Celebrations rang all through the streets and corners of Olympus. The goddess of the earth had just been vanquished few hours ago. Sure,there were casualties among their ranks but the joy of surviving a war against a primordial was still very highly pumped in the blood streams of the surviving demigods.
But for all the cheering and exclamations of victory, there was a certain indifference emanating from the Son of Poseidon. He'd been the one that turned the war in their favour at the closing stages of the war. All was nearly lost. An expression of nothing marred his worn, dirtied and bloodied face as he limped his way through the celebrating crowds of demigods, immortals, nature spirits and legacies.
It was an almost surreal and ethereal experience for him as he trudged through the Halls of Olympus, the slight creaking of his wooden crutch echoed in his ears more than the shouts of jubilation that pervaded the marble streets of the Immortal City.
He felt lost. Loose. Unanchored. Annabeth had left him. Ending things between them before they got out of the pit. Then they got out and in less than two days, he felt like he died when he woke up surrounded by bronze shards and silver ash and before he knew it, he was on Olympus walking with the hundreds if not thousands that rejoiced in the victory won.
And for all intents and purposes, he did die. Or at least a part of him was wretched from this plane of existence. He had felt something come loose and leave his body in those brutal last minutes of the war, where he painstakingly and almost singlehandedly charged and defeated Gaia- the goddess of the earth.
A part of him had just disappeared, gone without a trace and he could feel it in his bones.
But that was not what those around him saw.
They saw a stoic and slightly smiling Son of Poseidon limping along with all the other injured fighters. They didn't recognize him yet of course, his armor was near-damaged beyond repair, scratched and dented in a few places and with parts that had melted and seared to his body.
From acid or fire, he didn't know nor did he particularly care.
A Drakon had slashed at the side of his abdomen and had gouged a chunk of his armor out and nearly killed him from the poison in its claws. It had to be sewed shut and bandaged via telekinesis given the state of his armor as they didn't have the time for a lengthy surgery that would be required to peel the armor from his body.
He was also covered in a layer of grime. Blood, ichor, golden and silver dust and ash with a touches of mud clung like an perverse infection to his armored body. His hair was matted in either a layer of sweat or blood.
He didn't exactly know what it was that called the rat's nest that was his hair home.
To any casual observer, he simply looked as a part of the throng of warriors that were celebrating, though as equally as disheveled and unappealing as he was.
However, there were a few that noticed something off about him. The resst of his quest mates. Or what was left of them. Seeing as Frank, Hazel and Leo were now in Elysium. The more astute individuals noted that there was a certain distance kept from him. As if he had this invisible barrier that was protecting him and preventing anyone from getting too close.
Not that those around him nor he for that matter, seemed to notice. They skirted around him, trailed behind him or had a little more speed in their step. Whether it was done in respect or fear was unknown.
If they were around him, they might have gotten an idea as to why. However, like everyone else, they were soon swept up in the celebrations around them.
The people that were around him, whether behind or before him, felt it even if it was a subliminal feeling. An ocean of unbridled power teeming within him, a vicious and unrelenting storm awaiting to be unleashed. His steps were done with what seemed to be a confident and stoic resolve. While there was a veritable stampede towards the Throne Hall of the Olympians. His quiet and injured stride seemed to echo over everyone else's stomps and jumps.
