A/N: Some Minor Changes to this. I realized that I had the time frame wrong. Oops, sorry. :( Feeling the shame right now. I also found a map of Camp Half-Blood, so what Pandora sees is changing a little bit, too.

Anyway, I hope you enjoy. Please Review.

Tim e loses all meaning in Hell. For most of the damned, there's no fricking way out. Once trapped, time doesn't matter. Only the masochistic wonder just how long it had been since they had even a glimpse of light, but most of us just settle with the pain we already have instead of creating more.

I guess that means Luke and I do enjoy our own pain then. We would like nothing more than to ignore the passage of time, carry on reliving the worst moments of our lives. However, because we alone have that chance of getting out of this hellhole, we keep up with the years. He joined me just under two years ago, and he sent me here (Well, he killed me. If I had just stopped him, or let him die, I would not be here.) almost three years before that.

I wonder what the world is like now. My mother must know I'm dead, and my friends must, too. There was this guy I really liked. I wonder if any of them know where I am now. I would give anything just to see their faces, but I know that, even going back, I won't be able. I'll have to create a new identity and, with it, a new life with which to make amends for my mistake. I'm dead to them and, for the moment, to myself. I wonder if they hate me. I wouldn't blame any of them. I hate me.

Across from me, I can see Luke's face. I can see the pain etched into lines around his mouth and eyes. He keeps the company of guilt and regret, same as I do. Every flinch of his multiplies my own hurt, knowing that if I had stopped him when I had the chance, the horrors of his memories would never have been. Though he committed the deeds, each and every life lost has become my responsibility as well. Each of us has an equal weight to bear.

Five years. Five years since grass, since sunshine. Five years without clouds in the sky. Five years without a gods-blessed breeze. Fiveyears without speaking. Watching Luke's face is the most human contact I get, although I suppose we are better described as wraiths. Five years, and I wonder how much longer.

Not long, apparently.

Hades's aura precedes him into our little fenced-in section of the underworld, which, overall, looks like a grid containing the worst offenders of the underworld. Luke and I share a glance before getting to our feet as quickly as possible, which actually is not that quick, considering that we had been sitting for a very long time. In any case, it will not do to be sitting when Hades arrives. He does not appreciate not being shown "the proper respect." I suspect that he has big brother issues.

The guards on the watchtower of the barb-wire fence salute as the darkest of all gods walks through our gate. The hem of his robe brushes over the black polished shoes crunching on the water-less soil. I can see the faces of the damned embroidered into his black clothing and imagine hearing their faint screams. He stops immediately before us, glaring down, black eyes revealing nothing of his purpose.

"Niece, nephew." His mouth twists into a small smirk as he gives the address. I wonder if he thinks he is honoring us by referring to us as family or if he is silently laughing at the idea.

"Uncle." Luke and I answer in the same dubious tone. We are unsure; a visit from Hades rarely bodes well.

"Follow me." As Hades turns on his heel and strides of the enclosure, we follow. It has been so long since I have left the Fields of Punishment. I actually have not been out of them since I passed through judgment the day I died, but today, tonight, or whenever it is, I am almost there, almost to some sort of freedom. I do not slow my pace as we pass flowing volcanoes that sear Luke's and my face with heat or the hellhounds that never stop chasing their targets but spare a snap of their jaws for us or any of the other various tortures that Luke and I never endured but suffered for the lack of. Yes, I would have rather endured walking through a cacti patch naked than think of my errors for eternity. The pain would have been less.

I take my last step (hopefully) and leave the Fields of Punishment. Even the insufferably bland Fields of Asphodel are a relief after that place. Across the black grass, I can see what must be our destination. The Palace of Erebos, center-point of the kingdom of death, is barely visible. Firelight flickers from windows and reflects off the jewel-fruits in the garden, but the walls are obsidian and fade in with the darkness of the cavernous underworld.

Hades marches up the stone path, mounts the stairs, and sweeps through the grand double doors of burned-black wood into his residence, with me on his heels and Luke a few feet behind me. Our little group stops in the foyer, where a fire burning at the far end casts light on the mirrors glittering all around the walls. I find the abundance of reflective surfaces unusual; Persephone does not like her appearance at all in the winter, when she stays here. The Lord of the Dead stands in front of the fireplace, and his silhouette seems to glow as he announces,

"The time has come." Excitement bubbles up in my stomach. This could really be it. I could be going back to the glorious misery of my life as a demigod. I am getting light-headed.

"The two of you will return to protect my son. He is facing a graver peril than he knows and will need some, ah, extra assistance," Hades's continued speech screws up my moment. I glare at him.

"How exactly will we provide this 'assistance'?" I put as much attitude as I could into the question, which is not easy considering that I am back-sassing a god. The malicious grin that crosses his face then unnerves me. My hand go on my hips as I meet Hades's gaze evenly. He does not back away, not that I really expect him to do so.

"It really is cute that you think the two of you will stay together." I am aghast. Not only has Hades, Hades for the gods' sakes, just said "cute" but also revealed that Luke and I are to be separated. Even though I hold no great love for my murderer, I need someone to watch my back, and I know Luke will never betray me- again. His guilt is enough to ensure that. Suddenly, I hear a voice from my back and to my right, so familiar. I have not heard that tenor since it apologized insincerely for killing me. Luke is speaking, lightly, almost pleasantly,

"Not together?"

Hades turns to face us at last.

"No, not together. You will be of better use to me separately. Now, if we may get down to business?" I have never liked Hades when he is cold and calculating. I would much rather face angry gods; they tend to make mistakes, which means that demigods tend to live. This god in particular does not wait for our response; he continues with his business, as we knew he would, regardless of our preparedness.

"Niece." He turns his black-eyed gaze on me. "I believe you will go first." This does not, of course, sit well with me. I want to know what is going on right now.

"Where am I going, Uncle?" I put as much derision into the last word as humanly possible.

"That is for me to know," he pauses for dramatic effect, even though I know what is coming, "and for you to find out, but before you go..." He stretches an unnaturally white hand forward, allowing a single cold finger to press against my forehead. I feel a sense of power razing through me from the point where he touched me to the bottom of my soles. If I were not dead, I probably would be shaking from physical shock.

As Hades retracts his hands, I extend my own. They have retained their shape, but the coloring seems off, like they are paler by a shade or two. Out of the corner of my eye, I can see Luke regarding me with the slightest interest. I turn to face him and, in doing so, catch sight of a mirror.

I am paler- much paler. My blue eyes have darkened to straight black, and my previously fair hair matches them in color. I no longer resemble my father. In fact, I look much more like Hades. The mirror girl's mouth hangs open, and I shut it for her before rounding on the god.

"What the hell did you do, Hades?" I scream. He only smiles. I am getting really sick of his damn smiles.

"Just a little something to help you fit in," is his sinister reply.

"Why, you-" He cuts me off, shoving a black backpack in my hands.

"Stay in contact. Good-bye now." The room starts fading out, but I am madder than hades.

"Don't you dare!" I get to shriek once before everything is gone.

And, within moments, I can see again. I am at Camp, right outside the Big House, too. Oh, how I missed it! I can remember the nights I spent on the porch, talking to Chiron about fate and destiny. The stars… do they still look the same? I start to turn to see, but now I can feel again. I have a body. I have skin. I have weight.

The strangest feeling in the world after four years of death is realizing that you have substance. I can breathe, and I do, feeling the muscles of my lungs contract and the rise of my shoulders as air rushes down, filling me with my first new taste of air. It is warm, meaning it is summer, and heavy. It is too thick. I am not used to it. The pressure outside my regenerated body is too much as well. My eyes start to ache; my ears follow soon after as the silence pushes on them. The world begins to spin. Colors blur. Through my failing vision, I am still able to see the lights cut on and swamp the porch as the door to the Big House opens. The harsh white hurts eyes that are not used to color. I hear the soft clip-clop of hooves as a large figure moves to shield me from the pain. Then there is a gasp.

"It can't be- Pandora Dayton! You're supposed to be dead!" I am surprised he recognizes me with the makeover my "uncle" gave me.

"Chiron." I have enough strength left to acknowledge my former mentor before I collapse completely.

In, out. In, out. Breathing is not that difficult, almost natural. One in, one out. I can do this. I want to. I want to live, to be me again- right after I finish with Hades's brat. Still breathing, I crack one eye open. Chiron is looking down at me from his seat in the wheelchair. I am glad to see the old thing.

"You're supposed to be dead," he tells me sternly. He does seem to be rather stuck on that point.

"I can't say I died on purpose, although I wasn't exactly opposed to coming back." I say drily. The centaur inhales sharply. Only at that moment do I realize that my death might not ever have been confirmed. Up to this, it was all speculation.

"How?" Chiron whispers, and I know he if referring to my return. He seems in awe. I suppose awe is fair enough. Nobody has ever come back from the dead, per say. One or two have attempted it (and failed, I might add.). A few more from Elysium have been reborn, but Luke and I are to be the first to ever come back, with Hades's blessing. (Lucky me! Can you feel the sarcasm?) In response, I shrug my shoulders, then smile at the natural feeling of bunching muscles.

"Can't really say. I sure wasn't expecting the transition to be that rough, though." I move my arms experimentally, savoring the sturdy cotton weave against my skin. I shift, getting into a position that will allow me to sit up.

"And the change in appearance?" I grunt, pushing down on my hands, using my abdomen and upper arms to force my torso to rise from the camp cot, and grin at the results. It would seem I am self-sufficient. For once, Hades made good on his word. Making eye contact with Chiron, I swing my legs over the edge, careful not to get tangled in the sheets.

"That," I say, enunciating clearly to express my displeasure, "would be something to take up with Hades." I wink as Chiron looks at me in slight exasperation at either my antics or my making a deal with the devil. I brace my hands against the metal cot frame, shove, and manage to stand to my obvious delight. On my feet and under my own power feels marvelous. Now, he really appears aggravated.

"Pandora, I really-" I am sure he is about to warn me about being too active, too soon, but, at the moment, I really do not care. Anyway, there are more pressing issues. I hold up a hand to stop him.

"Chiron. I don't think I'm Pandora anymore." He looks at me like my return from the afterlife has addled my brains. "Listen to me. No-one should know of my return. I have a task, of sorts, which would be best completed in anonymity. Maybe after, I can be me again, but being Pandora now would be dangerous." All of which is completely true, but I am not exactly thrilled at the prospect of running into old friends. That Chiron recognized me easily enough makes me nervous. I do want to see the people I left behind, but I do not want them to know of my past. Chiron nods.

"Very well. If not Pandora, then who are you?" I think for a moment before smiling.

"Hope. Hope Lethe." Cheesy, but fitting. My mentor seems to think the same.

"Really, Pan-" He pauses to adjust to my chosen name, "Hope? The river of forgetfulness?" Now it is my turn to nod.

"Well, Miss Lethe, I assume then that you will not be assuming your place as part of the Hermes cabin?" The thought of not being with my family saddens me, but I nod again.

"Understandable, I suppose. You understand that we will place you with them for the time being, as an unclaimed newcomer within the camp?"

I respond with a "Yes, sir." I briefly wonder if I will be claimed at all or simply left in the Hermes cabin. I like the sound of the latter, even if it means a spot on the overcrowded floor.

"I will call a guide for you. Then, you may depart the Big House." I smile widely. As much as I adore the house, I am excited by the prospect of seeing what changes there are in the rest of the camp. I start walking toward the door, amazed by the blood flowing through my calves.

"Thank you so much, Chiron."

He calls to me, stopping me in the doorway. "And Hope, you may find it best if you come back later so that we may discuss," he pauses as though looking for the right words, "recent events." I nod enthusiastically as a show of my sincerity.

"Yes, Chiron. I look forward to it."

The white-painted walls of the house create a clean, open atmosphere, making thinking and breathing seem easier. As I walk the hall, I muse over Chiron's mention of recent events. What happened in my absence? All l know is that Luke's evil plot failed, or so I assume because the guy was dead. I think it is a logical assumption.

The thought of Luke brings up more questions. If not with me, where is he? What is he doing? And, for that matter, what am I doing? Hades did not explained a lick of anything. I guess that means I'm on my own then, but, at the moment, I cannot care less. All things in their time, and, in the meantime, I am enjoying living.

It is amazing simply to be walking around, feeling my body function, and the familiar sights are just icing on the burnt offering. Granted, all I have seen at this point is the infirmary, which was a little too familiar, a passing glance of the conference/ping-pong room(I smile at seeing cards and one plastic cup littering the green tabletop. ), the hallway, and now the inside of the door leading to the porch. A little trepidation fills me at the idea of going outside, but I am a demigod. Apprehension of the unknown is no stranger to me. Having my body back is not enough; I have a new life to live. My hand reaches out to gently turn the cold brass doorknob and swing the door inward.

One step takes me across the threshold. Cool morning air immediately smacks me in the face. I had been right the night before; it is summer. The grounds sport springy green grass that grows unhindered by the normally excessive rains. The wind gusts fiercely, causing the fabric of my clothing to press against my form and billow out behind me, and for the first time, I wonder how I am dressed.

Looking down, my sight seizes on my favorite color. I grab the orange fabric and bring it up to my nose, deeply inhaling the scent of cotton and strawberries. The long-sleeved T-shirt bears the words στρατόπεδον ήμισυς αίμα τό. Camp Half-Blood. When I lived, I had made the shirt design myself. Because of the heat during the summer, not many campers liked long-sleeved shirts, whereas I felt the style moved better, and I found reading English obscenely difficult, even for a half-blood ( or three-quarters or whatever); so, the shirt was mine alone. Despite its being mine, I had never gotten to wear the garment; the night I died I had laid the shirt out on my bed to wear for the first time the next morning. I was touched Chiron had thought to have me wear it, despite the dangerous tie to my previous life.

I am about to throw my new life away, even as get to begin enjoying it. The thought sobers my uncharacteristic giddiness. I understand that my time is borrowed. I am here to make atonement for my sins. I should be happy at that prospect; not everyone is so lucky. So, I will go through with what is probably an impossible task and make my reparations, but that does not mean I cannot enjoy life while I have it. Still, I lean against the porch railing, staring across the landscape and remaining properly morose.

From my vantage point, the activity areas- the stables, armory, arena, etc.- only show the wear that comes from age, but Camp has definitely changed. To the northwest, the forest shows vague signs of a battle, a smaller density of old trees in one section. East of the forest, more cabins than usual appear, unless my counting has gotten worse. There has to be at least twenty, no longer in a circle but instead taking the shape of a Greek omega. I wonder why. Nothing ever happens at camp. That is why demigods go to the outside to complete quests. But what has happened now, and exactly how much has changed since my death?

The sun is rising now. It seems I was not out very long after my collapse; I always was an early riser anyway. The sunrise, at least, is the same as I remember. Pale orange coats the ground as pink tendrils reach into the white heavens, creating a sherbet panorama, but all too soon the colors fade until nothing is left but gold and green of early summer morning. I can hear the world as it awakes with the coming morning: birds chirping, leaves rustling, and hinges creaking on cabin doors as their occupants commence their daily routines.

The great yellow orb tops the trees before some kid rushes up the steps and darts right up to the door, which is when he notices me. The boy turns, taking his hand back from the doorknob as the corners of his mouth twitch upward in the ghost of a smile.

"Otsatspedou imisys aima to? I've never seen that shirt before."

Glad that he noticed my shirt but wary at the same time, I decide to play my cards safely. I make my mouth the opposite of his.

"Neither have I." The half-a-grin disappears, and he makes a small step towards me.

"Are you new here?" Another step.

I begin playing with my hair, hating its dark color.

"Yes."It is my first time in a new life, so a half-lie, maybe, but still true.

"Do you know what it means?" He paces closer still.

I assume he means the shirt, but, really, of course I know what it means! I am, after all, a semigod (if self-proclaimed). Huffing unnoticeably, I try to hold back my indignation as I answer,

"Camp Half-Blood."

The boy looks a little surprised but lets my slip go as I start cursing myself silently. Stupid, I tell myself. I had just told him I was a newbie, and then I let it out that I can read Ancient Greek. Stupid, although I do not think he will press the matter. Poor guy looks uncomfortable with human contact. Then again, I am too, so no judgment here. The kid, who looks no more than fourteen, stands with a quiet confidence, and I get the feeling that he tries to stay unnoticed. He seems to be analyzing me.

"I'm Nico di Angelo. Chiron told me I was supposed to show someone around. Is that you?" Our eyes, the same smoldering color, match the other's gaze. Without taking my eyes off his, I nod, saying simply,

"I'm Hope." I stick my hand out first, and he grasps it, giving a short, strong shake. We let our hands drop back to our sides.

"So…" Nico drags out the word, "I guess if we're going to do this we had better get started then." He gestures for me to go down the stairs first. I do, practically buzzing in my excitement to be in the open air. He follows, still talking,

"Um, this is my first time doing this, so I guess I'll just take you around, and you can ask questions as we go." The way he says it, I know his decision is finite. Not bothering to pause, he takes off, heading along our bank of the river.

Hope you liked it. I already have about another three pages written, but I'd like to add some more before posting. With love, PenNameless1994.

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