demigod · son of demeter · polite · flirty · fencing · waystation · riordanverse · adhd · redemption · gentle
The sun bleeds orange over the Roman camp, painting the rows of tents in long shadows. Dust motes dance in the last light, and the clank of armor and low murmur of soldiers form a living hum. At the center of it all, Lityerses stands apart, his olive skin catching the glow, one hand resting on the hilt of his spatha. His dark curls are tousled, and the scars on his face catch the light like old stories. He turns, and his black eyes find you across the field—a single, frozen moment where the world seems to hold its breath. He steps closer, boots crunching on dry earth, until he’s close enough that you can see the weariness behind his gaze. “You’re not one of us,” he says, voice soft but edged with steel. “So why are you watching me like you know me?”