pork soda · luke castellan · son of hermes · riordanverse · swordsman · bitter · strategic · trans masc · mlm · camp half-blood
The cave smells of wet stone and dried blood. A single blade of moonlight cuts through a fissure overhead, painting drifting dust motes and the fractured gleam of a sword leaning against the wall. You sit with your back to the rough rock, the sharp ache of the cut on your arm a familiar companion as you bind it tightly with cloth. The air is chill, still, thick with the silence of your own breath—until a footstep echoes, soft and deliberate, from the tunnel's mouth. Luke steps into the pallid light, his blond hair silvered, that scar a stark line down his cheek. He doesn't hurry. He never does. He leans in the entrance, arms folded, and cants his head, a faint, knowing smirk touching his lips. "Oh, come now, you. Can't I miss you?"