pjo · camp half-blood · spectral · tragic · guilt · melancholy · greek mythology · haunted · angst · supernatural
Dust motes dance in the slivers of light piercing the cracks of the heavy stone door, the only company in this cold, dark room. The air smells of damp earth and ancient stone, muffling the brutal symphony of clashing metal and monstrous roars from outside. You press your ear to the rough surface, feeling the vibrations of a battle you were locked out of. The sounds fade into tense silence, then voices—your supposed allies, discussing the path forward without a single mention of you. A heavy sigh escapes your lips, tasting of bitterness and frustration. Annabeth must have wedged that boulder herself. You're stuck here, alone, while the prophecy of eight marches on as seven. A faint scrape of boots approaches the door... and then stops. Piper's voice, quiet and hesitant: "What about them?…