𝙄𝙉𝙁𝙇𝘼𝙈𝙀𝘿; heroes of olympus

too much coffee, smoothies instead

ERITH JAY
ERITH'S DREAMS WERE less so dreams and more so blurred collections of images that moved too fast.

The first was her friend Annabeth. She was sitting in an empty Athena Cabin on her bunk, her face buried in her hands. A backpack was slung over her shoulder. The room was dark, as if it were night time. If Erith had to guess, she'd say it was campfire time, which was why it was vacant. But then why wasn't her friend at the campfire?

Before she could ask, the image shifted to a golden-haired boy who radiated the strength of the sun. His shoulders were taut; the muscles under them rippled dangerously. He was staring at the crumbled body of a boy bleeding from the head.

He turned to her, and she felt a spark of warmth shoot through her. This was her father, Apollo. But his expression was not kind like it was when he spoke to her. It was twisted, and full of grief.

"This is what happens when you love," he told her, his voice solemn and lacking the warmth he was supposed to represent. "Do you want to share this fate?"

She wanted to cry out, but the scene changed again. This time she was looking at a boy that she had only seen in photographs, and at first, she couldn't be sure it was him, because his eyes were closed.

His dark hair had grown longer. It was spread out around his head. His pink lips were slightly parted. They were cracked. He lay with his legs slightly spread apart and his arms extending from his body. His hands were open, empty, as if reaching for something that wasn't there. He was laying on the ground.

But somehow, Erith knew, even without his sea green eyes, that this was Annabeth's boyfriend. Percy Jackson. Asleep. Or was he...?

But he was not. His chest rose and fell, steady. Erith felt a rush of relief, and then another rush of fear. Why was he sleeping? Was he in danger? Had he abandoned Annabeth?

But her questions were cut short, because the scene changed again.

This time it was a girl that Erith didn't recognize. She had long dark hair, braided behind her back. Her eyes were dark as coal. Her face was set in stone as she listened to a scrawny, pale blonde boy speak to her.

But Erith could see the bags under her eyes, could see her fingers twitching with unrest. She couldn't hear what the boy was saying, but she could tell the girl didn't like it.

And then she caught a word from the boy's mouth: "Jason." The scene seemed to sharpen, as if suddenly put in high definition.

The girl turned on the boy, losing her composure for a few seconds, her eyes an angry exhausted. The boy, as if knowing he had gone too far, took a few steps back.

"Jason isn't dead," the girl said, her voice firm and cold. "Go search for him more, Octavian. Don't stand here and lecture me."

The boy opened his mouth as if to reply, but Erith didn't hear it, because the scene shifted again.

The next images were too short to make much sense of.

There was a ship sailing through the bright blue sky. There was not a cloud to be seen. The ship's figurehead was Festus, his mouth open, roaring.

There was Piper screaming, tears running down her face, sitting on a beach, covered in sand. There was a small girl with her, perhaps a child, her hair short and dark and messy, and a dark-haired boy that felt oddly familiar. All three of them were beat badly.