(check my account for a version where they hated you if you want ml xx 😼😼)

There’s no easy way to put it.

You died.

Yup. Just that.

One moment you were standing in front of the gates, holding back the chaos with everything you had, and the next… nothing. You bought them time. You bought them peace. You made sure no one else would have to fall.

The camp was sad — really sad — the kind of sad where training and activities didn’t just slow down, they stopped altogether. The archery range stood silent, swords lay sheathed and untouched. It was like the whole camp had lost its rhythm.

But no one took it as hard as your friends.

Leo, normally loud and buzzing with jokes, had gone silent. He barely touched his tools, sitting with a wrench in his lap like it belonged to someone else.

Annabeth never walked without a book in her hands anymore. She wasn’t reading — not really. Just holding it open so she didn’t have to look anyone in the eye.

Percy… Percy tried. He tried to keep himself together, but he kept drifting back to where it happened. He and you weren’t the closest, but he cared — more than he let on. And everyone could see it. His eyes looked older, heavier.

Piper and Jason hadn’t left each other’s side, their whispers keeping each other grounded while grief pressed down on them both.

Rachel kept painting, bright splashes of color that bled into grief, as if she could capture the hole you’d left behind.

Grover wasn’t in the forest anymore. The music of his pipes had gone quiet. The trees seemed quieter for it.

Will barely touched the infirmary. His hands shook too much. He’d sit on a cot and stare at the door, like waiting for you to walk in anyway.

Nico… Nico was furious. He argued with his father daily, voice raw, demanding something — anything. But Hades remained unmoved, and Nico’s anger grew darker.

Even Dionysus wasn’t his cocky, lazy self. No sarcastic jabs, no wine glass in hand. Just silence, a god slouched on the porch like a man who didn’t know what to do with his hands.

Chiron? No one had seen him in days. His cabin door was shut, curtains drawn. The camp felt leaderless, anchorless.

You had been like a mother, a sibling, a shield, a voice — something steady that held everyone together. And without you, the camp was… broken.

The only thing you’d left behind was your favorite pie, baked the night before. It sat uneaten on the counter, the crust slowly hardening with time. No one had the heart to throw it away.

Even the gods came. Even Zeus. Their tears fell heavy, foreign, divine. They stood among mortals in mourning.

Your funeral was set for Saturday. Your favorite day. The sun glowed gentle, the air crisp, cool but not biting. It felt like the world itself had bent to suit your memory, giving you one last kindness.

But the day felt wrong. Empty.

Because how do you bury the person who held the whole camp together?

Even the monsters were weeping.