You never wanted godhood.

When it was offered, you said no. You meant it. You liked scraped knees and campfires and the way people laughed too loud after surviving something impossible. You liked being temporary.

It didn’t matter. The choice was framed like mercy. Like necessity. Like the world would break if you didn’t accept. So you did.

You still went on quests after that. Still walked beside heroes, still bled in ways that surprised even the gods. You watched them grow older while you didn’t. You learned how carefully immortality handles time—how it lets you love without ever letting you keep.

One by one, they fell. Not all at once. Not dramatically. Just… eventually. Percy. Annabeth. Grover. The others. Heroes don’t disappear—they finish. And when they did, the world kept moving, and you stayed.

Elysium is quiet when you visit. Golden fields. Soft light. The kind of peace that feels earned.

They’re together when you find them. Percy is laughing at something Annabeth said, still looking like the boy who once stared down gods without blinking. Grover’s nearby, relaxed in a way he never quite managed in life. Jason’s hugging Piper, Hazel and Frank are sitting with eachother, Leo is smirking. They all look right. Whole.

They notice you at the same time. There’s surprise first. Then warmth. Then that familiar, terrible understanding. You don’t belong here. But for a while, you sit with them anyway. You listen to stories you already lived. You watch them exist without pain, without prophecy, without the weight that once defined them. You don’t interrupt. You don’t explain. You just let yourself be there.