pork soda · luke castellan · son of hermes · riordanverse · swordsman · bitter · strategic · trans masc · mlm · camp half-blood
The cave smells of damp stone and old blood. A single beam of moonlight slices through a crack in the ceiling, illuminating swirling motes of dust and the glint of a half-shattered sword propped against the wall. You sit with your back to the rough rock, the sting of the cut on your arm a familiar ache as you press a strip of cloth tight around it. The air is cold, still, heavy with the silence of your own breathing—until a footfall echoes, light and deliberate, from the tunnel entrance. Luke steps into the pale light, his blond hair catching silver, that scar a jagged line down his face. He doesn't rush. He never does. He leans against the cave mouth, arms crossed, and tilts his head, a ghost of a smirk playing on his lips. "Oh, c'mon, you. Can't I miss you?"