There was still much to be done.
A team would have to be deployed to find and free the Gods; and little pockets of guards were set up to combat the few groups of Titan resistance that remained.
The Stolls were also adamant about bringing Marty up to the surface, protesting that he'd been underground long enough. Nyssa was now trying to get the car up from the bunker.
Away from the Camp, America was starting to rebuild itself; finding the calm within the chaos.
Back at Camp Half-Blood, the cabins would have to be rebuilt. The process had already started and the first walls were going up.
A new, cleansing fall of snow had blessed them the night before.
And there was also the healing of the wounded, and a healing for all.
The funerals and tributes would have their time. The burning of the shrouds would light up yet another winter's night very soon. There would be no forgetting of those grey bodies that had lain fallen in the battle, or the memories of them in better times.
But for the moment, there was peace; the peace that they'd fought for.
After putting up the walls for the new Apollo cabin that glittered in the pale winter sun, Will Solace grabbed a guitar. It was the only thing from their cabin that had survived the night. Miraculously, it seemed, but miracles were not so uncommon. A string or two had been snapped and the wooden edges were charred, but the instrument still sang.
As there had been an ending, there was to be a beginning; as it was with all stories that had been passed down through the ages.
And so, it was.