PYRRHIC, percy jackson

━━ IX

AT THE EDGE OF THE DUMP, they found a tow truck. It looked too old to be functioning, but the engine started, and it had a full tank of gas, so they decided to borrow it. Thalia drove. She did not seem as stunned as Zoë or Grover or Percy, yet Lyra did not know the last thing about driving, so Thalia had to take the lead.

     "The skeletons are still out there," she reminded them. "We need to keep moving."

     She navigated them through the desert, under clear blue skies, the sand so bright it hurt to look at. Zoë sat up front with Thalia. Grover, Percy and Lyra sat in the pickup bed, leaning against the tow wench. The air was cool and dry, but the nice weather just seemed like an insult after losing Bianca.

     All she could think about was about how ephemeral her life had been, at least when it clashed against Lyra's. She had only known her for a few days, and in those days she had not got to know the new Hunter of Artemis that well, not enough so claim she loved her and that her death impacted her deeply, but she had felt affection for the girl. And her death did impact her... but not the way it impacted Zoë.

     The lieutenant of the Hunters remained silent as they walked, up until they found the truck and she sat down with Thalia. She could not listen if they talked or if they stayed silent, but the last image she had of Zoë—reddened cheeks, puffy and desolate eyes, and a runny (also red) nose—did not make her think she would be okay after losing her latest sister.

     Yes, Lyra felt sad, and she mourned the young girl. But she had lived as a constellation for hundreds of years, she understood the short lifespan of human lives, she knew they were not made to last. She processed it faster than she thought she would have, knowing that it was meant to happen, someway or another. That thought made a glacial feeling run inside her—she did not think she was capable of thinking that way, so... detached, cold, objective. She had associated those traits with Michael Yew, though not in a bad way. The boy was honest and straightforward, always ready to defend his thoughts, yet he showed little to no emotion, even to his siblings.

     The way she rationalized Bianca di Angelo's demise so quickly and with almost no true emotion... It made her think of him.

     "It should've been me," Percy broke their small silence, his hand tightly wrapped against the figurine Bianca had given him. "I should've gone into the giant."

     "Don't say that!" Grover panicked, and Lyra agreed with him. "It's bad enough Annabeth is gone, and now Bianca. Do you think I could stand it if..." He sniffled. "Do you think anybody else would be my best friend?"

     "Ah, Grover..."

     He wiped under his eyes with an oily cloth that left his face grimy, like he had on war paint.

     "I'm... I'm okay."

     But he was clearly not okay. Ever since the encounter in New Mexico, he seemed really fragile, even more emotional than what he appeared to be when Lyra first met him.

     "I would like to be your friend," Lyra told the satyr, trying to lift him up. Grover directed his teary eyes towards her and offered her a sheepish smile.

     "Thanks, Lyra, for taking my place when I die," Percy said.

     "You are most welcome." She giggled.

     Grover's eyes were no longer on the verge of spilling a waterfall, so Lyra took that as a little accomplishment.

     After Percy's words, she understood something else about herself: she would not have reacted the same way had the lost one been Percy, Grover, Annabeth, or even Thalia. Her coldness was not due to her lack of emotion, for she knew that if any of her friends were in Bianca's place, she would be as affected as Zoë, perhaps even more. Because the remaining hunter had barely talked to Lyra, she was not placed in the same ranking as her friends, yet she still cared for the lieutenant.