrong move and slipped over the edge. Then he was there, Redback—Theo. Even on opposite sides, he couldn’t let her fall and die. His web caught her and he pulled her back up to the rooftop. She didn’t know what overcame him or her in that moment, but sense and reason fell to the ground in her place as she pulled up the bottom of his mask and kissed him. That was the moment everything changed.

Like a puppet of deja vu, Ronnie’s body mirrored the memory as she was pulled to her feet beside him on the roof. She didn’t hear what he said or notice he was injured. "You saved me," the familiar words fell from her stunned lips like a ghost of their past. Like the night of their first kiss all of her logic drifted away. She grabbed a handful of his shirt, pulling him in closer until their lips met. The brief moment stretched on for eternity as waves of memories and emotions crashed into her. How Theo used to love her, used to hold her, used to kiss her… All of it, gone.

Familiar lips pressed over his own, but the attraction he used to feel, the adoration, the love, it was all gone. The moment he realized she was never actually missing, that she’d chosen to allow him to mourn her loss, any remaining embers Theo held for Veronica had died. His lips were like stone against her own, unyielding, unmoving, and the second she pulled back, his hand connected with her cheek sharply. The slap rang out, cutting through his anger.

"Watermelon." He snarled the word as if it were the most disgusting thing ever to grace his lips, and as the rooftop and simulated cold drained away Theo spat onto the concrete beneath his feet, wiping off his lips with his good hand. "How dare you?" His voice shook, so much rage and hurt building up in his chest that he couldn’t decide if he wanted to laugh, cry, or throw up. "You let me think you were dead. Do you have any idea what that did to me? How heartless are you, to think you can waltz back into my life a year later and think you have any right to kiss me? You disgust me." He was yelling by the time he was done, chest heaving, the pent up aggravation at the entire situation getting the best of him, and he spun on his heel, stalking out of the room before he could come to his senses and feel bad for slapping her.

Ronnie's head remained turned to the side, her hand cupping the tender skin of her cheek as it grew hot. He hit her. Theo hit her. She didn't know if she should be stunned or appalled or maybe even slightly impressed at how he stood up for himself in a way she had never seen before. Even so, a shove she might have understood, but a slap? "What the fuck!?" she spat at him as he walked away toward the exit. "You won't even give me the chance to explain. You just paint me as your fucking villain, let your girlfriend threaten to throw me off the fucking tower and somehow I'm the bad guy!?" She shouted after him as she trailed a few feet behind.

The door slammed against the wall, a perfect indent in the shape of Theo’s hand was pressed into the metal of the door with a soft screech, a dent forming in the wall as it impacted, but he didn’t care. He needed—needed…Myla.

The entire time their training commenced on the other side of the window, Myla sat in a tense silence. Every comment and jab that Ronnie made set her teeth on edge. She kept her eyes closed, running her fingertips across her forehead while her other hand remained pressed against her side to stem the bleeding. She tried to focus on Theo's fighting, the way he started to slow from the cold, and the annoyance that coursed through his body each time the woman spoke. Myla was able to brush most of it off, the comment about their sex life less so. Then Ronnie went over the edge and for a brief second she was almost happy about it but Theo caught her before her mind could run away with the thought. She grimaced hearing the way his shoulder popped out of socket and when he said he was done some of the tension eased in her muscles.

But then all other thoughts vanished when Ronnie kissed him. The color drained from her face while Myla's heart pounded furiously against the inside of her ribcage. She thought she heard a slap but every sound was muffled behind the deafening thrum of her pulse. No one ever likes their partner’s exes, but Myla fucking hated Ronnie. She did more than break Theo's heart, she let him think she was dead. She toyed with their emotions like they were her own personal playthings. But more importantly and more selfishly, she kissed him when she had no fucking right.

The door slammed open and Myla was on her feet. There was no logic or reason, just a blind rage that dulled her senses and burned like an inferno inside her. She brushed past Theo, fist balled at her side. The second Ronnie stepped out of the simulation Myla pulled her arm back then threw her knuckles into the woman's jaw with every ounce of strength she had and knocked her back into the wall. "Who the fuck do you think you are?" Her voice was steady but venomous as her cold anger grew more heated every second she remained near the woman.

Ronnie bounced back, pushing off the wall then shoving Myla away to create some space between them. "Fuck off, angel. This has nothing to do with you."

"Don’t fucking call her that." Theo hissed, reaching out reflexively to steady Myla. His hand was trembling, very aware of everyone watching the show, but he didn’t move to stop her yet, his shoulder was screaming in pain still.

Myla stumbled backwards a step or two but she regained her footing quickly as Theo caught her. She moved forward, closing the distance between them until they stood nearly chest to chest. "I told you," she jabbed her index finger into Ronnie's sternum a little harder than necessary as she spoke. "To leave him alone." Myla took a half step forward, her voice dropping to a whisper that cut through the space between them like a blade pressed against Ronnie's throat. "I didn't think you were the type of person who needed to be threatened twice. But apparently I underestimated how dumb you are." She took another step forward so there was less than an inch between them. "Touch him again and I'll fucking kill you. There will not be a third time. So get it through your thick fucking skull or I'll crack it open like an egg."

She turned away and took a few steps towards Theo before the anger could get the better of her, but Ronnie couldn't keep her mouth shut and let Myla get the final word. "Save it for someone who fucking cares. You're far less intimidating when you can't even look me in the eyes."

That was it, the final straw. Myla paused for just a second as her face went blank and her heart settled to an ominous sort of calm. Then she lunged.

His good arm curled around Myla’s waist, hauling her up and back away from Veronica. All of the cold and all the anger had drained away, and Theo just felt tired. He put himself between Myla and Ronnie, catching the other woman’s gaze from the corner of his eye. The air seemed to thicken some surrounding them, a sense of danger oozing from every fiber of Theodore’s soul. "I know you," his voice was softer, more hollow, and he pulled Myla close to his chest. "You’ll spin a story that absolves you of all guilt, you’ll lie to anyone if it’s to save your own ass." He closed his eyes, resting just a little of his weight against Myla, taking comfort in her being so close. "I don’t care to hear your lies, fuck off."

Myla squirmed against Theo's hold until she broke free. She couldn't stay still as all the anger and frustration boiled and built up inside of her. She looked psychotic and unhinged, she knew it. How the fuck could anyone on this team think otherwise? That had to be Ronnie's plan, to push her over the edge and isolate her. She sounded paranoid and maybe she was. Myla couldn't think straight as the rage consumed every fiber of her being. She shoved her way past everyone and kicked a chair across the room as she walked by sending a surge of pain up her right leg. She didn't bother waiting for the elevator. The last thing she needed was to be stuck waiting like a caged predator. She burst through the door to the stairwell and started climbing her way up the tower.

Theo didn’t wait to hear anything else from Ronnie, or anyone else, before he followed Myla, making a point to slam the stairwell door behind them to cut off the other woman's voice. "Myla, wait!" He cursed as his arm jerked, agitating it further, but he climbed after her, taking the steps two at a time.

"You’re like a little angry Chihuahua that Theo needs to keep on a shorter leash," Ronnie called after her as she rubbed her sore jaw and made her way towards Luke. She didn't think he'd be much comfort, but it wasn't like she had much in the realm of friends there. She doubted Aria would look at her the same after all of that and all she really wanted was the distraction of somebody else to take her mind off of it. "Your floor, right?"

"Yeah," Luke spoke slowly, eyebrows high, but…he wasn’t one to turn down a good time, even if the promised good time was with someone who just acted a little crazy. He’d been worried for a split second that Ronnie and Myla would get into an all out brawl, but the blonde's self control was actually impressive. "Come on, beautiful. Let’s get some ice on that first." He wrapped an arm around Veronica’s shoulders, guiding her toward the elevator. He caught sight of Zaria as he passed, making a point to keep himself between the two women, smirking a little at her as she stood there, wide eyed and worried.

^{interactions ....|.... myla & luke ............... mentions ....|.... none ............... collabs ....|.... @Mjolnir}

Descendants

^{............... #00aeef .....|..... outfit............... #375a87 .....|..... nightinggale .....|..... outfit ............... descendant tower}

"June, Magni." Phil gestured for them to go ahead, and she pushed out of her seat after giving Jim’s hand a small squeeze. Her mind was whirling after watching Tobias and Zaria’s training, trying to come up with team formations for fights with their weaknesses and strengths in mind, contingency plans…

Juniper stepped into the area ahead of Magni, feeling jittery and nervous as she paused to hold the door open for him, taking a slow breath to try and clear her mind. She’d never gotten to attend the academy, but Thomas had. She found herself hesitating on the edge of the large yellow X, eyes lingering on the concrete walls that surrounded them. He had fought in this room, trained alongside people like Magni, and…it all felt like June was chasing his shadow, like they were kids again playing tag but she could never quite catch up to him, always reaching out, but never close enough to touch.

"This room looks like a war crime." She muttered, stepping into the yellow and keeping her stance loose. The hairs at the back of her neck stood on end, goosebumps rising across her exposed arms and midriff, she didn’t exactly know what to expect here, but she had a vague idea. "Did you…use this a lot, when you attend the Academy?" She glanced toward Magni, feeling a little off kilter.

If she were being honest, June hadn’t expected to be paired up with the mammoth of a man, she’d hoped for Jim or Imogen, someone she trusted inexplicitly, but she supposed, all things considered, this wasn’t bad either. He’d been kind this morning, and understanding, not judging her openly while she’d cried and spiraled. She still felt inadequate standing beside him though, her injury on display for everyone watching, and it made her feel like she needed to compensate more. June raised her hands, clenching her jaw as she ignored the pain in her side, tying her hair back to keep it out of her face. However long this took, it would be hell for her, but she’d trained for this, and she could ignore the pain for as long as she needed to.

The resolve was visible on her face and in the way she widened her stance, tensing but confident as she prepared.

Magni was not the most observant man, but he knew the ways men would attempt to hide their nerves before battle. His current comrade seemed the type to put on a brave face, which was honorable. His eyes fell on the wound at her side, and noticed her clenched jaw out of the corner of his vision. He rotated his left arm while holding his shoulder with his right, stretching out his tense muscles. Her question was simple, and one he could answer easily. "Aye… We spent a great many days training here." His eyes scanned the walls, a small smile creeping at the corner of his lips. "Broke it in my first year… ‘Twas decided that I would be banned from using Mjolnir within these chambers since." He switched to stretching out his right arm and shoulder.

"That’s what the hammer is called? Mjolnir?" June tried to pronounce it correctly, but when she said it opposed to how Magni had said it, she sounded as if she was saying MeowMeow. "Mjolnir? No…Mjolnir?" She paused, frowning at the yellow paint as the name rolled clumsily off her lips, it sounded like a bad cat impression, and her cheeks flushed a little in embarrassment.

"Thou wilt do fine, Lady Wayne, so long as thou does not strain thyself greatly." He did not look at June, instead shifting his gaze up towards the window. He locked eyes with Imogen, flashing a toothy grin. "Thy goal is to avoid capture and to not wound thyself further. There will be time to demonstrate thy skills fully when at full strength." He pumped his arms back and forth to finish stretching them out while pacing around June in a circle, the tone of his voice firm. "Are thy wits sharp?"

She blinked up at Magni, not having expected the question. She offered a half smile, rolling her shoulders back some and testing how much give and pull she had with her side before it started to pull at the stitches, mentally categorizing the moves she knew couldn’t be performed and which once would be safe. "I like to think so," she said, shifting a little from foot to foot. "I’ll have to rely on you for a bulk of the fighting because of my side, sorry in advance." It was clear from the tightness in her jaw that June didn’t like having to admit to a weakness like this, being restricted without her gear, and half of her fighting style, frayed at her nerves, but with great effort she allowed the tension to bleed from her shoulders.

"Thumbs up when you’re both ready," Phil’s voice echoed from a hidden speaker.

June raised a thumb, eyes sliding to the window to find Jim.

Magni finally stood on the X next to June, standing up to his full height as he raised a thumb into the air. "Stay behind me, and thou wilt be fine. Guide my movements as thou can."

"Emergency shut down word is ‘watermelon’. Simulation will begin in 3… 2… 1."

Around them, the concrete walls shimmered like a mirage, and then their environment snapped to something so mundane it was genuinely surprising. June blinked down at the familiar marble flooring of the lobby, eyebrows climbing up. "Our worst case scenario is being in the tower?" Her lips twitched, but there was no actual humor in her tone. The idea that they could be attacked here of all places was a very real one, but it stole the last bit of security she’d deluded herself into having. "Yeah, it makes sense." June muttered, glancing around nervously.

"How does this usually—" Her question was cut off as the glass to the front door shattered, a sharp bang cutting through the air, and something slammed into her shoulder. She crumpled to the ground, turning it into a hasty roll as phantom pain raced across the injury. More shots rang out, and soon the entire lobby was blanketed in broken glass, men in all black, full military grab running into the lobby, guns raised.

Magni’s wide smile never faltered as he felt the first impact against his skin. He felt June duck and roll behind him, but he hardly flinched from the stings. The pain was minimal and he simply let the shots come his way. They cut and tore small pricks through his shirt, but most of the barbs were simply crushed and fell to the ground before him. He took in a breath, his head shifting back to look towards June. The smile remained, as bright as ever, but something in his eyes shifted. He was happy, delighted even, but the joy was replaced with a euphoric lust for destruction.

This was, in no way, his nightmare.

Magni’s movements were quick, as he had spent those first precious moments surveying his surroundings. It took him only one step to be within arms reach of a love-seat, which he effortlessly slid along the marbled floor behind him to provide June with some semblance of cover. More shots, more stings, but nothing as painful as the searing blaze of Musphelheim. Another two steps, and Magni had positioned himself in front of a couch, crouching down slightly. A hand hooked under the bottom of it, and a levered thrust both up and forwards sent the furniture rocketing towards a pocket of men on the left-side of the lobby. It moved with the speed and accuracy of a truck, crashing into the soldiers with a sickening crack. The next moment, Magni had grabbed two other men by the necks and smashed their heads together. The visible dents in the helmets and suddenly limp forms made it clear they were gone. He tossed the useless forms behind him in June’s direction, figuring she would have more need of whatever was on their person than he would. The brief look he shot back in June’s direction revealed that the same smile was plastered on his face, and he was only getting started.

So, two things Juniper learned from Magni’s bright and cheerful grin as he was shot repeatedly…one, Asgardian’s were on a whole other level, because what the fuck. Two, he was a little insane, but actually it was pretty cool. Just the pure enthusiasm he exuded as the shots rang out startled a laugh from her, his smile contagious to the point where she couldn’t stop her own little grin from breaking free. Suddenly, the anxiety and tension from her drained, the pain in her shoulder and side dimming enough that she could push it aside, his confidence gave her enough energy to remember this was just a simulation. It was an awful one, because it was a worse case scenario, and she knew that the amount of enemies were…her smile dimmed just a smidge, because this was probably something her dad and Thomas had both faced, but Magni’s enthusiasm made it so much easier to not focus on the darker thoughts.

She crouched behind the love-seat, peaking out from the edge of it to take count of their approaching enemies. Not counting the ones Magni had already downed, there were thirty-six and more approaching from outside. That was fine, but she needed something if she was going to be of any use here— two dull thuds impacted the wall behind her, bodies falling in a jumbled pile beside her, and when June’s eyes met Magni’s her grin had broadened into something that was just as bright as his own. She twisted around, ripping free the guns that were strapped around each man's thigh, eyeing them appraisingly for a second. "Glock 45, gen 5 model known for its ability to use both Glock 19 and Glock 17 slides…" her grin widened further, bordering on something a little feral, and she slid down onto her stomach, ignoring the pinch in her side, head tilted with one ear flush to the ground, squeezing one eye shut so she could aim better.

The guns shot smoothly, a perfect representation of how this gun normally shot which was impressive, and she kneecapped three men easily before they could close in on Magni. "Six on the left," she called out loud enough for Magni to hear, shifting her weapon to the right. The six were closing in first, if he could take care of them then…the gun fired four more times, five bodies thudding to the ground because of a very lucky trick shot, and she rolled onto her back to snag a clip from one of the bodies so she could reload.

Magni nodded, not bothering to speak as he was focused. All that erupted from his mouth was a primal grunt as he moved quickly. The pain was poignant, but he could barely feel it as he grit his teeth and did what he was best at. His first punch launched one of the men crashing into the concrete wall, leaving a large dent and a smear as the body fell back to the ground. He took out another two with a backswing of his right arm, feeling something crunch and crack under the swift and powerful movement. A single kick into the chest of one of the men sent him flying back into another. The last lifted the gun up to try and shoot Magni in the face, but the god was surprisingly quick for his size. His hand closed around the barrel of the gun, aiming it down directly to the center of his chest. The “bullet” stung, but Magni smiled through the pain as he wrenched the gun out of the soldier’s hand and used it as a cudgel into the side of the man’s face, launching him sliding across the ground.

As he looked up to face the hordes of soldiers still pouring in, he began to hold a hand out. He hesitated, stopping as he could almost feel Phil’s cold gaze from the observation platform. Mjolnir would certainly break the training chambers again, and it was against the rules. He could not go against a challenge… but he could use the next best thing. He stood up, holding his hands out in the air over the crumbled forms of some of the training bots beneath him. He felt that same familiar tingle as the marbled texture on the floor began to glitch around his feet, and the robots glitched between kitted out soldiers and their base metallic forms. Sparks of electricity shot up from them, licking at Magni’s fingers for a brief moment. Then, bolts of electric lightning seemed to course up and spark off of Magni’s body, his very eyes glowing. He lifted his hands, letting out a yell as a bolt of lightning erupted forth from him in a flash and arced between a good dozen soldiers. The targets shot sparks from their heads and joints, smoke rising as they slumped to the ground and the simulation struggled to hold its form as the bolt impacted some invisible wall.

"Holy shit," June peaked around the edge of the couch, mouth slack in genuine surprise as a literal bolt of fucking lightning lit up the space around them. She looked away, wanting to preserve her eyesight, but once it was gone she peaked back out, thoughtlessly shooting another mercenary that was trying to sneak up on Magni and had somehow managed to avoid getting electrocuted. To her, it was a show of power that seemed so far beyond anything Juniper would ever be capable of.

One of the merc’s pulled something free from his vest, pulling the pin and chucking it toward Magni. Her eyes narrowed as the device bounced twice, rolling between his legs and closer to her. Smoke began to billow out of one end of it, filling up the air between them and cutting off her view of Magni and the mercenaries. "Magn–" the solid weight of someone slamming into her side choked her words, and June felt her stitches pull and strain. The cold barrel of a gun pressed to her other side, but she was faster, shooting him once in the throat and then another time in the jaw, wheezing as she shoved the weight off of her chest. One of her stitches popped, she could feel the warmth of blood sliding down her side into the fabric of her sweatpants.

She sat up, pressing against the back of the love seat as she took in a slow breath, closing her eyes and focusing her ears instead. Fifteen feet away, Magni was fighting what sounded to be four, no…five men. Three were closing in on her position from the left, two on the right. The smoke hindered her vision, but it didn’t clog her lungs, no hint of pepper or anything of that nature messing with her senses. That was good, she could push aside the pain from her stitches and focus on the fight instead. She counted to five, listening as the men approached, sliding the guns soundlessly to the floor. It sounded like they weren’t prepared to be hindered visually by the smoke either, interesting. Was it a miscalculation in the simulation, or an actual representation of the fallacy of man? Didn’t matter, she pushed up, ducking beneath a punch that she heard cutting through the air toward her head.

Magni’s laugh cut through the air as a punch was launched into his jaw. He didn’t even flinch, the subtle sound of dented metal ringing through his skull with more feeling than the blow itself. He was swift in grabbing his opponent by the shoulder with his left hand, his right grabbing a rather decent imitation of a man’s thigh. He lifted the figure up into the air above him like a wrestling trophy. He lifted a knee up into the air, and brought the figure down swiftly over said knee. A spray of liquid sprayed across his face as he was left with two pieces of a figure. As more men moved in around him with batons and knives, Magni swung the dismembered robot around like weapons to bat the figures away.

June opened her eyes, knowing while she could rely solely on her hearing it wasn’t advisable, at this distance she could see well enough, and the grin on her lips slipped into something more serious as she focused, shifting her weight back and pushing up with her legs. She spun gracefully in the air, her leg cutting a line through the smoke, heel impacting with the chin of one of the men sending him careening into the wall. Another closed in from her right, and her focus shifted marginally, fighting stance slipping from Taekwondo to Muay Thai in such a way that spoke of relentless training. She landed, spun, and— left hook to the chin, right hook to the cheek, the top of her foot hitting the side of his knee in a merciless kick, the man dropped to one leg. She was a step ahead of him, hand lashing out, twisting his wrist before he could even press his finger onto the trigger of the gun he’d pulled until she heard something pop. The man screamed, the gun fell right into her other hand, and the shot rang sharply through the smoke.

The sound of someone stomping toward her— they really were unelegant in the smoke, weren’t they —and June twisted around to her left. She took a second to take stock of the escalation of events, Magni was still fighting a few feet away which meant she wasn’t at risk of shooting him…good. Two shots, two bodies thudded to the ground, and that left her with one more behind her.

"Enough tricks!” A thunderous clap erupted through the simulation chamber, rattling the heavy glass window of the observation platform slightly. In an instant, a strong gust of wind whipped about the lobby, tossing the smoke up towards the ceiling and in through invisible grates. With only a dismembered and mostly metallic arm left in his right hand, Magni turned to look towards June and the attacker behind her. He was swift in launching the arm like a javelin out and through the simulated soldier's head, a red oily substance spraying out from the blow. Two other soldiers were busy shoving stun batons into Magni's sides. His arms twitched as electricity coursed through his veins, racing back at the simulated soldiers next to him.

With the cover of the smoke gone, June dipped back down behind the loveseat, swiping the guns from the new bodies surrounding her and shooting each soldier she’d downed through the temple with swift precision before getting back into position on the floor, leveling the gun so she could shoot three more mercs through the ankle before they could close in on Magni. It was uncomfortable now, because she was laying in a pool of her own blood that was cooling against the marble flooring, sticking to her skin in a way that left her cold. How many more would there be? It felt as if they’d already taken on an impossible amount of enemies, though June supposed that was the point and purpose of this particular simulation. She shot the wrist of each soldier trying to electrocute Magni, though she didn’t think he really needed help in that field.

Her mind was racing, trying to think of a way to end this faster, despite the fact that they weren’t in any real danger the urge to escape the onslaught was prevalent. Brown eyes darted around the lobby from where she crouched, trying to grasp at some form of plan. What would Jim do? Her eyes passed over a sprinkler on the ceiling, sliding off of it, before bouncing back. There was a breath of hesitation, eyes sliding from the ceiling toward the entrance, where at least thirty more mercs had stepped into the lobby, looking to shoot Magni.

Her jaw clenched, eyes narrowing on a point on the sprinkler above her. There were a few different ways someone could go about triggering them; triggering the heat sensitive liquid, or if the temperature around the sprinklers spiked, or just the alarm, but it wasn’t feasible for June to cross the room and pull the alarm, not with simulated bullets being trained on her forehead, and if Magni zapped them he ran the risk of compromising the whole system. No, her best bet would be to try and shatter the little glass bulb. Her brows furrowed for a moment as she ran through her options one more time, if this didn’t work…she categorized the distance of each sprinkler, and then lifted the gun in her head, leveling it on the sprinkler that was at the clear ninety degree angle on the ceiling, closing on eye and tilting her eyes some so she could focus on the target.

A slow breath fell from her parted lips, gaze intent and calculating as she squeezed down on the trigger. Bang. Bang. Bang. Her aim was true, each little glass bulb shattering as the bullets connected, releasing the torrent of water they’d been keeping at bay. It was startlingly cold, aim wavering for only a split second as June gasped, and then she refocused and shot three more times. In less than a minute, the lobby was flooded by a downpour of water. She scrambled toward the coffee station to her left in the few seconds of confusion, abandoning her guns, yanking open the cabinets beneath the counter. Juniper was bordering on frantic as she ripped out the cheap dividing shelf, tossing it over her back and sweeping the few boxes of instant coffee and creamer cups so she could crawl into the dry space, and curl away from the chaos.

"Fry them, Magni!" Her voice cut through it all, the cupboard snapping shut behind her. The water would be conductive enough that he could take them all down in one swoop of electricity.

As water rained down over Magni's head, he took a moment to look up and smile. The cool water washed over him, refreshing his spirit if not his body. Small stings still pelted him, more ceaseless robots. Juniper's command was simple, but Magni took in the moment. His gaze flicked up to where he knew the observation window to be. A hand flicked back his damp locks from his face, and he offered a wink to where he hoped Imogen was watching. "I am the Prince of Asgard, Lord of the skies."

Magni turned his head back towards the mercenaries rushing in. He acknowledged their hail of gunfire, letting them move in closer as he let loose his deafening decree. "I am the God of Thunder." He lifted a hand up into the air, small sparks seeming to gather around his open palm. The lights of the simulation chamber flickered. Outside of the tower, storm clouds swirled overhead. Bolts of lightning and peels of thunder tore the heavens. Lightning coursed down to lightning rods on the top of the tower, before arcing wildly. The wires of the tower grew hot as they needed the call of their god.

It was near instantaneous. A bright, blinding flash filled the simulation chamber. A couple loud pops could be heard as electricity surged through holographic projectors in the room, sparking along the layer of water filling the room. The training dummies exploded into fragments of metal and wires, all while the Asgardian swiped his open fist out towards them. Within a couple seconds, there were only stationary parts left in the gods' wake. The projectors struggled to try and keep up the facade. Magni slowly walked over towards the coffee cabinets, looking up in the direction of the barely visible observation window. "I declare our spar complete, Son of Coul. Dost thou object?"

The simulation further flickered before flicking off, leaving them in a simple concrete room. Smoke billowed from small projectors above. "Congratulations, Mr. Thorson, you have managed to break another training room."

Magni shrugged his shoulders, waddling over towards where June was huddled for safety but moments ago. His shirt was shredded with a combination of bullet holes and tears in the fabric. His shorts suffered as well, with a pair of light blue boxers somewhat visible beneath where his skin was not exposed. His skin was clearly a bit bruised, but even that seemed already to be rapidly disappearing. "Thy wits served us well, Lady Wayne."

She pushed herself to her feet, grimacing at the twinge of pain that rolled down her side, disappointed that Jim’s hard work on her stitches had been wasted. He’d probably make her let those dumb robots restitch it now, but it wasn’t bleeding too badly. "I couldn’t have handled so many opponents like you did, you gave me enough time to come up with a plan, great work Magni." A part of her brain was filing away more team formations, trying to come up with ways for Tobias and Magni to work together, knowing she’d need to see everyone else in action before any of her plans could solidify, but June headed back to the viewing area alongside Magni, feeling just a little more confident about their situation.

^{interactions ....|.... none ............... mentions ....|.... jim, imogen ............... collabs ....|.... @webboysurf}

Camp Athens - Closed

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Zelia "Zee" Darling

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Zelia Darling...

.................................................... __________________________________________ D A U G H T E R . O F . Z E U S ________________________________________________________ 20 | female | pansexual __________________________________________ ▹ hair color | brunette ▹ eye color | brown ▹ height | 5' 6" ▹ build | slender / athletic

. A B I L I T I E S atmokinesis - While this ability allows a wide range of control and influence in regards to meteorological conditions, such as winds, rain, storms, and temperature, to create various weather effects, Zelia has only ever been inadvertently proficient in regards to controlling the wind. She's always felt more naturally attuned to manipulating wind currents, something that borders on instinct, in order to give her an augmented boost of speed. It was unintentional when she was younger, but it's an ability that Zee could focus on honing further if she desired. Calling forward a soft breeze on a hot summers day, or something more cutting when her temper flares, feels as natural as breathing for her. As for things such as controlling storms or changing temperature, she's found those abilities tightly tied to her more negative emotions, so she largely suppresses them in the illusion of control, without any form of guidance or training she's more likely to be a liability whilst controlling the weather. electrokinesis - "You have lightning in your veins," her mother had murmured those words the first time Zelia charred the table in a fit, voice soft and soothing. "Don't be scared." Before that point, she'd always been terrified of lightning. There was something jarring about how, nearly every night, sheet lightning inlaid the walls with cool gold. She'd always felt frozen at the sight of it, unbothered by the rumble that followed but choked at the flash that seared across her eyelids. Zelia didn't understand until she was much older that her mom had been correct, there was a reservoir filled with lightning in her chest, and controlling it was something that felt primal and innate. Only once before has she used electrical impulses to stimulate the nerves and muscles in her legs, granting her a higher level of speed than would be common, but she's truly never experimented with the power, accidents across her childhood leading to a subtle fear of her own power if it was left raw and unhindered, but there have been occasions when she was alone that Zee let the current of electricity dance between her fingers unchecked, searing zigzag patterns into the delicate skin of her hands that left the strangest scars. flight - Zelia hasn't tried to fly before, the concept of throwing herself off of a roof to achieve such a feat is a little odd, even for her, though knowing what she knows now...she's very enthusiastic to learn, if only to feel closer to her father. peak human condition - She has always been physically incredible, it was an undeniable fact that was easy for Zelia herself to overlook as she grew, but not as easy for everyone around her. She could run longer and faster than everyone else, even without her powers, she had enough stamina for three children, and could lift things easily that her mother struggled with. At large, it was one of those things that was filed away with all her other oddities, college recruiters latching onto her speed and stamina and offering scholarships for their track teams. Zee likes to think that everything good comes with some bad, she eats more than a grown man does which often leaves her starving because of her metabolism, and needs an adequate amount of rest that she rarely gets. S T R E N G T H S Eidetic memory - The ability to recall an image, sound, or object with extreme accuracy after only a brief exposure; Zelia has exhibited signs of eidetic memory ever since she was a child, most often using it to recall poetry, or quotes, but it has also helped her when she took Karate and Gymnastics. Speed - Even without augmenting her speed with atmokinesis and electrokinesis, being in peak human conditions leads her to being faster than most people. Added with the years of track meets and gymnastic classes, Zelia is fast and flexible, if she has to fight the ace up her sleeve will undoubtably be her speed. Intellect - When she was younger Zee was bullied by her year mates for her odder tendencies, there was a teacher though that quoted Stephen Hawking to her when she'd been found crying. “The thing about smart people is that they seem like crazy people to dumb people.” That always stuck with her, yes, she is peculiar sometimes, but her intellect is frighteningly brilliant, and when something catches her fancy she dedicates herself with a passion to learning it in depth. Fast Learner - When it comes to learning new things Zelia excels. It may be a byproduct of her eidetic memory, but she truly could be labeled a jack of all trades. W E A K N E S S E S Aquaphobia - Nightmares from her childhood have stretched into her adult life, and more often than not Zelia dreams of drowning. She has no desire to ever venture into large bodies of water, and will avoid it if possible. She does not know how to swim, and is too scared to ever try. Spacey - Her mind can be an enigma, she prefers nature and literature to most people, though most of that has to do with the fact that she's never felt as if she fit in anywhere. Zelia has an active imagination, and could spend hours daydreaming instead of actually focusing on the present. That can make actually living rather difficult, at times. Avoidance Behaviors - It is easy to fall into darker emotions like sadness, anger, self-hatred. While she has her own fair share of these things, more often than not Zee will simply...ignore it. She'll focus on being happy, or optimistic, and leaning into the freak act. It will, undoubtably, make her fall out worse, but she's convinced herself that if she can fool everyone else, she can fool herself as well. Metabolism - Always hungry, it's never enough. If she doesn't eat enough, she'll get very lethargic. __________________________________________________________________________________ P E R S O N A L I T Y optimistic.... | .... eccentric .... | .... compassionate .... | .... passionate H I S T O R Y scintilla (n.) a tiny, brilliant flash or spark; a small thing; barely-visible trace Lightning arced toward dry earth, white streaking across the sky as if bony fingers reached into the purpling cloud in search of it's soul. Thunder shuddered through the early morning, the vibrations rolling through cracked soil, and Zelia was born unto the world in the same instant, silent as death but flushed with life. Amelia Darling had screamed enough for the both of them, and though the hospital lights had flickered and the windows shuddered from the force of the storm, she was at peace when they passed her daughter into her arms for the first time. The nurse had cooed at her, called her well behaved, but even then Amelia knew her daughter would grow into an enigma suiting her heritage. Outside the hospital, lightning struck the same patch of grass three times, burrowing into the earth relentlessly until smoke billowed from the crack that splintered and fractured the ground. It would be featured in the small towns local paper as an Act of God, the zealots in town believing wild things, like an impending rapture, but Amelia saw the truth in the sanctified and charred land, and she took it as the traces of a blessing. brontide (n.) a low rumble of distant thunder Most nights, Zelia dreams of the ocean. She hasn’t seen it, they live landlocked in Utah, but she can imagine it as if she has been there a thousand times before. She dreams of the crashing waves dragging her down after a current swept her away from land. She dreams of water filling her lungs and the all-consuming darkness of the depths swallowing her whole. Zee dreams of drowning, and she feels as if she deserves such a harrowing fate at the tender age of five, but she does not understand why. Often, she dreams of a storm too. The sky is black as night, stretching on the horizon until she can’t see where it begins and the ocean ends. Lightning flashes illuminate a massive, swirling storm in the distance for the briefest of moments. Waves crash with a vengeance upon the shoreline, and Zelia can feel the wind ripping at her hair and clothes. The storm whispers to her in these dreams, an ancient song of something unfamiliar reverberating in her bones. She feels the undeniable pull, insatiable hunger for something she can barely fathom stirring in her belly. Someone, somewhere beyond the storm, bellows her name, and Zee wakes up sweaty and gasping. She does not tell her mama about her dreams, though it would be instinct to express her fears. The distant rumble of thunder always echoes in her ears when she wakes disorientated and discontent, flashes of lightning spiderwebbing an illumination across her bedroom walls. Zelia does not like sleeping, she learns to avoid naps, stays up later than any young child should, clutching a flashlight and a book until her exhaustion wins. She is young, but her soul feels old, and she learns how to live with very little sleep quite quickly for someone her age. la douleur exquise (n.) the heart-wrenching pain of wanting the affection of someone unattainable Zelia learns that it is strange how absence can feel like presence. She wonders of things like absence because she knows she is missing something every child her age ought to have. She learned the words, la douleur exquise, and what they meant just as their definition upon a page in a book, but in her chest. Amelia tries to keep her busy to distract her young daughter from missing the father she never had, she signs her up for a gymnastics class, and then a ballet class, and then because nothing seems to be quite enough to sustain the hyperactivity that seemed to always consume Zelia, she put her in a swim class. This was disastrous, Zee was terrified of the water and refused to get into the pool, pitching such a fit when the instructors kept insisting that the entire YMCA needed to be rewired after a bolt of lightning struck the building. It had been called a freak accident, the sky had been a little cloudy, no one had been injured, but Amelia had looked at her daughter with different eyes that day onward. She took into account what Zelia actually wanted, rather than what she thought would be good to keep her busy, and she was withdrawn from the swimming class swiftly. The bulk of her childhood was spent bouncing between youth clubs, gymnastics, chess, ballet, karate. Zelia would like to say she was a jack of all trades, master of none, but better than a master of one...but the day of her tenth birthday changed everything. nepenthe (n.) something that can make you forget grief or suffering Time stood still in a swelling moment where Zelia sat beneath the awning of the funeral home, a book her grandmother had gifted her that morning clutched to her chest. It seemed a sad way to spend ones birthday, and so none of her family stopped her from slipping away whilst they spoke about her mom and how much they all loved her. A quiet, cool part of Zee resented them all, it wasn't fair because none had loved her as much as she had, but love hadn't been enough to keep her mom alive. Although it was only five o'clock, the day was encircled by a biting darkness. The fog, caused by the rain that fluctuates between drizzle and torrential, blurred every detail with its ragged veils, punctured at various distances by the glow of street lamps and shafts of light escaping from illuminated windows. The road was soaked with rain and glittered under the street-lights. A bitter wind, heavy with icy bits, whipped at her face, its howling forming the high notes of a symphony, and Zelia stared at the damp pages of her book, unseeing and as frozen as ice upon pavement. She missed when a man approached, because she was too wrapped up in the freshness of her loss. Her mom was gone, and all that was left was the space where she'd grown around her, like a tree that grows around a fence, but the tree had been ripped away in a tornado and by some cruel miracle, the fence remained. "Should you be out in this weather?" A man's voice broke through her rumination, a question posed in lieu of greeting, and she titled her head back to look up at the stranger. Zelia had never seen him and his pressed, dark suit before, but there was something familiar in the curve of his eyes, the bow of his lips, the slope of his jawline. Her head tilted to the side in a gesture that was birdlike, dark eyes assessing. "No one told me I ought not to," she said after a moment in which the silence stretched and twisted into a mosaic of cold and quiet. Zelia watched the mans lips twitch, and in his gaze was the same bright inquisitiveness she'd seen reflected in her own eyes. "What are you reading? The question was polite, but there was an edge to it that left her wondering what would happen if it went unanswered. "Poetry, but I wasn't reading, I was listening to the rain talk." Zee answered faster now, more at ease because he hadn't apologized for her loss or looked at her as if she were a pitiful creature sniveling upon the concrete. "Oh?" Amusement colored the mans voice, but his face was impassive in a way that Zelia did not understand. "What does the rain say?" There wasn't any judgment in the question, just an open curiosity. Other people were often mean about the odd things she gave voice too, so this was...nice. "I'm not sure, I haven't learned the language yet...I was waiting for the thunder." The man's smiled widened by the smallest fraction, nothing more than a twitch of the lips, but he leaned against the wall and gazed up toward the sky. "Do you like the thunder?" He asked an awful lot of questions, but Zelia turned toward the darkened sky as well. The clouds swelled beneath the weight of unfallen rain, and a flash of light illuminated them blindingly for a moment, followed by a distant and loud rumble. Her own smile formed, lighting up her features like fireflies twinkling in the night. "Yes, it used to scare me, but..." her voice trailed off, turned soft and sad, but he did not pester her to continue. It took a moment for Zee to find her words once more, and he simply stood there, waiting with a patience that, oddly enough, felt unbecoming for this stranger. "My mama told me I ought not be scared of thunder or lightning, she said I'd know I was safe, if it was there." Her eyes glittered with moisture just as the road that stretched out beyond the funeral home did, but no tears rolled down her cheeks. "Curious," he mused, and another flash of lightning split open the sky, much to Zelia's delight. She hummed to herself, something that held no sort of tangible tune but seemed familiar in the way that she'd hummed it many times before. "I am afraid that our eyes are bigger than our stomachs, and that we have more curiosity than understanding. We grasp at everything, but catch nothing except wind." She quoted diligently, tipping her head back to catch the amused and quietly baffled gaze of the stranger. "Michel de Montaigne, The Complete Essays. I read the book last year." This seemed to catch the mans attention, and his eyebrows rose ever so slightly, his own curiosity lighting up his gaze. "You have good memory," this was not a question, but Zelia found herself nodding in response all the same. She had very good memory, it was something her mom had been proud of. He tipped his head toward the book, circling back to one of his initial questions. "What is your book about?" Zelia glanced down at the book, lips pressing together tightly for a long moment. A gift, she loved books, it ought to be an adequate gift, but... "Poems, it focuses on poems for funerals. It was a gift." The way she stressed the word gift with a blanket of soft disdain did not go unnoticed by the man, and one of his hands slipped into a pocket. "Do you like any of the poems in the book?" Every question he asked was nothing more than a polite inquiry, detached curiosity coloring his tone. She felt as if she were simply humoring him, but oddly enough the conversation was exactly what she'd needed. Her response with instant and unthinking, only one of the poems within the book could have been considered likeable to her, though there was a differing of opinions to take into account. "Death Is Nothing At All by Henry Scott-Holland." For some reason, this made the mans smile stretch impossibly. It was there and then gone with all the abruptness of a flash of lightning, but it had been there. He pushed off the wall, stepping closer to the edge of the awning. "Quite a good poem, I believe," he chuckled, the sound rumbling in his chest like thunder on the horizon. "You ought to read aloud more often, I've heard the lightning enjoys it." It was such a silly suggestion, something only a child could hear and latch onto as being true, but Zelia was a child and she enjoyed things that other people found odd more often than not. The man turned to go, and she assumed that meant the funeral was drawing to a close. Tomorrow, she would help her grandmother pack her room into cardboard boxes so that she could move an hour away into their home with them, but today Zelia was rooted in the moment, in her loss, and in the strange appearance of a man with whom she shared a resemblance. "Wait!" She scrambled up off the damp pavement, book tumbling clumsily from her lap, and she stepped out from beneath the awning to follow the man, one of her hands slipping into the small pocket of her frilly black dress, withdrawing what seemed to be a lollipop. She thrust it out toward the man, head tipped back as the rain splashed across her skin, eyes wide and earnest. "Here, take it." He reached out automatically, collecting the small sweet treat with confusion painted across his face. Zelia smiled, bright and open like the sun emerging from behind the clouds. "My Nana makes them, it's honey, but they're shaped like lollipops, because I really like honey." She chirped the words with a newfound enthusiasm, answering his unspoken question. "Thank you, for talking to me. You're really nice, mister." He looked down at the gift, face unreadable, before looking back at Zee. There is a moment of silence in which rain slips from her forehead down to her chin, another chilly breeze tousling her curls, and she is confused by his sudden intensity. "The accident was not your fault, Zelia." His voice was low, but it sounded different from before, crackling and rumbling like a storm. The hairs at the back of her neck stood on end as static filled the air around her, and above them lightning flashes a crack in the sky as if God himself has ripped it open. Between one blink and the next, the man is gone. Years later, she'll have convinced herself that she imagined the entire interaction. It hadn't made any sense, people didn't just vanish into thin air, and no stranger would have known about how the guilt she carried for her moms death was now entwined with the lightning in her chest...but it never stopped her from reading her poetry aloud, especially on stormy days. peripeteia (n.) a sudden or unexpected reversal of circumstances; the point of no return The rest of Zelia's childhood passes with the speed of molasses falling in winter air, dauntingly slow without the whirlwind of her mom by her side. Her grandparents had to cut down on the clubs she was a part of, but she managed to hold onto gymnastics, chess, and once she entered high school she flourished on the track team. She felt as if she were missing something, labeled as strange she didn't have many friends, but it was more than that. It was like Zelia had been born into the wrong world, she felt out of step with everyone and everything else, no matter how hard she tried to fit in. A keen sense of guilt floats in the air around Zelia each time she thinks of her mom, of the accident that was her fault, but she presses on and forces herself to be happy in spite of it all. Lightning still sparks between her fingers when she's upset, and the wind seems to curl with enthusiasm within her curls, but for the sake of her grandparents she pretends all is well. It started off as a normal day, as normal days often do, which saw Zelia going through the motions. She went on her morning run, ate breakfast, attended classes, and returned to her dorm after collecting her free lunch from the mess hall. The sun was dipping low and red over the horizon, casting a fiery hue over the forests and streets as it shined through her window, and Zee absently cast a look at the blood sun as she kicked the door shut, humming under her breath whilst she moved to her desk with her food. Upon the cheap laminate wood though, was a letter. The envelope was elegant, parchment aged, a golden and glittering wax seal keeping it securely shut. There were clouds in the wax, a hand locked around three bolts of lightning in the center. He hesitated for a moment, setting aside her tray to pick up the letter. There was a weight to it, nothing too heavy but it gave the illusion to something else than just paper residing within it. She wiggled her pinky finger beneath the wax, carefully prying it away from the parchment to try and keep the integrity of the wax. Once it was open, a letter and a...necklace spilled out. Curiosity was a beast in Zelia's belly, and so her hand closed around the letter first, lifting it from the desk and unfolding it. For a moment, the letters on the table didn't make much of any sense, she stared and stared, but between each blink they seemed to scramble themselves, until she could understand what she was looking at. Greek? She'd had a course on it in high school, enjoyed it quite a bit, but never explored it further. When Gods Dispute the Soul of Man Her brows furrowed, because a poem of all things was not what Zelia had expected. She read through it quickly the first time, and then slower twice over, dissecting it slowly and turning it over in her head like one would a fine wine on the tongue. It took an embarrassing amount of time for her to realize there was more to the letter, written at the bottom, almost as if in a rush. Daughter, you have been claimed. Camp Athen's awaits. A gift, for a gift. Use it well. — 𝓩 Beneath it were instructions for finding the camp, quite detailed, and a time frame for her to arrive. Now, came the doubt. There was no one left on this earth who would refer to Zelia as daughter unless it was the father her mom never mentioned, but that felt like a stretch. Even more so, a nonsensical poem about Zeus and Hades disputing the soul of man should have been so far out of the left field that she'd throw everything away and continue about her day. Only...that wasn't who Zee was. The oddity of it all intrigued her greatly, and it seemed as if they person who sent the letter knew exactly what it would take to snag her attention. Her eyes turned toward the necklace at last, several leather cords weaved together in an interknit pattern. On a clip was a pendent that matched the wax seal, it looked as if the metal itself had been melted down to form the same seal, the sheen copperish in color. A gift for a gift? Her mind scrambled about for a moment, trying to place when she'd given any gifts that would warrant something like this, but couldn't quite place it. Zelia slipped the necklace on over her curls as if in a trance, humming a tuneless melody, and her fingers brushed over the cool metal of the pedant. It hung on the cord of leather with an odd sort of latch, curiosity spiking, she gave it a small and soft tug. The pendent detached, metal falling into her palm, and then it was expanding to fit the grooves of her hand, edges on each side elongating and sharpening jaggedly until what she held in her hand was...a dagger, with two points, shaped like one of the lightning bolts that had been embedded into the seal. Her eyes bugged, and her jerked her hand in instinctive surprise, one of the sharp edges tapping the metal of the latch with a tink and before she could blink the dagger was gone, pendent clasped back onto the cord. Her mind may have already been made up with the poem, but this solidified her choice. __________________________________________________________________________________ hexcode . | . #EBCEED ........ faceclaim . | . Zendaya Coleman ........ creator . | . Sleepy Tani

Zelia's Cabin

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Colton "Colt" Shepherd

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Colton Shepherd...

.................................................... __________________________________________ S O N . O F . H E P H A E S T U S ________________________________________________________ 22 | male | heterosexual __________________________________________ ▹ hair color | blond ▹ eye color | green ▹ height | 6' 1" ▹ build | buff / athletic

. A B I L I T I E S Pyrokinesis - The ability to mentally generate, control, and manipulate fire. Colton has never experimented with his supposed powers, though he has...melted things in the past, burnt his handprints into bed frames, but he's always ignored when sparks jump from the tips of his fingers. Fire feels...natural to Colt, he can remember staring into bonfires in the past, watching the flames jump and leap into the sky, higher and higher the longer he watched. It wasn't good, to be different, so he stopped staring at fires, learned to temper his anger and remain as cool as possible. Calokinesis - Colton has always run warmer than most people, he's like a walking, living, breathing furnace. It comes naturally to him, and it has made summers out in the country when he was working on the farm brutal. He's melted his fair share of tools in an aggravated, hazy accident, but as he's aged he's learned to keep a tight lid on his emotions to try and control it. The result is warmth spread across his entire body, natural to Colton, but surprising for others. Master Inventor & Engineer - Inventing and building runs in his blood, Colton has always been brilliant when it came to repairing or building things, scraping things the rest of his family deemed unusable to create something new. If you have something broken and you're thinking of throwing it out, he's the person to go to. There's a small sense of pride in every creation, knowing that he could be useful to others makes him happy. High Intelligence - His therapist once suggested when he was younger that the reason Colton was so scared of everything, was because he was so smart. It was posed as a logical affliction, anyone who could look at a scenario and know all the ways it could go wrong would be smart enough to be terrified of the bad outcomes. His mind has always worked too fast, sometimes faster than Colt can even register the whirlwind of what-if's and maybes. He tries to look at everything from every angle, pick apart a perspective until he understands, and above all else, considers the worst case scenarios. S T R E N G T H S Physical Strength - Growing up on a farm, Colton's been lifting thing's twice his body weight for as long as he could remember. His physical strength often feels like the one thing he truly has going for him other than his mind, especially since his stamina is abysmal. Adaptability - Colton can think fast on his feet, he likes to compare sticky situations to puzzles, if he can just line up the pieces correctly he can solve the issue. It doesn't matter what sort of puzzle he's dropped into, if there's a solution he can find it. Innovative - Retired tractor parts, scrap metal, old battires, whatever he can get his hands on, Colt can transform to fit his needs. W E A K N E S S E S Fear - For as long as he can remember, fear has ruled his every waking moment. It still is there, lingering in the back of his mind like smoke caught in his lungs, rattling every breath he takes and filling his mouth with the rancid taste of bile. Recent event have made it possible for Colton to overlook most of his fears, but he knows it can't last forever. Self-Doubt - Every choice he makes is laced with doubt, and those doubts are often enough to keep him up at night. Kindness - Colton was raised to be kind, no matter what. His Pa has remarked that too much kindness could be his downfall. __________________________________________________________________________________ P E R S O N A L I T Y respectful.... | .... dependable .... | .... innovative .... | .... integrous H I S T O R Y nyctophobia; an extreme and irrational fear of darkness or night. Colton was born the same day a volcano erupted on Anatahan, in the Northern Mariana Islands. He cannot dwell on what he scarce remembers, so the fact that his mother passed in childbirth has been something that has only ever sat at the back of his mind, a constant and compelling reminder that his life had started with death. He had been adopted quickly, before any of the oddities that would mark Colton as being different started to fully manifest. He grew up on a farm, with two brothers and three sisters, a loving mom, kind dad, and Colton was...terrified. Of everything. It started off small, the inability to sleep without a nightlight filling the dark crevices of his room, the darkness outside jarring him into fits of fear that seared hand prints into the alabaster wood of his crib. His parents called a priest, but there was no demonic entities to explain the oddity of their adopted son. Colt was odd, but he was brilliantly smart, and so the strangeness was eventually pushed away. They loved their son as if they had given birth to him, they'd chosen him, and so what if he ran a little warmer than their other children? Colton was theirs, and they were content. He, was not. His fears didn't start and end with his childhood. His fear of darkness kept him up as night, twisted his dreams into nightmares where a boogie man chased him through the slick and black streets of their town, menacing laughs echoing off the old brick roads. To Colt, fear wasn't about what made sense. Fear was about possibilities. Not things that happened, things that might, that could, even if it seemed impossible. His fears started with the darkness, but they grew until he was scared of the bath, scared of bugs, scared of heights, scared of living. phobophobia; an intense and irrational fear of experiencing fear or panic itself. His parents argued when he was ten, going around and around for days. His mom wanted to take him to see a professional, his dad believed their faith would be enough to see Colton through his trials and tribulations. The rest of the family watched on, quiet and confused, until finally his mom took him and left. They were gone for three weeks, in which he saw a therapist for the first time and was able to begin giving voice to all the fears that coiled around his throat like wire, and then his dad came begging for forgiveness. They returned home, and once a week, every week, they'd take Colton together to therapy. His fears became more manageable as he got older, each living nightmare was still there, sticking to his skin with all the persistence of oil, but over time Colt found other things to help steady the tremble of his fingers, one of which being, as his mom called it, tinkering. His brother's had laughed until he fixed the families tractor using bubble gum, and parts of a dissembled lamp. From there, Colton flourished. He was still scared more often than not, but it was like something clicked for him, and he shifted the gears of his brain from fear to focus. He'd stay up late into the night, his room overflowing with light, building little robots, drones, and a small handheld, digital music player shaped like a cube. Despite his father's wishes, and the the beliefs of the rest of his siblings, Colton never quite found himself following their chosen religion. He attended church on Sunday's, feeling each time as if he were having an out of body experience. He didn't understand the concept of a God who would allow so many evil and cruel things to transpire, but for him mom's sake he pretended, reading the sermons and praying at night before bed. Colton grew up in the country, where faith was unanimously revered, and he allowed the customs to be imparted onto him. He grew up to be kind, respectful of women, a perfect gentlemen, honest to a fault. He didn't play any sports, the fears outweighing the rewards, but Colt was smart enough that he didn't need a sports scholarship to attend college, his teachers had noticed his brilliance, and that had been enough for him. pyrophobia; an intense and irrational fear of fire. Colton doesn't remember much about the day it all fell apart, he'd come back to visit from college for the first time in close to three years, and he'd been so excited to see his family again...but there was fire licking up into the sky, fluctuating the air with it's heat. He'd stood there for a long moment, terrified of the flames, of the fact that none of his family were outside, their truck was parked in it's usual spot. They were all in the house. He remembered the moment of clarity, of refusing to abandon his brothers and sisters, beneath a blue sky in the middle of the afternoon, his tragedy unfolded, and the only thought he could think in that moment was... not my family. There is a moment when a person will walk into fire, knowing full well they'll get burned, but it doesn't hurt. When you're prepared for pain, pain loses power. Only...the fire didn't even burn him. His parents bedroom was on the first floor, he got them out first, ignoring his mom when she begged him not to go back in, because how could he leave his siblings in there? The fire didn't burn, but the smoke choked him, every breath making his lungs feel raw like an open wound. It billowed down the halls as it swallowed the cries of his sisters, flames curling around their door hungrily. They'd screamed when he burst in, smoldering and choking, but Colt got them out. The sirens of fire trucks screamed in the distance, he couldn't see their lights from outside with the sun beating down on him, but his job wasn't done. For the first time in his life, there wasn't an ounce of fear in his heart when he charged back into the burning house. All Colton cared about was getting his brothers out, was making sure his family was safe. He didn't care what happened to him, not anymore. The fire licked at his ankles, melted his boots, seared the fabric of his shirt into his skin, but it did not burn him as he took the stairs two at a time. In the end, all of his resolve meant nothing. The fire got to his brothers before he could, and the Shepard family shrunk by two. There isn't a single recognized medical term or widely accepted name for the fear of being unafraid. (def.) fear of the inverse of courage; a psychological state where a person is afraid of what it might mean to be courageous or free from fear. Tragedy feels a lot like a house fire. There are days were it is stifling with it's heat, where you feel as if you are suffocating with every lung full. Though, if you really wanted to, you could learn how to hold your breath as you made your way through the smoke left in its wake and you could keep going. And sometimes, sometimes, you could grow something beautiful from the ashes that were left behind. If you were lucky. Colten wasn't sure if he was lucky, it didn't feel like luck when they put two small coffins in the ground, it felt cold and cruel. He does not return to college. He helps his dad rebuild their home, he helps on the farm, he loses himself to the grief of loss and pretends that the shaky grasp he had on his faith his entire life hadn't slipped from his fingers at some point between the fire, and the funeral. Colton lives one day at a time, and while everyday gets a little easier, sometimes he still wakes up gasping, choking on smoke that isn't there, and seeing what fire can do. His father finds him in the shed, surrounded by blueprints of things he will never get the chance to build, his dreams for the future crumpled up in the wastebasket in the corner. He hadn't felt afraid since the fire, but old habits died hard, and light filled every crevice of the old, small barn. "You'll waste all your potential here." The rich timber of an unfamiliar man's voice cut through the silence of the night, making Colt whip around with wide eyes and tensed arms. They lived, to put it eloquently, in the middle of bum fuck nowhere. The idea that a stranger would stroll up to their property was preposterous...and yet here was a man that Colton had never seen before. "Who the hell are you?" The man's lips twitched with the faintest hint of a smile, as if he'd said something that was part of some inside joke. "You're a lot like your sister." The man didn't answer his question, simply gave an idle comment that made Colt draw short, brows furrowing in confusion. "How do you know my sister?" There was a tinge of protectiveness in his voice, his entire body growing tense and too warm. The man waved him off casually though, still smiling faintly. "Your actual sister." Time seemed to freeze like the top of a lake in winter, curling impossibly in on itself as Colt stared at this unfamiliar man...and then it all clicked, all at once. He knew he was adopted, everyone in his family had dark hair, brown eyes, and a paler parlor. Colt was the only one with blond hair, green eyes, and naturally olive toned skin. He was taller than his father, and shared no visual similarities with his mother. He knew he was different, knew he never quite fit the mold of the Shepherd family, but he hadn't ever thought he'd see himself in the face of another man. "Surely you didn't think someone like you could be produced by a mere farmer?" There was an indistinguishable edge of pride in the man's tone that Colton has never heard in his adopted father voice. He opened his mouth, but no words came to him, and so the man closed the distance, sliding a letter onto his workbench with a wry smile, scarred knuckles glinting in the florescent light's overhead. He looked up after reading Camp Athens, but the man was gone with the same mysterious silence he'd appeared in. The letter was detailed, and he'd made up his mind before he'd even finished reading it. Colton couldn't go back to college, but he couldn't stay home and sit in his grief either. He left his own note for his family, and left before the night was through. He wasn't scared anymore. __________________________________________________________________________________ hexcode . | . #A64017 ........ faceclaim . | . Austin Butler ........ creator . | . Sleepy Tani

Colton's Cabin

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Katryna "Kat" Lis

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Katryna Lis...

.................................................... __________________________________________ D A U G H T E R . O F . H Y P N O S ________________________________________________________ 23 | female | bisexual __________________________________________ ▹ hair color | black ▹ eye color | blue ▹ height | 5' 5" ▹ build | slender

. A B I L I T I E S sleep inducement - Users can cause others to fall asleep, whether instantaneously or more naturally. Katryna has a more natural touch than her brother when it comes to this, able to get others to gradually drop off into a deep sleep in a way that feels as seamless as breathing. dream manipulation - The user can create, shape, enter, and manipulate the dreams of others, including modifying, fabricating, influencing, and observing dreams, as well as nightmares, able to take absolute control over the intangible yet deeply personal realm of dreaming. While Kat can produce and modify dreams, confer nightmares or lucid dreams, she knows dreams are not just fleeting illusions conjured by a sleeping brain — they are vivid expressions of the subconscious, shaped by emotion, memory, trauma, desire, and thought. They are coded messages from the mind to itself, unbound by logic, and being able to control them means she holds the cipher to them all. Whether the dream is a comforting fantasy, a tangled metaphor, or a howling nightmare, she becomes its architect and master, able to alter its course or create it from nothing. This is something she excels at, more so than her brother, but creating nightmares is something she struggles with. She can do it, but finds she often has too much empathy for such things. dream walking - The user is capable of entering the dreams of others. Kat finds herself subconsciously and accidently doing this when she sleeps, slipping into the dreams of people in physical proximity to her. This leaves her restless and tired, she prefers to sleep as far away from other people as possible. passive sleep healing - Allows a user to regenerate health, stamina, and heals from wounds while they are sleeping. As Katryna struggles to sleep restfully more often than not, she doesn't heal like her brother is able to. rare prophetic dreams - The user is capable of perceiving future events in dreams whether symbolic, direct or from the perspective of another being. Some would consider being touched by prophecy like this a blessing, but to Kat it feels like a curse. Her brother doesn't understand her dreams, but he tries. S T R E N G T H S Emotional Intelligence - Defined as the ability to understand, manage, and use your own emotions, as well as recognize and influence the emotions of others, Katryna has always been able to get a decent read on the people around her as a byproduct of her more quiet and observant nature. It lets her take a step back when emotions are running higher, and try to understand where the other person is coming from before she makes any decisions, and helps her direct others who aren't as emotionally adapt, like her brother, in the right direction. Observant - Kat is a watcher, she prefers to step back and observe than take part in most situations, unless participation is absolutely necessary. This lets her pick up and catch things other people are more prone to miss. Diplomatic - Not a fan of arguments, or anything overly stressful as a whole, she will still put herself in those situations if it means solving the issue at hand. Her brother likes to say that because she stands so still, that she watches everything, she always knows how to solve the problem. W E A K N E S S E S Social Anxiety - Large crowds, new people, putting herself in situations that make her anxiety worse are things she tries to avoid religiously. It all stems from a fear associated with her dreams, she never wants to meet someone who has been in one of her prophetic dreams, the very idea makes her feel sick to her stomach. Meeting new people poses the risk of her worst nightmare coming to life, so she prefers to isolate herself. Kacper - Her brother is her other half, if something happened to him it would be like losing a part of herself. She'd do anything for Kacper. Depression - It wasn't that she got sad, as if depression could be pressed down to to definition of sadness alone, it's more that most of the time, she felt close to nothing at all. Feeling required nerves, sensory input. The only thing she felt was numb. And tired. Some days are better than others, and Katryna has found ways to cope over the years, but she very often feels as if her depression is tar hardened around her ankles, holding her down. Her brother is always there on her worst days though, keeping her afloat when she feels close to drowning. __________________________________________________________________________________ P E R S O N A L I T Y empathetic.... | .... loyal.... | .... perceptive.... | .... somnolent ....| .... melancholy H I S T O R Y December 31st, 2002 Katryna and Kacper Bartosz are born, five minutes and twenty-two seconds apart, Szczecin, Poland. Elżbieta's daughter did not want to come into this world, she believed this wholeheartedly. Where her son's birth was done with ease, Katryna took nearly six minutes before she joined them. Where her twin was quiet, she screamed loud enough to make the nurses wince in sympathy. Elżbieta had cradled the children in her arms, listening as her daughters cries tempered when Kacper's small hand found her arm, and her first thought was; I cannot do this. Not everyone who tangled with one of the Gods knew what they were signing up for until it was too little, too late. Elżbieta had never wanted a child, let alone two, and while she'd done what she thought was best and brought the twins into this world, she could not bring herself to keep them. She would never be able to love them as they deserved, and so while she felt nothing but shame and trepidation, she made a choice that would irrevocably change Katryna and Kacper's lives. She signed the adoption forms, and the name Bartosz was dashed from their records as easily as snow collected upon the pavement outside. December 31st, 2012 Green Manor Orphanage, Szczecin, Poland. When things grow unbearable, Katryna will curl in on herself. The orphanage is dark, and cold, especially during this time of year. The old, dark floorboards allow drafts of icy wind to swirl into their bedroom, and no matter how many of the thin blankets she piled onto her bed she could never seem to get warm. She tucked her knees up toward her chest, arms curling around them the darkness crept along the walls of the bedroom. "Happy birthday, siostra." The soft voice of Kacper cut through the silence of the night, the weight of extra blankets piling onto the bed and the warmth of his body sliding in beside her enough to rouse her mind from that numb, dark place it had settled into. She blinked at him in the darkness, catching only the slight glow of his blue eyes. "Happy brother, brat." Their accents were strong, though they were making an intentional effort to practice their English. Her lips twitched at the flicker of annoyance she caught across her brother's face, now that he knew that the word brat in English meant ill mannered child and not just brother in Polish he would never be content with her using it. His hand, warmer than her own, curled around her wrist beneath the blanket cocoon they'd created. His bed was on the other side of the room, but the twin often shared one bed, especially during winter. "Will you come with me, just for a few moments?" His voice was surprisingly tentative, he knew this time of the year was always hard for her and tried to understand as much as possible. She followed him, because he was her brother and he'd asked and because he tried to understand her when she got like this, and so sliding out of the bed and following him was the least she could do. The orphanage was quiet, it was late into the night and even the matriarch was asleep instead of keeping an eye on the unruly children under her care. The kitchen was dark and worn, butcher block counter tops aged from years of constant use, knicks in the wood staining the polished surface. Atop the middle counter, on a small plate, was a single piece of keks. It was a Polish-style fruit cake, filled with nuts and dried fruits, coated in a soft blanket of powdered sugar, looking as fluffy and pristine as the fine sheen of snow that was collecting along the ledge of the window. "Co zrobiłeś?" Kat twisted toward her brother, color flushing her pale cheeks, eyes wide as she clutched at his hand. He was smiling at her panic though, perfectly at ease even as anxiety began to crawl its way up her throat. "What did you do?" She repeated herself in English, stressing the syllables, shaking his arm a little. "Stealing is dismissal! They’ll throw you out onto the street, Kacper, we cannot—" His free hand pressed over her lips, eyes darting toward the closed door. Katryna’s voice caught in her throat, and several long seconds dragged out as the twins strained their ears, trying to catch the creak of a loose floorboard that could be the foreboding of the matriarch’s rage falling down on them. No one came though, a private part of Kat would eventually wonder if it was a birthday gift from their father in the only way he could provide one, a few minutes of solace together in the dark of the night, sharing a stale slice of Christmas cake Kacper had nicked for their birthday. "Someday," Kas whispered once they were tucked back into her bed, hands clasped tightly together. His voice was laced with drowsiness, on the verge of dropping off into sleep. "I’ll buy you whatever cake you want for our birthday. I’ll…" Kat never learned what other wondrous promises her brother could conjure, for he’d fallen asleep before he could finish. Sleep did not come to her, even if she desperately wished it would. "Someday," she echoed his own word, voice as soft and fleeting as the wind that shook the pane of glass at her window. Her eyes were trained on the ceiling, something dark and heavy settling its weight on her chest. Katryna hated the orphanage, hated how cruel their caretakers could be, how bruises decorated their skin like jewelry more often than not, how they went to bed hungrier and colder each night. Above all else though, she hated how hopeless it all made her feel. No one wanted to adopt twins, no one wanted them, and Kat could never quite bring herself to trust in the promises her brother whispered. "I’ll believe you." The words tasted bitter on her tongue like bile, and Katryna pressed her face into her brother's shoulder, trying to find peace in the fact that tonight their bellies did not feel quite so empty. December 31st, 2017 Green Manor Orphanage, Szczecin, Poland. The snow grew deeper as they trudged down the hill. The land was a flat white pall, spread out like rumpled wool. To the left, along the port stretched the sea, sullen and murky beneath the solid ice. They had been taught since they were young that the sea played cruel tricks, seeming frozen and steadfast on the surface, but under the glittering white surface, the black water gulped greedily, hungry to consume the breathing world above if given the chance. A chill wind blew across the frozen water, and they hesitated on the edge. There was no marker to show where the land ended and the sea began, except for the drifts of solid water, where it had frosted over, shifted, then frozen again, and again, and again. A never ending cycle of crusted and coiled water, stacked upon each other like crude tombstones. "This doesn’t seem safe," Katryna hesitated, the toe of her boot nudging the ice with trepidation. Kacper glanced from the sea, back to his sister, and then back again, seeming to try and make up his mind. "Filip said that Piotr walked out to the buoy and touched it, and then that same day he was adopted out, and then Aurelius touched it too and he was adopted the next day. It’s good luck, to dobry omen, mieć świecące słońce w swoim śnie." He pointed up toward the sky where the sun was shining brightly upon them, making the snow and ice luminescent in the early morning. It is a good omen to have the sun shining on your dream. Kat chewed on her bottom lip nervously, hands pressed tightly together. "I–I don’t think I can," Kas shook his head, one of his hands catching around her wrist as his dark hair fell into his eyes. "You have to, we get adopted together or not at all. I’ll keep you safe." She wanted to laugh at that, because there was nothing Kacper could do for either of them if they fell through the ice and succumbed to the cold. Instead, she followed her brother out onto the crusted water, hand clutched in his own as the ice groaned beneath their feet like a sleeping giant awakening for the first time in eons. The moved slowly, step after tentative step, her heart beating in her throat as the whole world seemed to hold its breath. Katryna waited for the crack in the ice, for the roar of water to fill her ears, but instead the tips of her fingers brushed over the biting cold of the metal buoy. They shared a smile, Kacper’s triumphant and shining, Kat’s nervous and tentative. She knew that her brother knew this was silly, that he was clinging to optimism like a fool clung to the mast of a sinking ship, but she would not be the one to crush that last bit of light from his eyes. The pair turned back toward the shoreline, eager to return to safer land, when a voice cut through the silence that had enveloped them. "Oi! What are you kids doing on the ice?" A man’s voice echoed out toward them, making Katryna flinch and Kacper tense. On the edge of a platform several meters away was a man in a dashing business suit, phone held away from his ear, eyes wide as he stared at the two children who had the gall to stand on frozen ice that encompassed the sea. Kat could never say if it was truly the buoy that brought about their adoption, though she supposed they’d never have met Leon Lis if they hadn’t ventured out onto that ice, and if they’d never met him, they never would have been adopted. She wasn’t sure what it was that convinced the business man to invest in them, of all things, but against all odds they became family. August 23rd, 2023 Apartamenty Gdańsk Wynajem, Gdańsk, Poland. Six years had passed faster than any time they’d spent in the orphanage. Moving away from Szczecin after they’d been adopted had been one of the first times Katryna felt as if she could truly breathe. Their new house was everything the children at the orphanage dreamed their homes may be one day, with its sprawling yards that folded into elegant gardens, each twin had their own bedroom bigger than three of the rooms at the orphanage combined. They never went hungry again, never were hit or abused in any form. Everything had been doing fine, even if sometimes Kat had vivid dreams that felt like they were not her own, even if she struggled to sleep because of the strangest occurrences of dreaming things her brother or adopted father or even one of the maids mentioned dreaming themselves. Everything had been fine, until she was a dream so far removed from what was normal that it became the catalyst of everything that made Katryna and Kacper not normal. It was a warm and sunny summer day. Quiet footsteps crunched against freshly fallen leaves hinting at the turning of the seasons that was right around the corner. The soft breeze rustled the trees and cast shadows onto the dirt path that carved through the forest. Small buildings, each one entirely unique and unlike the last, were nestled in the recesses of the thicket as the dreamer passed. Strands of brunette hair, long and wavy, blew in front of their eyes with each gentle gust of wind. They slowly approached a small clearing where the woods parted and a handful of cabins hugged the treeline. At first the dream was calm. A peaceful walk through the forest and enjoying nature, nothing strange or out of the ordinary. Until there was a squelching sound followed by a hollow thud against wood. Their attention snapped to one of the small homes, finding they were no longer alone. A young woman, brunette and austere, stood in front of the open door, chest heaving with a blade clenched in her fist. Their gaze shifted to the woman’s other hand where her fingers were entangled in a brown mane. They followed the hair down to rolled back eyes, an agape mouth, and a severed neck dripping a pool of crimson on a lifeless body below. The dreamer gasped and froze in place. "Alex! What did you do?!" a female voice rang out, stunned and horrified at the events that unfolded before her. The murderous woman’s head snapped toward the dreamer with bloodlust in her eyes. She dropped the head, deja vu shivered through their body at the hollow thud. Then the sky ripped open with an earth shattering crack of thunder as a monsoon of blood poured from the heavens and flooded the world in crimson. Katryna woke sweaty and gasping, hands clutching the silken sheets beneath her as her heart beat a tattoo of rising panic against her ribcage, stomach lurching because the sensation of sticky, warm blood lingered on her skin as if it had been her in the dream. She lurched from her bed violently, launching the kitten that had been snoozing in her lap onto the floor as she stumbled across the room and into her bathroom, making it just in time to lose her dinner into the toilet. Kat shuddered against the cold porcelain, the memory of a stranger's severed head bouncing off the ground sticking behind her eyelids and refusing removal no matter how hard she tried. She curled into herself, into the shape of a comma, but even then a part of Katryna knew there would be no pause from this. Whilst the nightmares were few, and far in between, they always lingered with her for months, coming back with startling clarity. On nights when everything had become completely unbearable she’d gone out running, mile after mile through darkness and cold and silence, her feet drumming against the pavement faster and faster, but never with the intention of getting anywhere, of accomplishing anything. Kat ran as if she were being chased, and in many ways it felt as if she were. December 31st, 2024 Apartamenty Gdańsk Wynajem, Gdańsk, Poland. "I’m here to mentor you, both of you. Consider it a birthday gift, from your father." Katryna stared at the stranger as if the woman had sprouted a second head and was breathing flames, utterly confused. Kacper moved in front of her, one hand curling into the fabric of the back of her shirt to tug her back from the door. "Our dad is on a business trip in the states, and he didn’t mention anything about a mentor, let alone us needing one, so—" The woman raised a hand, stopping Kas so seamlessly that his sister couldn’t help but gap at the sight. It was a cold day in Hell when her brother could be rendered speechless, though it may have simply been the audacity of the woman's actions that stopped him. "Your actual father, Kacper." Her eyes drifted past the woman, toward the sky where the snow filled the air with a soft grey-blue mist, softening the wind, bringing the earth and sky together into one swaying blur. The woman looked ethereal in her silver-grey gown, unbothered by the chill in the air as the snow swirled around her, a gentle smile set onto her face as she revealed things that were beyond world altering to the Lis twins. Their lives were never quite the same, and so being sent to Camp Athena after a year under their mentors' tutelage came as no surprise, not to Kat at least. __________________________________________________________________________________ hexcode . | . #A4DED2 ........ faceclaim . | . Katie Mcgrath ........ creator . | . Sleepy Tani

Katryna's Cabin

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Kacper "Kas" Lis

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Kacper Lis...

.................................................... __________________________________________ S O N . O F . H Y P N O S ________________________________________________________ 23 | male | demisexual __________________________________________ ▹ hair color | black ▹ eye color | blue ▹ height | 6' 0" ▹ build | muscular / athletic

. A B I L I T I E S sleep inducement - Users can cause others to fall asleep, whether instantaneously or more naturally. To put it bluntly, Kacper is about as gentle at doing this as a bull in a market square. He doesn't have the patience to ease someone else into sleep, and so if this falls on him they're going to get to sleep ASAP and, quite likely, sleep like a rock, and if he's in a particularly bad mood when he induces a state of unconsciousness, he makes sure they'll wake up with a headache. dream manipulation - The user can create, shape, enter, and manipulate the dreams of others, including modifying, fabricating, influencing, and observing dreams, as well as nightmares, able to take absolute control over the intangible yet deeply personal realm of dreaming. Unlike his sister, he doesn't care about the psychology that goes into creating dreams. Kas had helped her have good dreams, and his idea of those are fluffy clouds and meadows of flowers, his creativity only truly shines through when he's crafting nightmares. Nightmares are things that Kacper thrives in, he enjoys making them and seeing the results they can have. dream walking - The user is capable of entering the dreams of others. Much like Kat, Kacper can, on occasion, find himself accidently walking others dreams when he himself is trying to sleep. It doesn't bother him like it does his sister, likely because he doesn't struggle to sleep like she does, and sometimes he'll take extra care to provide a truly thrilling nightmare for his unsuspecting dreaming host. passive sleep healing - Allows a user to regenerate health, stamina, and heals from wounds while they are sleeping. He sleeps like a rock, so he heals quite well, thanks for asking. rare prophetic dreams - Not an issue Kacper has to deal with, thank the Gods, but he tries to help his sister where he can. S T R E N G T H S Resourceful - He can think fast on his feet, likely a byproduct of growing up in an orphanage until they were ten. He can scrounge up food out of almost nothing, find a way out of dicey situations, Kas knows how to handle himself when other people would be lost. Resilient - Kacper knows how to survive, how to keep his sister alive, and that's all that matters. Confident - Confidence is key, or something like that. He knows he's hot, that he's the heir of an empire, Kas knows he's luckier than others have been and he thrives on it. W E A K N E S S E S Lack of emotional intelligence - His sister likes to say he has the emotional range of a hot pocket, and she's not wrong. Emotions have never been big to Kacper, he doesn't have the patience to take time and dissect why someone feels the way they feel, but he tires. It doesn't help that if it's someone he or his sister consider a friend, he simply doesn't care how they're feeling. Perfectionism - Exactly what it says on the tin, Kas is not only a perfectionist, but it borders on OCD. If things aren't just right, he will feel like his skin isn't fitting correctly. The obsessive urge to fix things, to make sure it's perfect, will eat at Kas until he's certain everything is just so. Katryna - As the elder brother, Kacper believes it's his duty to take care of his sister no matter what. She's his other half, and often his moral compass. __________________________________________________________________________________ P E R S O N A L I T Y over-protective.... | .... disciplined.... | .... aloof.... | .... placid.... | ....sarcastic H I S T O R Y H I S T O R Y December 31st, 2002 Katryna and Kacper Bartosz are born, five minutes and twenty-two seconds apart, Szczecin, Poland. Elżbieta's son came into the world with vigor, and despite what she may remember of the birth, Kacper was anything but quiet in those first six minutes before his twin was returned to him. Even then, he would not be content with Katryna not by his side. His hand had instinctively found her arm once they were returned onto their mother, and perhaps it was the fact that their mother did not love them enough to keep them, perhaps it was because her first thought was I cannot do this. but he never quite felt the loss of their mother the same way Kat did. In the end, it didn't matter and Kacper was less than a day old, so he'd never know how he really felt about his mother's abandonment of them. As an adult, if he ever took the time to fully analyze it, he'd suppose that a lot of his issues came from this humble start. In the end, Elżbieta signed the adoption forms, and the name Bartosz was stolen from them before they could ever learn of it's existence. Invisible beyond the curtain of cold fog collecting outside their hospital window, the twins had one parent still looking over them, even if it was in the most distant sense of the word. December 31st, 2012 Green Manor Orphanage, Szczecin, Poland. The arrival of a New Year heralded a symphony of change for most people, but not for orphans at Green Manor. The days dragged on with a repetitiveness that was as ravenous as the cold that slunk into the old building, but Kacper wasn't trying to warm his chilled handed in his bed like the rest of the children tucked away for the night, or like the matriarch who he'd spied dozing by the fireplace in her room, a bottle of white liquor drooping from her limp hand. The hallways were dark and quiet as he slunk through the hallways, dodging loose and creaky floorboards. The cool metal of the stolen key bit at the calloused skin of his hands, years of helping in the kitchens, scrubbing floors, cleaning gutters, and other such household chores thrust upon him, alongside all the extra ones he picked up so Katryna didn't have to. None of the tawny muscle and callouses helped with the cold though, and the twins were naturally slim which left them both more vulnerable during the winter months. All the orphans were given the same threadbare clothes, allotted one blanket during summer and two during winter, the same small portions of porridge for breakfast, left over porridge for lunch, and stew for dinner that often times could be doubled as breakfast if the matriarch was feeling particularly hung-over. The pantry clicked open, loud enough that his breath caught in his throat, a moment of hesitation, and then he was sliding the cake free, cutting a slide big enough to be shared between the twins. His sister deserved a slice of light for her birthday, and though he'd fallen asleep before he could finish the whispered promises that night, he'd meant to tell her that someday he'd find a way to give brightness to her everyday, especially on the ones she struggled the most. It was the least he could do for his little sister. December 31st, 2017 Green Manor Orphanage, Szczecin, Poland. "Filip said that Piotr walked out to the buoy and touched it, and then that same day he was adopted out, and then Aurelius touched it too and he was adopted the next day. It’s good luck, to dobry omen, mieć świecące słońce w swoim śnie." He pointed up toward the sky where the sun was shining brightly upon them, making the snow and ice shine in the early morning. He hated to be so vulnerable about the childish hopes that stayed nestled in the darkest parts of his chest, but if he couldn't be honest about it with his twin then he couldn't hope to ever be open with anyone else. "I–I don’t think I can," Kas shook his head, because as much as Kat discredited herself he knew her better than she knew herself. She was braver than she knew, if only she'd give herself a chance. "You have to, we get adopted together or not at all. I’ll keep you safe." And he would, because she was his twin sister, the other half of his soul. Kacper had always loved Plato's myth in The Symposium. The story of beings split in two by Zeus, who wander searching for their other half for the rest of their lives. While he'd never put much stock in things like true love, or soulmates, Kas knew that his sister was his other half. They understood each other in a way no others did, and he wanted to give his twin the world. As long as she could be happy, he could live at peace. As a consequence, he'd never much considered his own happiness, the idea that he could find someone who loved him unconditionally, who was patient and understanding when he withdrew in on himself, it seemed too bizarre to believe it could come true. Getting adopted had felt beyond him too, though, and it was the first time that Kacper started to wonder if maybe, just maybe, his sister didn't have to be the only one to have a happy end. The years that followed helped drive that idea home, they'd went from being orphans to the children of a wealthy business man overnight, and several years after that they went from being heir's to a successful company, to being the children on a God sent to some obscure camp. To sum it up, in Kas's humble opinion, it was all utter bullshit. __________________________________________________________________________________ hexcode . | . #54998E ........ faceclaim . | . Ian Somerhalder ........ creator . | . Sleepy Tani

Kacper's Cabin