Jason thrived in Elysium. It was like the heaven of the Underworld was never ending, growing according to the people that came to live here. Sometimes it felt too big, but in the few months he knew it had been since he had died at the hands of Caligula, he had seen many old friends greet him.

Elysium was always sunny, a light breeze always comforting when Jason stepped outside. The sky was always blue, and everyone in the afterlife of heroes was happy.

There were hundreds of places a person could go if they got bored, though. There were millions upon millions of food options, and a recreation center on every block you could walk. There were agoras reflective the ancient Greek culture scattered all around Elysium, and despite the massive size of the place, Jason was never alone.

He had his own equivalent of a mansion that had been given to him upon his arrival. If the patterns he had noticed were correct, the more heroic somebody was, the bigger their living quarters. Even the dastardliest of the heroes in Elysium got beachside luxury apartments. Jason was fortunate that the judges had been kind and he was given a mansion, right next to the one of Luke Castellan.

Luke had been Jason's closest friend since he arrived in Elysium. He spent more time at Luke's place than at his own, which was always bustling with friends just like him.

Even now, he walked and talked at a slow pace with the son of Hermes. Luke would pause every few minutes, and introduce Jason to another hero he knew. Michael Yew, then Selina Beauregard and Charlie Beckendorf.

Jason did miss his old friends, though. News had reached him that Apollo had finished his task of restoring the oracles and was sent back to Olympus, but he still visited his demigod children often. Jason had smiled at the news, knowing full well that Apollo would not forget his experience soon.

Jason and Luke walked, chatting quietly. He would occasionally get a few stares due to the massive wounds all over his body, seeing as the spear mark never went away, and the shirts he wore were constantly soaked with blood. It never hurt, though, as much as he would probe the wound out of curiosity. Luke, too, had a wound, on his shoulder, a dark mark against his orange camp T-shirt. Many of the other heroes had wounds as well. He saw a young man with a dent in his skull above his left ear and a young woman with terrible burns all across her body, face hardly recognizable.

Luke and Jason were sitting on a stone wall not far from a massive shopping mall when a large, burly man dressed in a simple white tunic and purple cape came up to them. He had gray hair stemming from his temples, but eyes that looked lively. The man had a clever smile stretched across his lips, reddish-brown hair and beard covering most of his face. He had a small puncture wound on his chest, but it was not terribly bloody or noticeable.

"Hello, boys," he said.

"Odysseus," Luke responded respectfully.

Jason started, but Odysseus gave him a reassuring smile. "You must be Jason. I know your namesake, actually, but I must admit he's not as good looking as you."

Jason raised an eyebrow, but didn't say anything. "Thanks, I guess." He felt like he had to say something, so he did. "I've heard a lot about you."

Odysseus laughed loudly. "Quite the charmer, aren't you, son of Zeus?"

Jason almost retorted with a claim to Jupiter instead, but Luke nudged him when he opened his mouth, shaking his head. Jason shrugged.

Odysseus kept talking, intelligent eyes seeming to pierce right through the boys. "You must be new around here, Jason. I don't think I've seen you before. Nasty wound you have there."

Jason chuckled lightly, the hulking warrior making him uneasy. "Reborn and evil Roman emperors tend to get on my nerves."

Odysseus snorted. "Tell me about it." He turned and found a comrade of his, walking alone.

The man was maybe in his late twenties, but had a face and eyes that had seen centuries. He wore golden armor, a helmet tucked under his arm. A sword was sheathed at his side, but that didn't make him seem any less dangerous. He had jaw-length wavy golden-blond hair, and green eyes like a shallow ocean. He was not smiling, rather looking at Jason with frightening intensity. Jason almost asked who he was, until he saw the arrow sticking out of the man's heel, dripping blood.

Jason tried not to stare at the legendary warrior Achilles, but it was hard not to. His features looked so clean and pristine, almost like he was fake. Then, Jason realized, maybe he was. His eyes that held centuries seemed dead, face worn down as if he was waiting for something he knew would never come.

Odysseus clapped Achilles on the back. "Stop being such a pessimist, Achilles! We have newcomers. This one," he gestured to Jason, "Is a child of Zeus."

Achilles narrowed his eyes at Jason, opening his mouth to speak. "The gods took everything from me. Once I was a trusting person, you know. No longer."

The warrior hero turned and walked away. Jason stared after him. Odysseus laughed. Luke and Jason stared at the wise hero, gazes curious.

"Achilles has been wallowing in self-deprecation and guilt ever since he got here," Odysseus said. "It has nothing to do with you."

"Why?" asked Luke. "I only met him when I went to the Styx, and he told me virtually nothing. Just something about how his arrogance killed him."

Odysseus' smile faded. He looked after Achilles. "When Achilles was alive, he was vibrant with life, not like he is now. Now he will spend eternity here… in guilt."

"What is he guilty of?" Jason asked.

Odysseus turned his gaze back to the boys. "You have heard Achilles' story, correct?"

"Yes," Jason replied. "His mother was a sea nymph, Thetis, and when he was called to fight in Troy, she hid him among a group of young women to keep him safe, until you found him and brought him to fight. After years of fighting, Agamemnon insulted him, took his bed-slave, and Achilles refused to fight, until Hector started killing his men. Achilles killed Hector and dragged his body around on the back of his chariot, until he gave the body back to Hector's father, Priam, and Paris killed him."

Odysseus looked angry. Jason feared it had been something he said. "Not all of that is true," the hero said. "Yes, Agamemnon insulted him and took his bed-slave, but Achilles never slept with her, and he didn't kill Hector because he killed his men." Seeing the faces of confusion, he continued. "Hector had already killed many of his men. Another man, named Patroclus, begged Achilles to fight when he refused to, and then Patroclus donned Achilles' armor and led the armies of Greece for him. Hector killed Patroclus, and Achilles went into such a rage that he overflowed the river of Troy with blood and bodies."

"Why have I never heard of Patroclus?" Luke said. "If he was as important to the war was you say, why does nobody know his name?"

Odysseus sighed. "Patroclus and Achilles were lovers, so when he died, Achilles wanted their ashes to be intermingled so they would be buried together. When Achilles died, the ashes were put together. I…" Odysseus lifted his eyes. "Achilles had a son, named Pyrrhus, who refused to put Patroclus' name on the gravestone. Patroclus came to me when I slept, asked me to put the name on the stone, so I asked Pyrrhus, not wanting to mark his father's grave without his permission, but he refused, said it would taint his father's legacy with the name of an unimportant commoner."

Jason and Luke exchanged glances. The king of Ithaca was distraught, and not knowing what to do, Jason kept talking. "Did you know Patroclus?"

"I did," Odysseus murmured. "He was good, kind, honest. I understood why Achilles loved him so much, and he didn't deserve the fate he got. As far as I know, his soul is still tied to the world of the living, but it has been so long that nobody knows his name anymore to put his name on the stone. Achilles has been mourning for the last three thousand years, living in constant guilt of letting his beloved go out onto the battlefield as a resort of his arrogance at not coming to terms with Agamemnon."

Jason's eyes flickered back to the solitary figure in the distance that was Achilles. He had no idea what the hero was feeling, and wasn't sure if he wanted to know. Three thousand years of guilt and what-ifs were enough to make someone go mad. And now, he had no hope of seeing his lover again.