The giant war ended in many losses. Everyone was effected by all of the deaths, but none more so then Percy Jackson. He pretended to be strong for the camps' sake, but he was dying inside. He became a leader to both camps. He became a beacon of hope. Nobody was the same after the war and nobody was ever going to forget, but that was for the best, because if they forgot the war, they would forget every life that they lost. Percy was never going to forget the war. He was never going to forget her. People tried to help, but no one understood. He was broken and they were never going to get the old Percy back. The only reason he was still there was because she had made him promise to move on and to help rebuild the camp. Nobody believed his facade, they could see it in his lifeless eyes. His once bright, sea-green eyes were now dead, broken with no hope of ever being fixed. He died when she did. When her stormy-grey eyes blinked for the last time, when she took her final breath, every piece of him broke. Without Annabeth Chase, Percy Jackson was a lifeless shell of his old self.
Sorry for the short chapter. I will make the rest of them longer.
