𝐖𝐀𝐑 𝐎𝐅 𝐓𝐈𝐃𝐄𝐒 | percy jackson

finding percy jackson alive

Sirens wailed and radios mumbled indistinct chatter. Police cars were stranded all over the fields under the Arch, taking in witness statements of watching a boy fall from the sky. The wind shook the grass, making blossom petals flow through the air gusts. 

Helicopters flew overhead, carrying water to put out the smoke burning at the top of the tourist destination of St Louis. People took pictures and gossiped, and news channels began to pull up and start recording. 

"They're looking at us," Grover whispered nervously, his doe eyes constantly glancing at the police who were talking to a witness and staring at the three children. "I wonder why," Annabeth ground her ivory teeth. Grover looked over, noticing the dangerously murderous glare Ciarda was sending the police's way. 

Something in her eyes was burning with fire, but they weren't as ferocious as usual - she was trying to hold back the unusual feeling she wasn't adjusted to. 

"If the police hadn't gotten involved Percy would never have been..." Her voice broke off. She was externally strong and cold, but Annabeth could see the trembling fingers she gripped her sword with and the sadness that coated her eyes. Her knuckles drenched with drying blood, blistered skin covering the bone. 

"They're looking right at us, dude," Grover insisted again. He yanked at Annabeth's purple sleeve with a mild panic. Annabeth's eyes shifted the focus off Ciarda and to the three old ladies sitting on a bench behind them. Colourful cardigans enveloped their plump figures. 

Annabeth recognised them immediately, her face dropping with fear. Her astute posture dropped when the middle grandmother used glinting golden scissors to cut a thread of yarn. //

"Do you think we should leave?" Grover questioned, Annabeth finally turning around to face him. She swallowed anxiously. "What?" Shaking her head from her daze, she noticed who Grover was talking about. "Let's go," Ciarda finalised, storming off in the opposite direction of the police. 

"We can try to find Perc-" Grover's attempt at optimism was shot down and stomped on by Ciarda. "Percy Jackson is dead."  Her face was hidden by her dark curly hair - still strangling and damp from the cold fountain water that had splashed her earlier. 

...

Ciarda tried to resonate with the sad whirring of helicopter blades whilst her stupid friends called out for Percy. She had failed her quest. Again. The Oracle must have been totally wrong about her. 

Traumatising memories of the Furies attacking Thalia made her feel dizzy and sick. They had used swords to try and slash the shimmering scales of Alecto. Blood was dripping all over the floor, a deep burgundy down Ciarda's leg. It ran in thick rivulets, matching the crimson that matted Thalia's hair. 

Rain splashed down, lightning striking the air. Something stilled when Ciarda was thrown sideways, her body breaking when it hit a tree trunk. She was so young, still an inexperienced child. Her body was weak and unmoving, and she'd been barely able to watch as Thalia was slain by the Fury's claws. 

Her screams fell silent, the world's noise drowning out into one long buzz. Ciarda had yelled for the nameless demigod she had tried to help, mud scattered in her mouth. Drenching her clothes and skin, she was nearly camouflaged within the forest. Her face was dirtied and bleeding. Bruises would form, reminding her of her failure every time Ciarda looked in the mirror. 

The glaze had left Thalia's eyes whilst she lay there, choking on her blood. Ciarda's lungs collapsed with exhaustion, the shouts for this dying girl falling short. She had never told anyone about it, but Ciarda had watched her die. Eyes closed, blood falling from her mouth. 

When she had woken, they had told her that Thalia had been buried by her father, reborn as a treeline which protected the camp from the Furies. Chiron had killed one of them in rage when he'd seen Thalia's corpse and Ciarda's shivering dying body. 

Walking behind Grover and Annabeth sadly, Ciarda felt anger rise in her. Her father hadn't even tried to help her when she was dying - at least Zeus had the decency to honour his child. 

Thinking about her parental figures, more fury bubbling up inside her, she didn't notice the pair stop and walked headfirst into both Annabeth and Grover. Her nose sprouted with pain, making her rub it till it went pink. 

"What-" Ciarda's voice caught in her throat when she looked up, her dark eyes reaching a drenched Percy Jackson who stood in front of them. 

He was alive. 

"Hi!" He waved at them awkwardly. Ciarda hated that her eyes welled up, her heart dropping to her stomach in relief. Her body felt light with the words echoing in her head. He was alive. 

"Look, Ciarda, I'm sorry for shoving you in the stairwell. Even hearing myself say that sounds really bad, I- I just knew you'd never agree. And there wasn't enough time-" Percy stopped muttering in shock when Ciarda's muscular arms wrapped around him. 

Annabeth and Grover looked at each other, knowing that she needed her moment of peace. In a world of war she'd constantly grown up in, the girl needed just a second of tranquillity. 

It was quickly finalised when Ciarda removed herself, hooked her defined calve around Percy's and tripped him over. He hit the deck with a pained grunt, his hair wetting the wood. 

About to complain, Percy prevented himself when a singing golden blade met his throat. "You ever, and I mean ever, do that again, and you'll be a dead man," Ciarda enunciated every word of her promise. Silence coated the four. Fire in her eyes roared. 

"So, you're not as dead as we thought you'd be," Grover mentioned, breathing out when Ciarda removed her sword from Percy's neck and began walking away. "Surprise," Percy smiled sarcastically. "What happened?" Grover stared, wondering how the boy still had all of his limbs. 

"Short version, we need to go to Santa Monica," Percy decided. Grover and Annabeth stared at him, letting Ciarda sulk in the bushes. Annabeth said nothing when she noticed Ciarda was throwing up her breakfast. 

She didn't know that they would never mention that she had cried to anyone - they would take it to their graves to keep her pride intact. 

"What? Like now?" Grover realised Percy was serious. "My dad's going to meet me there and he's going to help us." 

"The God's help no one but themselves," Ciarda's voice was hoarse and hostile. She wiped the malaise from her lips using the back of her hand. "Careful," Annabeth warned, her eyes looking upward. 

"Why? Because they'll condemn me? My mother never loved me and my father couldn't give two shits about my life status. If he wanted me here, he would've helped us. If he wanted me here, he would've helped me years ago," She fumed. The three questmates staring at her knew they would get nowhere with the stubborn Ares-born. 

Ares was dead meat if he ever crossed paths with his youngest. 

"One issue with your plan, only minor of course," Grover explained, "The police think we hijacked and crashed an Amtrak train, and then did that," He pointed to the smoking Arch. flames licked the spring air. "Isn't that going to make it hard for us to get on a train? Or a bus? Or really anything you need tickets for?" Percy queried. 

Soon, the group were walking their way to Santa Monica.