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It was the first christmas without him. Every year, you’d have Luke beside you celebrating the holidays as some demigods chose to do. It kept in line with mortals traditions and was a small tie to the life you’d both lost. A simple life.
You used to gather round the cabins fireplace and hang your stockings together. Stockings that you’d spend all of December crafting. He’d indulge in your silly arts if it meant spending time together.
It was hard to believe that someone so considerate and beloved could abandon camp so quickly. You were still coming to terms with it. Everyday running through the signs that you must’ve missed. Pleading with yourself to change it.
So much regret plagued you.
You missed him dearly.
He’d asked you to join him - join Kronos - but you never could. Whether it scared you more to leave the only home you’d ever known, or join a cannibalistic titan, you honestly weren’t sure. The idea of leaving camp was unfathomable enough.
So you stayed and clung to the fragments of him.
You made him a stocking and hung it as he would, pretended he was running late and would be here any second and tried to stay content in your illusion.
Outside, camp activities were taking place. Ones that you used to participate in before it all fell apart.
Plenty of campers left with Luke. Ones that weren’t even as close with him. That didn’t hold such a place in his heart. You envied them. Their ability to give it all up to follow him.
You couldn’t betray Chiron, Annabeth, Grover, any of your friends. All the people you’d known all your life.
Annabeth had been your anchor to stay, but even she had returned home after the summer. She’d been convinced by Percy Jackson.
It added to the loneliness.
You turned out the window of your cabin, facing the carol songs slipping through the thin glass.
Last Christmas.
Why did christmas songs have to have such solemn lyrics?
If you could make a christmas wish it would be for his return. Safe, regretful, hopeful. He’d apologise and see the error in his plans. Kronos would be gone from his mind and all the prophecies would be rewritten.
The thought bubbled something inside you and at an impulse, you turned to the fireplace tossed your stocking into the fire. The one you’d sent the month sewing and decorating. The one that held so many memories of traditions with Luke.
An offering.
Apollo, God of Prophecy.
From there you were lost. Your requests were all too heavy for even the Gods. It wasn’t as if they could fix this, or certainly they’d exorcise Kronos and be done with it.
Hermes may have been better to pray to. You could tell him to go find his son. Apologise. Make it all right. After all, his absence was the reason that Luke turned so bitter. The lack of familial love. It was one of the reasons he used to hate Christmas before you’d began your traditions together.
But it could be impertinent to ask Hermes to solve it all. You’d definitely insult him somewhere in the request.
Instead, you just stared as your stocking was burnt to a crisp. It was a wasted attempt and you knew it. Now you were even more without.
You sighed to the empty room. “Just… make sure he knows he’s loved.”