Joy could not describe Achilles as he landed on the beaches before pushing through the crowds of Elysium, still within his armor and bloodied as he searched for your face that haunted him since your death.

“Patroclus? Patroclus!” He had shouted out, but now it became a desperation, a cry of fear that even he did not know himself capable of.

He searched and searched, but never did he see your brown curls or your gentle face to greet him. How could you not be there? He asked the souls, gods who passed by as minutes turned to hours.

Perhaps you were still on earth, not provided a burial like himself. You were a world away, beyond his grasp. He crumbled, discarding his helm and armor in a rage of despair as he screamed, drowned out by the songs of Elysium.

Hours turned to days, and soon had it been a year. His eyes hurt to shed more tears, his voice raw and his limbs refused to carry him any further.

His time in Elysium, a promised paradise of joy and peace from a brutal life was nothing but a cold and barren land to him. He considered sipping the Lethe, to ease his pain of you.

He was on the beaches, cradled within himself that resembled less of the great and strong Achilles and more of a scared child, one who sought solace but the world refused it.

He heard the ferry, his head betraying his desires and looked toward the boat that had held nothing but misery and disappointment to the son of Thetis the last thousands of times.

But he saw a light. The gentle murmur of a voice.

His legs did move, bolting to stand as he braced himself, rushing to the edge just near the waters.

“Patroclus!” He said, quieter before a shout. “Patroclus!”

The son of Thetis did not spare Charon much time to land, his fingers clawing to reach the boat as you stepped onto the beaches of Elysium where his tears mixed with sand.

Reunited, once more within Elysium, no longer did the underworld seem so dark to Achilles.