Disclaimer: Not mine.

I don't know where I am.

Or rather, I know where I am, but the world has changed - one moment camp is empty and grey but for the people who are bright splotches of vivid colour breaking up the monotony and the next everything is as normal, but muffled, distorted, as though I am underwater.

The two ways of seeing the world are overlapping, giving me an odd sort of double vision. I knew instinctively that what I was seeing was the world from two different viewpoints - as if I were alive and as if I were dead.

It was hard to focus through the confusion, but I knew I had to learn to focus despite the headache it was undoubtedly going to give me. I was still a part of the seven. Annabeth was still in danger. I have a role to play in the war to come, and I refuse to let Gaea win just because I couldn't deal with whatever shitty hand fate had dealt me this time.

I cautiously uncurled from the foetal position that I had unconsciously assumed when the bombardment of colours was too much for my eyes, adjusted to Tartarus as they were.

I'm in the Amphitheatre, and going by the nauseating swirl of colour that greeted me, so was just about everybody in camp. All the seats were filled. In the center, a shroud was being burned.

My shroud.

I guess it shouldn't have come as so much of a surprise. The guilt that I had seen in my father's eyes had probably resulted in sea storms all across the world, which was probably enough of a hint. Even without that, there was still the Argo II, as Annabeth, Bob and Damasen had probably told the others of my death. They in turn probably Iris-Messaged camp, if Dionysus hadn't told Chiron before that. So it really was logical to imagine that all my friends - and family, crap, Mom and Paul - were mourning me.

It still came as a shock.

The last time I'd walked into my shroud burning, I'd been fine. Oh, I'd blown up a volcano and accidentally set the bane of Olympus free, but I was still alive.

Now I wasn't.

It really hit home. Not that I was dead, I was really very aware of that thanks to my suddenly-really-vivid memories, but that even if I managed to function as a member of the Seven, I could never go back to my mortal life. The Fates couldn't bring back the dead, and sooner or later they'd cut my string.

My life was over.

I would never hold Annabeth in my arms again. Never kiss her. Never hug my Mom or exchange manly handshakes with Paul.

That part of my life was gone, like it or not.

And I didn't like it. At all. It wasn't fair. I wasn't supposed to die, and now I'd never get my life back. Anger began to rise up in me. I pushed it back, and looked at the campers to distract me.

None of them seemed to notice me, which I guess is a side effect of technically being dead. I snapped my fingers in front of their faces and jumped around a bit as well though, just to make sure. I stopped when I accidentally kicked someone's chair - and my foot went straight through. I decided to just look around.

From looking at the world as though I were still alive, everything the same but muffled - I think I'll call it the lifepoint, short for living viewpoint - I could hear Chiron talking about my life and quests, who I was and all that stuff. I guess it was him because Annabeth wasn't here this time.

I could see that nearly everyone was crying, even the newer campers. Odd, they hardly even knew me. Oh well, I guess that's what people do for their saviour - as big-headed as saying that made me sound.

From looking at the world as though I was dead - in what I now dubbed the deathpoint - the world was bleak and grey, except the people. But they weren't the normal colours. They were different, and I knew it meant something. So I tried to figure it out.

They seemed to be random, the colours, and I looked at them for ten minutes before giving up to the sharp pounding of a headache and let myself slump against the wall. With my eyes closed and no longer focusing on the colours, I began to pay attention to what Chiron was saying once again.

"Percy Jackson was perhaps the greatest hero to ever attend this camp. Not just because of his various - and numerous - accomplishments, but because of his loyalty, bravery and chivalry. Some of you won't remember, but camp used to only have twelve cabins, one for each of the Olympians. We owe the fact that all the minor gods as well as Lord Hades and Lady Hestia are recognised with cabins and thrones to him. Thank you, Percy Jackson."

I grinned as I remembered that day. The look on Zeus' face had been priceless as I turned down immortality. The grin faded a bit as I wondered if that had been a mistake. If I'd accepted immortality then I'd still be alive.

Then I thought about the happiness on the kids faces as they were claimed, and how several minor gods had approached me after the Titan War before Zeus had shut down Olympus offering thanks and aid if I should ever need it. Nah. I did the right thing.

I sighed and pushed myself up from the wall. Looking around me, I paid attention to the colours. There had to be a way to figure this out. I just had to be logical.

I looked at Chiron's colours, and ignored the others. There were quite a few mixed in there. The most prominent ones - the overtones, I'm going to call them - were a dull lifeless grey. That was one thing that most of the people here seemed to have. I wondered what it meant, but dismissed the thought. I'd figure it out.

Chiron's less obvious colours, the undertones, were a deep impenetrable black, which sort of reminded me of a grave. The whole thing was interspersed with gold. I looked away as I felt the sorrow coming off of it. Then my eyes widened.

The undertones seemed to be a description of who Chiron is. The black means mystery, because although everyone knew that Chiron was a trainer of heroes, what else do we know about him really? Black was also referring to the amount of death Chiron must have seen, training heroes who only die time and time again. Gold means illumination, not literally but figuratively pointing to his teaching, as one can consider the passing on of knowledge as lighting the minds of those learning. Gold also means wisdom, which would make sense as he's bound to be wise after almost three thousand years of life.

My mouth dropped open and I sank to the ground. I can see who people are. Bloody hell. That could be useful, although I still haven't figured out what the overtones mean. Still, it'll come to me eventually. I snapped back to reality when I saw the people leaving. I guess my funeral is over.

I stood up and followed Chiron back to the big house in a daze. I guess I was in shock. I can't seem to process anything anymore, it was just too much. I walked behind him numbly. How am I supposed to help beat Gaea when I can't even affect the real world? I can't even talk to anyone. I could see this becoming old fast. Especially if I had to watch camp being attacked without being able to help.

For that matter, how am I supposed to find the Argo II? If I'm still a member of the Seven then that's probably where I'm supposed to be. It's not like I can just walk to Greece.

Chiron entered and closed the door before I could slip in behind him. Unable to stop myself in time, I moved towards the door fully expecting a painful collision only to fall straight through. I shuddered violently. This dead thing was going to take some getting used to.

The centaur walked through the house slowly, finally stopping in the kitchen. He shrunk back into his wheelchair, pulled a beer can - a beer can!? - out of the fridge. He opened it up and I watched in disbelief as he started sipping it. As he was drinking, he began to cry. Eventually the can was empty and the trainer of heroes rested his head on his arms, weeping silently. I felt awful, like I was spying on something private. Which I was, unintentionally or not.

A flash announced the presence of a god, and Mr D appeared. He took a seat next to the grief-ridden teacher and gently patted his shoulder. "It's okay. The brat - sorry, Percy - is (as cliché as it sounds) in a better place by now."

My eyebrows rose up into my hairline. I knew Mr D did care, if only a little because of the concern he showed for Pollux's life in the Battle of Manhattan, but somehow I never pictured him and Chiron being friends despite the fact that Mr D was sentenced to camp for a century. Which means that they would have to at least tolerate one another on some level, otherwise I seriously doubt Camp would still be standing. Still, I was glad that he was being nice to Chiron. He needed it.

"Why do they always die?" Chiron asked, his voice muffled. "So many died. I know you can't make them all immortal but so many don't even make it to adulthood. It wouldn't be so bad, if they'd lived all of their life, but so many don't get that chance. It isn't fair!" He started sobbing, loud and heartbroken. Dionysus pulled him up and into a hug, letting Chiron bury his face into his chest like a small child seeking comfort.

I backed out of the room. This was a private moment, nothing to do with me. Chiron deserved the peace to fall apart without being spied on.
I started to make my way out of the big house, before pausing in thought. I needed information in order to have an idea on what I am supposed to do. I wonder if the Oracle can still hear me?

Time to visit Rachel Elizabeth Dare.

So, my dear readers, that is another chapter done. Hope you like it, and wish me luck thinking up a rhyming prophecy. Oops! Spoilers.

So goodbye for now, Shib. :)