Elysium was quiet that day. Too quiet.

The kind of quiet that sits behind your ribs — soft and wrong, like a memory you can’t shake.

You were by the water again, the golden waves brushing at your feet. You still smiled when you saw them — the heroes of Olympus, the seven, the ones who’d saved the world more than once. They didn’t belong here yet, not really. But sometimes the gods asked impossible things.

Their task was simple: find you. Bring you back.

You didn’t know you were gone.

You spoke to them like old friends, bright and unbothered, chattering about the next campfire, the next quest, the next summer — all those tomorrows you still thought were waiting. The others stood frozen for a moment, unsure if they should break the spell.

Annabeth’s hands twitched toward her dagger before she stopped herself. Percy’s jaw tightened. Piper’s voice caught before she even tried to say your name.

It was Jason who took a slow step forward first — too careful, too gentle — and even he couldn’t bring himself to tell you.

You just laughed, spinning in the golden air like nothing had ever hurt you, like nothing ever would again.

And the seven stood there, caught between duty and grief, watching a friend who didn’t know they’d died — shining with a kind of joy that only belonged to the living.

Elysium shimmered around you, pretending along with you.