𝓟𝓻𝓪𝓮𝓵𝓲𝓪 - (𝓟.𝓙𝓪𝓬𝓴𝓼𝓸𝓷)

16.

vol ii
➵ chapter sixteen ➵

They land at Crissy Field after nightfall.
As soon as Dr. Chase steps out of his Sopwith Camel, Annabeth runs to him. "Dad! You flew... you shot... oh my gods! That was the most amazing thing I've ever seen!"

Her father blushes. "Well, not bad for a middle-aged mortal, I suppose."
"But the celestial bronze bullets! How did you get those?"
"Ah, well. You did leave quite a few half-blood weapons in your room in Virginia the last time you... left."
Annabeth looks down, embarrassed.

"I decided to try melting some down to make bullet casings," he continues. "Just a little experiment."
He says it like it's no big deal, but there's a noticeable gleam in his eyes—an excellent mad scientist at heart.
"Dad..." Annabeth falters.

"Annabeth, Percy," Thalia interrupts. Her voice is urgent. Artemis and Helia are kneeling at Zoe's side, binding the huntress's wounds.
The three run over to help, but there's not much they can do without ambrosia or nectar.

No regular medicine would help the huntress' condition—the faint glow that distinctly hangs around her—fading.
"Can't you heal her with magic?" Percy questions Artemis. "I mean... you're a goddess."

Artemis looks troubled. "Life is a fragile thing, Percy. If the Fates will the string to be cut, there is little I can do. But I can try."
She goes to set her hand on Zoe's side, but the girl grabs her wrist. She looks into her goddess' eyes, and an understanding passes between them.

"Have I... served thee well?" Zoe whispers.
"With great honor," Artemis says softly. "The finest of my attendants."
Zoe's face relaxes. "Rest. At last."
"I can try to heal the poison, my brave one."

But it isn't just the poison killing her; Helia knows that. Her healing abilities, no matter how desperately she uses them, do little against Atlas' final blow.
Deep down, Zoe had known all along that the Oracle's prophecy was about her: she would die by a parent's hand. And yet she'd taken the quest anyway.

Thalia approaches, and Zoe takes her hand gently.
"I am sorry we argued. We could have been sisters."
"It's my fault," the daughter of Zeus says, blinking hard. "You were right about Luke, about heroes, men—everything."
"Perhaps not all men," Zoe murmurs, smiling weakly. "Do you still have the sword, Percy?"

He brings out Riptide and places the pen in her hand. She grasps it contentedly. "You spoke the truth, Percy Jackson. You are nothing like... like Hercules. I am honored that you carry this sword."

A shudder runs through Zoe's body, and she cranes her neck.
The daughter of Apollo is desperately trying to keep herself from breaking, choking sobs hidden behind shaken hands.
"My sister. Do not despair. The fates have decided. And I have lived a long life. I am blessed to have met thee, Helia Kyrillos; thou shall shine so brightly that even the heavens will be envious."

The huntress' breathing begins to slow.
"Stars," she whispers. "I can see the stars again, my lady."
A tear trickles down Artemis's cheek. "Yes, my brave one. They are beautiful tonight."
"Stars," Zoe repeats, her eyes fixed on the night sky.
And she does not move again.

Thalia lowers her head. Annabeth gulps down a sob, her father putting his hands on her shoulders.
Percy moves to Helia's side, holding her steady through her anguished cries, tears building in his own eyes.