Annabeth
Annabeth knows she is about to die.
Her dagger lies at least twenty feet away from her, snatched away by a ventus while she was caught off guard, and even though she managed to kill it using a practice sword she picked up off the ground, it feels heavy and awkward in her hands and there is nothing she can do to halt the Earthborn monster that is racing towards her at breakneck speed, teeth bared in an expression of glee and a massive mace flattened against its hand with the force of the resisting air.
Annabeth knows she needs to do something, brace herself to dive out of the way at the last second, but one of her legs is bleeding heavily and there is no way she'll be fast enough.
She looks around, panicking, but all her allies seem to have vanished, even Percy. Percy, who swore he'd never leave her. Percy, who she loves with all her heart.
The fighting is still going on around her, but time seems to have stilled as Annabeth stares into that horrible, leering face, dry and compact as the earth itself.
She lifts her chin and stares at it defiantly, arms raised as if to welcome it home. She will die here. She understands that. And she is ready.
And then there is a shout of horror that halts everything around her, and she sees Percy's face at last, slack with horror and muscles a blur as he sprints towards her faster than she's ever seen him run, no weapon in his hand, and knocks her to the ground with all his strength. Her bad leg goes out from under her with a crack and she lets out a wordless scream, because there are no words anymore. They left her long ago.
And then she's struggling to get up, to do something to protect Percy, but he pins her down with a resolute expression and whispers something in her ear that she doesn't hear.
The monster is upon them, then, and her vision turns red and she is holding onto Percy, never letting go just like they promised, and all she can do is hope this terrible, aching pain will end soon and then they'll be together in Elysium.
She's still curled up in this position when they find her, seconds later, her face buried into the ground, red, guilt-filled blood staining her clothes and her hair and her skin.
But it's not hers.
And all she can hear, despite their screams and cries, are Percy's last words to her: I'm not letting you go.
That's what Annabeth finds the cruellest, really.
Not knowing he died so she could live.
Knowing he wanted to.
In the worst and most cynical of ways, he wanted to leave, and he did let her go even though he said he never would.
Annabeth's leg was shattered, after that. But she survived. And Percy Jackson didn't.
It's his funeral, and their friends – Piper and Leo and Frank and Hazel and Thalia and Reyna and Nico and even Jason – they're all crying, but Annabeth isn't.
She was told once there was a limit to the number of tears you could cry.
Annabeth reached that limit long ago.
And, later, when she sees Percy by the beach, and he takes her hand gently, and leads her into the infinite depths of the sea, she dies in his embrace, just like he died in hers.
Because nothing matters anymore, as long as they're together.