Night blanketed Camp Half-Blood, its gentle breeze rustling through the trees as the campfire's embers faded into the cooling air. Most campers had already returned to their cabins, their laughter and chatter dimming like a candle's flame at the end of a long day. Cyrus sat alone at the edge of the amphitheater, arms resting on his knees, gaze fixed on the stars.
Something in the night felt heavy.
For weeks now, he had been watching Luke. His friend, once so full of hope and reckless brilliance, had become more restless, like a storm gathering just beyond the horizon. Luke had begun training harder, speaking less. His bitterness was no longer a passing shadow—it was a growing storm cloud. And even though Thalia always stood by him, Cyrus could feel the strain in her shoulders every time Luke turned away.
"Why do I feel like he's already slipping through my fingers?" Cyrus muttered to himself.
"Have you noticed something... off with Luke?" Cyrus asked Thalia one evening, as they sat near the lake, skipping stones.
Thalia didn't meet his eyes. "He's just tired. The gods have been ignoring him for years. I would've gone crazy if I hadn't been claimed."
"But He was claimed, and too as soon as he stepped inside the camp" Cyrus said gently.
Thalia's hand tightened around the rock she was about to throw. "Doesn't mean they listen."
It was true. Many of the older demigods at camp—children of Athena, Demeter, Ares Even Aphrodite and Hephaestus —felt the same weight of neglect. There were fewer cabins than the total demigods they sire, and even fewer quests to prove themselves. With younger campers arriving each summer, eager and bright-eyed, the older ones were left to fade in the background and with no way out as if it was a vicious cycle.
"I heard Kiera and Dorian left camp last week" Cyrus said quietly as he remembered his cabin Counselor Adam Broyce had left the camp last year to live in the mortal world.
"They'd rather face monsters in the real world than rot here doing nothing," Thalia muttered.
That night, Cyrus walked past the Hermes cabin and found Luke sitting on the porch steps, hunched over with a knife in his hands, whittling wood.
"You okay?" Cyrus asked, settling beside him.
Luke offered a weak grin. "Peachy."
"You've carved that same piece three times this week."
Luke glanced down at the mangled bit of wood and chuckled humorlessly. "I just... I need to do something. I need to prove that I'm not useless. My dad doesn't even responds to me."
The campers adored Luke—almost as much as they looked up to Cyrus now.
But admiration wasn't enough. Not for Luke. He needed something more—recognition, purpose... something from his father.
Cyrus started at Luke and noticed how he has grown over the span of 2 years, He now felt the age of Luke who is one the verge of being Seventeen and remembers what Raymond, Son of Ares who left the camp had said, before stating that they won't return, "As you grow older and older, you suddenly wants to look back and see what you achieve so far and why do you want to survive, and train so hard and just... why do we even born just to always run and hide for all of our lives just for the sake of being born as demigod?"
That night, Cyrus found himself standing before the campfire after everyone had gone to bed. He looked up at the stars.
"Dad," he whispered, "Lord Hermes... anyone who's listening—please. Give Luke a quest. Give him something to hold onto. He needs it. And I don't want to lose him."
The flames flickered. Wind rustled the trees.
And then, with a shimmer of air and the scent of ink and parchment, Hermes stood before him.
"Well," the god said with a crooked smile, "you've been burning a lot of offerings in my name lately, haven't you?"
Cyrus stepped back in shock. "You heard me?"
"I always hear," Hermes said. "Even when I pretend not to. You want a quest. For Luke."
"Yes" Though he had many question swirling in his mind, he replied as this is the priority
Hermes tilted his head. "Tell me, son of Apollo... if I gave him a quest, would it really save him? Or would it push him further down the path he's already chosen?"
There was something in Hermes's voice that made Cyrus hesitate. Something coiled in the way he said "path," like he already saw the end. But Cyrus clenched his fists, pushing the doubt down.
"He wants to be seen. He wants to matter," Cyrus said quietly. "If this gives him that—then let it."
Hermes nodded. "So be it. You've made your wish." Then he paused, and for a moment, that glimmer of amusement disappeared from his face. "Be careful, Cyrus Ceallaigh . A quest is a burden. Especially one earned not by the one who bears it."
And with that, Hermes vanished, the night falling silent again.
A cool breeze blew through the trees again—almost like a warning.
His father looked the same as always—handsome, glowing faintly gold, eyes filled with sunlight. But his smile didn't quite reach his eyes.
"My little sunshine," he said, pulling Cyrus into a hug. "You shouldn't carry the world on your shoulders."
"I just want them to be happy," Cyrus said, voice muffled against Apollo's shirt. "Luke deserves better. He always has."
Apollo sighed. "Do you think he'd still be happy if he knew that the quest wasn't because he earned it... but because you begged for it?"
Cyrus pulled away. "No. But he'll never know. You and Hermes won't tell him, right?"
Apollo ruffled his hair gently. "Your secret's safe. But be ready, Cyrus. The road ahead won't be easy. And even the brightest light can cast a long shadow."
Cyrus watched his father fade into the moonlight, his heart heavy with unspoken doubts.
The next morning, a camp-wide announcement declared that Luke Castellan had been chosen for a quest.
Thalia's eyes sparkled with joy. Luke grinned like he hadn't in months.
Cyrus smiled too—but deep down, a part of him couldn't stop wondering if he had just lit a match in a forest of dry trees.