ᴾʰᵒᵇᵒᵖʰᵒᵇⁱᵃ [ᴶᵃˢᵒⁿ ᴳʳᵃᶜᵉ]

γ.

Aviatophobia - the fear of flying

- edited 2/14/23-

IT was Aza-Everett who first spotted the three teenagers huddled together atop a glass observation deck overlooking the Grand Canyon. One lay on his back, staring into the sky – it was him who spotted the golden chariot. He instantly scrambled to his feet and pointed towards them, raising a hand to block his eyes. Aza pointed towards them, "There. I think that's them."

There was no Percy. Aza swallowed her disappointment – she knew it was too good to be true – but Annabeth, with stormy eyes reflecting the clouds around them, was more important. The girl followed Aza's gaze and the two peered down at the lonesome teens. Aza watched her face for miniscule reactions: her blonde brows raised a fraction and the tip of her nose twitched.

Annabeth had every right to be livid, though her explosions had long since dwindled into personal torture. She was too exhausted to scream or to curse the Queen of the Heavens, or even to cry. She should have known; hope, trapped by the forever-cursed Pandora, was a prison in itself. It would only lead to disappointment, and yet she was drawn to it instinctively like a moth to flame.

At some point, Aza knew her best friend would break. And it terrified her: Annabeth was the strong one. She always had been. And if she broke, she wouldn't be any less strong; but Aza's heart would break if she lost not only Percy, but the spit-fire within her best friend.

Aza raised her eyes to meet Butch's, who awaited their commands. The boy gritted his teeth and shook his head subtly; with no Percy, there was no telling how the curly-haired blonde would react. She swallowed the worry that at least one weapon would get drawn and gently placed a hand on Annabeth's shoulder. "Annie?"

"Land near them," she sighed and clenched the railing, beginning to grind her teeth so loudly her companions could hear crack and crumble. Aza didn't miss the way her right arm drifted to pat her hidden bronze knife.

Great, Aza thought. This is gonna go great.

Butch steered the ash-grey pegasi towards the skywalk and pulled the reins to land the chariot some thirty-feet in front of the teens, who watched them more incredulously than cautiously. Gold clinked gently against glass as the pegasi tucked their wings and cantered nervously upon the glass floor as if certain it was about to shatter. The storm-clouds were only beginning to grow darker.

Aza was the first off the chariot. She leapt down and landed gracefully on the glass; her stomach twinged suddenly as she looked beneath her feet, becoming suddenly all-too-aware of the ground far, far beneath her. A river no wider than a ribbon snaked through the earth and twisted out of sight. Her gut pinched: something was about to go horribly wrong.

Where was Gleeson? He called for extraction – he was the whole reason they were there – but the satyr was nowhere to be seen. Worry clawed at her chest, but she forced herself to stay calm: for Annabeth. One of them had to be, and she – for once – wanted to allow her best friend to be the reactive one.

It was hard to drag her gaze from the deadly drop; Aza took a step closer to see three teenagers more clearly, but they took a larger step backwards. She didn't blame them, but it was hard to stifle the satisfied smirk – she didn't want to startle them further, but it was difficult for her to appear... approachable. Of the three however, and it was terrifying to her, she was the most comforting option for the teens.

The four studied each other, still as statues. The three were dirty and littered with scratches and bruises on every inch of exposed skin. Their hair was tangled and windblown as though they just trekked through a hurricane; she thought it was the signature look of a battle-worn demigod.