Wildflowers, Percy Jackson ₁

048, you guys are in a crisis I'm omw.

CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT

₊˚࿐࿔ 𖥧‧₊⚘ ❀༉. 𓏲｡

Sylvie was forced to eat ambrosia and drink nectar ever time Annabeth deemed it necessary. Now, don't think Sylvie was complaining about this—the godly substances tasted amazing and they were healing Sylvie's stab wound quicker than humanly possible.

Although Sylvie could walk by herself, and the pain had dwindled a tremendous amount, Sylvie still felt shit. She still felt like there was a sword constantly being stabbed through Sylvie's back. She could still see the blade coming out the front of Sylvie's stomach, coated with her own blood. Her own, her own, her own. Her own until she managed to make it someone else's. How could Sylvie possibly have known that for every one stumbling step forward, she took three back? Did it pass in the blood-soaked black marble or in the cold fortress or in a golden sarcophagus? There was no way to ever know.

Who will look for you when you disappear? Eurydice had asked her.

Only moments after pulling her sword out, and Sylvie dropped to the floor. Instantly, Sylvie understood what the plan was. Eurydice wanted to lure Sylvie in with false niceties, and she knew it would work because Sylvie was weak for her big sister. She knew it would work, and then, if Sylvie didn't bleed out on the floor, she would force Sylvie to work for Kronos's side of the war. Kronos would rise, and her friends would never see it, and Sylvie would either die or be taken. There was no in between. There was no other end to this story.

Except—

Who will look for you when you disappear?

The answer was Percy. Percy Jackson, the first ever person to create a different ending to Sylvie's story. Percy Jackson, the first ever person she loved that truly stayed. Percy Jackson, who looked for Sylvie when she disappeared.

Sylvie didn't die, and Sylvie wasn't taken. She was here, and she was healing, and it sort of felt like that had more than one meaning to it. She was surrounded by her friends, and Sylvie didn't care if it was in a gruesome Labyrinth. She was with Percy.

Distance was shorter in the Labyrinth. Still, by the time Rachel got them back to Times Square, Sylvie felt like they'd pretty much run all the way from New Mexico. But maybe that was because of the stab wound. They climbed out of the Marriott basement and stood on the sidewalk in the bright summer daylight, squinting at the traffic and crowds.

Sylvie couldn't decide which seemed less real—New York or the crystal cave where she'd watched a god die.

Percy led the way into an alley, where he could get a nice echo. Then he whistled as loud as he could, five times. They waited.

"Here, eat more of this," Annabeth handed Sylvie another square of ambrosia.

Sylvie sighed, but she started munching on it regardless. "How much more ambrosia are you going to make me eat?"