Reincarnation in the PJO verse: Volume 1

『Godly Gifts』

Next to Percy, Annabeth's knees buckled. He caught her instinctively, but she cried out in pain.

"Oh gods," Percy gasped. "Annabeth, I'm sorry."

"It's all right," she murmured, then went limp in his arms.

"She needs help!" he shouted, cradling her carefully.

"I've got this." Diedre stepped forward before Apollo could.

His golden armour shimmered faintly in the dim throne room, not as blinding as his father's but commanding nonetheless. His bow was slung over his back, and his sun-touched hair glowed even in the wreckage of Olympus. Diedre's eyes held both warmth and an unsettling depth, as though he'd seen too many endings and too many beginnings.

Kneeling beside Annabeth, he extended his hand gently over her forehead and murmured an incantation in Ancient Greek. Apollo watched from the side, arms crossed, an unreadable expression on his face. As Diedre finished the chant, the bruises on Annabeth's face vanished, her cuts sealed, and her broken arm aligned itself with a soft crack. She sighed, her breathing evening out.

Percy looked at him, relief clear in his eyes. "Thanks, Dee."

Diedre gave a small smile. "Always."

Apollo stepped up next, clapping his son on the back. "Stole my moment again, kid."

"You can still write the poem, Dad. You wouldn't want me touching that part."

Apollo laughed, and it was clear he was proud—not just of Diedre's healing, but something deeper, unspoken.

The hours that followed blurred together. Percy kept his promise to his mother, and Zeus, perhaps surprisingly mellow, granted his request with a snap of his fingers. The top of the Empire State Building lit up blue. Most mortals would see it as nothing more than a pretty display. Sally Jackson would know: her son had survived. Olympus stood.

While the gods repaired the throne room, Grover and Percy tended to the wounded. Diedre moved between them all, healing when needed, encouraging where he could. He was a familiar presence to the campers, a strange blend of grace and warmth, someone whose confidence never bordered on arrogance. He remembered names. He knew who had fallen. He grieved.

Thalia limped in on crutches, rescued by the Cyclops. Connor and Travis cracked jokes to mask their relief. Katie Gardner mentioned seeing Rachel escape, though no one could say where she'd gone. Clarisse entered with a mixture of shock and pride, Ares bellowing approval and ruffling her hair like a toddler's.

Even Hera seemed willing to let go of grudges, though barely.

"Annabeth saved Olympus," Percy told her.

"Hmm. We'll see," Hera sniffed and walked away. Diedre, standing beside Percy, gave him a smirk. "That went better than expected."

Dionysus, injured but smug, cut his probation in half and pronounced Percy's name right.

"That one surprised even me," Diedre whispered, arms crossed as he watched the god of wine amble off.

"He's softening," Percy muttered.

"Or senile."

Grover wept over the losses, and Diedre knelt next to him, placing a hand over his heart. "The Wild endures, Grover. Even now. Even after this. You carry it with you."

Tyson arrived like a one-Cyclops cavalry, sweeping Percy into a bone-crushing hug. The Cyclopes boomed praises for their leader and for Tyson, the bravest among them. Even Grover managed to cheer without fainting.

And then the conch horns blew again.

Poseidon entered, majestic and towering, trident in hand. He embraced Percy and even forgave the minor offence of throne-sitting. When Percy teared up, Diedre looked away, giving them space. He'd known this moment would come—one of many he'd remembered from another life, but living through it was something else entirely.