𝐈𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐔𝐌 • Heroes of Olympus

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𝐆𝐑𝐈𝐄𝐅 is a funny thing.

Andy firmly believed that grief is the cost of love. When you lost something that you loved, you paid for it. You always had to. Everything came for a price.

The only issue was, sometimes, you love too much. You let yourself be consumed by the feelings. But when the time comes, you end up having to pay with your soul.

“What good it is for a man to gain the whole world but lose his soul?”

Andy had never been religious, but the verse refused to leave her now. She was alive, she guessed. Her heart was beating, her body was unharmed, she could still breathe. But her soul, her invisible essence of life, had just been dragged underwater along with her friends.

Briefly, she wondered if this was what Death felt like. Nothing but pain in the hollow of her chest where her soul should've been. Or maybe Death was kinder. This was the price she had to pay for continuing to exist.

Even then, her body refused to stand down. Like an unwelcome guest, Andy watched as her worldly prison of flesh and bone rushed around with Buford the table, repairing things so that the ship wouldn’t sink.

Why it was trying so hard, Andy didn't know. Who was it trying to save? Herself? Why? Andy was already dead, wasn't she?

But Jason wasn't. He flew around the rigging, putting out fires from the second green explosion that had lit up the sky just above the mainmast.

From the bow, Festus creaked and whirred. It had been almost impossible for Andy to understand him before, but now, with Leo gone, it felt like whatever was left of her mind was working overtime to translate. 

What Festus was trying to say, Andy had already expected. His scans were all negative. Leo, Frank and Hazel were nowhere to be found.

Some time close to dawn, Jason returned to Andy's side, seemingly done with all the fires. Buford and her had mostly patched things up by then. The Argo II was no longer in danger of sinking, though without Leo, they couldn’t do full repairs.

The ship would sail. Andy just wasn't sure she wanted it to.

“You should catch some sleep,” Jason said gently. Andy didn't understand why. He could scream at her for all she cared, and it still wouldn't make her feel a thing.

Unable to find her own voice—it must've left with her soul—Andy simply shook her head.

“You have to sleep.” Jason's voice was more assertive now. “We can't afford to have you lose yourself right now.”

Oh, sweet summer child. She was already lost.

But Jason wasn't. Jason still had hope. Jason believed this horror would pass. Andy wouldn't blow his card castle down.

With a sigh, she fell down onto a coil of rope and closed her eyes. Sleep wouldn't come for her, she knew as much.

Another rope coil jerked beside her as Jason lowered himself onto it. Without a word, he slipped his hand into hers and squeezed. A surprisingly cold touch. It sent goosebumps up her arms. 

They stayed like that, just the two of them on a ship meant for seven; heads slumped together from exhaustion or grief or both.

Andy kept her eyes firmly shut. As it turned out, that was as close to sleep as she had to be for visions to plague her.

She saw three black SUVs driving north from Charleston, packed with Roman demigods, Reyna sitting at the wheel of the lead car. Giant eagles escorted them from above. Every so often, glowing purple spirits in ghostly chariots appeared out of the countryside and fell in behind them, thundering up I-95 toward New York and Camp Half-Blood.