Chapter 75 - The Weight of Guilt

Camp Half-Blood was calm that morning. The lake glistened beneath the sun and nymphs danced near the woods. But deeper in the forest, inside a shaded forum, the Council of Cloven Elders convened.

Milo Thornbush stood before them.

He told them everything.

How the fleece had lured them, how Polyphemus had fed on their hope. How Lucas had fought through monsters and a storm, had chosen Milo over escape.

The satyrs listened in silence: Maron, frowning in thought; Silenus, skeptical and scowling; and the ever-obnoxious Leneus.

"So Pan isn't in the Sea of Monsters?" Maron finally asked.

Milo shook his head. "No. The fleece gave off his aura, but it was a trick. A lure. Polyphemus fed on that hope."

There was silence. Then Silenus muttered, "A lie, then. All of it."

"For generations, we've sent searchers there," Maron said. "All dead."

"At least now, we know," Milo whispered.

Some scoffed. Others slumped. But none spoke against him.

Milo left the council in silence, walking through the woods, eyes cast down. Joyful sounds echoed in the distance, laughter, music, the sound of satyrs chasing dryads through the woods but they felt distant. Unreachable. A few hours passed, the sun was now higher. The guilt had settled in his bones like lead.

Lucas had saved him. Not once, but twice.

After all, Lucas only killed the cyclops to save him, if anyone was to die it should be him.

Milo stopped walking and sat beneath an ash tree, his reed pipes clutched in hand but silent. He hadn't played since that night. The notes felt wrong now, too light, too free.

"You barely knew me," he whispered aloud, voice cracking. "Why me?"

No one answered. Only the rustling of leaves.

He wiped his eyes on his sleeve and stood. If Lucas had died for him, the least he could do was carry the weight honestly.

Gathering his resolve, he left the woods and made his way to the cabins, he had heard of Lucas and knew that while he wasn't exactly social, he did have a friend in the child of Zeus. He felt it was necessary to tell them himself, maybe it was guilt or maybe he just felt the story needed to come from him.

What Milo didn't know however, was his story spread from the elder satyrs to the younger satyrs to the dryads and to the campers themselves. Tales of Lucas' death spread throughout the camp, reaching the ears of the trio, who had coincidently gathered outside Zeus' cabin.

Milo heard the rumours spreading, the story of Lucas death already known, understanding this he ran to Cabin one, spotting the trio outside of it. He made his way over, the eyes of the three turned to him, confused at first before understanding filled them.

This must have been the satyr they just heard about.

Milo stood before them, unsure where to start.

It was Annabeth who broke the conversation. "Is it true?"

Milo froze, unsure how to answer before nodding then lowering his head, not daring to meet their gaze.

Thalia's jaw clenched. Luke looked away. Annabeth folded her arms, silent, tears gathered in her eyes.

"How?" Luke asked.

"He saved me," Milo finally spoke, "I was caught by Polyphemus, he was nearby escaping with his task complete but he still came back and killed the cyclops, saving me."

"He killed Polyphemus? So it was Posei-"

Luke quickly clasped his hand over Thalia's mouth, this isn't the place to be pointing fingers at the gods, especially now.

"How did you make it back?" Luke asked, changing the subject.

"He summoned the wind god...Atleus...Aerous-"

"Aeolus" Annabeth corrected.

"Yes him, I heard something about a favor to Hecate before the god spoke how there was only one ticket. He could have left. Instead, he sent me back and stayed."

Milo's voice broke towards the end, quivering in sadness as the guilt overwhelmed him.

"I didn't deserve it," Milo added quietly. "He barely knew me."

"That sounds like him," Thalia muttered. Her voice was steady, but her eyes weren't.

Annabeth turned to Thalia, wanting to go and hug here but Luke caught her eyes.

He frowned yes, but it wasn't one of sadness but more of a hopeful pondering.

Luke must have felt the gaze for he turned to Annabeth and quickly understood the question in her eyes.

"I don't think he is dead."

That caused the other three to freeze, quickly looking at Luke for an explanation.

Milo met his gaze, hopeful "Why not?"

"Because I know him" Luke simply said.

The group fell silent.

Annabeth's jaw clenched. Her hands were trembling. She didn't speak, but the fight between doubt and desperate belief was written in the way she wouldn't meet Luke's eyes.

Thalia turned away entirely, her back tense.

"Are you sure?" She asked

"It's Lucas..."

He didn't finish. He didn't need to. They'd seen Lucas in battle. He didn't die easily. And he never gave up.

...

Elsewhere, in the Big House, Chiron stood by the window, overlooking the camp. Mr. D sat at the chessboard, glass of wine in hand.

"He's gone," Chiron said softly, the words hanging like smoke. "I always hoped he'd fulfill his goal."

Mr. D swirled his wine. "They rarely do. Especially the clever ones."

"He reminded me of Prometheus," Chiron said after a pause.

Mr. D didn't look up. But he had stopped drinking.

"You knew this would happen," Chiron murmured.

"Of course," Mr. D replied. "You can smell tragedy on them, you know. Like sulfur and applewood."

Chiron didn't reply, gazing into the distance.