𝓟𝓻𝓪𝓮𝓵𝓲𝓪 - (𝓟.𝓙𝓪𝓬𝓴𝓼𝓸𝓷)

05.

vol i
➵ chapter five ➵

When Percy Jackson wakes, a blinding light surrounds him, and the sounds of a soft hymn fill his ears. The voice was entrancing and utterly delicate. Had he died? Was this death? It was rather calming.

Warm hands grab at him, and he slowly opens his eyes. He's greeted by the sight of a familiar, beautiful face above his own. Molten gold fills with relief, a soft smile gracing the daughter of Apollo. "You're awake."

Noticing that he is lying in Helia's lap, the boy's ears turn pink, and he slowly attempts to sit up. He immediately feels woozy.
"Rest. You're going to need it." At Annabeth's voice, he sighs in relief. They were both here. Both fine.

Eyes flicker around the scenery. They are in a rowboat with a makeshift sail stitched of grey uniform fabric, Annabeth tacking into the wind.
"Tyson..?" He begins.
Annabeth shakes her head. "Percy, I'm really sorry."
They all stay silent as the waves toss the boat up and down.
"He may have survived," she says halfheartedly. Helia nudges her. "I mean, fire can't kill him."

Percy nods, but it's clear the boy doesn't feel hopeful. He'd seen the explosion rip through solid iron. If Tyson had been down in the boiler room, then there was no way he could've lived.
He'd given his life for them all, and all Percy could think about were the times in which he'd felt embarrassed by him and had denied that the two of them were related.

He takes another moment before hesitantly asking, "Clarisse?"

Helia looks distraught, her face sorrowful and her eyes mourning. Annabeth grabs her hand comfortingly; she knows they're close, despite never understanding the relationship. "You don't know Hels. We didn't see what happened to the other lifeboat. And it's Clarisse. She's a fighter."

Helia sighs dejectedly, guilt weighing heavily on her shoulders. She'd agreed to be the girl's quest companion, and she'd let her down.
The group sits in silence, watching the waves lap at the boat.

The two girls eventually take to showing the things they'd managed to salvage from the wreckage—Hermes' now empty thermos, a ziplock bag of ambrosia, a couple of sailors' shirts, and a bottle of Dr Pepper.

They had fished Percy out of the water and found his knapsack, bitten in half by Scylla's teeth. Most of his stuff had floated away, but there was still the bottle of Hermes' multivitamins and, of course, his trusty ballpoint pen, which always appeared back in his pocket no matter where it was lost.

The trio sail for hours. The water is a brilliant green, and the wind smells fresh and salty, but it carries a strange metallic scent—as if a thunderstorm were coming. Percy knows what direction they need to go and that they are exactly one hundred thirteen nautical miles west by northwest of their destination.
But that doesn't make the group feel any less lost.

Helia is finally able to ask Percy and Annabeth exactly how they ended up on the quest. They recite Percy's dreams to her, his meeting with Hermes, Poseidon's hippocampi, and their arrival on the Princess Andromeda.

The daughter of Athena begrudgingly informs her best friend of Luke's admittance to poisoning Thalia's tree. The two storytellers have to tightly cover their eyes from the brilliant light that begins to emanate from the daughter of Apollo due to her scathing rage. Percy genuinely thinks that the girl is quite literally going to explode.
Anger turns to horror at the news of Kronos reforming. Annabeth reassures Helia that Chiron has been iris-messaged and that the centaur is sure to already be making arrangements.