𝐆𝐎𝐋𝐃 𝐑𝐔𝐒𝐇 [Jason Grace]

66

𝐉𝐚𝐬𝐨𝐧 𝐟𝐞𝐥𝐭 𝐡𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐬𝐢𝐜𝐤 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐰𝐚𝐦𝐩.

He never thought he'd miss sleeping in a giant's leather bed in a drakon-bone hut in a festering cesspool, but right now that sounded like Elysium.

He and Dante and Hipp stumbled along in the darkness, the air thick and cold, the ground alternating patches of pointy rocks and pools of muck. The terrain seemed to be designed so that Jason could never let his guard down. Even walking ten feet was exhausting.

Jason had started out from the giant's hut feeling strong again, his head clear, his belly full of drakon jerky from their packs of provisions. Now his legs were sore. Every muscle ached. He pulled a makeshift tunic of drakon leather over his shredded T-shirt, but it did nothing to keep out the chill.

His focus narrowed to the ground in front of him. Nothing existed except for that and Dante at his side.

The memory that had come back to him as the arai attacked hadn't left his mind for a second. In the wasteland of Tartarus, all Jason could think of was Dante's lips on his, Dante's hands over him, Dante's eyes on him.

Whenever he felt like giving up, plopping himself down, and dying (which was, like, every ten minutes), he looked over at Dante, just to remember there was warmth in the world.

He wondered what had happened after they left Damasen's hut. He hadn't heard their pursuers in hours, but he could sense their hatred... especially Porphyrion. That giant was back there somewhere, following, pushing them deeper into Tartarus.

Jason tried to think of good things to keep his spirits up— training on the deck of the Argo II, his friends, New Rome. He tried to imagine his life after they completed their quest, assuming they succeeded. But Camp Jupiter and Camp Half-Blood both seemed like dreams. He felt as if only Tartarus existed. This was the real world—death, darkness, cold, pain. He'd been imagining all the rest.

He shivered. No. That was the pit speaking to him, sapping his resolve. He wondered how Nico had survived down here alone without going insane. That kid had more strength than Jason had given him credit for. The deeper they traveled, the harder it became to stay focused.

"This place is worse than the River Cocytus," he muttered.

"Yes," Hipp called back happily. "Much worse! It means we are close."

Close to what? Jason wondered. But he didn't have the strength to ask. He noticed Hoop the cat had hidden himself again, which reinforced Jason's opinion that the kitten was the smartest one in their group.

"Pierce," Jason began after a while. "You saved me."

"We're not keeping scores," He said, "You save me, I save you. Gotta watch each other's backs, right?"

In the light of Jason's sword, his face looked ethereal. It only made the pit in Jason's stomach feel worse.

"The arai," He said instead, "They cursed you with your own curse."

Dante grimaced as if he'd been trying not to think about it. His hand flexed. He did that a lot, Jason noticed.

"Want to stick a dagger in my face?" He joked. They were a long way away from the cliff where they'd told each other jokes. They'd run out of skittles by the time they'd left the Hermes shrine. Jason wished they still had them.

"Huh?"

"You do that hand thing," Jason imitated it, "When you're thinking violent thoughts. And you hate me so I assumed—"