26. War against Time.
The atmosphere in the infirmary immediately became tense when Michael Yew entered, his face flushed with anger and his eyes filled with frustration. Damian, still lying on the bed with a pale face and slow movements, raised a confused gaze toward the son of Apollo.
"I can't believe it!" Michael exclaimed, gesturing vehemently. "The Ares cabin pulled out! They don't want to join the battle! Clarisse and her people refuse to fight!"
Damian blinked, trying to grasp Michael's words through the feverish haze. His foggy mind took a moment to understand what was happening.
"They... don't want to fight?" he murmured, his voice weak but incredulous. "But... why?"
Michael stopped for a moment to look at him, frustration evident. "Because they're stubborn, and Clarisse is throwing a tantrum for some stupid reason! They don't get that without them, we're doomed!"
Damian lowered his gaze, his heart heavy with the news. He had never been particularly close to the Ares cabin, but he knew how crucial they were in battle. Their support could have made the difference.
Will entered the room shortly after, probably drawn by Michael's shouting. "Michael, lower your voice. Damian needs rest," he said, in a firm but not angry tone.
Michael rubbed the bridge of his nose, trying to calm down. "Sorry, Damian," he said, though his voice still betrayed a hint of exasperation. "But it's ridiculous. We need them."
Damian tried to lift himself a little from the bed, but Will stopped him immediately. "Don't exert yourself," he gently warned.
"Maybe there's a way to convince them," Damian whispered, in an uncertain but determined tone. "Clarisse isn't bad. She just needs... a reason to trust again."
Michael scoffed, but didn't respond. Will gave Damian an encouraging look, then escorted Michael out of the room, leaving Damian alone with his thoughts and the hope that somehow everything would work out.
Damian turned in bed, clenching his fists against the sheets. The news of Grover's disappearance hit him like a bolt from the blue.
"How could this happen?" he murmured, his voice cracked with a mix of worry and frustration. "Grover... he's always been so careful. It's not like him to just disappear."
Will, sitting beside him with a calm and reassuring look, tried to soothe his worries. "Grover is strong, Damian. He's a scout, he knows how to take care of himself. I'm sure he'll come back."
But Damian couldn't find comfort in those words. "I should be out there doing something," he said, clenching his jaw as he tried to lift himself from the pillow. The movement made his head spin, and Will was immediately by his side, placing a hand on his shoulder to help him lie back down.
"Damian, no," Will said in a firm but gentle tone. "You can't help anyone if you risk your health. You need to trust Percy, Annabeth, and the others. They know what to do."
Damian lowered his gaze, his cheeks flushed not just from the fever, but also from shame. "I feel so useless," he whispered. "Everyone's doing their part, but I... I'm just a burden."
Will shook his head, grabbing a chair and sitting beside the bed. "Stop saying nonsense, Damian. Even the strongest need to rest and recover. And trust me, everyone here appreciates what you do. You're not a burden, never."
Damian remained silent, Will's words slowly making their way through his insecurities. Even though the fever kept him there, inside he promised himself that once he felt better, he would do everything he could to help Grover and the others.
Despite the fever and his body feeling as heavy as lead, Damian made his way through the chaos. The commotion in the camp was palpable: shouting, commands being bellowed, demigods running with weapons in hand, their faces marked by determination or fear. He moved slowly, hiding behind carts and blending into the groups heading toward the battle.
He carried Thalia's spear, shortened for more discreet transport, the celestial bronze knives gifted by Chiron, and his unknown father's bracelet on his wrist. He felt his heart pounding, but it wasn't just because of the fever: the idea of fighting, not knowing what awaited him, terrified and exhilarated him at the same time.
"I can't stay behind," he murmured to himself. "I can't be useless while the others risk their lives."
Manhattan loomed ahead, the city an intertwining of lights and shadows, with the distant sounds of battle vibrating in the air. Damian knew he had to be careful: he wasn't at his best, and the chances of being overwhelmed were high.
He approached the bridge leading into the city and stopped, watching the demigods lining up in formation. His legs were trembling, but he gritted his teeth. "There's no turning back now," he thought, taking a deep breath and moving forward with the group.
He wasn't sure if anyone had noticed or recognized him, but he hoped they hadn't. Damian was determined: he would find a way to help, no matter the cost.
Damian moved almost in a trance, following the path laid out by his visions. Every step brought him closer to Olympus, through a city devastated by war. He hid from the monsters patrolling the streets, holding his breath every time he heard heavy footsteps or guttural voices nearby. He wasn't ready to fight; he knew that. He just had to get there, guided by the invisible thread that pushed him forward.
When he looked up, he realized he was already at Olympus. His heart stopped for a moment at the sight of the sacred place reduced to rubble. Destroyed statues, broken columns, and the sky itself seemed to reflect the tension of the ongoing battle.
Then he saw them. Annabeth was on the ground, pale and covered in blood, her hair scattered around her face. Percy was in front of her, holding his sword tightly, his face marked by determination.
But it was Luke who captured all of Damian's attention. He was standing a little further away, holding a dagger, a look of torment in his eyes. Damian couldn't understand what was happening, but time seemed to slow when Luke moved the dagger.
"NO!" Damian shouted, the sound broken and desperate, as he saw Luke collapse to the ground. The dagger was bloodied, and Luke held a hand to his chest, his breath labored, and his eyes turned toward the sky.
Damian ran toward him without thinking, his heart pounding and his eyes filled with tears. The only sound he could hear was his own breathing and the deafening beat in his ears. "Luke!" he cried.
He knelt beside Luke, tears streaming down his face as his chest shook with sobs. He tried to stay calm, but it was impossible. The person he had always considered a brother was about to leave him forever.
Luke, his breath growing more labored, looked at him with a gentle smile, the same smile Damian remembered all too well. "Don't cry, little brother," he whispered, his voice barely audible. "Everything will be okay. My action will protect you."
Damian shook his head, his heart shattered. "No, I don't want you to go. I can't lose you too."
Luke weakly raised a hand, but Damian, determined, took it and guided it to the left side of his face, the side he had always hidden behind his hair. For the first time, Luke revealed what he had never shown to anyone.
The hair shifted, revealing a long scar that started from his forehead, crossed his eyelid, and curved toward his ear. The left side of his face bore the marks of an ancient battle, but what struck Damian the most was the eye: golden, gleaming like a gold coin in the sun, so different from the other.
Luke looked at him with awe and tenderness. "My sweet little brother," he murmured, his voice growing fainter. "No matter where I go, I'll protect you... wherever I am."
With those final words, Luke's breath stopped, and his hand slipped from Damian's.
Damian remained still for a moment, his face streaked with tears, unable to accept what had just happened. He bent over Luke, holding his now cold hand, and cried, his pain echoing through the ruins of Olympus.
In that moment, under the starry sky that bore witness to the end of a battle and the sacrifice of a hero, Damian understood that the pain would stay with him, but Luke's words would accompany him forever: a memory of love, protection, and courage.
Damian's scream rose high and heart-wrenching, resounding like a powerful echo throughout Olympus. The earth beneath them shook violently, as if responding to the unbearable pain pouring from the broken heart of the boy. Statues and columns wavered, some chipping, while those present on Olympus froze, their faces marked with surprise and concern.
Damian, overwhelmed with despair, collapsed against Luke's still chest, tears sliding down his face uncontrollably. His small figure trembled as he held tightly to the now lifeless body, desperately searching for warmth that no longer existed.
"Don't leave me... please," he whispered between sobs, his words muffled by the rumbling of the earth beneath them. "You can't go... not you."
Percy and Annabeth watched him, their hearts heavy. Percy took a step forward but had to stop when another tremor shook the ground. It was as if Damian's pain had awakened something ancient and powerful, an energy no one could understand.
Annabeth, despite her injuries, tried to approach, but each movement required extraordinary willpower. "Damian..." she called gently, trying to reach him with her voice.
Damian didn't respond. It was as if the world around him had vanished, leaving him alone with his pain. His hand tightened around the fabric of Luke's shirt as he continued to sob, his shoulders shaking with despair.
An unnatural silence fell over Olympus, broken only by the boy's crying and the dull sound of the earth still trembling. It was a moment of mourning, but also of fear. Something deep had stirred, and no one knew what would happen next.
Damian was like an empty shell, unable to react as Percy gently lifted him. His body, still weak from fever and stress, seemed to weigh much less than usual. Percy held him tight, trying to protect him from the chaos surrounding them.
Damian offered no resistance, but his eyes were filled with tears, his gaze fixed on Luke, now motionless. Percy felt the weight of Damian's pain but said nothing. He knew that, in this moment, words wouldn't make a difference.
As they made their way through the devastated Olympus, Annabeth, injured but determined, followed closely behind. The silence that surrounded them was heavy with emotions. When they reached Chiron, the centaur greeted them with visible concern.
"Damian..." Chiron murmured, noticing the boy's condition. Percy passed Damian gently into Chiron's arms, as if afraid he might break him.
Damian barely had time to recognize the familiar presence of the centaur before the world around him dissolved into an enveloping blackness. He faded away, leaving behind the painful reality and the chaos of the battle.
Damian was trapped in a feverish fog, unable to move or open his eyes. His body felt like lead, but his mind clung to the sounds around him.
"He's still so weak..." Will's voice was tense, filled with worry. "He's been through too much, and the fever shows no sign of letting up. I don't understand how he's holding on."
"He's strong," Simon replied, just as anxious. "But no one should carry this burden alone, especially a child."
Another voice, calm and solemn, joined the conversation. It was Chiron. "Damian has faced things that even many adult heroes couldn't endure. The loss of Luke, the battle, all while already in critical condition... we must be patient and give him time."
Damian heard movement nearby, then Annabeth's sweet but firm voice. "We should never have let him go. He wasn't ready, and now look what's happened to him..."
"Annabeth, it's not your fault," Percy replied, closer. "Damian made his choice. He has incredible courage, but... yes, we should have protected him better."
Damian's heart ached hearing the regret in his friends' voices. He wanted to speak, reassure them that it had been his decision, that they shouldn't blame themselves. But his body wouldn't respond, and all he could do was listen to the fragments of their conversation, the warmth of their concern wrapping around him like an invisible blanket.
Damian found himself in deep darkness, a place where reality seemed suspended. Before him appeared the female figure he had already seen in his visions, an aura powerful and serene, radiating comfort and wisdom.
"I feel your pain, little one," she said gently, her voice like a whisper in the wind. "Hermes' child... you were very close."
Damian felt the knot in his throat tighten, he sobbed softly and nodded, unable to find the words. The memory of Luke was still too vivid, too painful.
The deity knelt beside him, brushing his face with an ethereal and gentle hand. "Oh little one, perhaps it will comfort you to know that the son of Hermes has made it to the Elysian Fields. His soul is safe and he has found peace."
Damian paused, the sob dying on his lips. "The Elysian Fields?" he whispered, finally finding the strength to speak.
The woman smiled tenderly. "Yes, Luke made a great sacrifice, an act that redeemed his spirit. You need not fear for him, he is in a place of eternal serenity."
Tears fell again on Damian's cheeks, but this time they carried a sense of relief mixed with pain. "Thank you..." he whispered, his heart feeling a little lighter.
The deity tilted her head, her figure gently fading into the darkness. "You will find your way, little one. Your light shines even in the deepest darkness. Never stop fighting."
And with those words, Damian found himself wrapped in silence again, the comfort of the revelation still warm in his heart.
In the infirmary at the Camp, the silence was broken only by Damian's slow, labored breathing. Annabeth sat beside him, her face tense and her eyes filled with worry. She hadn't left for a moment, watching her friend as if her gaze could offer him protection.
It was then that she began to hear the screams from outside, a voice that was familiar to her, filled with anger and despair.
"Where's Damian?! I want to see him now!" Thalia was shouting, her tone making the walls of the Camp tremble.
Annabeth ran a hand over her face, exhausted. She knew she couldn't ignore Thalia and decided to intervene before the children of Apollo became the target of her fury. She stood up and left the infirmary, finding Thalia practically pulling one of the healers, while Zoe stood just behind her, visibly worried.
"Thalia, calm down!" Annabeth exclaimed, placing a hand on her friend's shoulder. "Come with me, I'll take you to Damian, but you have to promise to stay calm."
Thalia hesitated for a moment, then nodded. Zoe stepped closer in silence, with the same tense expression.
The three entered the infirmary. As soon as Thalia saw Damian, pale and motionless on the bed, all her anger disappeared. She slowly approached, kneeling beside him.
"Oh, Damian," she whispered, her voice breaking as she gently touched his hand. Zoe moved closer, looking at Damian with an expression of sincere sadness.
"How is he?" Zoe asked softly but directly.
Annabeth crossed her arms, her face full of concern. "The fever's going down, but he's still very weak. Will says he's improving, but it'll take time."
Thalia lowered her gaze, gently holding Damian's hand. "It's not fair. He shouldn't have ended up here, not in this condition."
Zoe moved even closer, placing a hand on Thalia's shoulder. "He's strong, Thalia. We all know that. He'll get through this too."
The three of them stayed silently beside Damian's bed, sharing the weight of their concerns in that moment.