Percy nearly keeled over when he got the news. He merely stood frozen on the spot, the ruined environment of Camp Jupiter splintering and spinning around him, Annabeth sobbing into his chest.

He couldn't believe it. Jason couldn't be gone, it wasn't possible for him to be gone. He'd beaten every obstacle fate had thrown at him, he couldn't have been killed, it just didn't make sense. How could he just die?

Percy held himself strongly for Annabeth and the others, bottling his anger and pain deep within his heart and holding back his tears. Yet, it was at the wake, when Percy saw Jason and truly realized that his comrade, his brother-in-arms, his friend would never join them again. That was when he broke down, gritting his teeth and clutching at his hair as sorrowful tears rolled down his cheeks.

He should have gone. When Apollo requested his aid, he should have joined the fallen god. They had been on a yacht, surrounded by water. If he'd been there, Jason might still be alive. It was all his fault. Jason's blood now stained his hands.

Percy remained but the coffin for hours, as did many others, losing track of time as they mourned the loss of one of theirs. The seven had been whittled down to six, and nothing would ever be the same again. One of the brightest lights in their lives, extinguished.