DEAR LEO...


Dear Leo,

Jason says it's useless and counterproductive to my psyche to write to a dead person, but I don't believe him. I don't think I'm wasting my time, here, with a pen in my hand and your toolkit beside me; I don't believe you're dead. How can you, after all we've lived, shared, vanish in a blinding burst of light like a bolt from the blue? But I should know: you always liked spectacular exits.

Nico didn't feel the familiar tear in his navel, a symbol of death, and that to me is a sign of hope. Because I'm still hoping for your return, looking impatiently at that vast celestial immensity in which I lost you forever.

Isn't that right, Leo?

You'll show up one August night, perhaps along with the shooting stars, and sneak up behind us unsuspecting people roasting marshmallows on the fire. You used to love marshmallows.
You'll be there, your face blackened by flames and charcoal, but with that wicked smile painted on it that I loved to see.

Oh, Leo.
I miss you.

Here at the camp, life would not be the same without your jokes, which brought a smile even in the most disparate situations; without the sound of the anvil beating the iron of your new project, like a heart pumping furiously. Without your cheerful, carefree voice coordinating house number 9, or the smell of burning that suddenly came from the flames that rose languidly over the flat surface of the lake, and frightened the water lilies that lived there.

I remember in my mind every little moment we spent together, even the most insignificant one: it makes me feel closer to you. Do you remember when we used to sit together in the institute canteen, before we discovered our nature as demigods? I used to enjoy listening to your chatter, always so full of enthusiasm, despite the fact that fate has done nothing but turn its back on you.
Or on the Argo II?
Those afternoons spent on the bow of the ship, talking about the weather, friends, life, death.

The most beautiful memory I have of you, Leo, is enclosed in a frame, kept safe from prying eyes in a mahogany box, given to me by my father.
In the photo, you smile at the camera as you embrace me, making me feel protected and loved. It was the day of the Argo II's launch, and you were so proud to have made it all by yourself!
It was there that you kissed me on the cheek and whispered softly in my ear: «You're my best friend, Piper,» mispronouncing my name as a joke. I held back tears of joy, I'm still a warrior. I hugged you, in front of us the unknown awaited us, a war bigger than us to fight. I inhaled your smell at the top of my lungs. You smelled of freshly baked biscuits, of sweat and coal. You smelled of home, as warm as the midday sun.

Please, Leo, come back to us.
To me.

Percy rarely smiles, and when he does, it's only for his girlfriend, Annabeth; Jason tries to move on, but he's in pain, and too much so. Frank and Hazel almost feel guilty for what happened, even though they had nothing to do with it.
«We could have stopped it!» they say. But how, when only your soul knew what you were up against?
Reyna is still the same, icy queen. She didn't know you well, or rather, she remembered you as the mad Greek demigod who bombed her city, but even she, deep down, grieves for your fate.
Nico and Hazel are finally reunited; they are trying to make up for lost time.

As you may have deduced, the two camps now live in peaceful tranquillity, and indeed, we are trying to build a route that will allow us to reach New Rome very quickly.
In a few days, Jason will be leaving, ready to fulfill his duties as praetor. I will follow him. I will be sad to leave Camp Half-Blood, the places where I left a part of my life. To no longer see the water lilies trying to sink the canoes of Aphrodite's daughters, or to no longer participate in the Flag Hunt.
It seems like a century since the last time we played it, you and I, as a team, together. They called us the Invincibles.

And now Leo, who will be half the medallion you gave me the day before the final battle? Simple, no one.

No one will be able to fill the emptiness that I feel every time I think of you, an emptiness that oppresses my chest, takes my breath away.

If you find this letter wet, know that it is the fault of the September rain. I'm a daughter of Aphrodite, damn it! I can't cry for love! That would be inconsistent. Others should be crying for me. It should be you, here, on your knees, praying for my forgiveness, while I strike you, venting my anger on your body. My bitterness, my suffering.
No one will ever feel those icy pangs in their stomachs, when in the first months after you disappeared, I would turn to ask your advice, to laugh with you about a situation, and realize that you were just a bit of smoke in the leaden New York sky. A ghost, a semblance of happiness.

As I write this I am standing in front of your grave. You will be happy to know that it was built entirely by your brothers.
Stone on earth, a pile of copper instead of a corpse.
I also added a bed of crimson flowers: I know how much you liked red. You said it was the color of victory, of your passion for Calypso.

Calypso...

You're a liar, Leo Valdez. You broke your oath. First Percy, then you.

What will she think, sitting on the seashore, every second, every minute, every day, every year spent waiting for a vain promise? Have you not thought of that?

But that's enough lecturing. You're dead, you won't be able to change your actions, and try as I might to believe it, you won't be coming home.
Ever.

I love you, Leo Valdez. You were the brother I never had, the father who never stood by me.

This letter will rest among the geraniums and gardenias, soaking up your essence.

I am sure, Leo, that we will meet again in the Elysian Fields. And there, nothing will ever part us again.

Love,

Piper