[Third Person's PoV]
During the dead of night, a lone figure stood motionless atop a solitary hill, his silhouette barely illuminated under the dim glow of the crescent moon. He wore a long, hooded coat that draped down past his knees, the hood casting a shadow over the upper half of his face, concealing all but the glint of his narrowed eyes. The wind tugged at the edges of his coat, but he remained still, hands buried deep in his pockets as he stared across the distance.
Far below, nestled in the safety of magical barriers, Camp Half-Blood glowed faintly with the soft flicker of torchlight and the artificial glimmers of modern lighting. From his vantage point, he could see the cabins lined up in orderly rows and hear the faintest echo of laughter and voices—life continuing as if he'd never been a part of it.
With slow, deliberate steps, the hooded figure descended the hill, his boots pressing into the damp earth. He moved silently, finally stopping at the edge of the enchanted boundary line surrounding the camp. He gazed down at the invisible barrier, scoffing softly under his breath. Without a word, he raised one hand and pressed it forward, palm open.
Instantly, a crackling pulse of energy shot across his skin, pushing back against him like a solid wall. Sparks flared as the magical field rejected his presence, hissing and popping with each failed attempt. He tried again, leaning into the barrier with a slight growl of frustration, but it was futile. The camp's magic held strong.
After a few moments, he pulled his hand back, smoke curling upward from his fingertips. He stared at it briefly, watching the wisps of vapor coil into the air before flicking his hand dismissively.
Not long after, the soft creak of a cabin door echoed faintly across the night. From the Hermes Cabin, another figure emerged, glancing around cautiously, shoulders tense. He moved with the wary gait of someone who didn't want to be seen, especially not at this hour.
The boy approached the boundary line, halting just before it, where the hooded man was waiting patiently.
"Chris," the hooded figure said, his voice smooth and teasing, "it's been a while, hasn't it~?"
Chris flinched at the voice and looked around again, visibly nervous. "Luke," he whispered sharply. "I really shouldn't be out here talking to you. If anyone finds out, I could get in serious trouble. I thought we agreed—our meetings would be from a distance, through messages."
"I was in the area," Luke said, shrugging casually as he pulled down his hood, revealing his face, "and I wanted to see something for myself. Thought I'd drop by and pay a little visit."
Chris frowned, taking a half-step back. "Yeah, well, I don't think that's such a great idea. You're not exactly on everyone's favorite list right now. Most of them feel like you abandoned us."
Luke exhaled sharply, resisting the urge to roll his eyes. "Those cowards? I didn't abandon them. They abandoned me when things got tough. But let's not waste time talking about the ungrateful. How's the recruitment going?"
Chris rubbed the back of his neck. "Honestly? Better than before. Like I mentioned last time—Lucian, Annabeth, and Thalia are all off at school now. That means the ones left behind, the ones with nowhere else to go, are more willing to listen. More likely to join you. Lucian not being around helps. They're not constantly reminded of what he's capable of… but that doesn't mean they aren't still scared of him. Terrified might be a better word."
Chris reached into his coat and pulled out a folded piece of parchment. He glanced around once more, then tossed it through the magical barrier. Luke caught it with ease.
"Those are the names of the ones I've managed to sway to our side," Chris said quietly. "But I think I've hit my limit. Any more and people will start asking questions. It's not just Lucian they're afraid of. It's Thalia too… and even Annabeth. They've all grown stronger. And the others can feel that."
Luke unfolded the parchment and scanned the names. He gave a nod, then tucked the list safely into the inner pocket of his coat.
"You've done well, Chris," he said with a sly, charismatic smile. "You always come through. It's good to know I can count on you."
Chris shifted uncomfortably. "You know I've always had your back, man. But I really should get going. I can't afford to get caught sneaking out. Stay safe, Luke. Seriously."
Without another word, Chris turned and hurried back toward the cabin, vanishing into the dark.
As the boy disappeared into the shadows, the smile slowly faded from Luke's face. He pulled his hood back over his head and gave the camp one last glance, his expression hard and unreadable.
Luke stood once more atop the familiar hill, the same place he'd been before. He looked down at his hand—the skin still red and slightly blistered from the earlier encounter with the magical barrier. He flexed his fingers slowly, the sensation sharp and tender.
"So… what do you think?" he muttered aloud, though no one stood beside him. His words, spoken into the wind, were not meant for the living.
A voice answered—not from beside him, but from within. It echoed through his mind, cold and ancient, slithering like a serpent across his consciousness.
"It is powerful," came Kronos's spectral reply, a dry rasp that seemed to scrape against the very walls of Luke's soul. "Effective, too. Whoever cast it was no mere amateur."
Luke scoffed and rolled his shoulder as if trying to shake off the chill that voice brought with it. "I suspect Lucian. The signature feels like his work. He may as well have etched his name into the air around it. It's got his scent written all over it."
"Hmm…" Kronos rumbled with dark amusement. "A shame, really. He would have made a fine addition to our growing army. So much raw power, so much potential… wasted."
"A shame indeed," Luke muttered sarcastically, though he didn't hide the bitterness in his voice. "So, what about it? Can you break through it? Do you know how to tear that veil down?"
There was a brief pause, the kind that made Luke's spine stiffen.
"Yes," Kronos said at last, cold and sure. "Breaking the barrier is the easiest part of your mission, the most trivial step. The challenge lies in obtaining the material required to do so. That… will be your true test."
Luke's jaw tightened, but he said nothing. He clenched his injured hand before shoving both hands into his coat pockets to hide the tension. Arguing with Kronos never ended well, and he knew better than to voice his frustration openly.
"What is it?" Luke asked, his voice low and controlled, though his eyes burned with reluctant curiosity. "What do I need to do?"
There was a silence, and then Kronos's voice returned—this time harsher, crueler. "You must journey deep beneath the earth… to the Underworld itself. There, you will approach the edge of the abyss that once held me in chains."
Luke's head jerked up, eyes wide. "Wait—" he began, but stopped himself too late. His body was already tense, his composure slipping.
"Are you seriously telling me to go into Tartarus?!" he hissed through clenched teeth, his voice barely contained.
The response came like thunder, sharp and immediate: "Do not interrupt me again, boy!" Kronos snarled, each word stabbing into Luke's mind like knives. "You will speak when I grant you permission to do so. Nothing sooner."
Luke fell silent instantly, his mouth snapping shut. His hands trembled inside his coat, fists clenched so tightly his knuckles turned white. But he remained quiet, nodding stiffly.
"You won't need to descend all the way into Tartarus," Kronos continued, his tone calm again but laced with poison. "Merely to its edge. You must collect the miasma that leaks from its depths—the foul, corrosive vapor that seeps into the upper layers of the Underworld. That miasma holds the power to consume and decay nearly all it touches. With it, you shall corrode the protective veil around Camp Half-Blood and deliver a critical blow to their defense."
Luke closed his eyes, drawing in a slow breath as he absorbed the words. "Alright," he said quietly. "I'll go. I'll begin preparations immediately."
Without another word, his form shimmered, then flickered—like a mirage being blown away in the wind. A moment later, the hill was empty once again.
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