BLURRED | Annabeth Chase

XVII • ξεθωριάζω

ξεθωριάζω

to fade

• • •

The world blurred and spun as Drew struggled to stay awake. Her whole body was aching with a variety of pain she had never before been so unfortunate to feel, but it had somehow become her whole world. Her grip tightened around the handle of the chariot that she was clinging onto the same way she was to her consciousness.

Gods, she would kill for a hot bath right now. Or a warm bed. The wind blowing past her was faster than the speed of sound, and it sent a deep chill through Drew's bones. A hot meal wouldn't be under-appreciated either.

But more than anything else, Drew wanted to see Cameron. If only to convince her that he wasn't dead. Over the past two years, he had become closer than a brother to Drew, and she had abandoned him when it mattered most. Her grip on the golden chariot weakened.

A strong hand pushed against Drew's back, steadying her.

"Careful," Clarisse shouted, the word almost inaudible over the roaring winds.

Drew nodded, but she couldn't bring herself to respond. Partly because her words would be lost to the wind, but also because there was an emptiness inside of her chest. She had felt it for a while now, but it was so much bigger now. Like it had taken over her heart, and now it was eating up everything inside of her. It made Drew feel sick, but it felt like everything she deserved.

Her wounds were no were close to being healed. Several of them had opened up on the journey, and the surprise attack had rewarded her with new wounds. One hand, slippery with blood, was clutching the chariot while the other struggled to keep her stomach inside of her body. Drew felt more than nauseated. She felt so tired.

There was one good thing about this, in the end. Because if Drew finally died, she'd be able to see the missing part of her, see the one person she would always miss the most. There was something akin to peace that laid in that discovery.

Her eyes fell shut. Colors swam around her closed eyelids as her hand first slipped from her stomach. And then, slowly, from the rail of the chariot moving faster than the speed of sound.

• • •

Nico di Angelo was unable to fall asleep.

For the past few days, the voices of the dying had been filling his head, growing louder and louder with every passing days. They screamed when he tried to close his eyes, and they screamed whenever he was awake. It had been...four days since he had last slept? Five? Without Will there to remind him, Nico had lost count.

And that was the other thing: Will. Hazel had left earlier that morning, and there was still no sign of Will, even after the day had passed. So the desire to fall asleep had long ago vanished, replaced instead by anxiety. So maybe it wasn't all that bad.

Currently, Nico was holding the hand of a young girl, a daughter of Hermes, that had been stabbed on a mission. She was only nine years old, and close to dying. Her eyes were scrunched up, and she was softly moaning in pain. Nico wished that he was able to alleviate her pain, but that wasn't how his powers worked. Unless she was balancing on the brink of death, there was nothing that Nico could do.

"I don't want to die." It was one of the voices, crying out for his help from the deep murkiness of reality that separated them.

"Yeah, well that makes two of us," Nico muttered.

"What?" asked the girl, her face screwed up in pain. Gods, what was her name? Why couldn't he remember?

He forced a smile onto his face. "Nothing. Try to fall asleep, if you can."