Hope was always something that Percy never expected to run out of. He was strong, and brave, and people thought him a hero— But here, in the second war he’d fought, The Second Giant War, his hope was thinning. He didn’t know where his friends were— if they were still alive, he didn’t know where his sword was, or his armor. But he did see the giants, the monsters, the horrors he watched his allies face whilst he sat useless amongst the sand, with breathing short and heavy, he could hear his heart beat in his eardrums.

His eyes were heavy with exhaustion as he watched a blurry figure run up to him, a sword tight-gripped in their hand. He didn’t move. He was giving up.

Until a hand met his back with a humbling shove, forcing him up and grabbing his hand, putting the sword into his sweaty palms. You. You wouldn’t let him give up, of course you wouldn’t.