It had been just over a week since Percy had joined the Hunters, and the routine had begun to settle in. There was something strangely peaceful about it, despite the constant intensity of the training. Percy still wasn't quite used to the quiet—every day had a rhythm to it, a steady hum of efficiency. It was a world that didn't tolerate hesitation, that demanded focus and skill, and Percy was starting to understand just how different it was from what he was used to.

After a particularly grueling day of running, sword training, and beast tracking, the Hunters were gathering by the edge of their camp. Artemis had announced that tonight's training session would focus on archery. Percy, who had never considered himself particularly skilled with a bow and arrow, had been quietly hoping they wouldn't call on him to demonstrate anything. His strengths, as far as he was concerned, lay in water manipulation and close-range combat. But archery? That was a whole different beast. His little game with Apollo had been a fluke. Apollo even admitted to manipulating his shots.

Still, there was no backing out now. He had committed to this, and he wasn't going to shy away from it just because he felt like a fish out of water. His pride, at least, wouldn't allow it.

The training ground was quiet, as always. The Hunters were already lined up, their bows resting on their shoulders, their expressions focused. Percy felt a familiar flutter of nerves in his stomach. He wasn't used to this level of discipline, this level of skill. Sure, he'd seen Annabeth with her bow on occasion, and he knew that a few of the campers at Camp Half-Blood had been quite good with ranged weapons, but nothing compared to the grace and precision of the Hunters. They were born for this.

"Everyone, gather around," Thalia called, stepping into the center of the clearing. "Tonight, we're going to test your precision. The target's over there." She pointed to a large, circular target placed about thirty yards away. The target itself looked deceptively simple—three concentric rings, each with a different score depending on where the arrow landed. "We'll start with a few basic shots, and then we'll add obstacles and distractions. You know the drill."

Percy swallowed hard. This was going to be a disaster. He was already anticipating the teasing and the disappointment when he inevitably missed the target entirely. But as the Hunters began taking their positions, Percy found himself quietly gearing up for it. His first shot was going to be terrible—there was no denying that—but maybe, just maybe, if he paid attention, he could get better as the lesson went on.

Thalia started off, drawing her bow effortlessly and sending an arrow toward the target. It hit right at the center, a perfect shot. Percy couldn't help but admire how smooth and fluid she made it look. He wasn't sure how much experience he had with a bow, but he definitely didn't have that level of ease.

Finally, it was his turn. Percy stepped up reluctantly, adjusting the bow that was a little too big for his hands. His fingers curled around the string awkwardly as he tried to remember the stance he had seen the Hunters use. The wood felt strange against his palm, like it was a part of the forest that he hadn't quite figured out how to connect with. He stared at the target for a long moment, trying to ignore the weight of the other Hunters' eyes on him. Artemis, who had been standing silently on the outskirts, now gave him a pointed look, her silver eyes almost unreadable. It was as if she were daring him to disappoint her.

"Percy Jackson," Thalia said, her voice barely containing the amusement that was just starting to surface. "You've been training with us for over a week. Let's see what you've got."

Percy gritted his teeth, making sure his grip on the bow was tight enough to prevent it from slipping out of his hands. He positioned the arrow on the string, drawing it back carefully. He had seen the Hunters do it a hundred times—smooth, controlled, precise. He closed his eyes for a brief moment, willing his body to cooperate.

"Focus," he muttered to himself. "Just... focus."

With a deep breath, Percy released the string.

The arrow flew through the air with remarkable speed, cutting through the breeze. For a moment, everything seemed to slow down. It was a strange feeling, almost as if he could feel the bowstring vibrating in his chest, resonating with his heartbeat. The arrow reached the target and thunked into the wood.

It wasn't a bullseye. But it wasn't terrible, either. The arrow landed just outside the innermost ring, the second ring, still a decent shot. Percy couldn't help but blink in surprise.

There was a brief moment of stunned silence. Then, Thalia's eyes widened, and a soft chuckle escaped her. "Well, I'll be damned. Percy Jackson doesn't miss his first shot."

Artemis, who had been watching from a distance, took a small step forward. Her expression was neutral, but her eyes gleamed with an almost imperceptible amount of interest. Percy swallowed hard, unsure whether to feel proud or embarrassed.

"That's... not bad," Thalia said, raising an eyebrow. She retrieved the arrow from the target, giving Percy an appraising look. "You've got some aim, for someone who never touched a bow before."

"I guess I've got some hidden talents," Percy said, trying to downplay the surprise in his own voice. "It was my first shot. Probably won't be as good next time."

"Let's find out," Thalia said with a grin. "Try again. Same distance, but this time aim for the bullseye."

Percy nodded and stepped back into position. The bow felt a little less foreign this time, the strings not quite as stiff in his fingers. He could feel the pull in his shoulders, the rhythm of the shot building in him. He was starting to realize that it wasn't just about aiming—it was about the flow, the connection between the body and the weapon.

Taking a deep breath, Percy positioned the arrow once more. He focused on the target, tuning out the small sounds of the forest around him. It was just him and the target. He thought about the sea, how he could sense the flow of water, how he could predict its movement and control it. Maybe there was a way to transfer that skill here, just a little bit.

He released the arrow.

It flew through the air, straight and true, and pierced the center of the bullseye.

"Nice," Thalia muttered under her breath, clearly impressed. "Alright, Percy. Now you've got my attention."

Percy couldn't help but grin. "Not bad for someone who was just hoping not to make a fool of himself."

Artemis, who had been standing silently nearby, stepped forward with her usual quiet grace. "Impressive," she said, her voice neutral but with an undertone of approval. "For someone who hasn't trained with a bow before, your accuracy is... notable."

Percy didn't know whether to be flattered or a little wary of Artemis' cool demeanor, but he chose to take it as a compliment. "I didn't think I'd be this good. Guess I've got more to offer than I thought."

"You're full of surprises, Percy Jackson," Artemis said, her eyes narrowing slightly. "But remember, accuracy isn't everything. It's not just about hitting the target—it's about control. About the ability to adapt under pressure. Keep that in mind."

Percy nodded, wiping his brow with the back of his hand. "I get it. It's not just the shot. It's everything leading up to it."

"Exactly," Artemis replied. "Now, let's see how you handle a bit of distraction. Thalia, would you mind?"

Thalia smirked. "Oh, I'm happy to help."

With a snap of her fingers, Thalia conjured up several illusionary monsters, their forms shifting in the dim light like shadows. They appeared as enormous wolves, charging toward Percy in an intimidating blur.

"Distractions, Percy," Thalia said. "Focus. Don't let them throw you off."

Percy took a deep breath and gripped the bow tighter. The phantom wolves growled and lunged, but Percy didn't flinch. He focused on his target, ignoring the chaos around him. These creatures weren't real, and he wasn't going to let them get in his head. He drew the string back, lined up his shot, and released the arrow.

The arrow struck true, hitting one of the wolves directly in the chest, causing it to dissipate into nothing but mist.

Thalia's eyes went wide, and she quickly summoned another illusion. This time, it was a large, fiery monster that darted toward Percy with blazing speed. Without hesitation, Percy loosed another shot, hitting the fiery beast in the eye, and it vanished in a puff of smoke.

"You've got this," Thalia said, her voice tinged with awe. "I'm starting to think I need to step up my game."

Artemis stepped forward, her silver eyes gleaming. "Not bad, Percy Jackson. Not bad at all."

Percy lowered his bow, feeling a rush of pride in his chest. He hadn't expected to be good at this. He had always considered himself a swordsman, not a marksman. But maybe, just maybe, he was better than he had given himself credit for.

Thalia approached him, a sly grin playing at the corner of her lips. "Well, Percy, looks like you've earned yourself some respect around here. You're not just the water guy anymore."

Percy chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck. "Guess I've still got some surprises left."

"I'll say," Thalia said, raising an eyebrow. "Who knows? Maybe one day we'll all be taking lessons from you."

Artemis watched the exchange with her usual cool demeanor, but the corner of her lips twitched slightly. "Keep up the training, Percy. You may just prove useful to us after all."

Percy grinned, feeling more at home with the Hunters than he had since joining. It wasn't just about the bow—it was about the connection, the challenge, and the quiet sense of camaraderie that he hadn't realized he'd been missing.

The moon hung low over the clearing, casting a cool silver glow over the forest. The camp was quiet, save for the soft rustling of leaves in the wind. Percy had just finished another round of archery practice, his hands still tingling from the bowstring's pull, when he noticed Thalia standing at the edge of the training area, watching him with a bemused smile. Her arms were folded across her chest, and there was a glint of challenge in her eyes.

Percy wiped the sweat off his brow with the back of his hand, feeling the warmth of his newfound confidence from his earlier success. He'd been practicing with the bow for days now, steadily improving and surprising himself. But even though he was proud of his progress, archery wasn't where his heart truly lay. His instincts always led him to the sword, to close combat.

Thalia's eyes never left him. "You know," she began casually, "I've been watching you shoot that bow. Not bad, for a guy who's never trained with it before."

Percy smiled and shrugged, still catching his breath. "I guess I have a natural talent for it. Or maybe it's just the water magic doing the heavy lifting."

Thalia grinned, her eyes narrowing with amusement. "You know, Percy, you've been getting pretty good with that bow. But I'm still wondering how you do in a real fight. You've had your fair share of monster brawls, sure, but how do you do when it's one-on-one? No distractions, no water to rely on. Just you, me, and a couple of swords."

Percy blinked, a little surprised. "You want to spar with me?"

Thalia's grin widened. "I think it's about time we tested how good you really are with that sword. We've been training for days now, and I've seen you handle yourself in a fight. But I'm not convinced. So, what do you say? One-on-one? Just a friendly little spar."

Percy's heart gave a little leap. He was used to fighting with his sword, had spent years practicing, but he wasn't sure how this would go. He knew Thalia—she wasn't just some random Hunter. She was strong, skilled, and terrifyingly fast. But there was something about the challenge that stirred something inside him. Maybe he wanted to prove he could still hold his own. Or maybe he just liked the idea of a fight without worrying about monsters trying to eat him.

"Alright," Percy said with a grin, adjusting his stance. "I'll take you on. Just don't get too upset when I win."

Thalia laughed, a low, confident sound. "We'll see about that."

Without further warning, she reached behind her and unsheathed her own sword, the silver blade gleaming in the moonlight. Percy followed suit, drawing Riptide from his pocket, the familiar weight of the pen-turned-sword grounding him. The wind picked up slightly, rustling the trees around them, as if the forest itself was watching in anticipation. Artemis, who had been standing quietly off to the side, watching their exchange, raised an eyebrow but made no move to intervene.

"Alright, Percy," Thalia said, shifting into a combat-ready stance. "Let's see what you've got."

Percy's muscles tensed, and without another word, Thalia lunged forward. Her movements were fluid, a blur of speed and precision. She aimed for his shoulder, a strike that would have been quick and deadly if he hadn't seen it coming. Percy, already used to reacting at a split-second's notice, barely dodged in time, stepping back and parrying her sword with his own.

"Not bad," Percy muttered, a grin tugging at the corner of his lips as he blocked her next strike. "But I've got a few tricks of my own."

Thalia raised an eyebrow and stepped back for a moment, circling him like a hawk. "We'll see if that's enough to beat me, seaweed brain."

Percy's grin only widened. He liked that Thalia wasn't holding back—this was the kind of challenge he thrived on. She came at him again, this time with a series of quick, sharp strikes aimed at his midsection. Percy parried and blocked, his movements instinctive, his sword humming through the air with practiced ease. They were evenly matched, and for a moment, it was just the two of them, dancing through the moonlit clearing, the sound of clashing blades ringing through the night.

Thalia moved like lightning, her strikes a blur, but Percy wasn't far behind. His reflexes, honed from years of fighting monsters and dealing with impossible odds, kept him a step ahead of her. He wasn't just relying on strength—he was reading her movements, anticipating her attacks. And still, she was relentless, pushing him back with every strike.

"You're faster than I thought," Percy said between gritted teeth as he ducked beneath one of Thalia's swipes, narrowly avoiding the sharp edge of her sword.

"I told you I don't play fair," Thalia said, her voice breathless but filled with excitement. "You're holding up better than I expected. I'll give you that."

Percy raised an eyebrow. "Expected me to fold that easily?"

Thalia only smirked, before launching herself back into the fray. She was relentless, her sword cutting through the air with precision, and this time, she didn't give him a moment to breathe. Percy was forced to keep up, every movement sharp and calculated. He blocked, parried, dodged, and struck when he saw an opening—but every time, Thalia was right there, matching him step for step.

The fight was starting to feel more like a game than a true spar, and Percy realized that maybe that's what Thalia wanted. She wasn't fighting to win—she was testing him, trying to see if he could keep up with her.

But Percy wasn't one to back down. With a sudden surge of energy, he countered one of her attacks and took a quick step forward, closing the distance between them. With a smooth motion, he swept his sword low and aimed for her legs. Thalia had to jump back to avoid the blow, her boots skidding against the dirt, but she didn't seem fazed. She was laughing, her eyes dancing with exhilaration.

"Okay, okay!" Thalia said, her grin widening. "You've got some moves, Jackson."

Percy couldn't help but chuckle. "Told you not to underestimate me."

They continued sparring, their swords clashing in rhythmic bursts of energy. Percy could feel the adrenaline pumping through his veins now, the sharp focus that came with a real fight taking over his senses. His movements were quicker, smoother, more confident. He wasn't just reacting anymore—he was anticipating Thalia's next move, keeping her on her toes.

Finally, after several minutes of back-and-forth, Thalia came at him one last time with a force that made him raise his sword just in time to block her attack. The shock of the impact vibrated up his arm, and for a split second, he wasn't fast enough to recover. In that moment, Thalia's sword slipped past his defense, tapping the side of his neck in a clear sign of victory.

She lowered her sword, breathing heavily but looking pleased. "Gotcha."

Percy sighed, shaking his head. "Guess you win this round."

Thalia offered him a hand to help him steady himself. "You did better than I thought you would. I'll admit it. I've seen a lot of people come and go, but you... you've got some real skill."

Percy grabbed her hand and pulled himself upright. "Hey, I'm not giving up that easily. You've just gotta wait until next time."

Thalia chuckled, stepping back and wiping the sweat off her forehead. "Oh, I'm looking forward to it. But next time, maybe I won't go so easy on you."

Percy grinned, still catching his breath. "Sure, I'll be ready. But you should probably get used to losing to me."

Thalia laughed and raised an eyebrow. "We'll see about that, seaweed brain. We'll see."

Artemis, who had been standing off to the side and observing, finally stepped forward, her silver eyes glimmering in the moonlight. "Good fight, both of you," she said, her voice calm and approving. "You've both shown good skill, though there's still plenty of room for improvement."

Percy wiped his brow and nodded. "Yeah, I'm just glad I didn't get my butt handed to me. That was fun."

Thalia shot him a playful look. "Don't get cocky. Next time, I won't go easy on you."

Percy grinned back. "Oh, I'm counting on it."

As they all stood together under the stars, the quiet forest surrounding them, Percy couldn't help but feel a sense of belonging. It wasn't just the fight that had brought them closer—it was the respect that had formed between him and Thalia, the understanding that they were both fierce warriors, each with their own strengths.

It had been a month.

A full month since Percy Jackson had joined the Hunters of Artemis. He hadn't expected it to feel like this—didn't know what he had expected, really, but it certainly wasn't this. He had imagined it would be a short-term arrangement, a few weeks, tops, before he was back to his normal routine at Camp Half-Blood. But somehow, every day had slipped by in a blur, and now, as he sat on a rock near the edge of their camp, staring out over the darkened forest, he realized that he had started to think of the Hunters as something like home.

The campfire crackled beside him, sending sparks up into the night sky, but Percy wasn't looking at the fire. His eyes were fixed on the horizon, where the moon hung high above the trees, as bright and unyielding as ever. The same moon that Artemis loved so much. The same one that had watched over him and his friends for so many years, bearing witness to the countless battles, victories, and losses.

But tonight, for the first time, the moon didn't feel like an enemy—or even like a silent observer. It felt like a companion. Like it was there, reminding him that even in the quiet moments, there was still something bigger than himself. Maybe that's what had happened over the past month. He'd spent years fighting monsters, battling gods, saving the world, and protecting his friends. But here, with the Hunters, it was different. He wasn't just Percy Jackson, the son of Poseidon, or the hero who'd survived the wars. He was just another Hunter—no different than Thalia, or any of the others. The world wasn't always asking him to save it. It was just letting him be.

He thought about how much had changed in the past few weeks.

At first, it had been strange. Everything had felt out of place—like he didn't belong. The training was relentless. Every day, he found himself pushed harder, expected to keep up with girls who had trained for centuries. He'd never had to deal with such discipline. Back at Camp Half-Blood, it was always a mix of chaotic training sessions, monster attacks, and half-hearted attempts at "normal" life. The Hunters, on the other hand, had a kind of rhythm to their existence. Every moment had purpose. There were no breaks, no distractions, and no room for failure.

It had taken him some time to adjust.

The archery lessons had been the first major hurdle. Thalia had made it clear from the start that he wasn't allowed to simply coast by. He had to keep up with the others. At first, he couldn't hit the target to save his life. His form was all wrong, and the bow felt like it had a life of its own, refusing to cooperate with him. But after a few days of practice, something clicked. Maybe it was the way the wind felt against his skin, or the quiet of the forest that allowed him to focus more than he had in years. Or maybe, just maybe, it was the memory of Annabeth's unwavering focus when she shot her arrows, that same kind of precision and calm that he had always admired.

Whatever it was, Percy found himself improving faster than he expected. He didn't become an expert overnight, of course, but he no longer felt like an embarrassment. By the end of the first week, he was hitting the target with a decent amount of consistency, and by the second week, he was making it into the bullseye more often than not.

It wasn't just archery that had changed. The sword training was just as demanding. Artemis had taught him a lot about precision and control. She wasn't the kind of teacher who threw praise around easily, but there was something about the way she would watch him practice, her silver eyes always calculating, that made him push harder. There were no shortcuts in her lessons. Everything had a purpose, every move was meant to be deliberate, and every failure was a lesson to be learned from.

Despite the intensity of the training, it was also... peaceful. He spent most of his days with the Hunters, and although there were occasional monster skirmishes or treks through the wilderness to rescue a demigod in trouble, it was different than the chaos he was used to. The Hunters, by nature, were solitary—but they were a team. And despite their intense individual training, there was a bond between them that he hadn't expected. It wasn't like the family he had back at Camp Half-Blood, but it was something close. There was a quiet strength to it, a respect that didn't need to be voiced aloud.

Artemis, of course, was a mystery. She didn't often speak of herself, but Percy could tell there was more to her than what she showed. Her calm demeanor was like a mask, hiding the weight of the responsibility she carried for her Hunters, and for the world. He'd seen that side of her only once—when she'd given him that look after his first sparring match with Thalia, a look that seemed to say, I'm watching you, Percy Jackson, and I see potential. But don't get too comfortable. She didn't show her emotions the way mortals did, and yet, Percy could sense the sharpness of her gaze. It was as if she expected more from him than he expected of himself.

But of course, all good things must come to an end.

The world was spinning again.

Percy could feel it before his eyes even opened. The familiar sense of disorientation settled over him like a thick fog, filling his lungs and making his heart race. He was awake but not. The darkness surrounding him wasn't quite the comfort of the night he'd grown used to during his time with the Hunters. It was a suffocating black, the kind that pressed against his skin, as if the very air itself was alive and suffocating him.

A sharp, cold wind whipped through the air, biting at his skin. He was standing on a barren field, surrounded by nothing but dead trees, twisted and gnarled. They reached toward the sky, their branches like hands, clawing at the heavens as if begging for something—anything—to fill the void they were trapped in.

Percy couldn't remember how he had gotten here. He couldn't even remember what this place was. The only thing he could focus on was the sensation—the weight of it. It was as if the very ground beneath his feet was pulling him down, dragging him into something far darker than anything he'd faced before. His hands were cold, his breath visible in the air, but he couldn't move. His body felt heavy, bound by something invisible, something that made each step an effort. The wind howled louder, as though it had a voice of its own, carrying the whispers of a thousand lost souls.

And then, he saw them.

At first, it was a shadow—a figure just at the edge of his vision, standing tall in the distance. The silhouette was unmistakable: a figure cloaked in a long, flowing robe, their features obscured by darkness. It was the kind of figure that didn't belong in the world of the living. But before Percy could make sense of it, the figure took a step toward him.

With each movement, the world seemed to tilt further into chaos, the ground beneath his feet cracking and crumbling. His chest tightened as the figure drew closer. No words were spoken, but the air seemed to grow colder, heavier, with each step.

The figure stopped a few feet away. It was taller than he expected—its shadow cast long and foreboding across the shattered ground. The figure's head slowly lifted, revealing an impossibly pale face, almost glowing in the darkness. But there were no eyes—just hollow sockets, empty and vast, staring at him. It was as though the void itself had come to life, consuming everything it touched.

Percy tried to speak, but the words lodged in his throat. There was no sound, no voice to call for help. His throat burned with the effort. Panic bubbled up in him, but his body refused to respond. He couldn't run. He couldn't fight. He couldn't even scream.

The figure raised its arm, and Percy followed its movement with dread building in his chest. It was reaching for him. The fingers were long and twisted, like branches from the dead trees surrounding them. As the figure's hand neared him, Percy instinctively took a step back, but the ground beneath him cracked open, swallowing his feet.

The nightmare shifted, and the trees around him began to groan and tremble. They were alive now—alive with a hunger that made his skin crawl. The wind picked up again, a deafening roar in his ears, and the whispers returned, louder than ever. The voices were unmistakable now: voices of his friends, his family, even Annabeth. They called his name, but the words were jumbled, lost in the wind. Some of them were begging for him, others were accusing him.

He turned his head sharply, trying to find them, but all he saw were shadows, faces he couldn't quite place, and bodies that were crumpled on the ground—still and lifeless.

He stumbled forward, desperate to reach them, but as his foot connected with the ground, the earth gave way beneath him. It wasn't just the ground cracking—it was as if the very earth was rejecting him, pulling him down into a chasm that seemed to open beneath his feet.

He felt himself falling, helplessly, endlessly, as the world around him shifted and spun. He reached out for something to hold onto, but there was nothing—only darkness.

And then, just as he thought he would be consumed by the black void, a voice cut through the silence. It was soft at first, a faint whisper—then louder, more insistent, filling every inch of his mind.

"Percy… Percy, you have to wake up."

The voice was familiar. It was a voice he had heard countless times before, one that had always been there for him, pulling him back when the world threatened to swallow him whole.

He forced his eyes open, his heart pounding in his chest.

He was back in the camp. In his tent. The cool night air was the first thing he noticed—real and solid, not the oppressive weight of the dream. He was tangled in his sleeping bag, sweat slick on his skin, his breath ragged as though he'd been running for miles.

It took him a moment to realize that his body was trembling. He sat up slowly, heart still racing, hands gripping the edges of the sleeping bag as if it could anchor him to reality.

His mind was foggy, still reeling from the intensity of the nightmare, but it wasn't just the images that haunted him. It was the feeling of failure. The feeling that, no matter how hard he tried, he would always end up losing—losing his friends, losing control, losing everything.

He rubbed his face with the heels of his hands, trying to push the remnants of the nightmare away, but it clung to him like a shadow, gnawing at his thoughts. He'd always been able to shake off bad dreams before. Monsters and dark places were nothing new. But this—this felt different. The sense of dread, the overwhelming isolation—it was all too familiar.

There was a soft rustling at the entrance of his tent, and before he could fully react, the flap opened to reveal Thalia standing in the doorway. Her sharp eyes were immediately on him, assessing.

"Bad dream?" she asked, voice quiet but steady.

Percy nodded without saying anything at first, still gathering himself. He could feel her watching him, sensing the unease that was lingering in the air. Thalia had a way of knowing when something was off—even when he didn't speak it aloud.

"You're still shaking," she noted, stepping inside and sitting down beside him. "What happened?"

Percy took a deep breath, forcing the fog from his mind. "Just… a nightmare. It's nothing."

Thalia didn't seem convinced, but she didn't press him. Instead, she sat in silence for a moment, letting him collect his thoughts. Finally, she spoke again, her voice softer this time.

"Want to talk about it?"

Percy exhaled slowly, his fingers curling into fists in his lap. He didn't know if he could. The nightmare had been too real, too unsettling. It wasn't the first time he'd had one like this. But it felt heavier, more personal, like something deeper was at play.

"I don't know," he murmured. "It was just… me, lost in some place. And everyone I care about was gone. Like I couldn't save them."

Thalia didn't say anything at first, but the silence between them wasn't uncomfortable. It felt like a space where he could finally breathe, and maybe, just maybe, let some of the weight of it go. She had always been good at letting people speak when they were ready.

"I get it," she said quietly. "I've had dreams like that, too."

Percy glanced at her, surprised. He'd never really thought about it—about how someone like Thalia might have her own fears, her own demons to wrestle with. She'd always seemed so strong, so steady, like nothing could touch her.

But then again, Percy knew all too well that even the toughest of them had their own nightmares.

"Do you think it'll ever stop?" he asked, his voice rough with uncertainty.

Thalia's eyes softened slightly. "I don't know. Maybe it won't. But you don't have to face it alone, Percy. We're all here, even when things feel impossible."

Her words hung in the air for a long moment. Percy wasn't sure if it was the warmth of her voice or the way the night air settled around him, but something inside him began to loosen. Maybe it wouldn't go away, but just knowing he wasn't alone made the weight a little less suffocating.

Thalia stood and gave him a slight nod. "I'm going to get some air. You should try to get some rest. You're not going to be any good to anyone if you keep brooding."

Percy managed a half-smile, grateful for the way she always knew what to say, even if it wasn't much.

Fuck. He thought he was getting better. Turns out, he was no better than when he first joined. This was going to take longer than he thought it would.