DEAR AUGUST

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_________________________________________"WE ARE ALL THERE, GODDESS AND MORTAL AND THE BOY WHO WAS BOTH

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"WE ARE ALL THERE, GODDESS AND MORTAL AND THE BOY WHO WAS BOTH."

Easton Sawyer was a half-blood. But, she wasn't one of the important ones. Her father never claimed her, she didn't get quests, and she was basically in the background. The only thing she was good for was her archery and battle tactics, though she was mostly overlooked because of the Apollo or Athena campers.

The other thing that makes her special, she has to keep a secret. She knows who her father is. Not because he stepped forward to claim her, let her have that floating symbol above her head. No, she had two doting, godly grandparents that Iris messaged her all the time, tried to give her gifts, and hinted at what might be in her future. 

So, no, she might not be Percy Jackson, swept up into a battle between Gods and Titans, nor was she Annabeth Chase, his best friend and master tactician. She was just a half-blood, trying to survive in a world where she could technically have anything she wanted, but yearned for the one thing she couldn't. 

That is, until she happens to transfer to Goode High School due to her mortal mother moving them for her career to New York City. And, well, maybe Percy Jackson really isn't that special. Not in the way Easton Sawyer had initially thought, at least.

 Not in the way Easton Sawyer had initially thought, at least

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"sometimes, the warrior dies a hero's death.
the sun is a little dimmer the next day,
mourning his absence,
but the night sky gains another star
burning with the glory of his life and his death and his legacy,
and all is right in the world.

sometimes, the warrior dies a martyr's death.
there are galaxies in his blood,
and legends in his skeleton.
the world mourns him with a revolution in his name.
in the end, he is an epic in three acts:
adventure,
      tragedy,
           victory.

but sometimes,
sometimes, the warrior does not die a hero or a martyr.
there are no stars to see when he looks up for the last time.
there is no glory to be found when his blood spills.
it is a pitiful, whimpering thing,
when the warrior drops his sword and shield because the world disavowed its own saviour.

Dear August ° PERCY JACKSONWhere stories live. Discover now