𝐍𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓 𝐂𝐑𝐀𝐖𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐆, luke castellan

𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐞𝐧

Keira was certain she was dreaming, yet the landscape before her felt unfamiliar.

Standing atop a hill enveloped in grapevines, she surveyed her surroundings with a furrowed brow. Before her lay a small garden adorned with a fountain, its waters dancing in the gentle breeze.

At the heart of the garden stood a statue, its form reminiscent of Dionysus, the god of wine, yet there was something subtly different about it, something that eluded her grasp. Mortal sculptors often struggled to capture the essence of the gods, and this figure seemed to bear the mark of their uncertainty.

"Keira." Despite her curiosity pulling her towards the statue, a voice calling her name echoed through the air, drawing her attention away from the enigmatic sculpture.

The girl swiftly turned toward the voice, her senses on high alert. Before her stood a boy, perhaps nine or ten years old, his gaze filled with concern. Dressed in a purple shirt, his worried expression mirrored her own unease, as if they both sensed her presence was unwelcome. The intensity of his stare triggered memories of Jon, her friend, casting similar glances when she ventured into forbidden places.

Yet, unlike those moments, Keira felt a profound sense of disquiet in this unfamiliar setting. It was akin to standing alone in a sea of fervent Boston Celtics fans while donning a Los Angeles Lakers jersey—a feeling of intrusion and impending danger that defied explanation.

Approaching the boy cautiously, Keira strained to recall where she might have seen him before. Though his features seemed vaguely familiar, she couldn't place him. Perhaps he resembled a distant cousin or someone she'd glimpsed in a television commercial.

Her attention momentarily diverted, Keira's gaze wandered to the landscape beyond the boy. The valley stretched out before her, dotted with structures that blended classical influences with a touch of modernity. A river adorned the green fields, and among the buildings, one in particular caught her eye, resembling something akin to a coliseum. It was a scene unlike anything she'd ever seen, certainly not within the confines of Camp Half-Blood.

But before she could explore further, the boy's urgent voice brought her focus back to him. "Keira, don't go looking for me," he implored, his words trembling with a mix of fear and warning.

As Keira turned back to the boy, she felt a chill run down her spine under the weight of his intense gaze. His eyes seemed to penetrate into her soul, conveying a sense of urgency that she couldn't ignore.

The boy's purple shirt bore a drawing of a golden laurel wreath, and within it were four letters. But try as she might, Keira couldn't decipher them. Each letter seemed to blur into the next, dancing tantalizingly out of focus. It was a sensation reminiscent of her dyslexia, but somehow more profound, as if some unseen force was deliberately obscuring the inscription from her understanding.

Keira's mind raced as she tried to make sense of the boy's cryptic warning. She couldn't recall ever encountering him before, let alone searching for him. Yet, as she studied his features, a nagging sense of familiarity tugged at her consciousness.

Then, like a bolt from the blue, it struck her.

Though the boy before her bore little resemblance to the Luke Castellan she knew, there were subtle similarities in their features that hinted at a familiar connection. The blue eyes, the blonde hair—they all echoed the face of the troubled demigod she knew. Could this boy be a younger version of Luke?

And if so, why was he warning her to stop looking for him?

Despite the physical resemblance, there were notable differences between the boy standing before her and the Luke she knew. The boy's eyes held a spark of intensity that surpassed even the most electric gaze of the Luke she remembered. While her version of Luke often sported unruly hair that stuck out in all directions upon waking, this boy's hair was neatly cropped, almost military in style.