Divine Retribution | Luke Castellan

3. T is for Trauma

"Does he?"

Luke didn't mean for that inkling of defiance to creep into his voice, but if Chiron noticed, he didn't say. The centaur simply nodded, his eyes softening further with a look that Luke couldn't quite place. It wasn't pity exactly, but something akin to it. 

"He does. As do I. After all, you are one of the best swordsmen this camp has ever seen. One of the best I've taught. I have faith in you."

There was something about those words. 

I have faith in you. 

They were the very same Thalia had uttered to him, right before she had sacrificed herself for them. Some hero he was. He had a tendency to disappoint those who placed their hopes in him, but something about Chiron's affirmation made him want to try anyway. To prove himself worthy. To show his father, even if it would be out of spite. 

He wanted to finally succeed at something that would make it impossible for Hermes to ignore him, to ignore what he had done to his mother. 

Luke nodded finally, and Chiron's expression eased a little, almost as if he was expecting a different answer. 

Then he reached out, handing Luke a small, unassuming shoebox. The brunette boy accepted it tentatively, his fingers grazing the smooth surface of the box. It felt surprisingly light in his hands, and he was tempted to hold it up to his ear and shake it. 

Lifting the lid of the box, to reveal its contents, his eyes widened in surprise as he beheld the pair of Converse Chuck Taylors nestled within, their black canvas adorned with the unmistakable symbol of Hermes—a bold "H" in place of the customary star.

He blinked in disbelief, his mind struggling to process what he was seeing. Converse shoes? From his father? It seemed almost too surreal to comprehend. Yet there they were, lying before him like a tangible manifestation of the divine.

"Uh, thanks for the shoes," he murmured awkwardly, his voice betraying his confusion. He wasn't quite sure what to make of the gift—were they meant to be symbolic, practical, or something else entirely?

Glancing down at the worn-out sneakers he sported and nodded to himself, concluding the use of his new shoes to be purely practical. 

Chiron chuckled softly at the boy's reaction, the sound carrying a warmth that eased some of the tension in the air. "They are a gift from your father," he explained, his voice tinged with a hint of amusement. "A token of his favour, if you will."

Oh great, his father showed him favour by giving him a new pair of shoes. 

"Right."

Chiron looked at the shoes and uttered a single word.

"Maia."

The shoes immediately stirred to life in Luke's hands. Wings sprouted from their heels, unfolding with a soft rustle of feathers as they struggled against his grip, eager to take flight.

His eyes widened in astonishment, his mind reeling at the sight before him. He had seen plenty of magical artifacts and various gifts that godly parents gifted their children, but it was an entirely different matter to have something for himself.  

"These are no ordinary shoes," the centaur reiterated. "They are akin to Hermes's winged sandals, gifted to aid you in your journey."

"Thank you. I won't let you down."

As Chiron uttered the trigger word once more, the wings on Luke's shoes obediently furled back, disappearing seamlessly into the fabric as if they had never been there. Luke couldn't help but marvel at the sight, his mind buzzing with wonder and excitement. However, before he could fully process the significance of his father's gift, Chiron began to wheel his wheelchair toward the entrance of the Big House, the wheels creaking softly against the ground.