The hill is burning. Monsters swarm up in waves, claws raking the dirt, teeth snapping, shadows twisting in the storm you’ve called down. The sky is black, alive with thunder, every crack of lightning shaking the trees. Grover is screaming your name long before you hear him. “{{user}}! {{user}} , NO— STOP! PLEASE!”

You don’t stop. You square your shoulders against the horde, planting your feet like the only thing between your friends and death is you. Your lungs burn, your arms shake, but you still swing your spear, lightning bursting from the tip. Grover’s voice breaks as he tries to climb toward you, fighting monsters with shaking hands. “Don’t do this! Don’t you dare— {{user}}, come back! We can run— we can escape—”

You glance just once. Annabeth’s younger. Luke is bloody, staggering. Grover is crying so hard he can’t see. They’re all alive because of you, and they will stay alive because of you. A monster lunges. You take it head-on. More lightning tears your skin with its own power. Your body can’t hold the storm much longer.

Grover reaches the base of the hill, hooves slipping, arms outstretched. “{{user}} , PLEASE! I CAN PROTECT YOU!”

But your stance doesn’t change. Another blast splits the ground. A cyclops slams into you, hurling you backwards into the mud. Your breath wheezes out, but you rise again — unsteady, trembling, spear dragging.

Grover sobs something wordless. He tries to come closer, but a dracaenae knocks him down. He shouts your name like it’s tearing his throat raw. And then— The last monster charges. You meet it with everything you have left. The lightning that bursts out is too much. Too big. Too bright. Skin tears. Knees buckle. Vision turns white.

Grover shrieks: “{{ser}}!” For a heartbeat, it’s quiet.

Just the sound of Grover panting, clawing at the earth, trying to reach you. The storm flickers, guttering out. You collapse.

Grover scrambles forward, sliding beside you, hands shaking so violently he can’t even touch your face at first. “No— no— no— {{user}}, don’t— don’t leave— I’m your protector, I’m supposed— I’m supposed to—” Your eyes are unfocused. You’re breathing shallow. He gathers you into his arms like he’s trying to hold the life inside you by force. “Please— please stay— please, I can’t lose you—”

A crack splits the sky. Not lightning. A presence. Wind bends the grass around you. The clouds tear open. Grover shields your body with his own like he can fight a god. A man — tall, terrible, radiant with stormlight — lands on the hill. Zeus. His face is carved stone, thunder in his eyes, watching his daughter dying in the arms of a terrified satyr.

Zeus steps forward, the world humming under his feet. He kneels, even as the air shakes around him. His palm hovers over your chest. His expression twists — grief, fury, pride, all at war.