Don't talk to me about this chapter. I was singing Le Festin and wrote this at 3 am
just don't-
Anyways, I present to you, the Epilogue.
Terribly sorry it's late. other stories took over my mind :/
Magic.
Magic is like the ocean, violent and frightening, but a beauty.
Often at the same time. Magic gives as much as it takes, stealing your heart, reaping your soul, marking your mind. Flashing out flames as soon as they are ignited. Giving life to the lifeless. Bestowing a blessing and a curse.
They call him Borne Without.
Child of a father not his.
Marred by war.
Without.
Even at the age of seven, he knew the world was not kind, but still for the life of him, he couldn't understand what he was without.
He had no teachers so he taught himself, through experience and error.
He had no father, so he held his mother as tight as he could.
He had no rules, only morals told by his mother. Natural consequences were a parent, do, do not.
And for all he was without, a warm home, a safe home, friends, he built a home, a family and light.
Without magic.
So he wove stories, ones that made your heart race and your eyes wide. He sat on the stairs of abandoned New York subways long in the night and sketched stories of people, retelling how life was the way his mother said it was before the war.
His hands danced in the air, pointing to bright streetlamps at sunset, drawing skyscrapers as high as the sky. No one heard him, but still he spoke until the sun had risen and his voice hoarse.
He waited for the day the sun would shine brighter than the moon and so he waited. Days went by. Months passed. Then years, until a light flickered on in the smallest apartment on 29th street.
Just the barest, dimmest flicker, it was barely on for a second, but his sharp eyes caught it.
He was sixteen when the lights turned back on.
Still, he did not see. So he waited and listened.
He heard the screams in the night and felt the warm air hit his skin as ashes swirled in the air.
But he was alive, unlike those with. With magic, with the power. With.
There were not many like him, most had died in the war, bloody battles, or with their minds clouded with hate, they tore apart the cities.
Magic is like fire, a burning hot wick among coals and rocks. Without water, fire would consume, destroying everything in its path.
He waited, tracing the faces of five friends.
Dad, mom, Percy, Annabeth, Nico.
He watched.
Floods of water slam against the shore, the air thick with clouds. Shadows seemed to crawl from every corner, but the moment he walked close, the waves calmed, the sky cleared, and the shadows drew back.
Four years later, on his twentieth birthday, the world calmed.
The sky cleared and at long last, he could see.
When the sky opened, he pulled out from the lowest drawer, a photo.
Taken long, long, before his birth. It was torn at the ends and frayed but he could still see the faces of them.
He touched each's, reciting their name and deeds. Their adventures, their friends, both the dead and the living, and their wishes.
And when the last name was spoken, the last wish granted, the last story told; then was when a halo of light wrapped him like a warm blanket. He watched twenty years flash by in a matter of minutes, watched his life go by before his eyes.
And when he blinked, he was standing amongst his family.
Mom, dad, Percy, Annabeth, Nico.
I... i guess that's the end?
I dragged this out for so long and I hate it.. I wanted to get this chapter out before NaNoWriMo this year but.. I guess that didn't happen.
The story didn't end the way I wanted it to, but I think I like this better. A year ago... My plans were vague, writing until it felt complete... Know I know it's complete.
Thank you for any follows, favorites, and reviews you left, they always make me happy!