Is the prophecy his? Is he going to die in a few months?
Percy knows none of the answers to these questions.
When will Hades take me? he wonders. He does not dwell on this matter for very long.
In cabin three the atmosphere is peaceful and blue with rhythmic sensations of relief in the air. Still Percy is anxious. Still Percy is restless.
He knows he should be a hero, that he should fulfill his destiny, but Percy doesn't really fancy the dying part. Why should he give up his life for a world he'd then no longer be a part of? It seems redundant and so, so selfless.
See, Percy wants to live, too. He wants to turn eighteen and eat a blue cake with fish on it; he wants to get married and have kids someday; he wants to go to wild parties and get black-out drunk; he wants to graduate college and get a job; Percy wants to live, too.
Maybe it's selfish of him, but isn't that what everyone else gets to do? They get to live and they don't have to fight evil Titans and they will get all their firsts, they will not get their lives snatched away from the Fates.
Percy knows he is lucky: he is still alive today, and his life has not yet been taken from him.
He remembers those who were not so lucky, who have drifted to the Underworld; the people that are gone but not forgotten.
Bianca di Angelo. Those dead in the Battle of the Labyrinth. Zoë Nightshade — the Huntress.
The Huntress, thinks Percy with a pang, and thinks of her words: I can see the stars again, my lady, she had said so hopefully, as if it was fine that she was dying since she saw the stars.
Percy looks out the window and up at the stars. What is so appealing about them?
Then he sees her. The stars cluster in an awe-striking pose and they form a something, this something that looks like a girl with bow and arrow drawn. The something takes form of the Huntress, and she looks down at him with a slight smile; a smile that says, I am at peace.
She's watching, Percy realizes. She's here. She's not gone.
The something turns into her, and this something is beyond him, work of gods — beyond this universe. This something is something he cannot name, but it is there. It is there every night in the shape of the Huntress.
It is there every night, watching over him and caring for his soul.
It is there every night, and it gives him hope. If he dies in this war, then maybe someday he will be one with the something, this something he cannot name. It is not a bad thought.
When he thinks of dying, he thinks he will be one with the fascinating something that is simply there and does not worry. He hopes one day, while he is living, he can be, too. Simply there with nothing to worry about.
Perhaps another time — perhaps in another life. Today he will settle for the something's comfort.
a/n: i changed my username, pfp, and profile description. my username is now extramundane epeolatry. i felt like a change and a renovation because i was really inactive over the summer and everything, so here it is.
this story will be a five-shot, lots of gloom but lots of comfort too. try to guess which demigod i'm doing next. (hint hint, it's not annabeth)