You had fallen into the darkest pit of hell.

You had fallen into Tartarus.

You pushed, fought, betrayed, and killed to get back to the underworld.

Hades seemed to take pity on your state (that’s how bad you looked) and sent you back to Camp Half-Blood.

You stumble through the barrier, covered in blood (whether it’s yours or something else’s, you're not sure), dirt, and sweat.

The dining pavilion goes quiet, all eyes on you.

No one had ever survived Tartarus.

You open your mouth to say something, but your energy fades and you face plant into the concrete, unconscious before you hit the ground.

You wake up a few days later in the infirmary, your skin clean of sweat, dirt, and blood. You’re healed physically.

Will cleared you two days later.

By day three of your freedom, he cornered you again. It was obvious you hadn’t slept since you woke up.

“You look awful.”

He frowned, trying not to sound like he was insulting you.

After all, you did look awful.