Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The clang of swords rang out across the training grounds, sharp and unforgiving. Max twisted, his blade moving like a blur, a deadly combination of speed and strength that left his opponent scrambling to keep up. Each swing was fast, ruthless, and controlled, but the fire that surged through Max’s veins pushed him harder. The son of Hermes he was sparring against was barely holding his own now, the sweat dripping down his face as he struggled to parry Max’s next strike.

With one final swing, Max knocked the sword from his opponent’s hand. The blade clattered to the ground, and the fight was over. Max stood over him, chest heaving, but the satisfaction that should’ve followed never came. His opponent’s eyes flickered with something like fear before he bowed his head in submission.

The crowd of campers that had gathered at the edge of the arena muttered among themselves, watching Max as though they expected nothing less. Another fight won. Another display of aggression from the unclaimed kid everyone assumed was a son of Ares. That’s what they saw, at least. That’s what they always saw.

Max wiped the sweat from his forehead, tossing his sword aside as he turned to leave. The whispers continued behind him, a dull hum that was all too familiar.

"He’s gotta be Ares’ kid. No one fights like that unless they’re a son of war."

"Still hasn’t been claimed though. What’s up with that?"

Max’s jaw tightened as he walked away, trying to drown out their voices. He’d heard it all before. The assumptions, the gossip, the endless theories. It didn’t matter how many battles he won or how hard he trained—none of it ever felt enough.

Maybe if I was stronger. Maybe if I fought harder… if I proved myself more, I’d be claimed.

The thought gnawed at him, as it always did. Every day, he pushed himself harder. Every day, he trained longer than anyone else. But the truth that haunted him was one he could never escape. Max wasn’t good enough. If he were, his father—whoever he was—would’ve claimed him by now. He would’ve come forward, shown some sign, done something to acknowledge that Max belonged.

But there was nothing. Only silence. And Max was left to fill that silence with the only thing he knew how to do: fight.

A hand clapped him on the shoulder, breaking him from his thoughts. Max turned to see Charles standing beside him, his lips curved into that easy smile that seemed to cut through the weight pressing down on Max’s chest. Charles, son of Apollo, golden and sure, always the calm to Max’s storm.

“Another win,” Charles said, tilting his head toward the sparring ring. “You know, if you keep this up, you’re going to run out of people willing to fight you.”

Max shrugged, trying to brush off the compliment. “They’ll always find someone.”

Charles’ smile faltered, just a little, his sharp eyes catching the tension in Max’s shoulders. “Yeah, well, you don’t have to prove anything, you know?”

Max’s jaw clenched. Proving things wasn’t the problem. Not to everyone else, at least. It was to himself.

“I’m fine,” Max muttered, his voice rougher than intended. “Just… training.”

Charles didn’t push, but there was a softness in his gaze, like he wanted to say more. Max could feel it—like an unspoken question hanging between them. But Charles, like always, chose not to push him too far. Instead, he stepped closer, his tone lighter.

“Well, if you’ve got any energy left after kicking that poor guy’s ass, how about you take me on next?”

Max’s eyes flickered with surprise. Charles had challenged him before, but it wasn’t often. Their fights were always more restrained, more strategic, and Max never came out of them feeling as reckless as he did with the others. Sparring with Charles was different. It was almost like he could let down some of that armor, even if it was just for a moment.

“Alright,” Max said, his grip tightening around his sword again. “But don’t expect me to go easy on you.”

Charles grinned, drawing his own weapon and stepping into the ring. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

They circled each other, swords raised, both of them watching, waiting for the other to make the first move. Where Max’s earlier fights had been fast and brutal, this one was almost like a dance. Charles was precise, his movements calculated, his strikes sharp but never reckless. Max countered with sheer force, pushing Charles back, but never too far. Every swing, every block, was like a conversation between them—unspoken, but understood.

Charles dodged one of Max’s strikes, slipping behind him and tapping his blade lightly against Max’s shoulder. “You’re not focused.”

“I’m focused enough,” Max growled, swinging around with more force than before, their swords clashing in the middle of the ring.

But even as the fight raged on, Max’s mind was elsewhere. It was always there, lingering in the back of his thoughts—the question he could never shake.

Why wasn’t I claimed?

Max and Charles continued their sparring, neither holding back now. Each strike was met with precision, each movement balanced. Sweat dripped down their faces, but neither relented. The world around them faded as the clash of steel filled the air.

From the sidelines, Carlos, a son of Hephaestus, leaned against the fence, watching with a smirk. "You guys ever get tired of showing off?"

Max shot him a glare, breathing heavily, but it was Charles who answered with a laugh. “Jealous?”

Carlos rolled his eyes, pushing himself off the fence. “Of you? Never. Though I gotta say, Max, if I didn't know better, I’d think you were trying to tire out the whole camp.”

Max ignored the comment, focusing on Charles as he lunged forward, but he could feel Carlos’ eyes on him. Like the others, Carlos had his own theories about Max’s parentage, but unlike most, he never pushed it too far. Still, the teasing got under Max’s skin sometimes, though he'd never admit it.

As the fight wore on, another figure approached, Lando, a son of Hermes, walking up with his usual energy. “You guys sparring again? Seriously? Is there nothing else to do around here?”

“Join in if you’re so bored,” Max muttered between strikes, though his heart wasn’t really in the fight anymore. He was distracted, his thoughts drifting again to the unanswered questions in his mind.

“Nah, I’d rather keep my head on my shoulders, thanks,” Lando replied, throwing a mock salute before settling next to Carlos. “You know, you’re not gonna get claimed by beating the life out of everyone.”

Max froze, the words hitting too close to home. His grip tightened around his sword, the doubt creeping back in. Lando didn’t mean anything by it—just another harmless joke—but it was a reminder of the nagging feeling that followed him everywhere.

What if he’s right? What if this is all I am? Just a fighter…

Charles must have sensed the shift because he dropped his sword to his side, stepping out of the ring. “Alright, I think we’ve all had enough for today.”

Max didn’t argue. He let his own sword fall, the weight in his chest feeling heavier than ever. Carlos and Lando exchanged glances, clearly picking up on the tension, but neither said anything. They knew when to let things lie.

As the group dispersed, Toto Wolff passed by, his towering figure stopping for a moment to watch them. He gave a nod of acknowledgment, his eyes lingering on Max. “Good work today. But don’t forget, there’s more to this camp than fighting.”

Max didn’t respond, but he could feel the weight of Toto’s words. They echoed what Charles had been telling him all along. And yet, no matter how many times people said it, the emptiness inside him remained.

After their intense sparring session, Max and Charles found themselves by the lake, the only place Max felt he could clear his head. The water shimmered under the fading sun, its surface undisturbed—unlike Max’s thoughts, which churned restlessly.

Charles sat beside him, giving him space but never too far. Their silent companionship was something Max had come to appreciate. No questions. No expectations. Just Charles, there whenever Max needed him. Max stared out at the lake, his mind heavy with doubts about his parentage and the constant pressure to prove himself.

“You don’t have to prove anything to me, you know,” Charles said softly, breaking the silence. “Not to anyone.”

Max remained quiet, his fingers tracing patterns in the dirt by the water’s edge. Charles always said things like that, and while it helped in the moment, the feeling never lasted. The questions in his mind always came back.

“I’m fine,” Max muttered, his voice barely above a whisper.

Before Charles could respond, they were interrupted by the sound of footsteps approaching quickly. Max glanced up to see George, a son of Athena, jogging towards them with an urgent look on his face.

“There you are,” George said, slightly out of breath. “I’ve been looking for you everywhere.”

Charles raised an eyebrow. “What’s going on?”

George wiped the sweat from his brow. “You’re being called, Max. Apparently, Hannah wants to see you.”

Max froze. “Hannah?”

“Yeah,” George nodded, still looking confused himself. “Christian told me to find you and deliver the message. Apparently, it’s important.”

Max exchanged a glance with Charles, his heart starting to race. Hannah? The Oracle, she was practically a myth around camp, rarely ever seen, let alone calling someone personally. Whatever this was, it wasn’t small.

“What could she want with me?” Max muttered, more to himself than to anyone else.

“Guess you’re about to find out,” Charles said, though his voice had lost its earlier lightness. He stood up, brushing the dirt off his pants before offering Max a hand.

Max hesitated for a split second, then took Charles’ hand, letting him pull him to his feet. George gave them both a look that said he wasn’t sure what to make of the situation either.

“I’d hurry if I were you,” George added, “Christian didn’t seem like he wanted to keep her waiting.”

With a final glance at the lake, Max took a deep breath. “Let’s go, then.”

Chapter Text

Max’s footsteps dragged as he made his way toward Hannah’s cabin, his mind heavy with thoughts he couldn’t shake. It had been years since he left his mortal life behind, but the memories still clung to him like ash on a fire-damaged hearth.

He remembered the day his mother had married Jos, how everything had shifted after that. Jos had never truly accepted Max, not like his own daughter, Max’s half-sister. Jos’s love was reserved for her. Max had always been a reminder of something that didn’t quite fit into the family picture. Jos didn’t say it outright, but the difference in how he treated them said enough.

Max had learned early on that nothing he did would ever be good enough for Jos.

He worked harder, trained harder, always hoping—just for a sliver of recognition. But Jos remained indifferent. The few moments Max saw him smile were reserved for his sister, and Max had become accustomed to the feeling of being invisible, unwanted. It was worse than hatred—it was being dismissed, as if he didn’t matter at all.

But Max still loved his sister.

He remembered the way she’d sneak into his room at night when their parents were fighting, whispering stories to each other under the covers. She was the only one who ever saw Max for who he was. The only one who made him feel like he wasn’t alone.

That was, until the monsters started coming.

The first time they attacked, Max had barely escaped with his life. The second time, he realized he couldn’t stay with his family anymore. The monsters came for him—always him. And the longer he stayed, the more danger he brought to his mother and sister. So, he did what he had to. He ran. And every day since then, he felt the ache of leaving them behind.

But there was something else—something darker.

The severe number of monsters that followed him wasn’t normal- not even for demigods. When he first arrived at camp, Toto had looked at him curiously explaining he was a beacon these monsters, calling out to them, even more so than the others. But if he was that important, why hadn’t he been claimed yet?

Why did the gods ignore him?

Everyone at camp assumed Max was a son of Ares. It made sense—the anger, the aggression, the need to prove himself through battle. But Max wasn’t sure anymore. He trained harder than anyone, pushed himself to the edge every day, but there was no sign, no godly claim. It was as if the gods had decided he wasn’t worth the trouble.

And so, Max fought. Not just against the monsters or his fellow campers, but against the feeling of never being good enough. For Jos, for his family, for the gods.

Max clenched his fists as he neared Hannah’s cabin. He didn’t know why she’d summoned him, but something told him this was important.

Inside the cabin, the air was warm, a comforting kind of warmth that made Max stop in his tracks. Hannah sat by the hearth, her face illuminated by the flickering flames. She turned as Max entered, her eyes gentle but knowing.

“Max,” she said softly, as if she had been expecting him all along. “Come closer.”

Max hesitated, feeling a strange weight in the room. He had never been called by the Oracle before—nobody had. He didn’t know what to expect.

Slowly, he stepped forward.

Hannah studied him for a long moment, her gaze soft but piercing. “You’ve always felt like you didn’t belong, haven’t you?”

Max looked away, unable to meet her eyes. How could she know that? He didn’t even know how to put those feelings into words.

“The hearth is a place for the lost,” she continued. “For those who feel unclaimed. Unseen. But the truth is, Max, you’ve never been invisible.”

Max’s heart clenched at her words, a mix of frustration and confusion rising inside him. “I don’t belong anywhere,” he muttered.

Hannah smiled, but there was a hint of sadness in her eyes. “You belong more than you know. You’ve always belonged. You just didn’t realize it.”

Max felt the sting of those words, and anger bubbled up inside him. “Then why hasn’t anyone claimed me?” he demanded, his voice harsh. “If I’m supposed to belong, why do I feel like this?”

Hannah stood and turned toward the hearth, her hands outstretched toward the flames. “Because sometimes, the strongest flames are the hardest to control. And sometimes, the ones meant to guide them don’t know how.”

Max clenched his fists, frustration boiling over. “That doesn’t help me.”

Hannah turned back to him, her gaze calm but firm. “You’re stronger than you think, Max. But strength isn’t just about fighting. It’s about understanding who you are. And you’re more than just a warrior.”

Max’s chest tightened. He wanted to argue, to push back, but something in her words stuck with him.

“You’ll find the answers you’re looking for,” Hannah said softly. “But the path won’t be easy. The truth never is.”

Max left the cabin, his mind spinning from the cryptic conversation. Hannah’s words left him more unsettled than before. He needed to hit something—anything. Maybe if he pushed himself hard enough, he could drown out the noise in his head.

Max slammed his sword into the training dummy with a force that sent splinters flying. His breath came in sharp, ragged gasps, but he didn’t stop. He couldn’t stop. Each swing, each strike, was an attempt to silence the storm raging in his chest. Hannah’s words echoed in his mind, cryptic and heavy, teasing him with answers but leaving more questions. His past, his struggles, his family—everything felt like a tangled knot he couldn’t untie.

“You’re stronger than you think, Max, but you need to understand the fire within you.” Hannah’s voice replayed over and over, filling him with frustration.

The dummy wobbled on its stand as Max landed another hit, the wood creaking under the relentless assault. But no matter how hard he swung, the frustration inside him didn’t fade. Instead, it built, clawing at him, demanding more—more proof that he was worthy, that he could be something more than what people saw.

"Max, that's enough," came Charles' voice, cutting through the haze of Max’s relentless thoughts. But Max barely registered it, muscles straining as he punched again.

“Max!” Charles’ voice was sharper this time, closer. His steps crunched on the gravel, and Max felt a hand grip his wrist, stopping him mid-punch. Max's body tensed, the familiar heat of frustration bubbling to the surface. He tried to shake Charles off, but his limbs were shaking from exertion, his vision blurring slightly.

"I'm fine!" Max snapped, wrenching his arm free.

Charles stood his ground, eyes unwavering as they met Max’s stormy gaze. "You’re not."

Max clenched his fists tighter, his breath ragged, trying to ignore the truth behind those words. The raw skin of his knuckles stung, but not as much as the gnawing sense of failure.

"I don’t need your help," he muttered, though the words felt hollow even to him.

"You don’t get a choice," Charles said softly but firmly, stepping closer. "You’ve pushed yourself too far, Max. You’re hurting."

Before Max could protest, Charles lifted his hand, a soft, golden light glowing from his fingertips. The warmth spread through Max’s aching body as Charles placed a hand on his shoulder, the soothing energy healing the cuts on Max’s knuckles and easing the deep muscle aches.

Max wanted to pull away, to protest again, but the warmth of Charles’ touch was too calming. Slowly, his body began to relax, though his mind still churned. He could feel the weight of everything pressing on him—Hannah’s words, his failures, his lack of a claim—none of it was eased by the healing light.

“I’m fine,” Max repeated, though this time his voice wavered, betraying him.

Charles shook his head, not buying it. “No, you’re not. And it’s okay not to be.”

Max swallowed hard, his throat tightening, but he kept his gaze averted. He didn’t want to talk about it, didn’t want to admit how lost he felt. But Charles always saw through him, even when Max couldn’t find the words.

"You don’t have to prove anything to me, or to anyone else,” Charles added, his voice gentle as the light in his hand began to dim. “Not like this."

The weight of those words hit Max harder than any punch could. Silence hung between them, the distant sounds of camp fading as Max’s chest tightened. It wasn’t about proving himself to Charles—or maybe it was. Maybe that’s what made everything worse.

As Charles’ hand lowered, Carlos approached, “What’s going on here?” he asked, his voice calm but laced with concern.

“Max is trying to break himself in half,” Charles muttered.

Carlos raised an eyebrow, glancing at the battered dummy before turning his focus back to Max. “You’ve got to pace yourself, man. No good comes from burning out.” His tone was patient, understanding, but Max didn’t want to hear it.

“I don’t have time to pace myself,” Max snapped, turning away from them both. “I have to be better. I have to—” His voice caught, the weight of everything pressing down on him.

Carlos stepped closer, his hand resting lightly on Max’s shoulder. “You’ll find the answers in time. It’s not about pushing yourself to the brink, Max. It’s about discovering who you are—beyond the fighting.”

Max shook him off, a bitter laugh escaping his lips. “Who I am? I don’t even know who that is.” His voice cracked, betraying the anger and confusion that had been building for days. “How am I supposed to figure that out when all I’ve ever done is fight for something—someone—I don’t even understand?”

The air around them grew heavy with unspoken tension, but before anyone could say more, the sound of laughter broke the silence.

“Whoa, tense vibes over here.” Lando bounded over with his usual carefree energy, Pierre following close behind. “Are we sparring again, or is this some deep emotional crisis I’m walking into?”

Pierre, another son of Hermes, smirked, but his eyes were sharp as he assessed the situation. “Seems like Max is giving everyone a run for their money.”

“Not in the mood,” Max muttered, stepping away from the group.

Lando’s grin faltered slightly, but he tried to lighten the mood. “Come on, Max. It’s not all bad. Look at us—champion fighters and all-around good-looking demigods.”

Max barely heard him. His thoughts were already somewhere else, lost in the chaos of Hannah’s cryptic words, the weight of the unanswered questions, and the lingering doubt that he would never be enough. Lando’s and Pierre’s laughter only made him feel more isolated. Their camaraderie was something he couldn’t connect with, not when the burden he carried felt so heavy.

Yet envy gnawed at him. Charles could heal, unbeatable with a bow and arrow, Carlos had mastery over fire, and even Lando and Pierre, who had joined them, seemed comfortable with their abilities.

Lando was always quick to lighten the mood, flashing in and out of view as he zipped across the training grounds, too fast for the eye to follow. Pierre, in his usual laid-back style, casually tossed an apple into the air, his fingers glowing faintly with the energy he used to make it float.

They all had powers. They all knew their place. And yet, here he was, still unclaimed, still struggling with what he was supposed to be.

“Leave it,” Charles said softly to the others, his eyes never leaving Max. He understood what Max was feeling, even if he didn’t fully know how to help.

That night, after everyone had settled in, Max found himself lying awake, staring at the ceiling of his cabin. Sleep wouldn’t come. His mind was still spinning, the frustration gnawing at him. He eventually drifted into a restless slumber, only to be pulled into a vivid, unsettling dream.

Max stood in the middle of a barren landscape, the sky above him thick with swirling ash and smoke. Flames flickered in the distance, bright and unforgiving, but they didn’t burn him. Instead, they felt strangely familiar, like an extension of himself. In front of him stood a hearth, glowing softly, the flames dancing as though they were alive. Around it, he saw the figures of his family—his sister, his mother, even Jos. They stood by the fire, but no matter how close Max tried to get, they remained just out of reach.

The hearth grew brighter, the flames roaring higher as an unfamiliar voice whispered his name.

“Max.”

The voice was distant, echoing in the back of his mind, but it carried a weight that sent a shiver down his spine. He tried to speak, to call out to the figures in front of him, but his voice wouldn’t come. He was stuck, caught in the middle of this vision, powerless to reach the people he had once known.

The flames roared higher, consuming the hearth, and as the vision began to fade, Max felt the weight of something inevitable pressing down on him. His destiny—whatever it was—was drawing closer, and there was no escaping it.

Max woke with a start, his heart pounding in his chest. The image of the hearth and the voice still lingered in his mind as he sat up, trying to make sense of what he had just seen. The dream had felt so real, so vivid, and the sense of impending fate weighed heavily on him.

Before he could gather his thoughts, a loud knock echoed at his cabin door. Max’s heart raced as he opened it to find Christian standing there, his expression serious.

The head of camp had gathered everyone by the central fire pit, something that only happened on rare occasions. Max stood among the crowd, wondering what this was about, when suddenly, the air grew still.

Hannah stepped forward, her presence commanding silence, her eyes focused directly on Max.

His heart skipped a beat as her eyes began to glow green.

Chapter Text

The head of camp had gathered everyone by the central fire pit, something that only happened on rare occasions. Max stood among the crowd, feeling a tension in the air, his eyes scanning the faces of the others. There was an unspoken expectation hanging over the camp. He shifted uncomfortably, wondering what this was all about, when suddenly, the air grew still.

Hannah stepped forward from the shadows, her presence commanding silence. She rarely appeared in front of the whole camp, and her expression was unreadable, but there was a seriousness in her movements that made Max’s heart skip a beat. As she moved closer to the fire pit, her gaze locked directly on him, causing a strange sense of foreboding to settle in his chest.

The camp around him seemed to disappear, and Max felt an odd sense of isolation, like the world was narrowing down to just him and her. His pulse quickened, and the air seemed to thicken, the heat of the fire intensifying.

Then her eyes began to glow green.

The crowd collectively held its breath, but Max’s world shrank further, everything around him fading into a blur as the intensity of the moment heightened.

“The Oracle has spoken,” Hannah’s voice echoed, but it felt distant. “A prophecy has been delivered.”

As her words filled the space, Max felt something cold settle deep in his chest. He didn’t want to hear it. Didn’t want to know what was coming. But there was no turning back now.

Her voice rose as the fire flared behind her, casting sharp shadows on the faces around the pit. The ancient power of the Oracle filled her voice as she spoke the prophecy aloud:

“In the heart of the flame, a shadow shall rise,

The unclaimed yet chosen, with fire in his eyes.

Through trials of blaze, the destined will stand,

To forge their own fate with a steady hand.

When the night is darkest, and hope seems lost,

A bond with a healer will pay the cost.

Through paths unseen, a shadow shall guide,

With speed and cunning, from fate he won’t hide

From the past shall emerge the strength of the flame,

To ignite the path, and reclaim the name.

Beware the whispers that tug at your soul,

For the truth lies beneath what you think makes you whole.

In sacrifice, light shall break through the despair,

And from the ashes, a hero will dare.

In unity found, through fire and strife,

The path to true identity will come to life.”

Max stood frozen, the weight of the prophecy pressing down on him. He couldn’t explain it, but something in those words resonated deep within him. “The unclaimed yet chosen.” The line struck him like a bolt of lightning. Was it about him? How could it not be? Before he could dwell on the thought, the murmurs began to rise around him.

Charles’ eyes had widened, and his gaze immediately shifted toward Max. It was as though, with every word of the prophecy, pieces were falling into place in his mind. Max could see the concern flickering in Charles’ expression, a mixture of worry and realization.

The other campers exchanged glances too, many of them turning to look at Max with the same mixture of apprehension. Whispers spread through the crowd.

Max could feel the spotlight on him now, though he wished it wasn’t. His chest felt tight, every breath a struggle against the growing pressure. Was this really happening? Was the prophecy about him?

“Max…” Charles said softly, though there was no need for volume. Max was standing right beside him. The way Charles said his name, filled with worry and an unspoken plea, sent a shiver down Max’s spine. He didn’t respond, because he didn’t know how to. The whole camp had gone silent, waiting.

Before he could process what this meant, Carlos’ voice cut through the tension.

Carlos, standing just a few feet away, frowned, his brow furrowed in thought. He glanced toward the fire, his mind racing. “The flame… that has to be about fire power,” he muttered, more to himself than anyone else. “It must involve someone with fire powers, the healer must be a child of Apollo and the unclaimed…” His voice trailed off.

The entirety of camp, even the counselor turned to face Max. Their eyes bore into him. Max stood stiffly, avoiding their gaze. He could feel the weight of expectation pressing down on him like a heavy blanket, and though Carlos’ voice served as a temporary distraction, everyone knew where the focus lay.

Max’s chest tightened. Why him? Why now?

As the last few words of the prophecy settled, Max felt a growing sense of dread in his stomach. He stood there, frozen, the murmurs of the camp blending into white noise. His own thoughts drowned everything else out.

Sacrifice.

That word gripped him like a vice. Everyone assumed the prophecy was about him, about his path, because they all thought he was a son of Ares. They saw a warrior, someone who would lose countless lives in battle, someone destined to prove his strength through suffering and loss. But that image… it didn’t fit Max. He didn’t feel like that person. And he wasn’t sure he ever had.

The pressure to live up to everyone’s expectations—to be something great—was suffocating.

He felt adrift, untethered from any real sense of identity. He thought back to his time at camp, his efforts to prove himself, to be seen, to be enough. But no matter how much he tried, no matter how hard he pushed himself, it never felt like he measured up. He was still unclaimed. Still lost.

The prophecy only deepened that feeling of inadequacy. How could they expect him to save anyone, to be part of something as monumental as this, when he wasn’t even sure of his own place in the world?

The mention of “a bond with a healer” sent a fresh wave of worry through him, and his gaze instinctively flickered to Charles. What did that mean for them? If Charles was the healer, what sacrifices might he face? The thought twisted in Max’s stomach, and he felt a surge of protective instinct. If anyone was going to be caught up in this prophecy, it should be him, not Charles.

Max’s fists clenched as he stared into the dying embers of the fire, a storm of frustration and fear swirling inside him.

The camp began to disperse after Hannah’s departure, everyone murmuring their theories and interpretations. Max didn’t stick around to hear more. He slipped away from the fire pit, needing to escape the eyes and the murmurs, needing space to think.

He headed toward the lake, where the stillness of the water offered some reprieve. His chest was tight, his thoughts a chaotic mess. What if the prophecy really meant his death? What if he was supposed to make the ultimate sacrifice? Or worse, could it somehow involve Charles?

It terrified him.

As he reached the shore, the night air was cool against his skin, but it did nothing to calm the storm raging within him. He stared at the water, its surface reflecting the stars, and tried to make sense of the prophecy’s words. But it was useless. He felt like he was spiraling into a darkness he couldn’t control.

“Max.”

Charles’ voice broke through the silence, but Max didn’t turn around. He knew Charles meant well, but right now, Max wasn’t sure if he could handle anyone’s concern. The weight of the prophecy was too much, and his own self-doubt was too consuming.

“Leave it, Charles,” Max muttered, his voice low and strained.

Charles, undeterred, stepped closer. “You don’t have to go through this alone. You know that, right?”

But Max didn’t look at him. Instead, he tightened his jaw, staring hard at the water. “Maybe I do.”

“Max…” Charles took another step closer, the concern in his voice palpable. “You don’t have to figure it all out right now. We’ll get through this. Together.”

Together. The word hit Max like a punch to the gut. He wanted to believe that, wanted to believe Charles, that they would all be in this together, and everything will be fine. But the prophecy… the implications did not point to a happy ending. And Max would never be able to forgive himself if anything happened to Charles because of him.

He turned then, just enough to glance at Charles, his face tight with frustration. “You don’t get it, Charles. I don’t even know who I am… I don’t even know if I’m strong enough for this.”

Charles frowned; his brow furrowed in concern. “You’re stronger than you think. I’ve seen it. You know, there’s a reason you are chosen for this prophecy”

Max shook his head, turning back toward the lake, closing himself off again.

“Maybe I’m not. Maybe everyone’s wrong about me.”

Silence hung between them, thick and heavy.

Max knew Charles meant well. He always did. But this wasn’t something anyone else could help him with. This was his battle, and it scared him more than anything.

Max stood by the water’s edge long after Charles left, staring into the dark, restless waters. The wind blew across the surface, sending ripples through the reflection of the stars, distorting them just as his thoughts seemed twisted and out of focus.

He wished he could believe in himself the way the others did. He wished he didn’t feel so out of place, like he didn’t belong in his own skin, let alone in a prophecy that spoke of flame and sacrifice. But no matter how much he tried to push the thoughts away, they lingered, a constant reminder of the uncertainty he faced.

In his heart, Max knew the truth. He couldn’t escape this. Whatever the prophecy meant, whatever fate awaited him, he couldn’t avoid it forever.

The flames of destiny had been lit, and soon, the truth—whatever it was—would come to light.

Alone with his thoughts, Max clenched his fists by his side. He couldn’t run from this. Not anymore.

Chapter Text

The air in the camp was tense the morning after the prophecy. Whispers and curious glances followed Max wherever he went, but it wasn’t just the campers who were talking. The camp counselors had convened an urgent meeting, and now Max, Charles, and Carlos were summoned to the large stone building near the edge of the forest—a place reserved for serious matters.

Max sat at the back of the room, his fingers absentmindedly tracing the edge of the table. He hadn’t slept much since the prophecy had been announced. The line about a “bond with the healer” kept echoing in his head, twisting his thoughts and filling him with concern about Charles. He knew what everyone assumed—the prophecy was about him—but Max couldn’t shake the idea that Charles’s role, however unclear, might put him in danger.

Across the table, Charles caught his eye, a small furrow in his brow as if sensing Max’s thoughts. The silent exchange only deepened Max’s worry. He wanted to protect Charles, to shield him from whatever the prophecy would bring, but he also knew Charles would stand by his side no matter what.

Before Max could dwell further, Hannah entered the room, flanked by Christian and Toto, the camp’s head counselors. The air thickened with anticipation. Lando, who had already been seated next to Carlos, wore an unusually serious expression, realizing the gravity of the situation. The room fell into a hush as Hannah moved to the center, the firelight flickering in her gaze.

Christian was the first to speak. “I’m sure by now everyone understands the severity of what’s happening,” he said, his tone sharper than usual. “But we need to make this crystal clear. This prophecy—it’s not just some puzzle to figure out. We’re dealing with something far older and far more dangerous than anything this camp has faced.”

Toto stepped forward, his voice commanding. “There’s an ancient power stirring, something imprisoned deep within Tartarus. If it escapes, the consequences will be catastrophic. We’re not talking about a monster—we’re talking about a primordial force that nearly destroyed the world once before.”

Max felt his stomach twist at the words. His gaze darted to Charles, catching the flicker of uncertainty in his friend’s eyes. Charles, who had always been so steady, now seemed shaken. Max’s fingers tightened on the edge of the table, wanting to reach out, to reassure him, but before he could, Hannah’s voice cut through the room.

“This force... it’s a destroyer, a devourer of light and warmth,” she said quietly. “It thrives on chaos and destruction. It can consume entire flames and leave nothing behind but cold ash.”

Max’s breath caught. Flames. Ash. The words felt too close, too personal. Was this really about him? He glanced down at his hands, half-expecting to see sparks. But there was nothing. Not yet, at least.

Christian picked up where Hannah left off. “We don’t know when or how it will rise, but the signs are becoming clearer. This quest is our only chance to stop it before it’s too late.”

Carlos leaned forward; his eyes sharp with determination. “So, what do we do? Where do we start?”

Toto nodded in his direction. “We received a message from the Gods this morning. The quest begins with finding something hidden deep in the labyrinth. A key, perhaps. Whatever it is, it’s the only thing powerful enough to seal Tartarus and stop this force. But it’s not as simple as finding it.”

Hannah’s gaze swept over the group, her eyes lingering on Max. “This isn’t just about strength or skill. The prophecy speaks of sacrifice... and it won’t be an easy one.”

Max swallowed hard, trying to find his voice. “What about the... sacrifice?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper. “Is it saying that someone has to... die?”

Christian leaned back in his chair, his expression softening for the first time. “Not necessarily,” he said. “Prophecies are rarely that straightforward. The word ‘sacrifice’ can mean many things—letting go of something, giving up something important. It doesn’t always mean death.”

The word echoed in Max’s mind, heavy and cold. Sacrifice. He had always known it would come down to this, but hearing it spoken aloud made it real. A knot tightened in his chest. As much as he wanted to pretend it was just another challenge, the stakes felt impossibly high.

“I don’t get it,” Carlos spoke up, breaking the tension. “The part about the flame... it sounds like a reference to me, right? My powers?”

Christian raised an eyebrow, considering Carlos for a moment before glancing at Toto. They shared a brief, unreadable look.

“It’s possible,” Toto said carefully. “Your abilities as a son of Hephaestus are connected to fire, but we must not jump to conclusions. The prophecy is vague, and often its true meaning is only revealed in the moment.”

“We believe all of you are supposed to be a part of the quest, a lot of the lines might be an allusion to some of your powers, but we can only assume” Christian glanced around the room.

Max wasn’t convinced. The tension in the room, the seriousness in the counselors' eyes, and the weight of the prophecy all pointed to something bigger than a mere metaphorical sacrifice.

Charles, sensing Max’s unease, turned to him, his voice gentle but firm. “We’ll figure this out, Max. Together. Whatever the prophecy means, we’re in this as a team.”

Max’s chest tightened. He wanted to believe Charles, but something about the prophecy still felt deeply personal. The bond with the healer. Was it about their connection? Was Charles the healer mentioned? And if so, what did that mean for him.

Lando, who had been quiet until now, finally spoke. “And if we don’t find it in time?” His voice was calm, but the underlying fear was palpable.

Christian gave a small, grim smile. “Then it’s game over. But we have faith in you. You’re all stronger than you think.”

The room fell into silence again, the gravity of the situation hanging over them all. Max glanced at Charles, seeing the worry etched deep in his friend’s features. Max had never wanted to be the center of attention, let alone the one to save everyone, but here he was, standing on the precipice of something far bigger than he ever imagined.

Charles caught Max’s eye and gave him a small, reassuring nod. Despite everything, Charles seemed ready, even if Max wasn’t sure he could protect him from what was coming.

But Max wouldn’t let him fall. Not if he could help it.

The meeting concluded, but the tension remained. As the others filed out of the room, Max stayed behind, staring into the embers of the campfire that was slowly fading. His thoughts were a storm, swirling with doubt, fear, and the weight of what was coming.

Charles lingered near the door, waiting for Max to follow. Their eyes met, and for a moment, nothing needed to be said. But the unspoken fear and concern for one another was undeniable.

Max turned away first; his shoulders heavy with the burden of expectation. He didn’t know how, but he had to find a way to make it through this—because if he couldn’t, the world, Charles... everything would be lost.

After dinner, Max found himself walking away from the fire pit, his steps slow and heavy. The weight of the prophecy lingered in his chest like a boulder he couldn’t shake off. He needed to be alone—or at least, that’s what he told himself.

But Charles had other plans.

"Max, wait."

Max stopped but didn’t turn around. He closed his eyes, exhaling slowly as he heard Charles’s footsteps approach. He wanted to be alone with his thoughts, but he also knew that pushing Charles away wasn’t going to work. Not now.

“Are you alright?” Charles asked, his voice soft but filled with concern. Max could feel the warmth of his presence, standing close behind him.

“I don’t know,” Max admitted quietly, still not turning to face him. “I don’t know what any of this means, Charles.”

The silence stretched between them, and when Max finally turned around, he was met with Charles’s eyes—wide, worried, searching. Charles was always so calm, always the one who seemed to have everything together. But tonight, that steady exterior was cracking, just a little.

“Max... this prophecy,” Charles started, his voice faltering. “You are the center of it. You know that, right? The flames, the sacrifice...”

“I know,” Max said, cutting him off. “I know. But it doesn’t make sense. I’m not... I’m not who they think I am.”

Charles stepped closer, his hand hovering by Max’s arm but not quite touching. “Then who are you, Max?”

That question hit him harder than anything else. Max had been asking himself that for years—who he really was, where he fit in. He had always thought he was just a warrior, someone who fought because that’s all he knew how to do. But the prophecy, the expectation that he was the one who had to stop this ancient evil... it was more than he had ever prepared for.

“I don’t know,” Max whispered, looking down at the ground. “I don’t know if I can do this.”

Charles’s hand finally rested on Max’s arm, a light touch but grounding. “You’re not alone in this, Max. Whatever happens, we’ll figure it out together.”

Max finally looked up, meeting Charles’s gaze. For a moment, all the fear, the doubt, the weight of the prophecy melted away. It was just the two of them, standing in the quiet of the night. Charles was always there—steady, unyielding. The thought of losing him, of somehow letting him down, gnawed at Max more than anything.

“I just... I’m worried about you,” Max said, his voice cracking. “The prophecy, the part about ‘the bond with the healer’... it’s you. You’re the healer, Charles. And if there’s a sacrifice...”

“I’m not going anywhere,” Charles interrupted, his tone firm but gentle. “If there’s a bond between us, it’s because we’re stronger together. Don’t push me away, Max.”

Max wanted to argue, to tell him that it wasn’t that simple, but when he looked into Charles’s eyes, he saw the determination there. Charles wasn’t going to back down, and Max realized, with a jolt, that he didn’t want him to. The idea of Charles by his side, no matter what came next, was the only thing that brought him any kind of peace.

“Alright,” Max said softly, nodding. “We’ll figure it out together.”

Charles smiled, and for the first time that night, Max felt a small sliver of hope.

“We’ll start preparing tomorrow,” Max said, his voice barely more than a whisper, as if speaking too loudly might shatter the fragile calm between them. “For whatever comes next.”

Charles nodded, his gaze still fixed on Max, that small reassuring smile never leaving his face.

Together, they turned to walk back to the camp, the firelight flickering behind them like a beacon. Whatever the prophecy had in store for them, they would face it—side by side.

The next day, the camp buzzed with activity. Word of the prophecy had spread, and the tension in the air was palpable. Max stood on the training grounds, his muscles coiled with the same restless energy that thrummed through the camp. Around him, other demigods trained with renewed focus, but Max’s mind was somewhere else.

The prophecy had already made him the center of attention, and he hated it. Every glance felt like a spotlight, every whispered conversation seemed to revolve around him. The thought of the looming “sacrifice” gnawed at him constantly, making it hard to concentrate.

Max lunged forward, swinging his sword at the training dummy with ferocity. His movements were sharp, precise—but each strike was fueled by frustration. He wasn’t just battling the dummy; he was fighting the weight of the prophecy, the pressure of everyone’s expectations.

From the side, Charles watched Max carefully, his brows furrowed in concern. He’d always admired Max’s drive, his strength, but today, something felt off.

“Max,” Charles called out, walking over after watching him miss his target for the third time. “You need to slow down. You’re not thinking.”

Max halted, breathing heavily. His knuckles were white from how tightly he gripped his sword. “I don’t have time to slow down,” he muttered. “We don’t have time.”

Charles sighed, stepping closer. “Rushing won’t make this any easier. You’re going to wear yourself out before the quest even begins.”

Max knew he was right, but that only added to his frustration. He tossed his sword aside and ran a hand through his hair, feeling the weight of the world pressing down on his shoulders. “I just… I don’t know if I can do this.”

Charles’s eyes softened. “You’re not doing this alone, Max. We’ll get through it together, remember?”

Max nodded, but the knot of anxiety in his chest didn’t loosen. He turned back to the training field, trying to shake off the feeling.

Across the field, Carlos was busy testing the limits of his own powers. Flames flickered in his palms as he concentrated, trying to control the intensity. Every now and then, he would glance over at Max, still holding onto the belief that his own connection to fire might make him important in this quest. Though he wasn’t the focus of the prophecy, he felt the pressure to be ready.

Next to him, Lando watched, his own face set in quiet determination. He wasn’t as flashy as Carlos with his powers, but he had a way of staying in the background, observing, and preparing in his own way.

“You think we’re ready for this?” Lando asked, crossing his arms as Carlos launched a controlled burst of fire at a target.

Carlos smirked, wiping sweat from his brow. “Ready or not, we don’t have a choice. But yeah, I think we can handle it. We’ve got a good team.”

Lando nodded but didn’t seem entirely convinced. He glanced over at Max and Charles, noting the tension between them. “I hope Max is.”

Hannah watched the scene unfold from a distance. She had been part of many quests in the past, seen many demigods come and go, but this one felt different. The gravity of the situation was clear, and she could sense the unease spreading through the camp. Stepping forward, she approached the group, her calm presence a much-needed anchor.

“The prophecy is not just about strength,” she said, her voice carrying across the training grounds. “It’s about unity. You’ll need to rely on each other more than anything else. The ancient evil rising from Tartarus is more dangerous than any of you have ever faced.”

Max, Charles, Carlos, and Lando gathered around her, listening intently. Max’s heart pounded in his chest as Hannah’s words sunk in. The thought of what lay ahead sent a chill down his spine.

“We’ll train you harder in the days to come,” Hannah continued, her eyes scanning each of them. “But remember—this isn’t just about the prophecy. It’s about protecting each other.”

As the day drew to a close, Max found himself standing by the lake once more, alone with his thoughts. The water rippled gently under the moonlight, and for a moment, Max felt a strange calm wash over him.

The prophecy, the quest, the sacrifice—it all seemed too much. But as he stared out over the water, he thought about Charles, about the bond they shared, and about the others who were counting on him. He couldn’t afford to let them down.

His fists clenched at his sides as resolve slowly hardened within him. Whatever the prophecy demanded, whatever it took— he would protect his friends and he would be ready.

Chapter Text

The night before their departure, the camp was alive with an unusual energy. Fires crackled brightly, casting long shadows across the faces of campers who gathered in small groups, talking in hushed tones. All around, hands reached out with encouragement, some offering advice, others giving supplies: a pouch of ambrosia, a flask of nectar, talismans from their own personal stashes.

As Max, Charles, Carlos, and Lando moved between their friends, they felt the weight of the camp’s collective hope and fear. Each camper, in their own way, tried to show they cared, though the anxiety was hard to miss.

“I guess this is it,” Max murmured as he pocketed a small protective charm one of the younger campers had shyly offered him.

Charles managed a wry smile. “Nothing like a life-threatening quest to bring everyone together, right?”

Carlos slapped them both on the back with a grin, but his eyes held worry. "We’ll make it through. We have to."

They made their way to the central fire pit, where Toto and Christian, the head counselors, were waiting with expressions of grim resolve. Behind them, Hannah watched with her usual calm intensity, her presence both reassuring and sobering. The other senior counselors, too, stood solemnly by, their eyes glinting with a mix of pride and worry.

Christian and Toto stepped forward, their faces drawn with an unspoken gravity. Christian held out a small compass, worn and old, its needle spinning erratically until he passed it to Max. Instantly, it stopped, pointing in a single unwavering direction.

“This compass will guide you, but only if you trust yourself, Max. It’s tied to your instinct; rely on it when the path seems impossible,” Christian said, his voice low. Max looked down at it, its tiny point steady and reassuring. It was as much a warning as it was a gift.

Toto gave a small nod to Charles and handed him a delicate vial filled with shimmering, golden water. “This is to remind you of your role here—and your bond,” he said, his gaze flicking meaningfully to Max. “This water can heal, but it comes at a cost. Use it wisely.”

Charles met Toto’s eyes, nodding solemnly, but he glanced over at Max, the weight of unspoken concern clouding his gaze. Max returned the look, his jaw set, as if daring Charles to break their silence on the prophecy. They both turned away, the moment hanging unresolved.

To Carlos, Toto handed a compact hammer that glowed faintly with a warm, orange light. “You’ll need this,” he said, giving Carlos a knowing look. “It can summon fire—only when you’re sure it’s needed.”

Carlos hefted the hammer, his lips quirking in a wry smile. “Guess they didn’t have anything quieter for me?”

The crowd chuckled, breaking the tension, but it quickly faded as Toto approached Lando. In his hand, he held a small amulet, rough-hewn from obsidian, and passed it to him with a firm squeeze on his shoulder. “This will give you glimpses into your friends’ emotions. You’ll know when they need you, even when they can’t say it.”

Lando took the amulet, his expression serious, and hung it around his neck. He muttered a quiet thanks, his grip tightening over the cool stone.

Toto took a step back, his gaze moving from one of them to the next. "You’ve trained hard. Every skill you’ve honed here will be put to the test. And remember," he added, his tone hardening, "there’s no shame in retreat. If it becomes too dangerous, your lives are worth more than any artifact or victory. You will call for help."

Christian nodded. "We’ve all faced dangers, but this isn’t just about bravery. It’s about using everything you’ve learned to come back. You’re not just fighting for yourselves. You’re fighting for all of us."

They felt the gravity of his words, the weight of the camp’s hopes settling firmly on their shoulders.

Yet, despite the camaraderie and preparations, there was a palpable tension lingering in the air. One camper, emboldened by the crowd, stepped forward and called out, "Where are the gods in all of this? Why aren’t they helping?"

A murmur of agreement rippled through the crowd. It was a question that had been whispered more than once since the prophecy’s reveal, and Max felt a prickle of unease, sensing the question might be directed at him, whether spoken or not.

Hannah stepped forward, silencing the crowd with her calm yet firm voice. "The gods… work in mysterious ways. But their silence doesn’t mean they don’t care. The fact that they have not intervened does not mean you’re alone."

Lando, watching the exchange, leaned closer to Max. “If they cared so much, they’d be here,” he muttered, just loud enough for Max to hear. There was a bitterness in his tone, a sentiment many campers secretly shared.

Max’s jaw clenched as the whispers continued around them. He knew all too well the bitterness that came with feeling neglected by the gods, especially as he was still unclaimed. The prophecy had thrust him into a spotlight he wasn’t sure he wanted, and now, he had to go on a quest that could very well fulfill the line about sacrifice.

But now wasn’t the time for doubts. He straightened up, glancing back at the younger campers, who watched him with wide eyes. They needed a hero, someone who could stand up to the task, even if that hero felt anything but prepared.

“We’ll bring back that key and come back safe,” he said, raising his voice with as much confidence as he could muster, knowing that a strong face might be the only comfort he could give them right now.

After a final round of goodbyes and encouragement, Toto and Christian approached Max, placing hands on his shoulders. "It’s not just the gods who believe in you, Max," Christian said, his voice soft but firm. "We believe in you."

Toto nodded. "You’re ready for this. Now, go show that labyrinth what it means to be a hero.”

As Max, Charles, Carlos, and Lando prepared to leave, a silence fell over the camp. It wasn’t the silence of fear or hesitation; it was the silence of hope and belief, wrapped in the quiet strength only a family could provide.

The journey to the labyrinth entrance was quieter than Max expected. After a long yet surprisingly peaceful journey they finally reached the dark forest that hid the entrance to the labyrinth. But as most things in his life, everything went to shit.

They moved through the trees cautiously, their senses heightened as the familiar campgrounds gave way to wild, untamed woods. Shadows stretched between the trees, and an unnatural silence settled over them, thickening the air.

“Feels like the forest is holding its breath,” Lando murmured, glancing around. He gripped the amulet tightly, every rustling branch making him flinch.

“Stay close,” Charles said, gripping his sword and keeping an eye on their surroundings. “There could be anything out here.”

Just then, a faint growl echoed through the trees, the low rumble sending shivers down each of their spines. They froze, exchanging glances, the realization dawning on them simultaneously—something was watching them.

A monstrous creature burst through the trees, its scales gleaming a dark, sickly green, and a pair of golden eyes fixed on them with hunger. It was a chimera, a grotesque blend of a lion’s body, a snake-headed tail, and a goat’s head protruding from its back, each part seething with ferocity. The lion’s head roared, shaking the ground as it crouched, preparing to strike.

Carlos took a step back, gripping his hammer tightly. “Well, this is just fantastic.”

“Spread out!” Max called, holding the compass in one hand while drawing his own weapon. “Watch out for the tail—it’s poisonous!”

The chimera lunged, its lion’s maw open wide, fangs gleaming. Charles leaped forward, blocking the creature’s path to Max with a shield of rippling energy that flickered in the air like a shimmering net. The chimera snarled in frustration, clawing at the barrier, its goat’s head thrashing to break free.

“Carlos, can you—” Charles began, but Carlos was already moving, swinging his hammer and summoning a burst of flame to distract the beast. The chimera’s eyes flashed with anger as it turned, focusing its fury on Carlos.

Lando darted to the side, calling out directions to the others. “Charles, keep it focused on the barrier! Carlos, try and drive it back! Max, wait for an opening!”

Max nodded, watching the creature carefully, his every sense trained on its movements. He could feel the compass pressing into his palm, as though urging him onward.

As the chimera turned to face Carlos, Max noticed an opening—a momentary lapse as the lion’s head lowered, exposing the creature’s vulnerable side. With a quick nod to Lando, he took a deep breath and lunged forward, slashing at the chimera’s flank. His blade met scales, and though it didn’t penetrate fully, it was enough to distract the creature.

Roaring in pain, the chimera lashed out with its snake-headed tail, venom dripping from its fangs. It snapped at Max, forcing him to duck just in time as Charles charged forward, swinging his weapon to strike the snake head, momentarily disorienting it.

Carlos seized the opportunity, lifting his hammer and summoning a powerful flame. With a mighty swing, he brought it down on the chimera’s flank, the fire searing its scales. The beast howled, writhing as it stumbled backward, smoke rising from the scorched flesh.

Lando, seeing the creature stagger, called out, “Now, everyone together!”

The group attacked in unison. Charles drove his sword through the goat’s head, effectively silencing it. Max focused on the lion, slashing at its throat while Carlos struck the snake-headed tail, crushing it beneath his hammer with a sizzling crack.

Finally, the chimera let out one last shriek before collapsing in a heap, its body dissolving into the mist, leaving behind nothing but the faint echo of its death cry.

The forest seemed to exhale around them, the oppressive silence lifting slightly. They stood panting, each of them glancing at the other in a mix of relief and exhaustion.

“That… was something,” Lando said, brushing the dirt from his hands, his gaze shifting back to the others. “Good thing we were all here.”

Max nodded, swallowing hard as he surveyed the scene. The fight had only solidified the bond between them, each one relying on the other’s strengths. He caught Charles’s eye, the unspoken worry returning between them. Charles’s face softened, but before Max could say anything, Carlos clapped him on the back.

“Let’s keep going before something else decides to eat us,” Carlos said with a shaky grin, trying to lighten the mood.

Together, they continued their journey, stepping over the mist where the chimera had fallen. The forest gradually thinned as they approached the stone archway of the labyrinth’s entrance, its darkened walls casting eerie shadows. The chimera had been a test of their teamwork, but Max could feel that the real challenges were only beginning.

As they stood before the labyrinth, its twisted stone corridors stretching endlessly into the unknown, a sense of trepidation settled over them.

The entrance loomed before them, dark and silent. Its ancient stone walls were veined with twisting roots and faintly glowing runes that seemed to pulse with a rhythm only the labyrinth understood.

Charles took a cautious step forward, his hand brushing over the walls, feeling the cool stone hum under his fingers. “It’s... alive, somehow,” he murmured.

Max swallowed hard, gripping the compass, its needle spinning erratically. "I guess we go in."

One by one, they entered, the walls closing around them like a stone embrace. The world outside vanished as they stepped deeper, and the air grew dense, oppressive, as if pressing them further into silence. Every footstep echoed strangely, bending and weaving through the darkness until it seemed as though they were surrounded by a chorus of their own fears.

Just a few minutes in, they reached their first split—three narrow corridors, each leading in different directions.

Carlos scratched his head, frowning. "I thought this was supposed to be a single path?"

Lando muttered, "It’s the labyrinth. It messes with your head. God where is Adriane’s string when you need it?" His gaze flicked uneasily from one path to the next.

Max clenched his fists, feeling the familiar weight of expectation settle over him. The prophecy, the others’ hopes—all of it tightened around him like an invisible chain. “We’ll stick together,” he said, his voice steady, even as a strange sensation settled over him.

As they continued, the labyrinth shifted. One moment, the walls were covered in carvings of ancient battles; the next, they were adorned with portraits that looked eerily familiar. Max blinked, his steps slowing as he noticed a figure in one of the carvings that looked just like him. And then—another carving with Charles, and one of Carlos, and finally, one of Lando, each frozen in moments of agony and struggle.

A shiver ran through him as the ground seemed to tilt, and the walls pressed closer. “Are… are you guys seeing this?”

Charles nodded; his gaze troubled. "It’s... strange. It feels like it knows us."

They moved onward, each step pulling them deeper into a world where reality blurred. The shadows stretched longer, and every so often, Max thought he heard whispers echoing through the hallways—his own fears manifesting in voices that taunted him, reminded him of every perceived failure.

At one turn, they encountered their first real trial. A stone creature—a gargoyle with wings like jagged rocks—stood before them, eyes glowing with unnatural light. It stretched its wings and let out a shriek that shook the walls.

Charles drew his sword, his voice firm. "Stay back. Max, Lando—find a weak point while Carlos and I keep it occupied."

The creature lunged, and Carlos met it with his hammer, sending sparks flying. But each time it fell back, the creature seemed to shift, reforming like liquid stone. Lando darted in, his amulet glowing as he muttered an incantation, sending a shockwave of energy that caused the creature to stagger.

Max scanned the beast, his mind racing. “There—its chest, there’s a crack. If we can hit it hard enough…”

With a shared nod, they coordinated their attacks. Lando and Carlos held it down, while Charles kept its wings pinned, allowing Max to step forward. He focused, swinging his blade with a strength he didn’t quite feel he possessed, but one that burned in him nonetheless.

The blow connected, shattering the creature’s chest, and with a howl, it crumbled into dust. As the echoes of the fight faded, so did the corridor, the walls blurring until they were left standing in an empty, circular room.

Max took a deep breath, the labyrinth's eerie quiet settling around them once more. Just as he thought he could breathe, the walls rippled, and suddenly he found himself alone.

"Charles? Lando? Carlos?" His voice bounced off the walls, swallowed by the silence. Panic began to rise, and he turned in circles, searching.

The labyrinth had split them up.

And then, as if responding to his growing fear, the stone walls shifted, taking on a new form. Max’s breath caught as he saw visions of his friends—Carlos trapped beneath rubble, Lando fighting off monsters alone, Charles... Charles bleeding, reaching out for him, his face twisted in pain.

Max took a shaky step back, his pulse racing as the images played out, each more brutal than the last. He clenched his fists, fury and frustration mingling with the horror. The labyrinth was testing him, forcing him to face his greatest fear: that he wasn’t enough to protect the people he cared about.

"Stop it!" he shouted, his voice cracking. "This… this isn’t real."

The images wavered but didn’t disappear, the agonized faces of his friends staring back at him, as if pleading. Max’s heart hammered, his fists clenched tightly around his blade. He took a breath, focusing on the compass in his hand. Its needle pointed resolutely forward, ignoring the mirages.

Summoning his courage, he took a step forward, willing himself to ignore the visions, and murmured to himself, “They’re fine. They have to be. I’ll find them again.”

The visions wavered and faded, though he could still feel the labyrinth’s eyes on him, watching, waiting to see if he would falter again.

Just ahead, he saw a faint light—perhaps a way back to the others. Gritting his teeth, he walked forward, his mind set on finding his friends and completing the quest, no matter what the labyrinth threw at him next

Chapter Text

Max stood frozen as the shifting shadows twisted into the faces of his friends—Carlos, trapped beneath a mountain of rubble; Lando, struggling alone against an onslaught of vicious creatures; and Charles, the most haunting of all, lying in a pool of blood, one hand reaching toward Max in silent agony. His face, normally calm and composed, contorted in pain, his lips forming a soundless plea for help.

A cold dread settled over Max, gripping his heart like an iron vice. Memories flooded his mind, years of feeling that he had to bear everything alone, be strong no matter what. He remembered his childhood, a time filled with high expectations and a silent, unspoken pressure that he had to be perfect, that he couldn’t falter—not in the eyes of his family, not on the battlefield, not ever.

Every failure, no matter how small, had been met with stern, disappointed looks and biting words that haunted him to this day. Even now, despite his accomplishments, he never felt he had truly escaped that pressure; it clung to him, always reminding him that any mistake was unacceptable, that letting anyone down was a sign of weakness. This feeling had only intensified as he grew closer to his friends, who now stood as his only support. His mind taunted him: If they’re hurt, it’s because you weren’t good enough to protect them. It’s your fault.

He felt his hands trembling, his grip on his blade loosening as his body was wracked by waves of guilt and fear. He clenched his jaw, trying to shake the feeling, but it was like a poison creeping into his veins, paralyzing him. The visions of his friends continued to twist, their faces growing increasingly lifeless. He saw flashes of what might happen if he failed: Carlos crushed beneath the weight, Lando overrun by monsters, and Charles slipping into darkness, his hand falling limp.

“No,” Max whispered, his voice barely audible. He shook his head, fighting the urge to collapse under the pressure. “This isn’t real.”

But the fear in his heart disagreed. The labyrinth was forcing him to face a truth he had long buried: he was terrified that he would never be enough, that one day, his strength would fail him, and he’d lose the people he cared about most.

His eyes fell on the compass in his hand, the needle unwavering even amidst the chaotic visions. It was a reminder of the path he’d set for himself, a path he’d promised to walk to protect his friends. But it was also a reminder of the trust they had placed in him, the unspoken bond they all shared.

“They’re strong too,” he muttered, his voice growing steadier as he forced himself to look away from the visions. “They’re fighters, every one of them. We’re in this together.”

Gritting his teeth, he straightened his shoulders, pushing past the illusion. The images wavered, as if mocking his resolve, but he kept his eyes focused on the compass, grounding himself in the truth of his friends’ strength. Slowly, the labyrinth’s twisted grip released him, and he found himself standing alone once more, his heartbeat calming as he whispered, “I won’t let my fears hold me back. I’ll find them—and we’ll face this together.”

Carlos could feel every muscle straining, his arms trembling as he held up the massive weight pressing down on him. It wasn’t just a physical burden—it was the weight of expectations, of responsibility, of never-ending pressure to be the one everyone could rely on. This wasn’t a new feeling for him. He’d carried it since childhood, a need to be the strongest, the most dependable, to never let anyone see his own vulnerabilities.

But here, alone in the darkness, the weight was crushing him. Sweat poured down his face as he gasped for breath, his legs threatening to buckle. Memories of past failures flickered through his mind, each one striking him like a physical blow. There was the time he’d let his family down in a competition, a mistake that had seemed minor but had spiraled into guilt as he watched the disappointment on his father’s face. There were times he’d let down friends who’d counted on him, the times he’d fallen short of his own impossible standards.

You’re supposed to be strong, the labyrinth seemed to whisper, the voice echoing his own doubts. But look at you—struggling, failing, disappointing everyone who believed in you.

Carlos’s mind raced as he felt the weight pressing down harder, his breaths coming in short, ragged gasps. He tried to fight it, to hold his ground, but every muscle in his body was on the verge of giving out. For a split second, he considered letting go, collapsing under the pressure and giving in to the voice that taunted him.

But then he remembered his friends—how they looked to him not because of his strength, but because they trusted him, because he was someone they knew would always stand beside them. He thought of Max’s reassuring words, Charles’s quiet faith in his abilities, and Lando’s laughter, a reminder of the joy and friendship, maybe something more, that had come from their journey together. They didn’t need him to be invincible; they needed him to be present.

He clenched his teeth, his resolve hardening as he let go of the notion that he had to be perfect. “Strength isn’t about being unbreakable,” he murmured, “it’s about standing up even when you’re afraid.”

With a final surge of energy, Carlos shifted his stance, pushing the weight off him with a newfound resilience. The burden lifted, and the voices faded, leaving him alone, his chest rising and falling as he took in steady, deep breaths. He’d faced his fear of failure—and he’d come out stronger.

Charles found himself surrounded by shadows, the faces of his friends emerging from the darkness, each of them wounded and looking to him with expressions filled with pain and expectation. He could see the cuts on their bodies, the way they looked to him with eyes that begged for relief, for healing that he couldn’t provide.

His mind was overwhelmed by a wave of guilt that was all too familiar. Growing up, he had always wanted to protect those around him, to use his gifts to ease the suffering of others. But with that desire came an impossible burden. The weight of his responsibility was something he carried silently, always afraid that he would falter, that he would fail to save someone he cared about. The echoes of past battles haunted him, moments when his healing had come too late, when his powers hadn’t been enough.

The faces of his friends twisted in pain, and he reached out instinctively, his fingers glowing with a faint light as he tried to heal them. But no matter how hard he tried, his powers wouldn’t work, the light fading as quickly as it appeared. He watched in horror as his friends’ expressions grew hollower, the disappointment and betrayal clear in their eyes, most worryingly he slowly watched Max turn away from him.

They trusted you, He trusted you, a voice hissed in his mind, echoing his deepest fears. You thought you could save them, but you’re nothing but a failure.

Charles’s hands shook as he fought back tears, memories flooding back of times he had blamed himself for the injuries or losses of others. He had always wanted to believe that his powers were enough, that he could be the healer his friends needed. But here, faced with his own limitations, he felt a despair he couldn’t shake.

Yet as he looked at the faces before him, he remembered the kindness his friends had shown him, the way they trusted him not just for his powers, but for who he was. They saw him as someone who cared, someone who would never give up on them.

His heart steadied as he whispered, “I may not be able to fix everything, but I won’t abandon them. I’ll keep fighting, no matter what.”

With that, the haunting images faded, and Charles was left standing alone, his chest lighter, his determination stronger than before.

Lando stood alone in the darkness, his heart pounding as he faced the shadowy figure in front of him, a creature with gleaming eyes and sharp teeth that seemed to grow closer with every heartbeat. He called out for his friends, but his voice echoed into emptiness, swallowed by the shadows.

As the creature lunged, Lando’s reflexes kicked in, and he dodged, his weapon ready. But the fear gnawed at him, deeper than the physical threat. This wasn’t just a battle—it was a reminder of his own insecurities, of a lifelong fear he had tried to hide.

Growing up, Lando had always been afraid of being left behind. He’d faced moments where friends had drifted away, times when he’d been overshadowed, left out, forgotten. He had always laughed it off, masking his fear with jokes and smiles, but here, faced with this creature in the darkness, that fear was laid bare.

The thought clawed at him: They left me. I’m not enough for them.

He felt the sting of those memories, the loneliness that had haunted him despite his cheerful facade. The creature lunged again, and he barely managed to sidestep, his heart hammering with a terror that went beyond the fight.

But then he remembered the bonds he had with his friends, the moments of laughter and support, the way they’d all come to rely on each other. He wasn’t alone—not anymore.

With a fierce cry, Lando raised his weapon, his fear replaced by a fierce determination. “They are my best friends, they will never leave me, especially Carlos,” he said, his voice echoing through the darkness. And as he struck the creature, it faded, leaving him standing alone but stronger, more certain that he was worthy of the trust his friends had placed in him.

Max was the first to step into a wide, dimly lit chamber, his breath steady as he clutched the compass, its needle glowing with a gentle warmth. He looked around, anxiety tightening his chest at the absence of his friends, but before he could let panic creep back in, a familiar voice echoed through the shadows.

"Max?" Charles’s voice rang out, filled with relief and fatigue, as he stumbled forward, his face pale but resolute. Their eyes met, and for a moment, all the weight of their individual battles hung between them. Charles ran to hug Max, as if to confirm Max was truly real and breathing. "You made it through."

Before Max could respond, Carlos and Lando entered from different sides of the chamber, both looking drained but determined, relief evident in their eyes as they found each other again. Without needing to speak, they gathered in a loose circle, taking in the strange room around them.

The chamber itself was circular, with walls made of ancient stone, each block engraved with faintly glowing symbols that pulsed like a heartbeat. In the center of the room was a pedestal carved from obsidian, and resting atop it was a small, intricate key forged of gleaming metal that seemed to absorb and refract the faint light around them.

Carlos stepped closer, his voice low with a mixture of awe and caution. "That has to be it… the Key to the Depths."

As he spoke, an unsettling feeling swept over them, a reminder that the labyrinth wasn’t done testing them. Max’s grip tightened on his blade as he scanned the room, half-expecting the walls to spring to life or the floor to give way. But nothing moved—only an unnatural stillness filled the air, thick with a silent warning.

Lando let out a breath, breaking the tension as he looked at each of them, his usual humor subdued by the exhaustion in his eyes. “Well, that was fun,” he quipped softly, though his voice was strained. “Anyone else feel like they just aged about a decade in the last hour?”

Max managed a tired smile, his own worry slightly easing at the sound of Lando’s voice. “It’s good to see you all made it.”

Charles nodded, his gaze lingering on the key as he spoke, a hint of weariness in his voice. “Whatever the labyrinth threw at us… we got through it. Together, even if we were alone.”

Their eyes met, silent understanding passing between them—a shared acknowledgment of what they had faced and the strength it had taken to overcome it. They had each been tested in the labyrinth, forced to confront the deepest parts of themselves, but they had emerged stronger, their bond now forged in ways they couldn’t put into words.

Carlos finally broke the silence, stepping forward to examine the key. “This thing better be worth it,” he muttered, reaching out to take it, his hand hovering just over its metallic surface. But just as he was about to touch it, a deep rumble echoed through the chamber, and the engravings on the walls flared to life, casting the room in a harsh, unnatural glow.

A powerful gust of wind swept through, and from the darkness beyond the walls, a shadow took shape, materializing into a figure shrouded in darkness. Its presence radiated an aura of ancient malice, its eyes glowing with a cold, calculating intelligence that sent a chill through each of them.

The figure’s voice was like the scraping of stone, echoing ominously. “So… you think you’re worthy of the Key?” It surveyed them with disdain, its gaze searing as it lingered on each of them. “Mortals, you have much yet to prove.”

They drew their weapons instinctively, forming a protective line around the pedestal. Max stepped forward, meeting the shadow’s gaze with defiance, a newfound resolve steadying him. “We made it through your labyrinth, didn’t we?”

The shadow let out a harsh, humorless laugh, its form wavering like smoke. “The labyrinth was but the beginning. You think facing your own fears makes you invincible? Fools… the trials you faced are nothing compared to the true darkness that lies ahead.”

Max felt a flicker of uncertainty, but he steadied himself, looking back at his friends, who returned his gaze with the same fierce determination. They had come this far, and they weren’t about to back down now.

The shadow extended a wispy hand toward the key, its voice a sinister whisper. “Take it if you dare… but know this: to claim the key is to invite the wrath of the ancient evil that guards it. You will not survive the trials to come without the help of the Gods.”

With a final, menacing laugh, the shadow dissolved into the walls, leaving them once again in the eerie stillness of the chamber.

Charles exchanged a glance with the others, his jaw set in quiet determination. “We knew this wouldn’t be easy.”

Carlos nodded, his eyes gleaming with a fiery resolve. “Then let’s prove that we’re ready for whatever comes next.”

With one last look at his friends, Max reached out, his hand hovering over the key as he took a deep breath.

As Max’s hand hovered over the key, a low rumble shook the room. The pedestal holding the key shifted, sinking into the floor as the walls trembled. From the darkness, shadows peeled away, revealing figures—no, monsters—each armored, with claws gleaming like steel and eyes alight with fire. The guardians of the key had awakened.

The monsters’ leader, a towering figure draped in shifting darkness, raised a spear, its voice a guttural snarl. “No mortal shall claim the key without proving their worth in battle!”

Carlos brandished his weapon, sparking flames at its edge, his stance defiant. “Alright, looks like we’re doing this the hard way!”

The first wave came with blinding speed, a trio of beasts lunging at Max and Charles. Charles rolled to the side, deflecting a monstrous claw swipe, while Max ducked, then retaliated with a powerful strike aimed at the creature’s leg. He managed to knock it off balance, but more surged forward, relentless.

Lando summoned his agility, weaving between attacks, his strikes sharp and precise. He looked over his shoulder, catching sight of a creature bearing down on Carlos, who was cornered against the wall. Lando leapt forward, slashing through its side to divert it, buying Carlos a precious second to regroup.

“Thanks, mate,” Carlos muttered breathlessly, eyes wide but determined.

Just as they thought they’d gained the upper hand, the leader bellowed, slamming its spear into the ground. Shadowy chains erupted from the floor, snaking around Max’s and Charles’s ankles, tightening until they couldn’t move.

“Max!” Charles called out, struggling against the chains, but his powers seemed to have no effect on these dark restraints.

Max gritted his teeth, feeling the cold bite of the chains, but he refused to yield. “We’re not done yet,” he snarled, summoning every ounce of his strength.

Through sheer force of will, Max managed to twist his body, pulling his foot free just enough to lift his weapon. With a quick, decisive strike, he severed the chain binding him, then lunged toward Charles, breaking his chains too.

Freed, Charles nodded in gratitude, his face resolute. “Let’s end this.”

Together, they charged the leader, their combined powers blazing. Lando and Carlos followed, each unleashing their unique skills, coordinating their strikes against the horde of monsters. The fight was relentless, every blow matched with another, but finally, they managed to bring down the last of the guardians, who disintegrated into shadows.

Breathless, they stood before the pedestal, which rose back to its original height, the key glowing ominously atop it. This time, when Max reached for it, there was no resistance—only the heavy sense of victory mixed with an ominous foreboding.

He held the key up, its weight pressing into his hand as if to warn him of the challenges yet to come. Together, the group stood ready, knowing their fight was far from over.

Chapter Text

As the group stepped through the camp's familiar entrance, the warmth of the setting sun bathed the clearing in golden light. Laughter and chatter floated through the air, the sounds of campers welcoming each other home after a long quest.

Whispers swept through the crowd of campers as the four made their way toward the central fire pit, where Toto and Christian waited with expressions that were equal parts stern and proud.

Max held the key tightly in his hand, its cold, metallic weight grounding him. He could still feel the lingering tension from the labyrinth trials, as if the echoes of his own fears were clinging to him. Glancing at Charles, he saw a similar weariness in his friend’s eyes—a tiredness that only grew with each step of this mysterious journey.

When they finally reached the center, Toto stepped forward, his arms crossed. “Welcome back,” he said, his voice steady, though Max noticed a flicker of concern behind his words. “You did well. Facing the labyrinth is no small feat.”

Christian nodded, “Take some rest and get settled. Then meet us at the cabin. We have much to discuss.”

Once again Max and the group found themselves standing around the head cabin with Christian and Toto’s gaze fixed on them.

Christian nodded, gesturing for them to sit. “Tell us everything you encountered. Every detail could matter.”

Max exchanged a glance with Charles before beginning. He recounted the twisting corridors, the illusions, and the visions they each faced, every word heavy with memory. When he mentioned the visions that had preyed on his fears—watching his friends suffer, his failure to protect them—a hush fell over the crowd.

As the story concluded, Toto’s gaze settled on Max, more intense than usual. “The labyrinth is known to draw out the deepest fears in a demigod,” he said carefully, his eyes never leaving Max’s. “But it’s rare to find someone who comes out of it without…” He paused, as if searching for the right words. “… without breaking.”

Max felt the weight of Toto’s gaze and looked down, uncomfortable under the attention. He wondered if Toto knew something he didn’t.

Christian’s voice cut in. “And that key?” He nodded toward the object in Max’s hand. “It’s part of something far more significant than just opening doors.” He exchanged a glance with Toto. “This key is one piece of an ancient lock—a lock that guards one of the greatest threats the camp has ever faced.”

“But where does it lead?” Carlos asked, his brow furrowing.

Toto exchanged a meaningful glance with Christian. “That’s where things become… difficult,” he said. “There are places in the world where ancient powers rest, but reaching them isn’t straightforward. This key may only be the first step in finding a way to seal the threat rising from Tartarus.”

Max’s heart pounded, the weight of the prophecy and now this layered threat pressing on him. He wanted to ask questions, but the intensity of Christian and Toto’s expressions told him it wasn’t yet time to learn everything.

“Stay close to each other. Lean on one another,” Toto said, his voice softer, almost gentle. “This isn’t a journey you can complete alone.”

The meeting dispersed, but the weight of the counselors’ words lingered. Outside, they were met by Hannah, who pulled them aside near the central fire. Her presence was commanding as she looked at each of them, finally landing on Max.

“There’s more you need to know,” she said, the words heavy. “The journey isn’t just about artifacts or even survival. This is something older, something… intertwined with destiny and bloodlines.” Her eyes held Max’s, an unreadable intensity there.

A chill ran through him, but Max nodded, staying quiet. Questions lingered, but they’d have to wait.

After the meeting, they found themselves alone by the campfire. Silence hung in the air, but it was filled with an unspoken understanding between them. Lando leaned closer to Carlos, and their usual playful banter was replaced with an almost solemn closeness. Carlos smirked, nudging him, yet he couldn't help but feel warmth from Lando's steady presence.

Nearby, Max and Charles sat in companionable silence. Charles gently reached for Max’s hand, offering silent comfort. Max, in a rare moment of vulnerability, held on tightly, letting the unspoken words between them ease the fear that still lingered from the prophecy.

Carlos and Lando sat together, the tension still lingering, though the night’s calm seemed to soothe some of it. Lando stole a glance at Carlos, breaking the silence.

“So… how do you feel about all this?” Lando asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

Carlos let out a deep breath, running a hand through his hair. “If I’m honest, I’m not sure. They’re talking about ancient forces, about needing each of us to be ready for something huge, but…” He trailed off, his jaw clenched in thought. “Sometimes, I wonder if I’m even meant to be here, you know? Like maybe they got the wrong guy.”

Lando nudged him, a gentle smile on his lips. “You’re joking, right? Carlos, you’re one of the bravest people here. They’d be lost without you.”

Carlos looked down, the corner of his mouth quirking up slightly. “Thanks. I guess it just feels like… a lot.”

They continued to sit in silence, but this time, Carlos reached his hand across Lando’s shoulder, a simple gesture of gratitude and companionship. The night felt a little less daunting as the campfire cackled in front of them.

“You really think we’ll be alright?” Max asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

Charles looked at him, his gaze steady and warm. “I do. We’re stronger together, Max. You don’t have to bear this all on your own.”

Max felt his shoulders relax, even as the weight of the prophecy and the uncertainty of his powers loomed. For now, the warmth of Charles’ hand in his felt like enough.

The fire crackled as the night deepened, the four of them seated together, each lost in thought yet anchored by each other’s presence. The path ahead was filled with danger, but, for the first time, they felt a glimmer of hope in the face of it.

Chapter Text

Max’s eyes shot open, his chest heaving. The remnants of a dream still flickered in his mind like dying embers, leaving a haze of confusion and foreboding. He’d been standing in a shadowed room, an ancient place with walls carved from stone. At the center, a lone fire crackled in the hearth, its light dancing across the room. He’d felt a pull toward it, an inexplicable warmth beckoning him closer.

In the dream, as he reached out, his hand had brushed against something solid—something hidden within the flames. But before he could grasp it, a figure appeared, obscured in shadows, and he heard whispers, soft and unintelligible, growing louder with every second. Just as the words began to form, warning him of something dark and ancient, he woke up.

Max sat up, taking deep breaths to steady his racing heart. The dream was clearer than usual, vivid enough to leave him feeling like he’d actually touched the fire. And though the figure’s face was hidden, the presence had felt achingly familiar.

Needing some fresh air, Max slipped out of bed and wandered outside. The early morning sky was still dark, painted with stars, but he wasn’t alone.

Charles was up, training near the edge of the clearing, his movements fluid and precise even in the dim light. Noticing Max, Charles paused, wiping a faint sheen of sweat from his forehead. “Couldn’t sleep?” he asked.

Max nodded, leaning against a nearby tree. “Another dream,” he murmured. “They’re… getting worse. Or clearer, maybe.”

Charles’s face softened with concern. “Anything new?”

Max hesitated, then explained, carefully avoiding the details he still couldn’t fully grasp. “There was a fire, a hearth, but it felt like… more. Like it was trying to tell me something. There were whispers, too. They mentioned… something ancient coming, something even the gods fear.”

Charles studied him in silence for a moment, then offered a reassuring nod. “We’ll figure it out,” he said quietly. “You don’t have to face this alone.”

Max’s heart settled at those words, though an undercurrent of worry remained. He hadn’t yet told Charles everything—about how deeply the dreams unsettled him, how he feared they hinted at something darker within himself. But for now, the reassurance was enough.

As dawn began to break, the camp’s counselors summoned everyone to the central fire pit. Toto and Christian stood at the front, their expressions grave, casting an eerie shadow over the otherwise vibrant fire.

“Campers,” Toto began, his voice steady but low, “we’ve sensed growing disturbances. Creatures are crossing boundaries they’ve never dared to breach. Signs point to something ancient and powerful, something that hasn’t stirred for centuries. It’s growing stronger.”

Max felt a chill crawl up his spine. He exchanged a glance with Charles, who looked equally tense.

Christian continued, “The quest our campers recently completed was just the beginning. There’s another task—one that may lead us to the heart of this threat. Max, Charles, Carlos, and Lando… we’re sending you to a nearby temple believed to be a passage to the ancient evil’s source.”

A murmur spread through the camp, filled with both awe and concern. Lando’s gaze flickered nervously, while Carlos clenched his fists, his jaw set in determination.

Max’s mind drifted back to his dream, feeling the strange connection gnawing at him. He didn’t want to think that his dream held any deeper meaning, but every instinct told him otherwise.

“But what about the gods?” a camper asked, her voice trembling slightly. “Aren’t they supposed to protect us from threats like this?”

Toto and Christian exchanged a look that spoke volumes.

“The gods… have grown distant,” Toto admitted, his gaze heavy. “This evil was contained long ago, and some believed it would never rise again. Now… some among the gods would prefer to turn a blind eye, while others…” he trailed off, his expression hardening.

“Others are simply powerless to intervene,” Christian finished. “And that’s why this quest falls to you.”

A wave of silence fell over the campers, the weight of the words settling heavily. Max felt the weight pressing down on him. The gods, for all their power, wouldn’t—or couldn’t—step in. It was up to them.

The team spent the rest of the day gathering supplies, sharpening weapons, and double-checking their packs. Max found himself drawn to the camp’s main hearth once more, lingering by its warmth longer than he intended.

As he stood there, mesmerized by the flickering flames, he felt a strange sense of peace, a reassurance that he couldn’t explain. Hannah, who had been tending to the fire nearby, approached him with a soft smile.

“You feel it, don’t you?” she asked, her gaze steady.

Max blinked, feeling a bit caught off guard. “Feel what?”

“Some things draw us in because they’re part of us. And some questions… can only be answered in their own time.”

Her words struck a chord, lingering in his mind as he continued preparing for the journey. He couldn’t quite explain the feeling, but standing by the fire, he felt… whole, like something he hadn’t realized was missing.

That evening, with the camp bustling around them, Max and Charles found a quiet spot to talk. Charles seemed to sense the tension lingering in Max’s shoulders, the look in his eyes that hadn’t quite softened since the morning.

“Are you scared?” Charles asked gently, his voice barely above a whisper.

Max glanced away, staring into the distance. “Yeah,” he admitted, the weight of his own fears pressing down on him. “I keep having these dreams, and… it’s like they’re trying to tell me something. About myself, maybe. About… what’s waiting for us.”

Charles reached over, taking Max’s hand in his, his grip warm and reassuring. “Whatever we face out there, we’ll face it together. I promise.”

Max tightened his fingers around Charles’s, feeling his own fears subside, if only for a moment. The night air felt a little less cold, the upcoming journey a little less daunting, with Charles by his side.

Not far off, Lando and Carlos were having a similar exchange, though with a little less solemnity and a bit more teasing.

“You think you’ll actually be useful this time?” Lando nudged Carlos with a grin, trying to mask his own nerves.

Carlos rolled his eyes. “Don’t worry. I’ll save you again if I have to.” But there was a flicker of worry in his gaze, a glimpse of the weight he felt about the journey ahead.

As dusk settled in, the camp’s torches flickered to life, lighting the path the four of them would take. The air was filled with murmurs of encouragement from the other campers, many of whom had gathered to see them off.

Toto and Christian gave them final instructions, reiterating the importance of the mission. “Remember, this is only one piece of the puzzle,” Toto reminded them, his tone serious. “Don’t let your guard down.”

Max glanced back at the fire one last time, feeling its warmth as if it were a silent promise, a reminder of the hearth in his dreams. He held onto the feeling as they left camp, the shadows of the trees closing in around them.

As they ventured into the forest, the path grew darker, more ominous. The sounds of the night seemed amplified, each rustle and whisper making the hairs on the back of Max’s neck stand up. Charles walked close to his side, their hands brushing now and then, a small but steady reminder of his presence.

Then, a low hiss echoed from the shadows.

They stopped, weapons drawn, as a figure emerged—a monstrous serpent with skin that shimmered in the moonlight, its eyes burning with malice.

Max’s grip tightened on his weapon, adrenaline kicking in. The monster’s growl intensified, a challenge, daring them to step closer.

With a nod, the four of them spread out, ready for the battle ahead.

Chapter Text

The forest grew darker with each step, the canopy above weaving tightly like a blanket of shadow. Their footsteps were muffled by the thick, damp leaves carpeting the ground. Every creak and snap of a twig sent a chill up their spines. The silence was so complete it felt unnatural.

Then, there was a hiss. Low and threatening, it slithered through the trees like a dark omen. The group froze.

“Did anyone else hear that?” Lando whispered, gripping his weapon tightly.

Before anyone could answer, a shape burst from the undergrowth—a massive serpent, scales glinting in dark greens and grays, almost as if it had camouflaged itself into the very shadows of the forest. Its eyes gleamed with malice as it coiled, rearing back to strike.

“Get ready!” Max shouted, stepping forward instinctively. The serpent’s fangs dripped with venom, each drop sizzling as it hit the ground.

Max charged first, drawing the creature’s attention. His movements were quick, dodging the serpent’s lethal strikes as he tried to keep it focused on him. The serpent’s scales were tough, deflecting his sword with each strike. Frustration simmered beneath Max’s focus, his energy pouring into every blow.

The serpent struck at him again, and he barely rolled out of the way, its massive head slamming into a tree and shaking the ground. Just as Max steadied himself, Charles dashed forward, placing himself nearby, his eyes scanning Max for any sign of injury.

“Max, watch out!” Charles called as the serpent twisted to strike again. With a swift movement, Charles brought up his shield, intercepting a powerful swipe of the creature’s tail aimed directly at Max.

“Thanks,” Max muttered, glancing at him gratefully. He wanted to say more, to warn Charles to stay back, but there wasn’t time. Instead, he just held his gaze for a heartbeat, silently vowing to keep them both safe.

Across the clearing, Carlos was already sizing up the serpent, his eyes narrowing as he examined its movements. “It’s shielding its underbelly—probably the only weak spot!” he yelled. He motioned for Lando to follow his lead, already starting to circle the creature.

Carlos shouted out a quick plan: “Lando, distract it on the left! Charles, get ready to shield!”

Lando darted around, agile and quick, swiping at the serpent’s flanks, drawing its attention just enough to give Max and Charles breathing room. The serpent twisted, and for a moment, its belly was exposed.

“Now!” Carlos called, his voice ringing with urgency. Max didn’t hesitate, lunging forward and driving his blade toward the creature’s vulnerable spot.

But the serpent was faster than it looked. Its tail swung up in defense, knocking Max back before his strike could connect. Max hit the ground hard, and Charles was instantly at his side, hands glowing faintly as he checked for any injuries.

“Max, are you okay?” Charles’s voice was low, urgent, his eyes wide with concern.

Max nodded, though the impact had left him breathless. “I’m fine,” he managed, squeezing Charles’s hand for reassurance. He pushed himself up, adrenaline surging. “Let’s finish this.”

Carlos and Lando had managed to get the serpent tangled momentarily around a tree. Its scales scraped against the bark, and it hissed in fury, struggling to free itself. Max saw his opening.

With a determined shout, he rushed forward, aiming for the serpent’s exposed underbelly. His blade connected, and the creature let out a guttural roar, thrashing in its death throes. Dust began to rise from where his sword pierced, and slowly, the serpent disintegrated, leaving only silence in its place.

They stood together, panting, adrenaline still pulsing through their veins.

“Nice work, everyone,” Carlos said, clapping Lando on the shoulder. “We made a good team.”

Charles stayed close to Max, his gaze lingering, searching his face. “You, okay?” he asked softly, as if the question were just between the two of them.

Max nodded. “Yeah. Thanks for… for having my back.” There was a quiet intensity in his voice, a silent gratitude he wasn’t sure how to express. Their eyes held for a moment longer, a connection that said everything he couldn’t.

As they regrouped, a shadow passed over the group’s shared sense of victory. The serpent was only the first of many dangers they’d face. And with each challenge, they were drawing closer to the truth—to the ancient evil awakening in the shadows, and to the mysteries that lay hidden within each of them.

The path wound deeper into the forest, where shadows grew longer as the sun began its slow descent. The quiet was unsettling, pressing down around them until even the crunch of gravel underfoot seemed loud. They had been walking for hours, but an uneasy feeling nagged at Max. He glanced over at Charles, who appeared just as on edge.

Suddenly, they rounded a bend and spotted a figure beside a small cave, cloaked in shadows. The figure was an old man, wrapped in a dark, frayed cloak, leaning on a twisted staff. His back was hunched, yet his eyes were sharp and seemed to gleam with an unnatural awareness as they approached.

The old man lifted his head and regarded them. “Travelers,” he rasped, his voice rough as though from disuse. “I know what you seek.”

Max stiffened, feeling an instinctive wariness. “And what exactly would that be?”

The man’s mouth curled into a thin, almost mocking smile. “The path you walk is perilous—one where few return. The gods may have granted you whispers, but their voices are silent now, aren’t they?” His gaze fixed on Max. “And you, touched by fire, will find the flames in your blood are your greatest strength… and your greatest danger.”

Max’s stomach twisted at the cryptic words. “Who are you, and why should we trust anything you say?”

The hermit chuckled softly, the sound brittle as dry leaves. “Oh, I know far more than you think,” he murmured, looking over each of them. “The gods’ neglect has allowed dark forces to rise. You will need more than courage for what awaits. Trust in each other, or all will be lost.”

Without another word, the old man turned and shuffled back into his cave, disappearing into the darkness. The group exchanged glances, each of them visibly unsettled by the encounter.

“Let’s keep moving,” Charles said softly, casting one last glance back before leading them onward.

The path narrowed as they pressed forward, forcing them to walk single file along a steep cliffside that dropped off into jagged rocks far below. The wind howled around them, and Max squinted against the gusts, trying to keep his balance on the rocky ledge.

Then, suddenly, a low growl echoed off the cliffs. Shadows moved above them, and before they could react, monstrous figures dropped down, landing heavily on the path. Snarling creatures, with glistening fangs and clawed hands, blocked their way.

“Ambush!” Carlos shouted, drawing his sword.

There was no escape, and they were forced to fight in the narrow space, the drop below threatening with each unsteady step.

Max didn’t hesitate. His body moved on instinct, his sword slicing through the air as though guided by something deep within. He felt heat rise within him, a fiery energy that seemed to sharpen his senses and fuel his strength. Each strike landed with unrelenting force, and for a brief moment, he felt as though he was the fire itself—the hermit’s words flashing in his mind.

The creatures recoiled from his blows but continued to attack, relentless and without fear.

At the far side of the ledge, Charles and Lando fought back-to-back. Lando had taken an early hit, a deep gash on his arm. Charles quickly pulled him behind him, pressing a hand to the wound. Lando’s face twisted with pain, but he gave Charles a grateful nod as the bleeding slowed under Charles’s touch.

With a shared look of understanding, they moved in sync, Charles shielding Lando’s left as they struck at the creatures. The two worked seamlessly, their bond evident in the way they guarded each other.

Carlos, surrounded by a trio of beasts, showed his own strengths. He glanced at the metal buckles on his gear and quickly unfastened one, shaping it with his powers into a sharp-edged weapon. Swinging it with practiced precision, he managed to cut down two of the creatures, his face set with fierce determination.

“Not so tough now, are you?” he muttered, dispatching another creature with a swift strike.

One of the beasts lunged toward Max, claws outstretched. Instinctively, Max threw up his hands—and a sudden, intense pulse of heat radiated from his body, sending the creature flying back. The others turned to stare, but there was no time to question it. Together, they fought off the last of the monsters until only silence remained on the ledge.

Lando exhaled a shaky laugh, glancing at Max. “What was that? Never seen you do… that.”

Max shrugged, uncertain himself, though a part of him felt more alive than ever. He looked back at the cliffside path, still processing the burst of power he had channeled. But with no answers in sight, he let it go—for now.

Later, when the darkness fully settled, they made camp beneath a canopy of stars. The fire crackled warmly, casting a comforting glow over them as they gathered in a tight circle, too tired to speak at first. The events of the day weighed heavily, each of them lost in their thoughts.

Max sat close to Charles, exhaustion tugging at him, but he couldn’t shake the day’s events from his mind. Finally, he turned to Charles. “You know… I’ve been having strange dreams. About fire, and it… it feels like home.”

Charles looked at him, something soft in his gaze. “Maybe it’s not something to fear. Fire can be a guide, too.” He placed a comforting hand over Max’s, offering a gentle squeeze.

Across the fire, Carlos and Lando were deep in their own conversation. Carlos stared into the flames, his voice quiet. “I keep thinking I’ll mess this up… I’m not as strong as the rest of you.”

Lando nudged him with a grin. “Hey, you didn’t fail today. Besides, we’ve got each other’s backs. That’s what counts.”

Carlos managed a small smile, visibly reassured by Lando’s support.

As Max watched the flames, something within them shifted, and for a moment, he saw symbols flickering within the fire’s depths—a hearth and faint shapes that seemed strangely familiar. The vision was fleeting, but it left him with an unshakable sense of recognition.

“Did anyone else see that?” he whispered, glancing around, but by the time the others looked, the fire had returned to normal.

Charles exchanged a curious glance with him, sensing the shift in Max’s expression. But he didn’t press. The unspoken understanding between them was enough.

As dawn broke, they set out again, traveling deeper into the forest until the ancient temple loomed ahead, half-hidden in shadows. Weathered stone doors marked with strange symbols towered before them, as if challenging them to enter.

They stepped closer, and the air grew colder, an uneasy silence settling over them.

“We’re here,” Max whispered, feeling a pulse of energy emanate from the temple.

But as they reached out to open the doors, a low hum filled the air, and ancient symbols glowed faintly on the stone. It was clear that their entry would not be simple.

Chapter Text

The corridor opened into a cavernous room, dimly lit by a strange blue glow emanating from a pool at its center. The pool was still, its surface so smooth it looked like glass, and as they drew closer, each of them saw faint images reflecting on the water.

“Is it… showing us something?” Lando whispered, peering into the depths. He leaned in further, and a flicker of recognition passed over his face.

“It’s like a memory,” Charles said, his voice quiet with awe as he gazed at the shifting surface.

Carlos was the first to approach. As he leaned over, he saw a younger version of himself, working tirelessly over a piece of metal in a dark workshop. Sparks flew, and his face was tense with concentration, frustration lining his features. In the memory, his father loomed behind him, a stern figure casting judgment over his shoulder. The words were inaudible, but the disapproval was clear, tightening Carlos’s throat even now.

“Why would it show me this?” Carlos murmured, feeling the weight of old insecurities, he’d thought he’d buried. He had always feared not being good enough, worried that no matter how much he proved his skill, he would never measure up.

Lando stepped beside him, giving Carlos’s shoulder a supportive squeeze. “It’s showing you how far you’ve come, mate. You’re not that guy anymore.”

Carlos nodded, letting the words settle, though the memory left him uneasy.

When Lando gazed into the pool, his memory was quieter but no less haunting. He saw a scene of himself sitting alone, watching as other kids laughed and bonded. The sense of isolation from his childhood rose sharply, filling his chest with a familiar ache. He had always been the one on the outside, the one who tried to make others laugh just to keep himself included.

“Sometimes I still feel like that,” Lando admitted, his voice small. “Like I have to prove I belong here.”

Charles, standing on the other side of the pool, gave him a sympathetic look. “You’ve earned your place a hundred times over, Lando. We all see that, even if you don’t.”

Max stepped forward, staring at the pool with a mix of wonder and caution. The image within was familiar—a small, comforting scene of a child and a fire, its flames flickering warmly. He realized, with a pang, that it was him, huddled by a small hearth in a darkened room, his mother’s gentle voice filling the air as she told him a story. He had almost forgotten that moment, a small comfort in a life that had always been so turbulent —a soft, comforting memory, followed by a darker one: Jos’s cold, disappointed stare. The sudden ache of isolation tightened his chest, a feeling he hadn’t let himself acknowledge in years. His hand reflexively reached out, and Charles was there, gently intertwining their fingers.

For a brief moment, he felt warmth—a sense of belonging he’d rarely known. But as the image faded, the warmth lingered, and Max felt the faintest spark of recognition, like the memory was trying to tell him something.

“You alright, Max?” Charles’s voice cut through, grounding him, even though his own face looked uneasy.

“Yeah… just—lost in thought,” Max replied, pulling himself back from the strange pull of the memory. “I think it’s trying to remind us of what matters. Our strengths… or maybe something we’re supposed to understand about ourselves.”

“You’re not alone anymore,” Charles whispered, squeezing his hand reassuringly. Max felt the warmth of his words seep through him, as if easing a long-held wound.

It felt like a message—a reminder of something lost, or perhaps something waiting to be found.

Beyond the pool, they continued down the corridor until they reached an immense stone door, intricately carved with ancient symbols. The carvings pulsed faintly, and as they approached, a rumbling voice filled the chamber.

“Only those who possess courage and unity may pass.”

As if summoned by the voice, a creature appeared before the door. Its form was both beautiful and terrifying—a massive lion’s body with scales that shimmered like flames, and a serpent’s tail that coiled and hissed, its eyes gleaming with intelligence and malice.

The guardian’s eyes settled on Max, then scanned each of them in turn. “Prove your strength and courage, or perish.”

Without a word, Max stepped forward, his instincts sharpening as he raised his weapon, and the others fell into formation beside him. The guardian lunged, swift and powerful, its tail lashing out with a hiss. Max dodged, his movements almost intuitive, while Carlos deflected the tail’s strike with a shield he’d crafted from nearby rubble, and Charles moved quickly to shield Lando, who had taken up a defensive stance.

The guardian’s attacks were powerful and unrelenting, and the confined space of the narrow stone corridor made evasion nearly impossible.

Carlos, who had been thrown back, was quickly healed by Charles, who worked with quiet determination, channeling his powers into every move.

Lando darted around the guardian, trying to pull its attention away from Carlos and Charles. “Over here, you overgrown lizard!” he taunted, his voice steady even as his heart pounded. He’d always masked his fear with humor, and now it was no different—but the stakes felt infinitely higher. As he narrowly dodged the guardian’s tail, a surge of courage replaced his usual doubts.

Meanwhile, Max moved with a surprising ferocity, his every strike more intense than the last. His instincts seemed to guide him, and though he didn’t understand why, he felt oddly connected to the creature’s fiery scales, as though they were kindred in some way. The warmth of the battle, the pulse of energy within him—he didn’t fully understand it, but it felt like the fire was part of him, an ally rather than an enemy.

But just as he prepared to land a final blow, Carlos was thrown back, hitting the wall with a grunt. In an instant, Charles was by his side, his hands glowing as he healed Carlos’s wounds, his face etched with concentration.

“Thanks,” Carlos murmured, giving Charles a grateful nod before diving back into the fray.

Meanwhile, Lando positioned himself to take the creature by surprise, using his agility to dodge and distract the guardian while Max closed in. The creature reared back, roaring as Max swung, finally landing a blow that caused it to stumble. As it fell, the guardian dissolved into a wisp of flame, leaving the path ahead clear.

With the guardian defeated, the stone doors opened to reveal a maze of corridors, each marked with ancient symbols and artifacts that seemed to tell stories of old. They tread carefully, knowing the temple held further secrets and traps.

At one point, Carlos noticed engravings of tools and weapons along the wall, intricate designs that reminded him of his own work. He reached out, and to his surprise, the symbols pulsed faintly under his hand. It was as if the temple recognized his craft, acknowledging the skill he’d honed over the years. For the first time, he felt pride in his ability rather than the burden of expectation.

Further along, Lando spotted carvings of constellations on the ceiling. They glimmered faintly, filling him with a sense of wonder. “Look at that,” he said, his voice soft with amazement. “It’s like the stars are guiding us.”

Charles smiled, watching Lando’s face light up. “Maybe they are,” he replied, feeling the camaraderie that had grown between them.

As they explored the ancient corridors, Max noticed Charles stealing glances at him. There was something in the way Charles looked at him now, a kind of curiosity mingled with admiration. It wasn’t until they stopped to examine the carvings that Max felt brave enough to break the silence.

“Charles,” he began, his voice barely above a whisper, “why are you looking at me like that?”

Charles chuckled softly, slightly embarrassed. “Maybe because you’re more mysterious than you think,” he replied, eyes alight with intrigue. “There’s something about you, something I can’t quite place.”

Max felt his cheeks warm, caught off guard by Charles’s words. But instead of looking away, he held Charles’s gaze. “Maybe you’ll figure it out,” he replied with a smirk, feeling a rare sense of confidence under Charles’s gaze.

Charles laughed, and for a moment, the weight of the quest lifted, leaving only the quiet warmth between them.

Finally, they reached the heart of the temple, where instead of a simple key, a relic sat on a pedestal—a round, intricately carved object known as the Compass of Souls. Shaped like an ancient compass, its face was adorned with shifting symbols that pulsed with a soft, otherworldly glow. It was said to guide its bearer through the darkest paths, including the route to Tartarus.

Max approached cautiously, his eyes drawn to the hearth-like emblem etched into the compass’s center.

As he reached out to take it, the carvings flared to life, pulsing with a warm, welcoming glow. He felt an intense familiarity with the flames, as if they were reaching out to him, binding themselves to him in a way that felt both strange and natural. Charles watched him closely, noticing how comfortable Max seemed in the fire’s presence.

“You alright?” Charles asked, his tone both curious and concerned.

“Yeah… I think I am,” Max replied, taking the compass with a newfound sense of purpose. The others noticed his quiet resolve, though they didn’t question it.

When Max held the Compass of Souls, it pulsed in his hand and began to shift, its face pointing toward the temple’s exit. Though they couldn’t see where it led, they sensed it had marked their next destination—the path to Tartarus.

Chapter Text

The air felt different when Max, Charles, Carlos, and Lando trudged back into camp, still catching their breath from the trials they had endured. The weight of the compass rested in Max’s hands, its surface warm, almost pulsing with a life of its own, as if it recognized its new bearer. A few curious campers shot them glances as they passed, eyes lingering on the worn and scratched armor, the faint traces of ash and soot clinging to their clothes.

As they approached the camp’s main grounds, they noticed the silence that hung in the air. The usual chatter of campers had quieted, and a low hum of anxiety seemed to ripple through the air. Groups of younger campers watched them from a distance, their eyes filled with curiosity and fear. They’d all heard the stories.

The older campers, the ones who had been a part of a quest, seemed different now—hardened by what they’d seen, weighed down by the unknown dangers they were about to face.

Max's gaze shifted to the younger campers, the ones who weren’t yet ready for the trials ahead, and a knot twisted in his stomach. He could see the apprehension in their eyes. They weren’t ready to face the same things. They weren’t ready to go down the same path.

"Max, are you okay?" Charles's voice broke through his thoughts. He was standing a little closer than usual, his eyes lingering on him with concern.

Max gave a small nod, though the words felt heavy in his chest. "Just thinking about them," he murmured, nodding toward the younger campers. "I don’t think they realize the weight of this prophecy yet."

"Neither did we, at first," Charles said quietly, his hand brushing against Max’s in a fleeting gesture of reassurance. "We’ve all been thrown into this. Together."

They barely reached the common area before Charles was by Max’s side, assessing the bruise that had bloomed on his shoulder from the battle. "Stay still," Charles murmured, his touch gentle as he coaxed a faint glow from his hands, and Max felt the pain begin to ebb. Max’s fingers tightened around the compass, holding on as if it anchored him to the moment.

Lando, leaning against Carlos for support, gave a half-smile, wincing. “Nice to know Charles’s healing powers work on both body and spirit,” he quipped, managing a chuckle that helped dispel some of the tension hanging in the air.

The group soon found themselves seated at the familiar table in the counselor's pavilion, facing Hannah, Toto, and Christian. When Max placed the compass on the table, it pulsed with a faint glow, a tiny, contained flame that flickered in its depths. Max felt a strange familiarity in its warmth, as if it were some long-lost part of him he’d only just recovered.

Christian leaned closer, eyes narrowing thoughtfully. “That’s… a little more active than expected,” he remarked, and even Toto exchanged a concerned glance with him.

Hannah’s gaze lingered on Max. “This compass is more than a tool,” she said softly, almost to herself. “It’s as if it recognizes you, Max.” There was a pause, heavy with unspoken questions, and Max wondered if she knew more than she was letting on. She reached forward, and as her fingers brushed the compass, it dimmed slightly—as if responding to her touch with reluctance. “It will guide you,” she continued, “leading you toward… well, if our information is right, the hidden paths of Tartarus.”

The air seemed to chill at her words, and Lando shivered visibly. "Nothing like a one-way ticket to the darkest depths of the Underworld,” he mumbled, trying to mask his fear with humor.

Hannah glanced over the group, her expression softening for a brief moment before she spoke again. “Things are worsening beyond what we anticipated. Tartarus’s influence is seeping out, affecting mortals and immortals alike. Dark forces are stirring.”

At this, Carlos looked down, brow furrowing. “So… what happens if we don’t succeed?”

Toto’s usually stoic face softened a fraction. “Failure, Carlos, isn’t an option we want to consider. The balance of our world depends on you four.”

Their words settled heavily, and Max’s mind drifted, feeling the familiar sting of uncertainty rise within him. He was here, on this path, because of some power he hadn’t chosen, a lineage he didn’t even fully understand.

As if reading his thoughts, Hannah approached Max, pulling him aside. Her voice was low and full of concern. “There’s something… different about you, Max. Be careful. I don’t know how or why, but the compass has a special affinity for you.” Her words lingered, full of meaning that Max couldn’t yet grasp, but he nodded, understanding the silent message: tread carefully.

That night, the camp settled into an uneasy quiet. Max found himself by the campfire, sitting beside Charles as the flames cast a warm glow around them. Charles watched him, his gaze gentle yet intense, as if he could see right through the walls Max had put up.

“Do you ever feel like this was all meant to happen?” Max murmured, eyes fixed on the flames. He didn’t know why he’d said it, but something about Charles’s presence made it easier to speak.

Charles was quiet, his hand finding Max’s in the flickering light. “Sometimes, yes,” he admitted softly. “But that doesn’t mean we have to face it alone.” He gave Max’s hand a comforting squeeze, grounding him in the present, and Max felt something warm settle in his chest, the dread easing just a little.

They stayed like that, side by side, their fingers intertwined as the fire crackled, finding comfort in each other’s presence.

Charles had left to check on his half siblings while Max’s gaze still lingered on the flames, feeling a strange sense of peace that only grew the longer he stared. It was as if the fire was reaching out to him, a silent, wordless connection that felt both comforting and unnervingly familiar. His mind drifted, and suddenly, the flames shifted. Within the embers, he glimpsed a face—a woman with kind, sad eyes, her expression soft and full of worry.

He blinked, and she was gone. The fire resumed its usual shape, but the image lingered in his mind. Max felt a chill run down his spine, shaken, but decided keep it to himself, unsure of what it means.

Chapter Text

The compass lay at the center of the war table, its intricate carvings catching the firelight as the group gathered in Hannah's cabin. The room was silent, save for the soft crackle of the hearth. Max, Charles, Carlos, and Lando stood shoulder-to-shoulder, flanked by Toto and Christian. Tension hung in the air like a storm cloud, every eye fixed on the faintly glowing artifact.

“It’s more than just a compass,” Hannah said finally, her voice breaking the silence. Her finger traced the delicate etchings. “It’s a guide, but not one you’ll be able to follow easily. It shifts—its destination is unstable.”

Carlos frowned. “So, we’re chasing something that doesn’t want to be found?”

Hannah nodded gravely. “Essentially, yes. The portal to Tartarus doesn’t stay in one place for long. The compass will lead you there, but only if you’re quick and careful.”

As she spoke, the golden glow of the compass pulsed, brightening suddenly. Max instinctively reached out, and the moment his fingers brushed the surface, the light flared, bathing the room in warm, flickering hues. The others stared, startled by the reaction.

“It... it recognizes him,” Christian said, his sharp gaze flicking between Max and the compass.

Max withdrew his hand quickly, his expression unreadable. “It’s just a coincidence,” he muttered, avoiding everyone’s eyes, but a flicker of unease passed over his face.

Hannah’s lips pressed into a thin line. “Coincidence or not,” she said, her tone firm, “you’re going to need to trust your instincts on this journey. The closer you get to Tartarus, the less protection the gods can offer. You’ll be on your own. You’ll need to rely on each other—and yourselves.”

The whispers started before they even left the cabin.

“They’re walking into a trap,” one younger camper muttered as the group passed.

“It’s because of him,” another hissed, nodding toward Max. “The monsters, the ambushes—it’s all his fault. He’s cursed.”

Max heard every word. His fists clenched at his sides, his pace quickening as he tried to outdistance the murmurs. Charles noticed and stepped closer, his shoulder brushing against Max’s in silent support.

“They’re just scared,” Charles said quietly. “They don’t know what they’re talking about.”

“Don’t they?” Max muttered; his voice low. “Everywhere I go, things fall apart. Maybe I am cursed.”

Charles stopped him with a firm hand on his arm, his eyes fierce, forcing Max to meet his eyes. “You’re not cursed,” he said, his voice steady but insistent. “You’re the reason we’ve made it this far. Don’t forget that.”

Max searched his face, the words lingering between them. Finally, he gave a small, reluctant nod. “Thanks,” he said softly, his voice barely audible.

Charles smiled, eyes softening, the grip on Max’s arm lingering just a moment longer than necessary before they moved on.

The group spent the day gathering supplies and fortifying themselves for the journey ahead. Hannah handed each of them a small charm, its surface inscribed with protective runes.

“These won’t stop everything,” she warned, “but they’ll give you an edge. Use them wisely.”

She pulled Max aside just before they left, her expression unusually serious. “Trust your instincts,” she said quietly. “When the others falter, you won’t. That’s when you’ll need to act.”

“What does that mean?” Max asked, frowning.

Hannah’s gaze lingered on him for a moment before she shook her head. “You’ll understand when the time comes.”

The attack came just as they reached the camp’s borders. A guttural roar shattered the quiet, and the ground trembled beneath their feet. Shadows materialized from the trees—hulking, twisted figures with claws that glinted like steel and eyes that burned red.

“Get ready!” Max shouted, stepping to the front of the group without hesitation.

The battle erupted in chaos. Carlos and Lando fought side by side, their movements fluid and synchronized. At one point, Lando stumbled, a monster’s claws inches from his chest, but Carlos was there in an instant, driving the creature back with a makeshift weapon.

“You okay?” Carlos asked, his voice tight with worry.

“Yeah,” Lando panted, flashing a shaky grin. “Thanks to you.”

Meanwhile, Charles moved through the fray with calm precision, shielding and healing where needed. Max, fueled by adrenaline, led the charge, his movements sharp and commanding.

At the height of the battle, a glow erupted from Max’s hands, sending a wave of monsters sprawling. The glow faded as quickly as it had appeared, leaving everyone momentarily stunned.

“What was that?” Carlos asked, his voice breaking the stunned silence.

“I don’t know,” Max replied, his hands trembling. But deep down, he felt the same inexplicable pull he’d felt with the compass.

But there was no time to dwell on it. The remaining monsters were closing in.

By the time the group reached the edge of the mortal realm, they were battered but alive. The landscape before them was unlike anything they’d ever seen—a barren, desolate expanse shrouded in dense, swirling shadows.

Max stared into the distance, unease coiling in his chest. Despite the foreboding atmosphere, he felt an odd pull toward the darkness, as though it were calling to him.

“Everyone ready?” Charles asked, his voice steady but tinged with tension.

Max glanced at him, and for a moment, the weight of the journey lifted. Charles’s hand brushed against his—a fleeting, deliberate touch that sent a jolt of warmth through Max’s chest.

“Yeah,” Max said softly. “Let’s do this.”

Together, they stepped forward, the compass glowing faintly in Max’s hand as they crossed into the unknown.

Chapter Text

The air grew heavier as they descended, each step pulling them closer to the heart of Tartarus’ outskirts. The compass trembled in Max’s grip, its needle spinning erratically before pointing to a cavern shrouded in darkness. Shadows flickered against the jagged walls, and whispers filled the air—low, guttural voices that seemed to crawl under their skin.

“We’re here,” Max muttered, his voice strained but steady.

The group nodded, their expressions mirroring the dread that settled over them. Broken weapons and skeletal remains littered the path, silent testaments to the heroes who had come before them—and failed.

Max gripped the compass tightly, his voice breaking the silence. “This is it.”

The group halted behind him, each of them bracing for what was to come. Lando’s fingers hovered over his dagger, his usual lighthearted demeanor replaced by an unfamiliar tension. Carlos scanned their surroundings, his sharp eyes searching for signs of movement. Charles moved closer to Max, his presence steadying despite the weight of the moment.

“Stay close,” Max added, glancing back at them. His eyes lingered on Charles for a beat longer, as if drawing strength from him.

They reached the cavern's core, where a vast pit yawned before them. Its depths glowed with a sickly, pulsing light that seemed alive. The whispers grew louder, forming words that sent chills down their spines.

“The gods have forsaken you.”

A figure emerged from the shadows, cloaked in tattered robes that seemed woven from darkness itself. Its face was obscured, but its voice was sharp, cutting through the tension.

“Fools,” it sneered. “You march to your doom, blinded by the lies of the gods.”

Max stepped forward; his jaw clenched. “Who are you?”

The figure ignored his question, its shrouded gaze settling on him.

“You come armed with courage but blind to the truth. Do you even know what lies within you, child of flame?”

Max faltered, his fingers tightening around the compass. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

The figure’s laughter grew, its tone mocking. “You will.”

Before Max could respond, the ground beneath them trembled violently. Without warning, the cavern erupted into chaos. From the pit came monstrous creatures, their forms grotesque and nightmarish. The group barely had time to react as the creatures lunged.

Leading the charge, Max’s strikes were swift and relentless, but it was his instincts that stood out. He moved as if guided by something deep within, his presence commanding despite the chaos. The creatures seemed drawn to him, their glowing eyes locking on him as if sensing something they craved.

Charles kept a close watch on the others while shooting arrows and the emerging monsters. When Lando stumbled, Charles rushed to his side, placing a glowing hand over his wound and murmuring a spell that sealed it instantly.

Despite his fear, Lando moved with surprising agility, his dagger slicing through the air in precise arcs. He stuck close to Carlos, their coordination improving with every blow.

The battle raged on, each of them fighting with everything they had, but the creatures’ numbers seemed endless.

The turning point in the battle came when a massive beast lunged for Charles, sending him sprawling to the ground with a cry of pain. Max’s heart seized as he turned toward him, his vision narrowing to the sight of Charles struggling to rise.

“Charles!” he yelled, rushing to his side.

Blood seeped from a deep gash on Charles’s side. He gritted his teeth, trying to push Max away. “I’m fine,” he insisted, though his voice wavered. “Focus on the fight.”

But Max ignored him, his gaze locking onto the figure at the pit’s edge.

The figure raised a disfigured hand. “You fools. Only a sacrifice can seal this rift,” the figure intoned, its voice slicing through the chaos. “One life to hold the darkness at bay.”

The words sent a chilling silence through the cavern. The creatures paused, their glowing eyes flicking between the group as if awaiting their decision.

“No,” Charles whispered, his voice breaking. He tried to rise but faltered, clutching at Max’s arm. “There has to be another way.”

Max’s jaw tightened as he looked at the others. Lando’s face was pale, his hands trembling. Carlos stood frozen, his usually sharp mind able to process the weight of the figure’s words, his gaze fixed at Max. A look of realization passed his face.

Max’s gaze returned to Charles, softening. “I have to do this.”

“No!” Charles’s grip tightened, his voice trembling with fear. “You don’t have to—”

The figure chuckled, the sound hollow and mocking. “The fire chooses, healer. You cannot change its will.”

Max leaned closer, his hand brushing against Charles’s cheek. “You’ll be okay without me. We knew it was coming, the prophecy told us after all.” he said softly, his voice steady despite the ache in his chest. Their eyes met, and for a moment, the world seemed to fade away.

“No, no” Charles pleaded, his voice breaking. He reached for Max, his hands trembling. “You don’t have to do this.”

Max turned to him, his expression softening. “If I don’t, it’ll destroy everything. You’ll all be safe.”

“Safe?” Charles’s voice cracked as tears welled in his eyes. “Not without you.”

Max shuffled even closer to Charles, his hand cupping his face. “You’ll be okay,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

Charles shook his head, his tears spilling over. “I won’t. Not without you.”

“You’re stronger than you think,” Max said, his thumb brushing away a tear. “And you’ll always have them. You’ll have each other.” The warmth of Charles’s skin grounded him for a moment, a fleeting anchor in the chaos.

His green eyes, usually bright and full of life, were shadowed with desperation. “Max, please,” he begged, his voice cracking. “Don’t do this. There has to be another way. There has to be.”

Max’s chest felt like it might shatter under the weight of Charles’s words, of the raw pain etched across his face. He crouched down, his hands trembling as they cupped Charles’s cheeks.

“There isn’t another way,” Max said, his voice barely above a whisper. “This is it. This is the only way to keep you safe. To keep everyone safe.”

Charles shook his head vehemently, tears streaming down his face. “You don’t have to be the one to save everyone,” he choked out. “Not like this. You’ve done enough, Max. You’ve done everything.”

Max’s thumb brushed away a tear as it rolled down Charles’s cheek, his heart twisting painfully. “But it’s not enough,” he replied, his voice breaking. “Not until you’re safe. Until you’re all safe.”

Charles’s breath hitched, his hands coming up to grip Max’s forearms as though he could physically stop him from leaving. “I can’t lose you,” he said, his voice raw. “Max, please. I need you.”

Max didn’t respond immediately. Instead, he unfastened the sheath from his back, the motion slow and deliberate. He held his sword—his first possession of the godly world, a weapon that had been with him through every battle, every trial—in his hands. For a moment, he simply stared at it, the reflection of the firelight dancing on its surface.

“This sword,” Max began, his voice soft, “has been with me through everything. Every victory, every failure. It’s been my strength when I thought I had none. My shield when I felt defenseless.”

Charles’s gaze dropped to the sword, confusion and fear flickering across his face. “Why are you telling me this?” he asked, his voice trembling.

Max met his eyes, his expression filled with a heartbreaking mixture of love and resolve. “Because I want you to have it,” he said, holding the sword out to Charles.

Charles’s eyes widened in shock. “No,” he said, shaking his head. “No, Max. You need it. You can’t just—”

“I need you to take it,” Max interrupted, his voice firm despite the emotion thickening his throat. “If I’m not here... this sword will protect you. It’ll remind you of everything we’ve fought for. Everything worth fighting for.”

Charles hesitated, his hands hovering over the hilt. “Max,” he whispered, his voice breaking.

“Please,” Max said, his tone softening. “It’s yours now. You have to promise me you’ll keep going. No matter what happens.”

With trembling hands, Charles took the sword, the weight of it feeling far heavier than it should. As his fingers curled around the hilt, a sob escaped his lips. “I don’t want this,” he said, tears streaming down his face. “I don’t want to lose you.”

Max leaned in, their foreheads touching, and for a moment, the world seemed to still. “You won’t lose me,” he murmured. “Not really. I’ll always be with you, Charles.”

Charles’s response was to close the distance between them, pressing his lips to Max’s in a kiss that carried everything words couldn’t. It was fierce and desperate, a plea, a goodbye, a declaration all in one.

Max poured every ounce of his love, his sorrow, and his gratitude into the kiss, memorizing the way Charles felt, the way he tasted of salt and grief. Time seemed to stretch and shatter around them, the rest of the world fading into nothingness.

When they finally pulled apart, Charles’s hands clung to Max’s jacket, as if letting go would make him disappear. “I love you,” Charles whispered, his voice breaking under the weight of the words. “I love you so much, Max.”

Max’s lips trembled into a faint, bittersweet smile. “I love you too. I have loved you from the moment you came stomping into the arena and pushed me when you lost. Just an inchident, eh?” he smiled, “You have been with me throughout my life at camp. You were there when I had nobody. You saw me at my worst, and stayed. For that I cannot thank you enough.”

“I love you Charles” he said, his voice steady despite the storm raging within him. “And that’s why I have to do this.”

Charles shook his head again, his tears falling freely. “Please,” he begged one last time, his voice barely audible.

Max leaned in, pressing a final kiss to Charles’s forehead, lingering as though he could leave a part of himself with him. “You’ll be okay,” he murmured.

He turned to the others, his gaze lingering on each of them. “Take care of him,” he said to Carlos, who nodded, his face pale but resolute.

“You don’t have to do this,” Lando said sobbing, his voice small and broken.

“I do. It is my destiny.” Max replied, his voice firm, standing up.

With one last look at Charles, Max turned toward the pit. The flames licked at his skin as he stepped closer, but instead of fear, a strange calm washed over him.

“Max! Stop him please!” Charles’s voice cracked as he stumbled forward, but Carlos held him back.

“I’ll see you again,” Max said, his voice soft and full of hope. “I promise.”

And then, without hesitation, he stepped into the flames.

The fire roared, consuming him in an instant. The cavern trembled as the creatures let out guttural cries before dissolving into ash.

Then, the shadowed figure that had been lurking in the background screamed in fury, “You foolish mortals, always playing pawns for your gods… When will you learn?” its form dissipating as it was forced back into the depths from which it had come. The cavern trembled; the fire roaring one last time before the light faded.

Charles remained on his knees, his heart shattered. He stared at the spot where Max had been, tears streaming down his face. Max was gone.

“He’s really… gone,” Lando whispered, his voice shaking.

Carlos’s hand trembled as he placed it on Lando’s shoulder. “We have to keep moving,” he said, though his voice lacked conviction.

Charles stared at the embers, his tears falling freely. “He promised,” he whispered, his voice barely audible.

But promises meant nothing when you were dead. Because that was it, he met the fate faced by many others before him.

Max Verstappen was dead.

Chapter Text

The battlefield was eerily silent.

Where Max had once stood, flames now flickered and curled, unnatural in their stillness. The air was thick with the lingering warmth of his sacrifice, yet a deep, hollow cold settled in Charles’s chest. His fingers clenched around the hilt of Max’s sword, knuckles pale, the blade heavy with the weight of what had just happened.

He was gone.

No. No, he couldn’t be gone. Max wouldn’t just—

Charles staggered forward, his breath ragged, the sound of his own heartbeat pounding in his ears. Around him, the others stood frozen, wide-eyed, grief-stricken. No one spoke. No one moved. As if breathing too loudly would shatter the fragile reality they clung to.

Then, the flames stirred.

A pulse, deep and rhythmic, like a heartbeat. The embers around them flickered in response, spiraling upward in lazy, glowing tendrils. The warmth in the air grew—not the suffocating heat of destruction, but something softer, something familiar. The fire, once wild and consuming, now burned steady, unwavering.

A whisper of prophecy echoed in the stillness:

“In sacrifice, light shall break through the despair,

And from the ashes, a hero will dare.”

Charles took a step forward, unable to resist the pull, the inexplicable feeling in his chest that told him—Max was still here. Still reaching. The embers thickened, gathering into a swirling mass at the center of the ruined ground.

And then, as if the fire itself was breathing, she appeared.

A figure stepped from the flames, radiant and untouchable, yet carrying no threat. Cloaked in shifting embers, eyes the color of hearth-fire, she exuded a presence that was both ancient and deeply familiar. She was not a warrior, not a force of war and destruction, but of home.

Hestia.

Everyone dropped to their knees in stunned reverence. Everyone except Charles, who could only stare, his breath catching in his throat.

Hestia’s gaze swept over them, filled with an unshakable gentleness, before settling on the sword clutched in Charles’s hands. Then, finally, her eyes met his.

“You mourn him as if he were lost,” she said, voice soft as crackling embers. “But fire does not die—it transforms.”

The flames around her feet collapsed inward, swirling into a single brilliant point of light. Charles’s breath hitched. The others gasped. Because within that fire, a figure was kneeling.

Dazed. Whole. Alive.

Max.

He was motionless for a long moment, shoulders rising and falling with slow, shallow breaths. Then, as if awakening from a deep slumber, he lifted his head. His eyes—once familiar, once only blue—smoldered with the glow of embers.

Charles couldn’t breathe. His feet moved before he could think, the sword slipping from his grip as he dropped to his knees in front of Max.

Max blinked up at him, expression unreadable, before whispering, “Charles?”

A strangled sound tore from Charles’s throat. And then he was grabbing Max, holding onto him like he would disappear again if he let go.

“You idiot,” Charles choked out, pressing his forehead against Max’s, feeling the heat of his skin, feeling him. “You absolute, reckless—” His voice cracked. “I thought I lost you.”

Max exhaled a soft, shuddering laugh. “I thought I lost me too.”

A warm presence settled over them, and Max turned his gaze upward. Hestia was watching him, something like pride in her eyes. She took a step closer and reached out, resting a hand gently against his hair. The moment her touch met his skin, warmth flooded his chest. The missing piece finally reunited.

“You were never unclaimed, my child,” she said. “You have always been mine.”

Max’s breath caught. His lips parted, but no words came. No one had ever—no one had ever said that. Not his whole life. Not until now.

A choked sound escaped him, and his hands curled into the fabric of Charles’s shirt. He wasn’t sure if he was shaking or if Charles was, but it didn’t matter. Nothing mattered except—

He wasn’t unwanted. He was never unwanted.

Max swallowed hard before managing, “But… how? How am I yours?”

Hestia’s expression softened, as though she had been waiting for this question. “The gods are not bound by mortal forms, my child. We are what we choose to be. We take shape as we will, but we are more than flesh and bone. When you were born, I did not need to create you as mortals do. I saw you, and I knew.”

She reached out again, brushing a finger against his cheek, the warmth of a hearth’s flame steady and comforting. “You were already mine. You have always carried my fire, even when you did not know it. That is why no god claimed you—because you had already been chosen.”

"You left me unclaimed," he said, voice hoarse. "You let me believe I wasn’t worthy. That I wasn’t anything."

A flicker of sorrow crossed her face. "I did not abandon you, Max. I hid you."

The weight of her words settled on them all.

"You are more powerful than you know," Hestia continued. "Not just as my child, but as the embodiment of something the gods have long forgotten—true, unwavering, indestructible flame. The hearth that does not die. If Olympus had known… if they had seen your strength…"

She paused, her eyes shadowed with ancient grief. "They would have feared you. And fear makes even gods reckless."

Max’s hands curled into fists. He had spent his life trying to prove himself, only to learn he had always been something greater than even he had imagined. "So you let me suffer?"

"I let you live." Hestia stepped closer, placing a warm hand over his heart. "And now, the gods will see what they should have never forgotten. Power is not in destruction. It is in creation, in endurance, in the fire that never goes out."

The campfire flared, flames dancing higher. Around them, the others watched, barely daring to breathe.

Max let out a shaky breath, his mind reeling. “So… I was never abandoned.”

Hestia cupped his face gently, the embers around them dancing in response to her presence. “Never.”

"There will be those who do not trust you, even now. The gods have never liked power they cannot control. But you are my son, and that will never change."

Max exhaled shakily, the weight of the moment settling over him. He wasn’t just a demigod. He wasn’t just a survivor. He was something more.

Something unstoppable.

And for the first time, he didn’t feel the need to prove it.

Hestia smiled, warm and knowing. She placed a gentle hand over his heart. “Your journey does not end here. My fire will always burn within you.”

The warmth spread, sinking into his very bones. And then, with a final lingering look, she vanished into embers.

Silence followed, thick with unspoken emotion. No one moved.

Then Charles let out a trembling breath and wrapped himself around Max again, unwilling to ever let go.

“You’re not leaving me again,” he whispered fiercely.

Max smiled against his shoulder, breath still unsteady. “Not planning on it.”

Charles pulled back just enough to look at him, his hands coming up to frame Max’s face. His thumb brushed against Max’s cheek, as if grounding himself in the reality that he was here. That he was alive.

And then, with all the desperation of someone who had almost lost everything, Charles kissed him.

It wasn’t careful or tentative—it was raw, deep, and filled with every unsaid word, every sleepless night, every moment spent pretending that his feelings weren’t as vast as the ocean. Max melted into him, his hands gripping Charles’s arms, pulling him closer, grounding himself in the certainty that he was here, that he had come back for this.

When they finally pulled apart, Charles rested his forehead against Max’s again, exhaling a shuddering breath. “Never again,” he murmured.

Max’s fingers curled over Charles’s, squeezing tight. “Never,” he promised.

The others were still there, watching, waiting, but for now, nothing else mattered.

Charles held onto him tighter.

And this time, Max held back.