"And now we will go to our on-site correspondent. Amy, can you hear me? What updates have you received concerning these storms?"
"Yes, Tom. I received word just five minutes ago that the original storm which had swept in towards Louisiana from the Gulf of Mexico early this morning has been promoted to a Category 4 with windspeeds reaching 150 miles per hour. Although, experts from NOAA say this particular storm system seems to continue in gaining momentum with a high probability of upgrading to a Category 5.
"They appeared out of nowhere. The National Weather Service saw virtually no signs of any approaching storms let alone storms of such magnitude just before this morning. The status of these storms— or, all the storms originating from the Atlantic basin— have all been updated to hurricane level, and radars have tracked a new typhoon building off the west coast and approaching the coastline of Oregon.
"We urge all citizens living near these areas to immediately evacuate and travel as far as you can. American Red Cross teams from across the nation are joining together to help evacuate and safely transport people who have already been displaced or who are in an area considered high risk. It is requested that you do not concern yourselves with gathering as many possessions as you can; right now, the key is to leave immediately and get as far as you can as quickly as you can."
He sits alone on a bench, his form withered with age. His shoulders are slumped, back hunched, and his hands shake with tremors. His face is lined with wrinkles, bags. He is a bag, a bag of skin hanging on fragile bones.
He wants to know what it means to be human, to be mortal. What does it mean to age, to feel age, to have so little time and to feel it trickle out like water running between his fingers. What does it mean to see an end coming, to know that your life is so fragile and vulnerable.
He wants to know what she felt. If it hurt, if it was scary. Or, if she faced it with ferocity and grace like she did every other obstacle that had befallen her in her short, mortal life.
He misses her already. He missed her before, when she couldn't be his. But now she is gone, and Poseidon thinks he's beginning to understand what it means to be mortal, for death to be so inevitable. And the value of mortal time.
So little time. So few years, days, minutes to live, to be a person, to make a mark upon the world. So little time to do anything, to be anyone.
And that's when Poseidon begins to understand. That the value of time, of life for a mortal, comes from how little there is of it. When you have such limited time— when your time is not limitless— it means more to make the most of it.
Mortals don't have time for anything! Which makes every little thing mean so much more. There is no time for mistakes or regrets, no time to brood or wallow. There is no time to come across a chance and have the opportunity to come back to it again. That's why the mortals call them once-in-a-lifetime chances.
Poseidon wishes he were mortal, wishes he could have been mortal when her mortal soul still danced on this earth. Life means so much more when you know you're dying, he thinks, and he wants that. Or, he wishes he could have had that.
These foolish mortals! They want immortality, the ability to forever evade death. Poseidon could curse them for their stupidity! They have no idea what they have, how precious life and the ability to die are. Poseidon wants that.
He could be mortal. Surely, if Apollo has survived being a mortal, then so can he. He could become a mortal, could have years ago. He could have gone to his brother and demanded he strip away his immortality, suck the godly strength from his veins. They don't need him. As the gods replaced the Titans, so too he could be replaced. Someone else could care for the sea. Perhaps his son Triton, or even Pontus or Nereus. The Olympians don't need Poseidon. He is just a placeholder for a domain. How unique is he, really? He could have fallen to his knees before his brother and cried for his godhood to be stripped, for his powers to be passed to another spirit or minor god of the sea.
And he could have been with her.
He could have spent a whole mortal life with Sally, given away his throne without a second thought. Couldn't he have? Rejected his claim upon the world and found a life for himself on earth with her and with time running out as if they never had any.
He prefers that now, wishes he had realized its value then. Then when he was still with her, when she was young and vibrant and so full of life. He loved her, loves her still. Loves her even as her soul passes through his other brother's domain on its way to her last home. Why didn't he do it then? He would have bowed to her, a mortal for a mortal. Why hadn't he?
Oh, gods! He wishes he had! Then, they could have shared all the human time the Fates gave them, and they could make memories that meant something because their time was always running out. And they could have aged together and become old together. They could have looked back on their short lives and recalled the days when they were young and thought they had all the time in the world.
He could have held her as she lay dying.
But this hadn't seemed possible then, hadn't seemed reasonable or even sounded like a choice. He had offered her power and eternity. Why hadn't he offered less time for her? He happily would have done so. At least, he would now.
Take me back, he cries and wishes Zeus or Hades would. Take me back so I can be true to her. So I can choose time over godhood, so I can spend the rest of her life with her. So, I could spend the rest of mine with her.
This is the value of human life, of mortal love. There is so little time. No time for second chances, no time to find a love like Sally Jackson and consider coming back later. He dabbled in the mortal world and paid the price. He met Sally Jackson, let her go, and lost his chance.
He is only a god, only knows the sins of gods. To find, to touch, to let go. And to only feel regret when it was too late.
"Poseidon! Poseidon!"
He slowly draws out of his reverie to see Athena standing before him, her gray eyes fierce and stormy. Her expression is as proud and expressionless as ever, a stone mask covering whatever it is she feels, if she has any feelings to hide at all.
He hardly spares her a glance.
"You fool," she spats, approaching closer to where he holds his vigil. "Pathetic and sad. Zeus will mock you an eternity for your pitiful state."
"Zeus mocks what he does not understand. He has no interest in feeling regret or remorse as I do now. He knows not what these mean."
"Because Zeus has pride."
Poseidon assumes it's a jab, but he is hardly offended. "Then, I pity him." If this explanation is true, and Athena indeed has pride, then Poseidon pities her too.
"I don't need your pity," Athena says, reading his mind. "But you could do with some pride."
He shakes his head. "I don't want it. I treasure the pain I feel. Instead of pride, it grants me humility. It makes me feel closer to the mortals."
"Is that who you wish to be close to?"
"Some of them, yes."
Athena purses her lips, and it's the most reaction Poseidon has gotten out of her so far. "You wish you could have been close to Percy's mother."
"I love her."
"I thought she married a mortal."
"She did. He was good for her."
"You let her go."
"Maybe. There was nothing I could give her to keep her with me." He smiles to himself, the first time he has all day. "She wanted sacrifice, and I couldn't do it."
"You are an Olympian."
"And before the Olympians were the Titans. You're the goddess of wisdom. Don't you think it's foolish to assume we will reign for an eternity? Are we not as fragile as our forefathers? Can we not crumble to as thin a dust? Let our ichor spill from our thrones? Could our children not replace us?"
No. He knows the answer to that. Their children are mortal. They understand time and age and love and once-in-a-lifetime opportunities. They didn't waste those things.
But Athena looks out upon Olympus's horizon, face set, considering. "Perhaps. I have considered this myself, but such thoughts lead to a dark conclusion I am not sure I am prepared to wrestle with. We could very well be defeated and replaced as swiftly as you, Zeus, and your siblings defeated and replaced the Titans. But the fact of the matter, Poseidon, is that we have not been defeated yet. For now, we still stand. For the time, we rule over Olympus and this earth, and it is for us to decide what we do with that power. Would you abandon that power?"
He didn't then. But now … He knows he would have. That's the terrifying part. If he'd consulted an oracle and had been shown the unbearable pain that would come to wrap its dark fist around his heart and drown his immortal being with regret, he would have abandoned everything for her. If he'd known he would never be able to get over her, never be able to forget her …
No, he should have known.
Or, maybe he did.
It doesn't matter now.
For now, Poseidon has an eternity to drown mortals in his anguish and misery as he searches the very ends of his own seas for a remedy to the broken heart that will never heal. He has an eternity to search the lands for a mortal who might capture his heart as she had and find a woman worthy to bear his child once again. He has an eternity to meet the gazes of mortals who will fall for him, to think for a second that he sees her joy in their eyes or her kindness in their hands or her strength in their composure. He has an eternity to meet mortals, get to know some, to pretend he is tempted, to wait for the one who will heal his heart and sing to him like a siren.
This is the true tragedy, he thinks. That he has endless days to search for another, for the second chance in a lifetime that will never come …