With Glory Comes Death

 

You think it would be cool to be a half-blood. You envy the half-bloods. What is a half-blood’s life really like? The blood of people that used to be your friends drips from your fingers, as you vividly recall sticking swords in their guts or sending arrows into the chinks of their armor. “Those people deserved it,” you tell yourself. “They were in this war, fighting for the Titans, rather than the beloved Greek gods.”

But that does not matter anymore. You knew the betrayers, the people who ignored the gods and turned to fight at the side of the Titans. Shaking, you drop to your knees. Surrounding you are the shrouds, the shrouds of the friends who had stayed on the gods' side the whole time, and died for it. You scream, digging your fingernails so hard into your hand that you see blood trickle down your palm because you can’t stand the thought of losing those who fought for the gods, those who fought right next to you.

Another body is being brought up, and the face grasps your attention. You stand up; face blank, refusing to comprehend. You know that face. You love that face.

Now you are running. Running faster, faster than you ran in battle, but the truth is snapping at your heels like a hellhound. You can't outrun it, and you collapse down on the body. This is the body of your lifelong best friend, the one person who has gotten you through every hardship you have ever faced, but now she is not here to comfort you. She must wake up. She can't be dead. She can't!

As the tears stream down your face and mix with the dirt and blood, you stare at the heap of blood and flesh that was previously your friend. You scream at the Fates for cutting the string. You scream at the Titans, for taking so many lives, and further ruining yours. You scream at the gods, and their arrogance that led to all this death. You scream at yourself, because no matter how many beasts you slay, how many half-bloods fall to your knife, you cannot always save those closest to you.

You are now being dragged away as someone else is approaching. They take her away.

You continue to scream as you try to escape the grasp of whoever is holding your arm.

All around, people are declaring victory, but you don't care. The sole thing you desire is comfort.

Now, it is too late, too late for victory. You can’t stand the thought of how many people lie dead, motionless, but a compelling force fixes your gaze upon the countless still faces beneath the shrouds. For the first time, you understand why one might join the Titans. Although the gods take no notice, you have never questioned your loyalty and service to them. The Titans killed your loved ones and consequently, you had viewed them as what they were, evil and heartless.

It will be months before you feel genuinely happy. Years before you understand the way things turned out. It will be decades before her face starts to fade in your mind to a distant memory. Decades before you stop asking yourself how you could have saved her. Decades before you stop feeling guilty for surviving.

You remain envious of those who dream about being children of the gods. If only you too fantasized of the glory.  But with glory comes death. So, as you are standing beside her grave, you pray for her safe journeyed path into Elysium.