❝𝘴-𝘴𝘢𝘺 𝘪𝘵 𝘢𝘨𝘢𝘪𝘯❞
❝𝙞 𝙡𝙤𝙫𝙚 𝙮𝙤𝙪.❞
𝗣𝗘𝗥𝗖𝗬 𝗝𝗔𝗖𝗞𝗦𝗢𝗡 had met a lot of people and he had seen a lot of things that had caught his eyes. But she was a different story. The girl with the long hair was just someone he coul...
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LXVI. THE DAY WE SURVIVED THE GREAT WAR
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"I vowed I would always be yours
'Cause we survived the Great War"
THE REST OF DAY WAS... odd.
That was the easiest way Dodie could describe the day. After having to track Rachel down and witnessing her becoming the new Oracle and spouting the next Great Prophecy, campers began trickling in from New York, arriving by car, pegasus, and chariot. The wounded were attended to with a sense of urgency, their injuries treated with care and precision, without the looming fear of imminent death. The fallen, however, were given their final respects, their lives celebrated and remembered with sorrow and reverence at the campfire.
It took a while to prepare for the mass pyre, all were preparing shrouds for the fallen heroes, be it their siblings or those who were unclaimed... which were a lot. When the dead bodies that were found came back via van by Argus and the harpies, Dodie could only watch as he and the harpies pulled in. There were too many. And the longer she stood with the other head counsellors to overlook the bodies, the longer she felt like slowly, the numb wall she had put up was slowly breaking, cracking.
You would seriously think that when fighting in a war, the battle for survival would be the hardest. But no; it was the act of covering their loved ones' faces with shrouds that they had prepared with their own bare hands that was the hardest. The most different and painful of all wounds. The moment Dodie had veiled the shroud of her many fallen siblings, from Henry to Gracie, with Will, Kayla, and Austin by her side, reality truly did set in the fact that they could never hear the laughter and music anymore. It was a tangible reminder, a testament to the lives that had been lost, the dreams left unfulfilled, and the void that would forever remain.
"Today, we honour the fallen heroes of Olympus," Chiron declared.
And no one protested. Because they were and are the heroes of Olympus.
Silena Beauregard's shroud was a vibrant hot pink, adorned with an electric spear, a symbol of the unity between the Ares and Aphrodite cabins as they claimed her as their hero. The word "spy" went unspoken, lost amid the flames that consumed her shroud, mingling with the designer perfume that wafted into the sky.
The Apollo campers who had fallen were covered with shrouds of golden silk, each meticulously embroidered with symbols representing their individual talents and passions. The shrouds shimmered with the essence of their unique gifts, a poignant reminder of the lives that had been extinguished.
