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The Three Fates themselves took Luke's body.
Rory had never actually seen the Fates before. And she wished she could still be able to say that. They were terrifying. Not only what they represented, but also just the way they looked — three ghoulish grandmothers with bags of knitting needles and yarn.
One of them looked at Rory and her life flashed before her eyes. Suddenly she was twenty. Then she was a middle-aged woman. Then she turned old and withered. All the strength left her body, and she saw her own tombstone and an open grave, a coffin being lowered into the ground. All this happened in less than a second.
It is done, the Fate said.
They gathered up Luke's body, now wrapped in a white and green shroud, and began carrying it out of the throne room.
"Wait," Hermes said.
The messenger god was dressed in his classic outfit of white Greek robes, sandals, and a helmet. The wings of his helm fluttered as he walked. The snakes George and Martha curled around his caduceus, muttering, Luke, poor Luke.
Hermes unwrapped Luke's face and kissed his forehead. He murmured some words in Ancient Greek — a final blessing.
"Farewell," he whispered. Then he nodded and allowed the Fates to carry away his son's body.
As they left, Rory thought about the Great Prophecy. The lines now made sense. The hero's soul, cursed blade shall reap. The hero was Luke. The cursed blade was the knife he had given Annabeth long ago — cursed because Luke had broken his promise and betrayed his friends. A single choice shall end his days. Percy's choice to give him the knife, and to believe, as Annabeth had, that he was still capable of setting things right. Olympus to preserve or raze. By sacrificing himself, Luke had saved Olympus.
Next to Rory, Annabeth's knees buckled. She and Percy caught her, but Annabeth cried out in pain, and Rory realized that Percy grabbed her broken arm.
"Oh gods," he said. "Annabeth, I'm sorry."
"It's all right," she said as she passed out in their arms.
"She needs help!" Percy yelled.
"I've got this." Apollo stepped forward. His fiery armor was so bright it was hard to look at, and his matching sunglasses and perfect smile made him look like a male model for battle gear. "God of medicine, at your service."
He passed his hand over Annabeth's face and spoke an incantation. Immediately the bruises faded. Her cuts and scars disappeared. Her arm straightened, and she sighed in her sleep.
Apollo grinned. "She'll be fine in a few minutes. Just enough time for me to compose a poem about our victory: 'Apollo and his friends save Olympus.' Good, eh?"
