All the demigods lowered their heads, the pain of Hermes' words sinking into them like a blade; in that moment, they didn't feel strong or chosen or special—they felt small, unwanted, like bugs waiting to be crushed.
And for Kael, deep in his chest, he felt something stir—it wasn't sadness, but anger, sharp—because the gods had never seen them as family, never as their own blood; their only purpose was to carry out the gods' dirty work, to bleed and die in their name, while the ones on Olympus sat high above, untouched, watching as demigods were thrown into battle after battle… like tools to be used, then forgotten.
Since the gods wouldn't look after the demigods… then he would.
Kael turned and walked past Hermes, his steps slow but steady. He stopped in front of the Holy Knights, meeting each of their eyes.
"Don't worry," he said, voice low. "I'll bring them back."
