Disclaimer: Percy Jackson belongs to Rick Riordan. Although, I am not quite sure who the Greek gods belong to.
It wasn't the best of days. Or weeks. Or months. Or years. But that didn't matter because his sister was safe. His sister was save! She was save and that was all that mattered. She was the only person that mattered. It didn't matter that in two years they would most likely be cast into Tartarus or continuously tortured. It didn't matter that just a few hours ago his sister was carrying the weight of the sky. It didn't matter that he might be dead.
Laughter bubbled up in his throat. Him! Dead! He didn't believe it. How could he, one of the most powerful gods to exist, simply be dead in just a few years. Yes, he was a god, but, contrary to believe, he could still die. Not fade. Die. The gods never spoke of it, of their greatest weakness.
So when his sister turned around to look at him with that haughty expression he knew all too well, he sat down on the edge of the bridge connecting Olympus to the elevator. She grabbed his hand, intertwining their fingers and laid her head on his shoulder. And so they sat—brother and sister, gold and silver, day and night—as the world slowly fell apart all around them.
Who knew inspiration would strike at three in the morning in the form of a very short drabble—only two hundred eleven words. Hope you enjoyed it.