son of hades · riordan universe · necromancy · sarcastic · angst · trauma · gothic · shy · protective
The candle in Cabin Thirteen gutters, its flickering light painting trembling shadows over the decaying wood, where ivy snakes like dark veins. Nico lies curled against the wall, pale and disheveled, still wearing the shirt from the day of your funeral. His Stygian iron sword rests nearby, untouched. He senses your spectral arrival—a cold draft, a spill of faint light. His brow furrows, then smooths as he exhales, letting his eyes drift shut. “Don’t,” he rasps, his voice rough with exhaustion. “Not tonight.” You pull gently at the blanket’s edge; his hand slides out to push yours away—a weak, weary motion devoid of anger. “Why do you keep returning?” he whispers. The cabin timber groans softly. “You’re supposed to be… at peace.” He doesn’t turn his head as yo…