ɪ'ʟʟ ꜱᴇᴇ ʏᴏᴜ ᴀɢᴀɪɴ ᴡʜᴇɴ ɪ ᴇꜱᴄᴀᴘᴇ ✯

Memory of Home

LATER, HE MADE A RESOLUTION: Never EVER sleep in Tartarus.Demigod dreams were always bad, especially for him. Even in the safety of his bunk at camp, he'd had horrible nightmares. In Tartarus, they were a thousand times worse.

 First, he was Annabeth, but as a little girl, struggling to climb Half-Blood Hill. 

Luke held his, uh, her hand, pulling her along. Their satyr guide Grover Underwood pranced nervously at the summit, yelling.

"Hurry! Hurry!" 

Thalia Grace stood behind them, holding back an army of hellhounds with her terror-invoking shield, Aegis.

 From the top of the hill, Percy... or Annabeth he guessed, could see the camp in the valley below—the warm lights of the cabins, the possibility of sanctuary. 

She stumbled,twisting her ankle, and Luke scooped her up to carry her. 

When they looked back, the monsters were only a few yards away—dozens of them surrounding Thalia.

 "Go!" Thalia yelled. "I'll hold them off." 

She brandished her spear, and forked lightning slashed through the monsters' ranks; but as the hellhounds fell, more took their place. 

"We have to run!" Grover cried. 

He led the way into camp. Luke followed, with Annabeth crying, beating at his chest, and screaming that they couldn't leave Thalia alone. But it was too late.

The scene shifted. 

Percy was Percy again, climbing to the summit of Half-Blood Hill. Where Thalia had made her last stand, a tall pine tree now rose. 

Overhead a storm was raging. Thunder shook the valley. A blast of lightning split the tree down to its roots, opening a smoking crack. 

In the darkness below stood Reyna. Her cloak was the color of freshly spilt blood. Her gold armor glinted. 

She stared up, her face regal and distant, and spoke directly into Percy's mind, just as intimidating as she was in the real world. 

"My daughter has done well," Reyna said, but her voice was Athena's. 

"The rest of my journey must be on the wings of Rome."

 The praetor's dark eyes turned as gray as storm clouds. 

"I must stand here," Reyna/Athena (Reynathena? Atreyna?) told him. "The Roman must bring me."

 The hill shook. The ground rippled as the grass became folds of silk—the dress of a huge goddess. 

Gaea rose over Camp Half-Blood—her sleeping face larger than life. Hellhounds poured over the hills. Giants, six-armed Earthborn, and wild Cyclopes so unlike his brother Tyson charged from the beach, tearing down the dining pavilion, setting fire to the cabins and the Big House. 

"She must hurry, Perseus, and you can't help her," said the voice of Athena. "The message must be sent."

 The ground split at Percy's feet and he fell into darkness. 

His eyes flew open. He cried out. He was still in Tartarus, at the shrine of Hermes. 

He looked around, blinking rapidly. Bob the Titan sat cross-legged by the altar, happily munching a piece of pizza. 

Percy rubbed his eyes, wondering if he was still dreaming. 

"Is that...pepperoni?" He whispered.

 "Burnt offerings," Bob said. "Sacrifices to Hermes."