[ called. it's something so minor to nitpick on, but called is past tense. do they regard him as family now, even years after he's gone? does anyone actually think of him? if anyone were to think back on the boy who had instigated and stopped the titan war, they'd call him a traitor to his own people. what kind of boy takes a blade against his own family? one who is too lost to see the road before him, tripping over uproots and vines and stones peppering the road he takes. but no one will look upon him with a soft expression, retelling his story as if it's a pitiful thing and a lesson to teach other demigods rather than it being something those who recall it learn from themselves. ]
[ of course, it's an excuse. luke's the god of making them, knowing it'll assist him in worming his way out of travelling down roads he doesn't know how to navigate. this particular path is one he can do quite well, but with the anger thrumming beneath his skin, he knows it's a path he has travelled along with his feet stomping into the earth before. a part of him doesn't wish to flank their sides in case they see it to, the way he's unravelling as he had done so quietly years before. he can feel it where they may not be able to see it, consistently blind to the dead boy none of them particularly see as their friends flock to the drabwurld and steer them far from where he happens to be. ]
[ he wants to stomp percy's faith in him out. rather than confirm he's in caer glaem and about to take to searching for the symbol of artemis, he decides against it. he's only useful for the god he's born from, with his tricks of trade and his ability to navigate and run and deliver prized parcels without so much as getting a flat tire or even a broken bone as he travels upon rocky and unfamiliar terrain. ]
[ heroes always survive; it's the villains who perish and are only resurrected when they're required. like now. ]
disconnect.
[ of course, it's an excuse. luke's the god of making them, knowing it'll assist him in worming his way out of travelling down roads he doesn't know how to navigate. this particular path is one he can do quite well, but with the anger thrumming beneath his skin, he knows it's a path he has travelled along with his feet stomping into the earth before. a part of him doesn't wish to flank their sides in case they see it to, the way he's unravelling as he had done so quietly years before. he can feel it where they may not be able to see it, consistently blind to the dead boy none of them particularly see as their friends flock to the drabwurld and steer them far from where he happens to be. ]
[ he wants to stomp percy's faith in him out. rather than confirm he's in caer glaem and about to take to searching for the symbol of artemis, he decides against it. he's only useful for the god he's born from, with his tricks of trade and his ability to navigate and run and deliver prized parcels without so much as getting a flat tire or even a broken bone as he travels upon rocky and unfamiliar terrain. ]
[ heroes always survive; it's the villains who perish and are only resurrected when they're required. like now. ]
[ tersely, ] Good luck being a hero.
[ he hangs up. ]