EVARA // wtm (DISCONTINUED)

10.5

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ᴛʜᴇ ᴇɴᴅ ᴏꜰ ᴛʜᴇ ʙᴇɢɪɴɴɪɴɢ

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We were the first heroes to return alive to Half-Blood Hill since Luke and Astraea, so of course everybody treated us as if we'd won some reality-TV contest.

According to camp tradition, we wore laurel wreaths to a big feast prepared in our honour, then led a procession down to the bonfire, where we got to burn the burial shrouds our cabins had made for us in our absence.

Annabeth's shroud was so beautiful—gray silk with embroidered owls—I told her it seemed a shame not to bury her in it. She punched me and told me to shut up.

Astrea had made mine in a blue colour with sea green and gold tridents sown in a pattern. 

It was sad to see the pretty thing burn but it was also a lot of fun.

"He threw away all my hard work" Astraea fake cried into Apollo's shoulder as he pat her on the back.

"There, there, Rhea"

As Apollo's cabin led the sing-along and passed out s'mores, I was surrounded by my old Hermes cabinmates, my sister, Annabeth's friends from Athena, and Grover's satyr buddies, who were admiring the brand-new searcher's license he'd received from the Council of Cloven Elders. 

The council had called Grover's performance on the quest "Brave to the point of indigestion. Horns-and-whiskers above anything we have seen in the past."

The only ones not in a party mood were Clarisse and her cabinmates, whose poisonous looks told me they'd never forgive me for disgracing their dad.

"Nah, we forgive you Prissy. The man honestly is an ass." 

That was okay with me.

Even Dionysus's welcome-home speech wasn't enough to spoil my mood. "Yes, yes, the little brat didn't get himself killed and now he'll have an even bigger head. Well, huzzah for that. In other announcements, there will be no canoe races this Saturday...."

"I love this guy, he's such a mood"

I moved back into cabin three, but it didn't feel so lonely anymore. I had my friends to train with during the day. At night, I stayed up late and talked to my sister or I lay awake and listened to the sea, knowing my father was out there. Maybe he wasn't quite sure about me yet, maybe he hadn't even wanted me born, but he was watching. And so far, he was proud of what I'd done.

As for my mother, she had a chance at a new life. Her letter arrived a week after I got back to camp. She told me Gabe had left mysteriously—disappeared off the face of the planet, in fact. She'd reported him missing to the police, but she had a funny feeling they would never find him.

On a completely unrelated subject, she'd sold her first life-size concrete sculpture, entitled The Poker Player, to a collector, through an art gallery in Soho. She'd gotten so much money for it, she'd put a deposit down on a new apartment and made a payment on her first semester's tuition at NYU. 

"Omg yessss!"

"Go Sally!!"

"Woohoo queennn"

The Soho gallery was clamoring for more of her work, which they called "a huge step forward in super-ugly neorealism."