𝒞𝒶𝓉𝒽𝒶𝓇𝓉𝒾𝒸 | ᴘᴇʀᴄʏ ᴊᴀᴄᴋꜱᴏɴ¹

20. Nico becomes an honourary Ares cabin member

❈ There were too many goodbyes.

That night was the first time Percy actually saw camp burial shrouds used on bodies, and it was not something he wanted to see again.

Among the dead, a son of Dionysus who'd gone down fighting an enemy half-blood was wrapped in a deep purple shroud, embroidered with grapevines. His name was Castor.

Percy was ashamed that he'd seen him around camp for three years and never even bothered to learn his name. He'd been seventeen years old.

His twin brother, Pollux, tried to say a few words, but he choked up and just took the torch.

He lit the funeral pyre in the middle of the amphitheatre, and within seconds, the row of shrouds was engulfed in fire, sending smoke and sparks up to the stars.

They spent the next day treating the wounded, which was almost everybody.

The satyrs and dryads worked to repair the damage to the woods.

At noon, the Council of Cloven Elders held an emergency meeting in their sacred grove.

The three senior satyrs were there, along with Chiron, who was in wheelchair form. His broken horse leg was still mending, so he would be confined to the chair for a few months until the leg was strong enough to take his weight.

The grove was filled with satyrs, dryads, and naiads rising from the water—scores of them, anxious to hear what would happen.

Juniper, Annabeth, Ethan, and Percy stood by Grover's side.

Ethan looked around, bored. He wouldn't have been here if Helena didn't make him go for her.

Silenus wanted to exile Grover immediately, but Chiron persuaded him to at least hear evidence first, so they told everyone what had happened in the crystal cavern and what Pan had said.

Then, several eyewitnesses from the battle described the weird sound Grover had made, which drove the Titans' army back underground.

"It was panic," insisted Juniper. "Grover summoned the power of the wild god."

"Panic?" Percy asked.

"Percy," Chiron explained, "during the first war of the gods and the titans, Lord Pan let forth a horrible cry that scared away the enemy armies. It is - it was his greatest power—a massive wave of fear that helped the gods win the day. The word panic is named after Pan, you see. Grover used that power, calling it forth from within himself."

"Preposterous!" Silenus bellowed. "Sacrilege! Perhaps the wild god favoured us with a blessing. Or perhaps Grover's music was so awful it scared the enemy away!"

"'That wasn't it, sir," Grover said. He sounded a lot calmer than Percy would have if he'd been insulted like that. "He let his spirit pass into all of us. We must act. Each of us must work to renew the wild to protect what's left of it. We must spread the word. Pan is dead. There is no one but us."

"After two thousand years of searching, this is what you would have us believe?" Silenus cried. "Never! We must continue the search. Exile the traitor!"

Some of the older satyrs muttered assent.

"A vote!" Silenus demanded. "Who would believe this ridiculous young satyr, anyway?"

"I would," said a familiar voice.

Everyone turned.

Striding into the grove was Dionysus.

He wore a formal black suit, so Percy almost didn't recognise him, a deep purple tie and violet dress shirt, his curly dark hair carefully combed.

His eyes were bloodshot as usual, and his pudgy face was flushed, but he looked like he was suffering from grief more than wine withdrawal.