This Dark Night ― Percy Jackson & Annabeth Chase¹

―xix. olympus perseveres, the hero falls

Percy finally understood what Annabeth had been trying to tell him.

You are not the hero, Rachel had said. It will affect what you do.

"Please," Luke groaned. "No time."

If Kronos evolved into his true form, there would be no stopping him. He would make Typhon look like a playground bully.

The line from the Great Prophecy echoed in Percy's head: A hero's soul, cursed blade shall reap.

His whole world tipped upside down, and he gave the knife to Luke.

Grover yelped. "Percy? Are you... um..."

Crazy? Insane? Off your rocker? Probably.

But he watched as Luke grasped the hilt, and Percy stood before him—defenseless.

Luke unlatched the side straps of his armor, exposing a small bit of his skin just under his left arm, a place that would be very hard to hit. With difficulty, he stabbed himself.

It wasn't a deep cut, but Luke howled. His eyes glowed like lava. The throne room shook, throwing Percy off his feet. An aura of energy surrounded Luke, growing brighter and brighter. Percy shut his eyes and felt a force like a nuclear explosion blister his skin and crack his lips.

It was silent for a long time.

When Percy opened his eyes, he saw Luke sprawled at the hearth. On the floor around him as a blackened circle of ash. Kronos's scythe had liquefied into molten metal and was trickling into the coals of the hearth, which now glowed like a blacksmith's furnace.

Luke's left side was bloody. His eyes were open—blue eyes, the way they used to be. His breath was a deep rattle.

"Good... blade," he croaked.

Percy knelt next to him. Annabeth limped over with Naomi and Grover's support. All of them had tears in their eyes.

Luke gazed at Annabeth. "You knew. I almost killed you, but you knew..."

"Shhh." Her voice trembled. "You were a hero in the end, Luke. You'll go to Elysium."

He shook his head weakly. "Think... rebirth. Try for three times. Isles of the Blest."

Annabeth sniffled, leaning heavily against Naomi's side. "You always pushed yourself too hard."

Luke held up his charred hand. Annabeth touched his fingertips.

"Did you..." Luke coughed and his lips glistened red. "Did you love me?"

Annabeth wiped her tears away. "There was a time I thought... well, I thought..." She looked beside her, to Naomi, who was already looking at her. Then she looked at Percy. It was like she was drinking in the fact that they were still there. And Percy realized he was doing the same.

The world was collapsing, and the only thing that mattered to him was that Annabeth and Naomi were alive.

"You were like a brother to me, Luke," Annabeth said softly. "But I didn't love you."

He nodded, as if he'd expected it. He winced in pain.

"We can get ambrosia," Grover said. "We can—"

"Grover," Luke gulped. "You're the bravest satyr I ever knew. But, no. There's no healing..." Another cough.

His eyes found Naomi. "I'm sorry," he croaked. "For Ethan, for Silena... for everything."

"They were heroes," Naomi managed. With visible effort, she whispered, "So were you."

If Luke noticed the hesitation in her voice, he didn't let on.

Instead, he gripped Percy's sleeve, and Percy could feel the heat of his skin like a fire. "Ethan. Me. All the unclaimed. Don't let it... Don't let it happen again."

His eyes were angry, but pleading, too.

"I won't," Percy said. "I promise."

Luke nodded, and his hand went slack.

The gods arrived a few minutes later in their full war regalia, thundering into the throne room and expecting a battle.

What they found were Annabeth, Naomi, Grover, and Percy standing over the body of a broken half-blood, in the dim light of the hearth.

"Percy," his father called, awe in his voice. "What... what is this?"

Percy turned and faced the Olympians.

"We need a shroud," he announced, his voice cracking. "A shroud for the son of Hermes."

❊

so like... luke can choke... but this scene still gets me...