𝗔𝗣𝗣𝗟𝗔𝗨𝗦𝗘 ! ━ 𝙋. 𝙅𝘼𝘾𝙆𝙎𝙊𝙉

viii.

𖤓

His body felt like it was on fire.

Every limb- no, every nerve ending in his body burned as if it was struck by lightning-

Suddenly, his mind forced a... a memory?

He felt like this once, but... on a greater scale.

The immeasurable heat, the roaring of wind hitting mercilessly against his ears, and the fire surrounding his body sending searing shocks through every muscle... It was all unexplainably familiar.

The pain hit a second after. It was blinding, and all-consuming.

The air wasn't just hot - it was scorching, making him feel as if acid was poured straight onto his skin. No matter how hard he tried, his lungs couldn't get any oxygen into them. The scalding air burned his throat and lungs, making them feel like losing their natural build.

He couldn't see anything, and he wasn't sure if his eyes were just closed or if they just weren't there. He could feel the blisters on his heated skin forming, the nerves dying as he stayed longer in it.

Then, numbness came from his back.

His limbs were contracted and his spine arched, but he didn't remember willing any of them to do that.

Before he knew it, his mind slipped into unconsciousness.

The next thing his brain registered was the unmistakable pain in his whole body.

He wanted to curl into himself, but not only did his body not listen to him, but he also felt hands holding him down.

A cry left his chapped lips, and it only made the pain worsen.

Somebody cried out his name, he thought. At least he supposed it was his. It... fit him, but at the same time it felt like it belonged to a stranger.

There was a poor attempt at keeping their emotions in check, but whoever was holding him down was losing the fight with the whole situation.

He was sure his body never felt such a piercing pain, and at the same time his mind was telling him it wasn't the first time he had experienced it.

He was laying on his stomach, he noticed. Or not? He wasn't sure. The agony his body and mind were going through was enough to ignore the whole surrounding world.

Someone, they had a familiar voice, a comforting one, tried to get something off of him, but when he screamed in pain, they stopped.

He felt something cold, or at least colder than his body's temperature, drop on his shoulder blade.

It was the last thing he felt before his mind once again slipped.

𖤓

Percy woke up in a rowboat with a makeshift sail stitched of gray uniform fabric. Annabeth sat next to him, tacking into the wind.

He tried to sit up and immediately felt woozy.

"Rest," she said, her voice scratchy as if she were crying for hours. "You're going to need it."

"Tyson...?"

She shook her head, not meeting his eyes. "Percy, I'm really sorry."

They were silent while the waves tossed them up and down.

"He may have survived," she said halfheartedly, looking at something at the bow of the boat. "I mean, fire can't kill him."

Percy nodded, but he had no reason to feel hopeful. He'd seen that explosion rip through solid iron. If Tyson had been down in the boiler room, there was no way he could've lived.