─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆
❛ Here we are at the end of the world, waiting for the sky to break into flames─but we are together, as if the stars had aligned. ❜
Percy Jackson never thought he would fall in love with a traitor.
[completed - editing]
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✩━━━ chapter fourteen, lone sojourner. ❝Should I be grateful or should I curse the fact that despite all misfortune I can still feel love?❞
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IN THE LONELIEST TIME OF HIS LIFE, MICAH ONCE DREAMED OF AN INFINITE NIGHT SKY. An unfathomable darkness that stretched beyond his comprehension, adorned with stars of every hue, twinkling like the sparkle of countless gems. It was a sight that filled him with astonishment, as if he were witnessing some ancient magic long hidden from the world. His heart was racing with happiness as he soared through space, flying among the stars, touching some while gliding past others. In that dream, he felt a sense of freedom that was absent from his waking life. He felt as though he was capable of anything in that moment, as if he could reach out and grab the stars from the sky.
He had been awakened by the screams of his younger cousin that night.
He discovered Ethan frantically clawing at his face in a delirious state, sweating profusely and covered in blood. Nemesis had taken his left eye. She had dug it out like a crow, savagely, leaving her son blind and scarred.
Days later, when his fever subsided, Ethan broke down in tears as he admitted that it was his first time meeting his mother.
In his nightmares, he saw Ethan writhing in agony, clutching the spot where his eye once was. When he is awake, the scar that ran from his cousin's brow bone to the tip of his nose served as a constant reminder to Micah of his own incompetence; to know so much and have no control over anything is the worst human misery of all.
Micah stopped dreaming about the stars a long time ago.
A finger flicked his forehead. His eyes fluttered open, dazzle as they slowly adjusted to the lights in his tent.
"You are thinking too much," Ethan interrupted Micah's musings. "It's infected, by the way."
The attack on Manhattan was scheduled for the following morning. They were in the ruins of Medusa's lair in the backwoods of New Jersey, a crumbling warehouse on a road lined with run-down businesses and tattered billboard signs providing shelter for the night. Among the statues of the gorgons's victims, all frozen mid-scream, the monsters, human mercenaries, and demigods prepared for tomorrow's war. A solitary oil lamp illuminated the tent's interior, casting long shadows on the walls.
