Hey everybody! And in response...yes, I'm a girl. Haha, you guys got it right! Thanks to OverLordRevan, MarburyBlur, Turquoise Crystal, JuiceBox16, AlbinoMuskrat, AsTheDragonFlies, Athenachild101, and Sophia the daughter of Nyx for your various favs/follows/reviews. And, okay, here's another grief chapter because hey, that's what you're here for, right? :)

PS: I don't remember if Annabeth's stepmom's name is actually Helen. Let's just say it is, for this story's sake. Okay? Okay.

FREDERICK CHASE

Frederick was standing next to his war model, about to place a miniature soldier on the battlefield, when a sharp tapping noise broke the silence.

He turned around and saw to his shock that there was, impossibly, an owl on the other side of his window.

It was a tawny—Frederick could tell from first glance—and its eyes were a beady black. It stared at him with a cold, calculating gaze, as if it was analyzing every move he made, and its wings were widespread and majestic. It was beautiful, for an animal.

It reminded him far too much of Athena.

Shaking himself out of a daze, Frederick hastened to the wall, intending to tap the window and scare the animal away, but the closer he got, the more something tugged at his memory. Something he hadn't thought about in many years. Ever, really.

If I ever need to contact you in the future, I will send a tawny owl bearing my message. It will always find you at the right time and in the right place.

Frederick scrutinized the owl for a moment, wondering whether he should let the owl in or not. If it really was a messenger from Athena, it would be stupid to keep it out and risk the goddess' wrath—or, worse, miss out on a warning she'd sent. On the other hand, if it wasn't, Helen would be horrified. An owl in the house that shed feathers everywhere and could use its claws to maim the kids would never be welcome. He would have to take a gamble and hope he had chosen right.

In a split second, Frederick made up his mind and opened the window.

He half expected the owl to launch itself at his face and slash him with its talons, but instead it perched on the windowsill and held out one claw, holding itself perfectly still with a regal and detached expression on its face. He knew it was an animal, and was technically incapable of making those kinds of expressions, but he had always found owls to be unusually expressive. To him, at least.

Frederick jumped as the owl hooted indignantly, and he could've sworn that it looked down pointedly at its outstretched claw. He followed his gaze and saw a small scroll tied there, with a gray silk ribbon that matched the color of Athena's eyes. He could picture the goddess looking at him in his mind; beautiful, regal and wise.

It won't do you any good to think about her. It was a long time ago. Helen, remember, Frederick told himself sternly, untying the scroll. He couldn't stop his hands from shaking, much to his consternation.

Almost before he had even fully untied the scroll, which felt crinkled and old in his hands, the owl swooped out from under him, one talon grazing his middle finger, and soared away, where it was soon hidden among the clouds.

Ruefully rubbing his hand, Frederick glanced down at the scroll, unfurling it, and read it as quickly as he could. Though he knew it was foolish, he hoped against hope that it was a missive from Athena detailing how she wanted to meet him, to see how he was getting along. He missed her so much.

Frederick,

Since you are reading this, I gather that you remember what I told you long ago, concerning what I would do if I ever I had need to contact you.

That need has arrived, though I am grieved for the reason.

I know our daughter, and I know how she feels about family. When last you saw her, I greatly doubt that she mentioned she was about to participate in a war. A war against a primordial force that has never been subdued by demigods in history. The earth itself.

Much happened in this war, and I am pleased, however minimally, to say that Gaea, the Earth Mother, was defeated. You are lucky that you were not part of this. I know that you would have wanted to help, but do not be offended when I say there is nothing you could have done.

But I digress. The point of this letter, the point of all this, is a horrifying one that I hoped never to have to deliver to you in such a way. Frederick, despite everything, I still care for you. I wanted to spare you this pain, but I felt you deserved to know: Annabeth is no longer on this earth.

She and Percy Jackson fought bravely, but they were worn out and it was not enough. Gaea has birthed strange things, and Annabeth and Percy's lack of experience with them, combined with their drained strength, was not enough. I am sorrier than you could know, Frederick. I loved Annabeth very much. She was one of the bravest and wisest of my children. I could not hope to have another like her in millennia.

Annabeth and Perseus now reside in Elysium, the home for those who lived a truly good life. They are both quite deserving of it, and they will never again face a trial such as those they overcame on earth.

I know it may seem harsh for me to be so blunt. The truth is—I know no other way for me to say it. I am usually better than this, but our daughter's death has left me grasping for the eloquence that once came so easily. I have admitted this to no one, not even my father Zeus, but I trust you.

May the gods be with you, as best as we are able.

~Athena

Frederick stared at the letter, then reread it. Once, then again, he read it, and still he dared not fully comprehend the true meaning behind Athena's words.

Annabeth was no longer on this earth? The words made no sense. She was too strong, too smart, too clever, and too brave to be dead! How could it have happened, even in a war? And how could there have been a war without anyone knowing? Surely there was some other explanation, surely Athena was wrong—

Frederick laughed aloud then—a demented, haunted laugh that sounded as if it had come from the mouth of an insane person. Who was he trying to fool? Athena was a goddess, and of wisdom at that. She was never wrong, and she always knew the answer. It was part of the reason why he loved her so much. Athena was perfect in every way, and it still amazed him sometimes that she had chosen him, Frederick Chase. He had never imagined himself to be someone fit for the love of a goddess.

Yet he was. And from their mental union had come Annabeth Chase. His daughter. Our daughter, Athena had written.

As he thought Annabeth's name, a host of images and memories rushed to the forefront of his mind, memories he'd thought he'd buried long ago. Annabeth as a baby, staring up at him with eyes that had an unnaturally hard glint to them for an infant. Annabeth as a five-year-old, already being shunned by her stepmother. All the times Helen had told him that Annabeth was misbehaving, and all the times Annabeth had gotten hurt by a mythical monster. And how he had never done much to help her.

Frederick found himself on his knees, though he wasn't sure how he'd gotten there, and he found himself sobbing, too. Full-out, heartrending sobs, because in that moment he fully understood that he would never see his beloved daughter ever again.

Annabeth was gone. Forever. She was happy and safe; wasn't that what he had always wanted for her? But he couldn't think about that amidst the pain he himself was feeling. He couldn't process any rational thoughts, or even see through the meaningless blur that was his vision. He could only weep for his beloved Annabeth. For the fact that his beautiful and brave girl was…gone.

A breeze blew through the still-open window, ruffling Frederick's hair as he rocked back and forth on the floor like a baby and wept for his daughter.

As if it understood the pain he felt, Athena's scroll brushed his arm, and even the trees outside sighed with the wind. A sigh that mourned Annabeth's loss.