The Lightning Theif

Chapter 27

We stood triumphant on Half-Blood Hill, the first heroes to return alive since Luke's fateful journey. The camp celebrated our return as though we had emerged victorious from a reality-TV contest. Adhering to camp tradition, we adorned laurel wreaths for a grand feast held in our honor. Subsequently, we led a procession down to the bonfire, where we had the honor of setting alight the burial shrouds lovingly crafted by our respective cabins during our absence.

Annabeth's shroud stood as a masterpiece—a work of art with its elegant gray silk adorned with intricate owl embroideries. Percy couldn't resist making a teasing comment about how it would be a shame not to bury her in such a splendid creation, a remark that earned him a well-deserved punch and a stern order to refrain from further remarks.

As the child of Poseidon, Hades, and Zeus, I didn't have cabin mates, but the generous Ares cabin offered to create my shroud. They crafted it from blue silk, adorning it with embroidered symbols of the Lightning Bolt, trident, and Helm—a fitting representation of my divine parentage. Watching it burn in the bonfire brought me an odd sense of satisfaction.

Amid the festivities, the Apollo cabin took charge of leading the sing-along and distributing s'mores. Percy was surrounded by his old Hermes cabin mates, Annabeth's friends from Athena, Clarisse, and Grover, who beamed with pride at the brand-new searcher's license he had received from the Council of Cloven Elders. They had commended Grover's performance as "brave to the point of indigestion" and praised him as "horns-and-whiskers above anything we have seen in the past."

During our absence, Grover had not been idle. He had managed to guide not one but three demigods to camp—a daughter of Aphrodite and two children of Hermes.

Even Dionysus's customary welcome-home speech couldn't dampen my spirits. "Yes, yes, so the young brat didn't manage to get himself killed, and now his head will swell even further. Well, huzzah for that. In other announcements, there will be no canoe races this Saturday...."

I had decided to move into cabin three, but it didn't feel quite as homey as I would have liked. I had my friends to train with during the day, and at night, I would lie awake, listening to the calming sounds of the sea.

On the Fourth of July, the entire camp congregated at the beach for a spectacular fireworks display organized by cabin nine. As children of Hephaestus, they refused to settle for mundane red-white-and-blue explosions. They had anchored a barge offshore, laden with rockets the size of Patriot missiles. Annabeth informed me that the fireworks would be sequenced so tightly that they would resemble frames of animation across the sky. The grand finale promised towering Spartan warriors, which would spring to life above the ocean, engage in a fiery battle, and then explode into a mesmerizing kaleidoscope of colors.

While Annabeth and I prepared a picnic blanket on the beach, Grover arrived to bid his farewell. His appearance had undergone subtle changes in the past weeks, making him look almost high-school age, with a thicker goatee and some extra weight. His horns had grown an inch, necessitating the constant use of his Rasta cap to maintain his human facade.

"I'm heading out," he announced. "Just wanted to say... well, you know."

I tried to muster happiness for him. It wasn't every day that a satyr received permission to embark on a quest to find the great god Pan. But bidding farewell was never easy. Although I had known Grover for only a while, he had become a dear friend.

Annabeth embraced him warmly and reminded him to keep his fake feet on. Grover gripped his walking stick and swung a backpack over his shoulder, resembling any hitchhiker you might encounter on an American highway—nothing like the runty boy I used to defend from bullies at Yancy Academy.