Coach Hedge still remembered saving all three of his cupcakes: Jason Grace, Piper McLean, and Leo Valdez. He remembered constantly having to tell Valdez to shut his face, he remembered Jason constantly trying to be the one to tell him killing everything was not a solid plan in the most polite manner possible. Coach Hedge remembered herding them like they were kids of his own. He wasn't the sentimental type, but arguing with Valdez, that annoying little elf, and chastising McLean and Grace for standing to close too each other indecently constantly were some of his best memories, not that he'd ever admit it.
Watching McLean sob her heart out over the former Praetor of Rome, the blonde cupcake, broke his heart a little. He had been a good hero, he'd died to save his comrades, ever the hero. He wished he could give Grace a new life, perhaps as a nice tree to match his sister's legacy. He could stand tall next to Thalia's tree and help guard camp as well, like the proud soldier he is, like he was. What Hedge wouldn't give to go back to bickering with Valdez, Grace and McLean watching, amused smiles on their faces.
OoOoO
Chiron remembered the first time he'd met Jason Grace. The first thing he'd noticed was his electric blue eyes, so sharp, those of a soldier, a warrior. He'd noticed the way Jason spoke, his voice steady and ever polite and calm. The boy had been of great interest to him; Jason had spoken Latin fluently, not faulty Greek like his normal campers. It was clear the young man hadn't come from Camp Half-Blood, but still he intrigued Chiron. Chiron had watched so many heroes die, so much that he often caught one of his campers, a camper he was a figure figure towards- Annabeth, often studying his own old eyes, noting the sadness that always seemed to linger in Chiron's usually stern, but soft gaze.
Chiron knew better than anyone that the average demigod lifespan was barely 25 years, if they were lucky. And for a son of the big three? Some might call Jason Grace lucky. Chiron had lived long enough that he was numb towards the anger he knew he should ideally feel towards the gods for causing this, the anger he should feel at Zeus, Apollo, Hera, Styx even perhaps. But Chiron felt nothing but numb inside. Some mourned in the camp, some came to speak to Chiron as they did, some even tried to comfort the old man, bless their souls, but he just needed to be alone then.
Chiron allowed himself to gaze over pictures, centuries, memories of thousands of the greatest heroes, usually Greek. Jason had been neither Greek nor Roman, he was a child of the gods, a kind, strong, brave-hearted hero. And Chiron knew he shouldn't dwell upon actions that could not be reversed. Some deaths couldn't be prevented, Chiron knew that. And he had been kidding himself to think that maybe, just maybe none of the 7 would pass away so quickly. Jason's death had not been in vain, but to Chiron, Jason Grace was his son, his students were his children. So Chiron sat by himself, alone and looked at photographs of his children, all the children he'd lost in his time teaching, including the one and only Jason Grace, son of Zeus, hero of Greece and Rome, child of the gods. The boy who would be buried back in his home of Rome, hopefully a proper funeral that would give justice to his death. Chiron knew so many would grieve and he also knew this: it didn't matter how many titles they gave him, he was just a boy. He had been just a boy.
So Chiron, his teacher, his father in some ways, didn't mourn a soldier nor a hero, but he mourned a boy whose life had been stolen away from him too soon.