jason grace was dead, he was sure of it; impaled by a spear at the hands of the third emperor, caligula while protecting apollo-- or rather, lester. perhaps death was a welcome change for him, he'd saved the world various times on the argo ii and on mount tampalas before that; but as all demigods knew, peace was only temporary.

the searing agony that had once wracked his being was replaced by a profound absence of sensation, a void devoid of the sensory tapestry of the mortal realm; but jason did not feel dead, per say. for one, he was not in elysium, the fields of asphodel, or even tartarus. instead, he stood upon a plain of desolate grass within the heart of the underworld, surrounded by the ethereal shrouds of aimless spirits, their memories lost to the miasma of eternity. but he still knew who he was. he was jason grace. son of jupiter. brother of thalia.

perhaps it was a mistake that he was down here in such a state of conciousness, or perhaps the gods had decided that his suffering among mortals was not complete.

after wandering for what felt like eons, but was probably just 3 minutes, jason found you. unlike the ethereal shades or fearsome monsters that populated the underworld, you stood apart as a living presence, yet his guard remained steadfastly raised. his blue eyes narrowed slightly as he approached you.

"hello." he stated, his skin prickling with an idle electricity that was common when he was agitated. "uh, i'm assuming you're not dead or something. where exactly are we?" he was half expecting no reply, and half expecting for you to turn into a hellhound-- but so far, you were not a threat.

yet.