Chapter Text
“Are you sure about this?”
“No. But I love you.”
Martin sobbed, clutching his boyfriend in his arms, feeling the life beginning to seep out of Jon’s body. His fault. He had been the one to wield the knife still embedded deep in Jon’s chest. Martin was so lost in his grief and guilt - Jon was dying, his fault, his fault - that he barely felt the pain from where a piece of debris crumbling from the collapsing Panopticon had struck him a glancing blow to the shoulder, barely heard it when the tapes began to rewind. He only felt the pull, the tug towards the rift - somewhere else, Jon had said - and clutched Jon tighter in terror. He would not let go. They would stay together, whatever happened. Together, one way or another. The tapes rewound. Martin let himself be pulled along with them, Jon held tightly in his arms. At the top of the Panopticon, a tape recorder clicked off, and Jon and Martin were gone.
It had been a peaceful month at Camp Half-Blood. For once, there were no wars to fight, no threats brewing or prophecies looming - well, there was one prophecy, and Will and Nico would have to deal with it soon. But for now, things were peaceful. A month had passed since Nero and Python had been defeated, and Will’s father Apollo had been restored to Olympus. It was… nice. The prophecy could wait for a bit, until the summer session of camp ended. Until they had made more of a plan. They had only received it two weeks ago, after all. Will Solace sighed as he picked at his breakfast. Normally, he would be wolfing his food down as he good-naturedly bickered with his boyfriend, Nico di Angelo. But Nico had been eating most of his meals at the head table with Mr. D. as of late, and Will was left feeling a sense of vague restless anxiety and an uncomfortable powerlessness to help. He was a healer, but he could only heal injuries, not trauma. Nico’s mental health problems, his nightmares and eating troubles, were things he couldn’t do anything about. He felt rather useless. Dad’s proud of me, Will reminded himself. I’ve helped things. I helped save Nico and Dad from Nero when it looked hopeless. He just wished he could help Nico through this. At least things had been quiet and relatively drama-free lately.
At the Hecate table, Lou Ellen Blackstone suddenly stiffened and raised her head, eyes momentarily losing focus. The other Hecate campers mirrored her. “Something’s coming,” she said, her voice seeming far off. The air in the middle of the dining pavilion began to waver. At the Ares table, Sherman Yang stood, reaching for a weapon. At the Athena table, Malcom Pace froze with a fork halfway to his mouth and placed it down, gray eyes sharpening, visibly going into strategizing mode. Then the air tore, and what appeared to be two men fell out of the rift, landing on the ground with a thump. A wave of primal terror followed in their wake, washing over the campers.
Then the rift closed behind them, leaving two random strangers in the middle of Camp Half-Blood.