Wildflowers, Percy Jackson ₁

043, TUPAC BACK

CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

₊˚࿐࿔ 𖥧‧₊⚘ ❀༉. 𓏲｡

Percy Jackson's funeral was June 27th and held in the amphitheater.

Smoke rose so they could burn his shroud—Mickey had made it, despite her fit of rage earlier in the week. It was a long green silk burial cloth, embroidered with a trident. Sylvie gripped it tightly in her hands as she stood with Annabeth and Chiron. It must've been a pitiful sight—Annabeth, with her reddened eyes from crying, and Sylvie, with her emotionless expression and braid so messy that it was barely a braid anymore. Chiron didn't look like he wanted to speak, but he stepped forward and began the ceremony anyways.

"We all know why we're here right now," Chiron said, shifting in discomfort. "The quest group that entered the Labyrinth faced a treacherous journey. Percy Jackson in particular heroically sacrificed himself on Mount St. Helens two weeks ago. While we have been holding out hope for his perseverence and survival, we must now assume he is dead." Chiron paused, trying not to seem as devastated as he was. "After so long a silence, it is unlikely our prayers will be answered. I have asked his best surviving friends to do the final honors."

Sylvie, hands shaking, brought the shroud over to the flames. She set it on fire. It took all of her effort to turn and face the audience.

Somehow, she managed to say, "Um, Percy—" her voice immediately cracked. That wasn't a good sign. "Percy was probably the best person I know—Or, knew, I guess... He was loyal and kind and funny and smart and strong, and he was so amazing that he barely even realized any of that. He was everything, really." Sylvie swallowed past the choking of her throat. "Percy sacrificed himself for us, because that's the type of person he was. I was really fortunate to know him. We all were. And now that he's..." she couldn't finish. "Let's just keep on going, okay? Live without fear. It's what he would want."

Don't be afraid without me, Applejack.

Before Sylvie broke into tears in front of everyone, her wobbly legs walked herself back by Annabeth and Chiron. If she said one more word she would keel over. So, instead, she looked at Annabeth, as it was her turn to speak. Sylvie and Annabeth shared a nod, and just that gesture alone said so much.

Annabeth added, "He was probably the bravest friend I've ever had. He..." Then her face went blood red. "He's right there!"

Sylvie's head whipped to where Annabeth pointed, as did everyone else's. The campers gasped.

Annabeth wasn't lying. It really was him. It was Percy.

He was standing there, crashing his own funeral, like nothing had gone wrong. He was healthy, and he had that messy black hair, and he wore his signature troublemaker smile, and he was standing right there.

"Percy!" Beckendorf grinned. A bunch of other kids crowded around Percy and clapped him on the back. There were a few curses from the Ares cabin, but Clarisse just rolled her eyes, like she couldn't believe Percy had the audacity to survive. Chiron cantered over and everyone made way for him.

"Well," he sighed with obvious relief. "I don't believe I've ever been happier to see a camper return. But you must tell me—"

Sylvie ran forward and shoved Percy back with an unreadable expression. He stumbled back a little, face shocked. But nothing could have surprised him more than when Sylvie immediately faltered, stood on her toes, and wrapped her arms around his neck.

She hugged him.

Percy returned the embrace right after.

"'Sup," he grinned.