ten

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CONSOLATION IN THE QUIET

The quiet was calm.

The boy was sad.

But there was consolation in the quiet. There was no creeping darkness that stole his thoughts, no internal battle that overtook his mind; there were no hateful words directed his way, no outside sounds of anger or heartbreak or pain. There was quiet, and there was solitude, and there was peace.

And then there was the moment he knew for so long to dread, the aching understanding that this encounter would lead to an eternity of discourse and hatred and suffering. To his world devoid of color, immortal vibrance had arrived—dressed in white, carried on wings, his face different yet the same. Here was his key to the judgement that would sentence him, the tortures that would entertain him for the rest of his eternal conscience.

The god's face is of carved marble, cold and unmoving; his eyes bear no light, dark and unforgiving.

The boy watches, and he waits, and he prepares himself for his fate.

The god stops. He stares.

He trembles.

He cracks.

Taking his son's soul in his arms, the god presses the near-intangible form to his own and holds him tight. He cries for his boy, the child he never fought hard enough to save, the son who never had a father.

Together, they repent. They weep for all they lost, all they did, all they left undone.

It is far too late for either of them to heal.

And they weep for that, too.

Climb (Percy Jackson x Reader)Where stories live. Discover now