Of Shocks and Seashells

Disclaimer: I don't own PJO. Get ready for a ride.

You step carefully off of the creaking ferry, looking curiously at your hand, which is now nothing but spindly, brittle bone, for the flesh has seemingly melted off your body. And you look around at the others who came with you across the River Styx, and their skeletal bodies are shrouded in gauzy, black robes that seem to whisper in hushed tones as they move. You can't help but feel as if they are all watching you, waiting for you to do something, like this is a games of chess and it's your move, but all you can see is black and white checkering on for miles and miles, swirling dizzily around you. The spirits leer at you with bony, grotesque grins and dark, empty eyes sockets clouded with a haze of death.

You look back at the river, oily and hideous, the color of tar, as it churns thickly around dead dreams, infected hope, wishes that never came true, feeling it pull on the spot on the small of your back that used to tether you to the divine, mortal world. The whispers reach a crescendo around you, the dead speaking in a cacophony of complicated, frenzied hisses and odd, high-pitched twittering. Ignoring them all, you walk away, leaving them and their whispering cloaks and hollow eyes behind you. You keep walking, and soon you arrive at three gates, where Cerberus stood, growling and salivating fiercely. It looks at you, and all three heads cock to the side, as though it remembers you and lets out a giant, booming bark, alerting all to your presence. You stand for a moment, remembering the first time you set foot here, when you were twelve and young, and you, Annabeth, and Grover trembled under the Lord of Death's stare. But soon you move on, ignoring the hungry stares that follow you, because remembering is not the same as living. You walk towards one of the gates, not paying attention to which one it is. The guards will know who you are and they will take you to where you need to be. You trust Hades enough to guide you through Death.

The ghostly attendants split apart to create a walkway in an almost reverential manner, because you are Percy Jackson, Son of Poseidon, Savior of Olympus, and you have saved the world to many times to count. And like Chiron and your Father had warned you what seems like millenia ago: heroes never have easy lives. They die young, and rash, and reckless, having a small taste of life but not being able to enjoy it, to savor it. And you, Percy Jackson, are a hero, and you are no exception.

You keep walking towards your final destination along a path that seems older than time itself, yet still not worn by the treads of the many people that have walked this path before. And again, just like you were twelve, you find it unbearably depressing and shameful that so few people have done remarkable good in their life. You are flanked on either side by spirits in silver armor that clanks and creaks occasionally, but you welcome the noise, because it's chillingly silent as you keep walking. But soon enough, you realize that the chess game your life, the game in which you are the king and you've finally been checked, will never end until you finally reach the end of the tunnel.

Eventually, you come to an ornate arch that's made out of twisting strands of silver, interlocking like a writhing mess of snakes, and on top of the arch, written in spindly silver letters, is the word-

Ἠλύσιον πεδίον, one of the spirits murmurs, the word like a wisp of smoke, hazy and incomplete, with undefined edges, and you realize you can understand what years ago sounded like sickly chattering.

The spirits both fall to their knees respectfully as you tentatively step through the arch to peek at the promised splendor that lies in front of you. And you are not disappointed, because you are met with sprawling meadows of rippling, shimmery, rainbow-colored grass that bloom with delicate silver and gold flowers, fountains shrouded by blooming trees, and gorgeous villas, and for a moment you are overwhelmed by all the beauty, but then you spot possibly the most beautiful thing you've ever seen.