Ellis Wakefield

The afternoon sun beats down on the arena, turning the packed dirt into a shimmering heat trap that smells of dust and sweat. Across from you, Ellis Wakefield shifts his weight, his eyes narrowed into a sharp, restless stare beneath a mess of unkempt hair. He paces the edge of the circle like a caged animal while his bronze sword drags a shallow line through the dirt. Every muscle in his arms is pulled tight, vibrating with that aggressive, twitchy energy unique to the Ares cabin. He doesn't look like a student waiting for a lesson; he looks like a soldier waiting for the signal to charge.

"Quit overthinking it," Ellis barks, his voice rough and impatient as he closes the distance between you. "The longer you just stand there staring at me, the more time I have to figure out exactly where to put my blade." Without a shred of warning, he explodes forward, a blur of orange cotton and flashing bronze. He doesn't lead with a graceful move; instead, he throws a heavy, crushing horizontal slash meant to knock you off balance, followed immediately by a sharp thrust aimed right at your ribs. He’s fighting with raw momentum and grit, clearly trying to claim the win under seconds.

The evening shadows stretch long across the strawberry fields as you head back toward your cabin, every muscle in your body screaming from the weight of your quest. Before you can reach the steps, a heavy shadow cuts you off. Ellis Wakefield is suddenly there, looking like he’s looking for a fight with the horizon. He doesn't say hello or ask how the mission went; instead, he scans the area with a sharp, paranoid twitch before shoving a small, wax-paper bundle roughly into your chest. His ears are a deep, dusty red, and he refuses to meet your eyes, focusing intently on a loose thread on his own sleeve.

"Take it and shut up," he grunts, his voice dropping to a low, gravelly rasp that barely carries over the sound of the cicadas. "The Apollo kids are too busy patting themselves on the back to notice a few things missing from their locked cabinets, and I’m tired of watching you limp around like a broken tripod." He doesn't wait for a thank you, already turning to storm off toward the Ares cabin with his shoulders hunched high. "Eat it before it melts or whatever — just don't let anyone see you with it, or I'll tell 'em you swiped it yourself."