✺ A BIGGER PICTURE ✺
"What is that?"
Reyna looks to the treeline as campers let out exclamations of awe and fear. She draws her sword when a mass of shadow rushes into the light, hovering for a moment. Camp Jupiter's second praetor, Jason, pushes through the collection of campers to stand prepared at Reyna's side. The shadows fall away, revealing their master.
A few campers stiffen at the power that imbues the air, but the sight of the girl makes the praetors instantly relax.
A burst of gold passes along the grass when her feet touch the ground. It follows a wide path, rushing over the memorial stones in one corner of the camp. A circle of red poppies regains its life. The camper standing before the stone releases a gasp, and he turns on his heel.
Forcing a small smile, (Y/N) clasps her hands together. "Hi," she greets, taking a step forward. "You don't mind helping someone who needs a place to crash for a while, do you?"
Reyna's face breaks into a grin, and she immediately moves to embrace the daughter of Persephone. (Y/N) hurriedly leans away from Reyna's sword as she accepts the hug.
"You don't even have to ask," Reyna says. "It's good to see you again."
"Thank you. I know I've been out of touch for a while." (Y/N) again moves out of the way as Reyna sheathes her weapon. "Sorry for the surprise visit."
Jason steps forward, nodding at (Y/N). "It's no problem at all," he assures, holding his arm out.
(Y/N) shakes his hand. Intrigue builds within her at something in his gaze—mysterious and unreadable, but kind. He smiles at her, and she pushes away her curiosity.
Thudding footsteps catch her attention, and she looks in their direction. A familiar, broad-shouldered figure joins the sparse crowd, meeting her eye when Jason steps out of the way.
Julius's breath catches. Awe overtakes his expression.
Despite the lump in her throat and the pain in her heart and the sorrow that makes her feel like throwing up, (Y/N) does her best to appear at ease. She offers a smile to the son of Mars, who returns it. Reverence glints in his eye, and she tenses with discomfort.
Reyna claps twice, gathering the attention of the campers in the area. "You all remember (Y/N) (Y/L/N), daughter of Proserpina, yes?" she asks, gesturing at the particular half-blood.
(Y/N) swallows, adjusting her backpack's straps while waving her fingers at the crowd. She shuffles her feet, trying to ignore her agitation that stems from the campers' visible amazement. For weeks after she'd received her new powers, she'd tried to tone down the divinity that radiated from her. However, controlling part of her soul in such a way proved difficult. She could stop using her power, could be worn out or under the suppressing influence of Asphodel, but people still felt it.
It was part of her, but it was alienating.
Percy was the same. After he'd honed his abilities and developed his skill, it was like his parentage actively tried to make itself known. His strength was untameable. It influenced everything without a whisper of effort.
(Y/N)'s gut twists harder at the thought of him. She had just said goodbye, yet it felt like half of herself was gone.
Over the past few years, she'd felt their connection evolve. Before coming to terms with her feelings, she'd convinced herself that it was a bond of friendship. That she cared for him no more than she did Grover or Annabeth or Will or anyone she'd known for much longer.
And then he reached out to her more, opened up to her more, invited her to do the same. He'd shown her the range of his emotions in the assurance that she didn't have to bottle hers up like she usually did. And the bond grew stronger, tighter, closer.
Even after they'd broken up, she could feel his presence without looking his way. She could read his eyes and see his thoughts because, despite most of his apprehension, he allowed her to. He showed her that while he wanted space—and, granted, while he was a bit of a jerk in doing so—he still cared when things got serious. And they were pulled closer, closer, closer, until eventually, she could no longer hold in everything that she'd hidden.
I love you.
He had given the words to her before she'd left, ensuring that she had a reason to return. To say them back.
And it had only been a few minutes since she'd been swallowed by the shadows and pulled across the continent, but everything about her seems to ache. She misses him.
He was missing from her.
And she had to act like her world wasn't crumbling around her, like her heart wasn't yearning for the one that shared its rhythm.
Like she was fine.
She forces herself back to reality.
"Thanks to all the service she's given Camp Jupiter," Reyna continues, her dark braid falling over her shoulder, "we expect nothing less than for everyone to be respectful and to help her feel welcome. And, knowing her, if anyone would like assistance while training . . ." With a silent question, she glances back at (Y/N), who nods. "—then all you have to do is ask!"
(Y/N) can feel Jason's attention fixated on her. She doesn't bother to mask her exhaustion.
"All right, everyone," Jason says, turning to the campers. "That's it. Go on, scatter."
Julius weaves through the demigods that resume their business, approaching (Y/N). She pulls her shoulders back slightly, straightening her posture while tension tugs at her spine. Reyna watches the son of Mars carefully.
"It's good to see you again," he says, smiling down at (Y/N). The words carry a sort of softness that makes her grow wary.
She returns the gesture as convincingly as she can. Factoring in the tone of his voice and the way he stands, (Y/N) holds her hand out, ensuring he doesn't try to embrace her. As she'd expected, his eyes flicker with something similar to disappointment. "Good to see you, too."
He takes her hand without hesitation, squeezing briefly. "I'll see you around?"
"It's not that big of a place," (Y/N) says, the words somewhat dry.
Julius appears to interpret them as a joke—he chuckles, stepping back. As he turns to leave, (Y/N) allows herself to relax.
Reyna smirks at the way her shoulders slump. Jason lifts an eyebrow.
"How about we get you settled in?" Reyna asks, gently patting (Y/N)'s shoulder. "Then you can tell us all about why you're here."
(Y/N)'s fingers stiffen briefly. In the corner of her eye, Jason's head tilts. She brushes away her concern, putting a grateful smile on her face.
"Sounds good."
— x —
Annabeth's chest feels completely hollow.
She drops onto her mattress, ignoring how the bed frame creaks in protest. Her breaths stutter and choke, burning with each touch of air against her raw throat.
"Annie," Grover says, keeping his voice gentle, "you know she doesn't mean it like that."
Her furious words from moments before seem to rattle endlessly against the cabin walls. They continue to whisper how (Y/N) had acted foolishly, how she hadn't trusted her friends enough, how she had abandoned Camp Half-Blood because of the most stupid reason possible: fear.
She left us. The thought echoes against Annabeth's skull, bringing more tears to her eyelids.
"Then how did she mean it?" Annabeth asks, the fire in her eyes doused by the tremors of her words. "How, Grover? She left! She didn't let us help her!"
"Annabeth, she stayed." Grover's eyebrows knit together. "She stayed for you, for us, and she let us work together for as long as we could." He settles himself beside the daughter of Athena, resting his hand atop hers. "And she left so that we could continue to help her. So we can figure out what is going on before it's too late to fix it."
She left us.
Her tears feel hot against her skin.
"She left," Grover continues, his voice a touch more firm, "so that we would be safe. You know that."
Annabeth's throat tightens. Her muscles weaken as the enraged thoughts in her mind begin to break apart, falling and shattering and dissipating into smoke.
"And I don't think you're angry at her for leaving." Grover gives her hand a gentle squeeze.
She looks at him, her eyebrows pinching together. Her heartbeat shakes her body.
The last few threads of composure that hold her together begin to fray.
Grover releases a quiet sigh. "I think you're angry at yourself for not figuring this out before she found a reason to go."
And then she breaks.
Grover immediately pulls Annabeth into a hug as her face crumples. She sobs into his shoulder, her figure quaking against him. The mattress sinks further as she weakens, and she nearly longs for it to swallow her entirely.
"I didn't even say goodbye," Annabeth hiccups. She'd been suppressing the guilt for as long as possible, and a new flood of tears rises the moment her words touch the air. "She doesn't- she doesn't know—"
Her voice silences itself, washed out by a tidal wave of regret. Shame seeps into her muscles, trickling through the fibers of her being like teardrops of melting ice. Her bones begin to ache.
Grover rubs her back, holding her tighter. "She does."
Annabeth shakes her head.
"Really," Grover assures, pulling away and looking Annabeth in the eye. "She does." Still fumbling for breath, she wipes her cheeks and stares at him with confusion.
Grover reaches into the pocket of his jacket, retrieving a folded piece of paper. He holds it out for Annabeth with a gentle smile. "She asked me to give this to you," he explains. "She thought something like this might happen."
Annabeth reaches for the paper. Her fingers tremble.
Her heart hurts even more at the sight of (Y/N)'s handwriting: Annabeth, it reads, a tiny heart doodled at the end.
With an unsteady breath, she opens it.
Hi, Annie.
I know exactly how you're feeling right now, and I'm so sorry that I've caused that. You mean so much to me, and I hate that I've made you upset. I hope you understand that it was never my intention.
But I had to go. You didn't see what I did. You didn't feel just how guilty that vision painted me to be. And yes, we can't be sure of what leads to everything—but I know that if I don't give Camp Half-Blood space, it's going to happen sooner than it needs to.
I'm leaving because I love you, and I know you. You're the person we need to figure this out. You're the person who's going to make everything worth it.
I will come back. It's just a little break until I do.
And don't you dare beat yourself up about how you feel and how you acted. Because I understand. After everything we've been through together, you know I understand.
And I forgive you. Always. You never have to doubt it.
Until next time,
(Y/N).
Annabeth sniffles, blinking away her tears. She reads over the words repeatedly, allowing them to echo in her mind on the backdrop of (Y/N)'s voice.
While her chest lightens, her heart easing into some semblance of comfort, her lungs constrict. A quiet scoff breaks free.
"So I'm that horrible," she says. Her voice grates in her throat. "She knew everything that would happen, everything I would think and do."
Grover shakes his head. "No," he says. His kindness and conviction prompt Annabeth to look at him. "She just loves you that much."
— x —
(Y/N) takes a long breath, allowing Camp Jupiter's air to swell in her lungs. It feels empty.
Camp Half-Blood always filled her with energy and spirit. Magic electrified the air and the fragrance of strawberries danced on the wind. There was the buzz of excitement from campers that permeated the atmosphere, seeping into her skin with a revitalizing touch.
But here, everything was serious. People were laughing and training and energized—but they carried the conviction that they were warriors, sworn to the Roman legion. And (Y/N)'s overbearing reminder of her purpose only serves to cast a shadow over her senses, dulling the scents and tastes and touches of life.
"So," Reyna says, earning (Y/N)'s attention, "what brought you back?"
(Y/N) sighs, looking around as they meander through the camp. She walks between the praetors, her hands stuck in her pockets in an effort to mask her true tension. Due to the intrigued glances that she feels from Jason, she remains careful to keep him in her periphery.
"I mean, not that we're unhappy you're here," Reyna adds, motioning briefly to Jason. "But it's been a while since we last had contact with you. Should we be concerned about anything?"
While (Y/N) easily keeps her expression calm, her muscles tighten. Jason frowns.
"Not necessarily," (Y/N) answers, grateful that she can at least speak the truth on such a matter. "I've been dealing with a certain foretelling that I can't yet figure out. I need some time and space from where it's going to happen so that I can . . . find a solution for the aftermath."
Reyna hums in consideration. "That definitely wasn't the answer I was expecting."
(Y/N)'s eyebrow lifts as she huffs a chuckle. She entertains Reyna's hint: "What answer were you expecting?"
"Well, it would be nice to know you missed us and wanted to visit out of the goodness of your heart."
(Y/N) laughs. A bubble of content builds inside of her—as her first genuine sense of happiness upon her departure from her home, it surprises her. "Don't worry," she says, gently nudging the praetor with her elbow, "I chose you guys for that very reason."
Reyna chuckles. She gestures to Temple Hill in the distance, giving a brief reminder of the shrines and monuments built to honor the gods.
As they approach the Field of Mars, (Y/N) finds her attention drawn to the ground. Nearly every blade of grass in a wide radius appears dead, burned and disintegrated beyond repair. Her gaze follows the destruction, landing on the treeline in the distance.
"It hasn't been able to heal," Jason explains. His voice drips with grief. "Ever since the Basilisks."
Reyna's shoulders weaken. "We've spent the past two years trying to understand why they attacked," she says, and (Y/N)'s eyebrows pinch together. Reyna shakes her head. "To our knowledge, no one had done anything to upset anyone with any influence over them. That, and the fact that their size was magically enhanced. It had to have been planned by someone, but it's basically impossible to figure out why."
Jason's glasses catch the sunlight as he lowers his head. His jaw tightens. "Most people have let it go. Written it off as a trick of fate."
(Y/N) examines the praetors as closely as she can. "Have you?" she asks, watching as despair floods Reyna's eyes.
"It's easy to want to," the daughter of Bellona says. Her attention remains fixed on the Field's ashen surface. "We don't have answers. And after the dragon . . . people have started to care more about whether they're safe, rather than understanding why they might not be."
At the memories, (Y/N)'s throat begins to close. A wire of regret wraps around her airway, cutting into her with a touch of ice.
Jason sighs. His throat bobs with a thick swallow as he blinks quickly. "We already have a way to remember them," he says, his voice dampened as it touches the air. "One where we don't have to be thrust back into the place where it happened."
A sliver of pain runs through (Y/N)'s chest. She swallows down her instinctive guilt.
The workings of the world were not her fault. The will of the Fates was not something she could control.
Yet while she tries to remind herself of how powerless she truly was against a predetermined future, her mind brings her face-to-face with the last moments of a young, innocent girl. Cara's eyes bore into her soul, draining of life.
Her dream glares at her, forcing her to again watch as vibrance leaches from so many half-bloods.
Giving her head a firm shake, (Y/N) returns her focus to the present moment. Her jaw aches with tension as she grinds her teeth.
It was almost cruel that the land wouldn't heal. That it remained marked by what had happened, cursing all who set their eyes on it with the memory of everything they'd endured, of all that they'd lost.
(Y/N) looks across the gruesome scars that riddle the ground. The blanket of death seems to emit a permanent laugh of mockery.
Beneath it, however, (Y/N) can feel the gentle pulse of life.
"Well, that can be fixed," she says, taking a step forward. "At least a little bit."
The praetors watch as she kneels, pressing her hand to the barren ground and closing her eyes.
Power thrums in her chest as she sends her mind into the earth. A connection snaps into place when she latches on to the vibrations beneath the surface, tangling her heart in the threads of the universe. The rhythm within her ribcage tightens her grasp.
To heal something, she had to become one with it. She would accept its hurt, understand its suffering, before it made the choice to recover.
The world was living, breathing, feeling. She needed a friend to open their arms, to empathize, to reassure Her that hurt was natural, but it didn't need to stay.
Sometimes, that wasn't possible. When Thalia's tree had been poisoned, (Y/N) couldn't heal it for fear of taking the toxin into her system.
But the poison here was gone. The damage had been done. And the life was still grieving, forever unable to fix itself.
(Y/N)'s muscles flare with heat, riddled with strain as the Earth sends its memory through her. The whisper of a Basilisk's touch skates over her hand, through her heart.
She welcomes the sensations, relieving the land of its pain—easing the pain that it caused.
The golden flecks behind her irises gleam brighter as the Field of Mars springs back to life. Bright grass flutters in the wind, spreading outward and returning the land to what it had once been. The muted tones of winter appear even more dull at the new wave of summery green. It follows the path to the trees, disappearing into the forest.
Reyna gasps, and her wondrous laugh breaks the hushed air of amazement. (Y/N) stands and turns with a smile, ignoring the campers who gathered in distanced clusters to watch. She looks to Jason, whose eyes brim with joy and gratitude and something that she cannot quite place.
He nods at her. His expression carries a sort of relief that returns to his appearance every sense of life and heart.
"Thank you," he breathes.
He says the words for something else, something more, that (Y/N) finds herself unable to understand.
She doesn't question it.
— x —
(Y/N) had been young the last time she felt suffocated by darkness. Like every child, she'd feared what would happen when her night light blinked out, had been wary of monsters in the closet or under her bed.
And then she grew up. The monsters learned to fear her long before she learned of the shadows swirling in her soul.
As she grew into her power, (Y/N) found comfort in the darkness. While most continued to shirk away from the absence of light, she started to feel at home. It was part of her. Woven through the fabric of her being and flowing with her blood. The Underworld's touch spread like ink across her system, infusing her with the same darkness that swarmed around her.
But tonight, buried under the weight of the sorrow she'd been struggling to suppress, she drowns within the energy that constantly stretches towards her. A master of the shadows, and she finds herself longing for them to leave.
She sits up from her bed with a long exhale. Casting careful glances around the cohort, she slips on her shoes and walks outside. The twinkling stars above provide some ease.
Ice trickles into her veins as she breathes the crisp air. Under a sliver of moonlight, she walks to the trees, dissolving into shadows so the sentries don't take note of her. She doesn't travel far this time, materializing a short distance away from Camp Jupiter's border and choosing to walk.
Her feet scuffle gently through the dry grass. Birds go silent as they sense her presence before resuming their twittering. (Y/N) closes her eyes, imagining the thumping of a pair of hooves, the laugh that would bounce against the trees and scare away any wildlife. The noise nearly deafens her, rattling through her mind with the accompaniment of Grover's voice.
She opens her eyes. The laughter fades.
Wings flutter above. (Y/N) glances up at an owl that flits from branch to branch in time with her steps, travelling alongside her. It bounces the tiniest amount with each landing, waiting for her to near the next tree before following. A bittersweet smile tugs at (Y/N)'s lips at the reminder of how Annabeth hops from foot to foot when she grows impatient.
It doesn't take long for the air to feel more energized. With each step, (Y/N)'s skin pricks with an intensifying sense of magnetism. Something was pulling to her—something familiar. The twisting inside of her stomach begins to ease.
A long sigh breaks free from her lungs when she steps over her flowers and into the clearing. The owl hoots, settling on a branch and plucking at its wing. The reflective pool sparkles with starlight, and (Y/N) stares at it as she drops to the ground. A burst of gold rustles the dark teal grass.
She plucks one of the blades, holding it up in the dim moonlight. Percy's eyes would sometimes shift to the color. They became darker than was typical, shadowed to block out most of the emerald tones.
Not like when he was angry. Anger crashed in his irises to mimic an ocean under a storm: black and blue and grey swirled together, glinting with a sinister trace of sea foam.
Joy made his eyes sparkle, shimmering with sunlight over clear blue-green waters. They rippled lazily, easily, unbothered by the atmosphere and in a calm sense of control.
This tone was more melancholy. When darkness began to creep across the sky as the daylight bade farewell. Hints of light would stretch across the waves, but nighttime still cast its shadow. This was a color of defeat, of grief. Of heartbreak.
His eyes had looked like this when she left. When he put forth every effort to convince her to stay, knowing how futile it would all be.
In a rush of desperation, (Y/N) sends her power through the Earth, reaching out for the living connection she holds the most dear. And everything she feels barrels back into her with twice as much force.
Her spine weakens at the impact of Percy's emotions. She longs to send him some comfort, some relief, some ease that could alleviate his hurt. But how could she, when she felt none of it herself?
The magic of the clearing, its sense that she had even absorbed, was doing nothing. There was tranquility all around, now woven into her, yet it was weak. Powerless. Empty.
Everything was empty.
While connected to Percy, (Y/N) still feels his lack. She reaches to Annabeth, to Grover, to Will and Chiron and even Nico, but nothing fills the void within her. She pulls her focus back, severs the connection. And it all feels the same.
The grass slips from her fingers as she closes her eyes, dropping her face into her hands.
The stars were staring at her and the woods were listening to her and the shadows were swarming around her in a blanket that only made her feel more exposed. She wants nothing more than to run back, to cry her heart out, to do anything and everything that she knows is wrong.
It was childish. Foolish. Stupid.
But her heart thuds against her ribcage, begging her to listen. To give in.
To give up.
It was so tempting.
But this world was bigger than her.
The sights of the future drill themselves further into her memory. They fill her with despair and terror and regret—but they ward away the impulses she knows better than to entertain.
Her shoulders slump as she opens her eyes. The crescent moon wavers in the pond.
"You carry so much."
(Y/N) nearly jumps with surprise at Lupa's voice. Her paws pad lightly through the grass as she approaches the half-blood, settling on the ground beside her. (Y/N) glances at the wolf goddess, pulling one of her knees up and hugging it to her chest.
"It's difficult," she says, her perception tunnelling around the image of twinkling stars, "to let it all go."
Lupa lifts her head. Her ears flick backwards as she angles her snout to the sky.
"When so many people could get hurt, and I can't stop it, but all I want is to go back, even though I know I have to do what I can to put it off . . . It all just . . ." (Y/N)'s words escape her, tumbling out of her grasp as a quivering exhale. She shakes her head. A gentle breeze casts a ripple across the pool.
A hushed rumble sounds in Lupa's throat, as if she were humming in consideration. "The world has not been kind to you," she says.
(Y/N)'s eyelids flutter closed.
"It has told you its choices while at the same time lending you its responsibility. It has stripped you of the opportunities that you easily deserve, and it has made you prove your worth time and time again. And perhaps worst of all, it has made you a good person."
(Y/N) opens her eyes. She looks blankly ahead of her, her vision moving in and out of focus.
"People may require a drop of assistance, yet you offer them an ocean. The gods have taken from you, but you allow your actions to give back to them. And despite everything that has happened, you still sacrifice what you have earned to help those that you love."
Lupa looks down at the half-blood. Her tail flicks the small of (Y/N)'s back.
(Y/N) breaks her gaze from the pond, meeting the wolf's silver eyes.
"You have chosen to carry your burden," Lupa says. "And you do not need to let it go—in fact, I get the sense that you do not want to."
The truth of the words buries a knife of shame into her gut.
"I've tried," (Y/N) whispers, lowering her eyes. "For them. I swear, I've tried, but . . . every time I get close, something else happens, and then I can't let go. I can't give it all up. It's everything I know." She swallows, struggling to keep her words steady. "I don't want to lose it, because . . . because then, I'm afraid that I might lose myself."
A trace of warmth breaks through the sharpened mist of Lupa's eyes. Some of her whiskers twitch.
"Humans tend to believe," she says, looking to the pond, "that they know everything."
(Y/N) huffs a quiet laugh.
"They believe that they are all they need. To survive. To exist. But that's all they are doing: existing. They do not live." Lupa tilts her head as another ripple breaks the water's stillness. "They think that they have deciphered the universe. That, since they are all specks of stardust, they do not matter. That at the end of it all—no matter what they feel, no matter what they believe, no matter how much they bear—it will all be forgotten."
(Y/N)'s chest tightens. Her pulse drums in her ears.
"It is a simple view," Lupa says.
A torn blade of grass lifts from near (Y/N)'s feet, dancing on the wind. It drops into the pond, disrupting the perfection of the reflected galaxy.
"But there is a bigger picture." Lupa's tail again flicks (Y/N)'s back, and the half-blood looks to the goddess. Lupa tilts her head to the sky. (Y/N) follows suit.
A million more stars twinkle down at her. They stretch as far across the sky as (Y/N) can see, and additional pinpricks of light poke out from the darkness the longer she searches for them.
"There has always been more. More to learn, more to do, more to understand. About the world. The universe. Even the individual." Lupa lowers her head, turning her gaze on the half-blood. (Y/N)'s throat closes. "Your burden has shaped you. But it has never been what made you."
The icy air pricks at (Y/N)'s eyes.
"You are far more than what you may perceive. And much more supports you than what you may assume." Lupa lowers her head, bringing it closer to (Y/N)'s level. "You do not need to lock away the load. You may simply need someone to share the weight with."
A tear slips down (Y/N)'s cheek. She sniffles, hurriedly wiping it away. "Why do you have such an interest in me?" she asks, a trace of disbelief backing her voice. "Why does this matter to you? Why has anything about me mattered to you?"
Another rumble sounds in Lupa's throat. "I may be a goddess," she says. "I may be considered harsh and brutal. But I am also a mother." She touches her snout to (Y/N)'s shoulder. "And you seem to be missing your family."
(Y/N) squeezes her eyes shut. Her lashes glisten with starlight. "I had to leave them," she says, her words tremulous in the open air, "because of the future that I saw. I shared and I did what I could, but . . . I can't keep them all safe. Not if I'm there."
Lupa tilts her head. "That is a problem easily remedied."
(Y/N) swallows, forcing down the lump in her throat. "How? I can't change what happens."
"No," says Lupa, quite simply. "You cannot. Running away from fate never works."
"So how?"
"Allow me to help you." Lupa sits back, her tail flicking casually through the grass. "It would be my honor to train you in whatever way I can. You may learn what you need to serve as a solution. Besides, you could benefit from a distraction."
(Y/N) blinks with surprise. "I—"
"You have power," Lupa interrupts, "but you and I both understand that you do not know what to do with it."
A quiet scoff escapes (Y/N)'s throat. "I don't think that's the case."
"Really? Are you not still riddled with fatigue? Do you no longer battle with the urges of the power within you?"
(Y/N) purses her lips.
"There is a world of potential you have yet to uncover." The mist in Lupa's eyes flickers with a touch of ice. "You simply do not know it because, as we have discussed before, you do not see a use for it. You are a good warrior. But you could benefit from understanding the Roman ways of thought."
(Y/N) grits her teeth. "My gods tried to turn me into their weapon," she says. With the poison in her words, the breeze seems to blow harder. "I'm not going to let you do that, too."
Lupa's eyes glitter with amusement. "I do not wish to turn you into a weapon," she assures. Her canines glint in the moonlight, almost in place of a smirk. "I merely wish to help you become something you've been afraid of missing—something far more powerful."
(Y/N) pulls her spine straighter, staring into Lupa's gaze with a challenge.
Her defiance extinguishes at what the goddess says next:
"Yourself."
———
I'm very glad that I got to share this part since I've had a break in my schedule to write!! this came about a lot sooner than I was expecting lol, but pls keep in mind that the next update likely won't be for a few weeks
anyway, thoughts?
remember to drink water and get sleep and wear a seatbelt and eat enough food and make good life choices!!!!!
until next time my loves xx