Forgotten memories

A fabulus gift

Everything was, like, totally blurry. My vision was all messed up, and I couldn't really see what was happening. It was all just a bunch of shapes and loud noises. The last thing I kinda remember was Kronos hesitating, which was super weird. Then Percy was standing over him with Annabeth's knife. And then... Percy just gave the knife to him? It was so confusing.

But then I knew. Luke must have been in control again, for a second. Because the Titan started taking off his own armor, and he stabbed himself right in the armpit, right in that one weak spot.

After that, it was all fuzzy. I could see Annabeth, Percy, and Grover talking to Luke. He was lying on the ground, and he looked way worse off than me, like he was way closer to... you know. Dying.

Then I saw Christine. She was crawling toward me, and her face was all streaked with tears. I hate, hate, hate seeing her cry.

She finally reached me, and she was in a total panic. Like, full-on freaking out. Her hands were shaking so bad as she fumbled with her little canteen of nectar. I looked right into her eyes—they were all red and puffy from crying. I just wanted to look at her. To really see her, one last time.

She got the cap off and tried to pour it into my mouth, but only like, two drops came out. She was out. I knew Percy and Annabeth were probably out, too. Everyone was. I used the very last bit of my strength to lift my shaky hand and put it on her cheek, so she'd look at me. My hand was covered in blood and dirt, and now her cheek was all smeared with it, too.

She looked right at me, her breathing all fast and scared. I managed to give her a little smile. "It's fine..." I said, but my voice was all raspy and gross, like I'd eaten a handful of sand. "I'm sorry... for not... getting to... pick strawberries with... you..." It was so hard to get the words out, each one was a huge effort, but I said it. I had to.

"No. No. NO. You're gonna pick strawberries with me. You're gonna live. SOMEBODY PLEASE! HELP HIM!" she screamed, and she got even more panicked, which I didn't think was even possible.

My vision started to get all dark around the edges, like I was looking down a tunnel. But I could still see Christine. That was good. She was the last thing I wanted to see. Then she looked up at something behind me, and her face just... broke. She started screaming, but I couldn't hear anything. Her mouth was moving, but it was like someone had hit the mute button on the world.

Everything felt numb and heavy. The very last thing I saw was her face. Then, everything just... went black.

***

I wasn't in the world anymore. I was... somewhere else. The air was heavy, thick with mist that curled like smoke around my feet. Everything was gray and cold, and in the distance, I could hear the slow, steady rush of water. A river—dark as oil—stretched endlessly in both directions, its surface rippling with whispers I didn't understand.

A boat waited at the edge of the river, its hull black and gleaming like obsidian, rocking gently as if it knew I was coming. Behind me, a line of people stood in eerie silence, their faces pale and hollow, eyes fixed on the ground. They weren't just waiting—they were resigned.

And in front of me, blocking the way to the boat, stood a man who looked like he'd just stepped out of the world's fanciest funeral. He wore a perfect black tuxedo, polished shoes, and a tie so sharp it could've cut glass. His expression was blank, cold, like the river itself.

"Elysium," he said in a voice as smooth as silk and twice as dead. "That's where you're headed, son of Artemis?"

Charon. The ferryman of the dead.