The Traitor's Choice

(Percy Jackson and the Olympians)

The perspective of Luke Castellan- a hero.

They raised me up with hollow praise,
Then turned and left in godlike ways.
A son in shadow, carved from dust,
With broken hands that learned distrust.

Hermes… father- title, not face.
Left me offerings, never grace.
Told me to wait, to learn, to bend-
But love too late is not a friend.

They spoke of quests and glory’s gleam,
But not the cost behind the dream.
No warmth from gods, just distant flame-
They gave me blood but not a name.

So I grew sharp, and I grew sly,
With anger stitched beneath my cries.
Each promise cracked, each oath betrayed-
A soldier built, a boy unmade.

You call me traitor, cursed and vile-
But did you ever walk my mile?
Did you kneel by kids who shook with pain,
While Olympus played its warlike game?

I followed Kronos not for power,
But recognition, justice, a final hour.
To build a world the gods ignored,
Where children weren’t just labelled and stored.

Still- he crept inside, too deep, too near,
And turned my rage into a spear.
Until I saw in one green eye
The boy I was before goodbye.

And deep beneath the cruel disguise,
A younger voice began to rise.
Not Kronos’ scream or Hermes’ call,
But mine- the boy before the fall.

So, in the end, I made my choice-
One final cry, one shattered voice.
The blade, the fall, the cost, the flame-
Redemption carved into my name.

In the end, I made my stand,
With a trembling soul and bloodstained hand.
Not for the gods I once obeyed,
But for the path I could’ve made.

I don’t ask statues, don’t want songs.
I only hope they right the wrongs.
Let heroes rise, but don’t forget
The ones who burn with deep regret.