Chapter 1

3rd POV

The sun was beginning to sink beyond the polluted horizon as the streetlights flickered to life. The heavy traffic of New York City was still relentless, even at the closing of the day. Yellow taxis and dingy cars blared their horns at each other as they struggled to get to their destinations a few seconds quicker than the rest. In a quieter corner of the city stood a small, yet well-kept, graveyard. A lone figure made his way slowly into the graveyard, a single red rose gripped tightly in his palm. The thorns of the rose cut into his palm causing crimson blood to drip onto the grave he stopped at. He knelt and laid the rose on top of the headstone.

The cold gray pillar stared unflinchingly at the broken figure kneeling in front of its unforgiving face. The gravestone had no life, it held no reminder of the life it marked, save a few small words and a date printed across the front in an ancient language. A language that was unrecognizable to those who did not know the girl whose life was remembered by the slab of granite running parallel to the ground. But the figure in front of the stone knew what it said for the words were seared on his heart. And the dates printed on the stone, the second date, the date of death, was all the boy could see when closed his eyes. He saw that fateful day replaying itself. Over and over again.

The battle-scarred warrior had deep purple bags under his eyes, a testament to the terrors he saw when they were closed. A testament to the pain he endures with every blink. He was knelt down in front of the headstone, his knees nearly brushing the bottom of the marker. Silent tears began to roll down his face and land on the packed dirt. The boy cradled his head in his large, calloused hands as he rocked gently back and forth, muttering in the same tongue engraved upon the stone. Pulling a hand away from his weary face, he traced the harsh words on the front of the slab. While he traced he translated the word into English. The first line read "Annabeth Chase, Warrior, Friend, Protector." The boy allowed his fingers to drift down to the next row, the row that listed her most notable titles.

Once again the warrior began to translate the archaic language "Architect of Olympus, Retriever of Athena's Mark, Survivor of Tartarus, Veteran of the battle of Manhattan, Strategist of the war against Gaea and Daughter of Athena." The final row had her date of birth and death. The boy did not trace the numbers, he already knew them well enough. The second date was the same date that the world lost its light, the same day he gave up and decided to stop. The day that will forever be remembered as a victory to gods and demigods alike but for him, it will always be the day of defeat. For even though they vanquished the enemy, he lost the love of his life.

The kneeling figure lowered his head and squeezed his broken sea-green eyes shut, forcing a few more tears to roll down his scarred face. A shaky sob escaped his lips and more followed suit. He sounded as if his heart had been torn from his chest. As he sobbed, his wide shoulders shook from the effort. The same shoulders that once held the weight of the world looked as if they could no longer contain the weight of his grief. His once tan skin now held an unnatural, tan pallor, due to the time he spent in Tartarus where there was no sun, stars, or moon. All that existed there was poison, monsters, and a river of fire. His clothes hung loosely off his frame, showing just how severely underweight he now is. Regardless of his weight, he was still muscular. The weary soldier spent nearly his every waking moment training.

If only he'd been better, if only he'd been stronger, if only he'd been faster, maybe she would still be here. Maybe they would all still be here, Benckendorf, Silena, Jason, Piper, Leo, everyone. Anyone. If only… If only, but now it's too late. Lost in his self-condemning thoughts, he began to hyperventilate. Black spots danced across his field of vision, but he couldn���t regain control. His view faded to black as he slumped against the headstone, falling head-first into Morpheus' tortuous realm.

Percy's POV

He cut efficiently through the brunt of Gaea's immense army. A single thought, a single name rang through his mind. Annabeth. A hellhound pounced at him. Annabeth. The gold dust from the beast hadn't even settled yet. Annabeth. A laistrygonian giant lumbered his way. Annabeth. His piercing sea-green eyes scanned the writhing mass of demigods and monsters. He caught sight of his objective. Ahead of golden blond curls caught his attention. Annabeth! He ran to her, cutting through monster after monster in his way. A dracaena, an empousa, a hellhound. It made no difference, his wise girl was waiting. He finally reached her. He was nearly too late. Annabeth was fighting Gaea alone. Her frightened gray eyes met Percy's wild sea-green ones, and they shared a single thought: together they would succeed, together they could overcome any odds.

Before Percy arrived, Annabeth was steadily retreating against mother earth. Percy and Annabeth combined were evening the playing field against Gaea. But, the demigods could not continue at this great speed for long. Both were wheezing heavily from their time breathing the poisoned air that is Tartarus. Both knew their strength was waning. In a synchronized charge, they put Queen dirt face on retreat in a risky gamble to end it before it was too late. Just before they could deliver the killing blow, Annabeth stumbled and fell. She tried to push herself back up but her arms would not support her weight. It was as if the battlefield itself recognized the significance of this moment. Monster, demigod, and god alike froze in sick anticipation. Percy cradled the love of this life head in his arms. A knife was lodged in the small of her back… a poisoned blade. A sick purple color was blooming at the site of the wound. The lilac-colored stain spread its way across her stomach and up to her lungs. Annabeth took in a wheezing breath and uttered her final words "Seaweed Brain….Don't grieve... move on…. I love you…. I don't…. Want to see you in…. Elysium anytime…. Promise me you won't try."

She looked at him with pleading eyes, begging him to swear to her. Percy met her eyes with a tear-streaked face and said in a nearly inaudible whisper "I swear on the river Styx, wise girl. I...I love you. Please, don't go." Annabeth gave a sad smile. The purple had crawled up her chest and was traveling up her neck. With the last of her strength, she gripped Percy's hand and croaked "I love you, Percy, I'm sorry, I'll… I'll see you again one day." And with that, the poison had reached into her heart and she died in Percy's arms. The young demigod's vision went red with rage and grief. He gently laid Annabeth's head on the packed dirt and stood up to face mother earth once more. Percy would not fail. He could feel his blood boiling inside of his veins in his anger. Every monster on the battlefield let out an anguished cry before being vaporized into a cloud of golden dust. The battlefield was empty now, save Gaea and Percy. All the other demigods had moved, or been moved to the infirmary. The gods stood from afar, unable to interfere, and watched the quickly unfolding scene ahead of them.

Percy fought mother earth, not holding anything back, entirely on the offensive not even bothering to protect himself. After what seemed like hours the enraged demigod dealt the final blow despite his opponent's cries for mercy. As her form crumbled into dust, Percy swayed on his feet before collapsing from pain, grief, and exhaustion, bleeding heavily from wounds the gods and other campers hadn't noticed him receiving. Before the hero's head hid the ground, Apollo caught him and flashed him to the infirmary.

When Percy awoke after the battle, he took in his surroundings. The stinging smell of disinfectant, the steady beeping of a heart monitor, the quiet drip of an IV, blindingly white lights obscuring his vision, dull-white walls, and finally, an annoying sun god taking notes at the foot of his bed. Percy attempted to sit up but groaned from the wave of pain. Apollo's head snapped up to Percy and he began to tell Percy the extent of his injuries. "It seems'' Apollo began, "that the ambrosia nectar and water could only do so much. All of the major injuries are healed, although you will be left with a few more scars. Only minor injuries are still there, but they will have to heal naturally as your body cannot handle and ambrosia and nectar for a while and water can only do so much." He paused as if waiting for some kind of acknowledgment from the battle-scarred soldier. He received none. Apollo treaded silently out of the room and Percy steeled his nerves, ripped out his IV and stood up. Many scars and open cuts yelled in protest but Percy pushed on. He'd dealt with worse pain, much worse.

He walked out of the infirmary and was greeted by the sight of a scorched battlefield, covered in gold dust and shroud-wrapped coffins lined up in a neat row. One shroud, in particular, caught his eye. A grey shroud with a sea-green owl with the mark of Athena in its talons. He immediately knew who it was for. HE held back a wave of tears. He was a leader he couldn't afford to break. So many other coffins were laid out. A flame-colored shroud with Festus, a sky collared shroud with lightning, and a kaleidoscope colored shroud with a dagger. His friends, four of the seven, were dead. Gone. Forever. He didn't cry, breaking just wasn't an option for him. He turned and inspected the horrendous damage to the camp.