The Last Olympian

rest. We’ve moved your parents’ car to safety. The enemy seems to be staying put for now. We’ve set up bunks in the Empire State Building. Get some sleep.”
    “Everybody keeps telling me to sleep,” I grumbled. “I don’t need sleep.”
    Chiron managed a smile. “Have you looked at yourself recently, Percy?”
    I glanced down at my clothes, which were scorched, burned, sliced, and tattered from my night of constant battles. “I look like death,” I admitted. “But you think I can sleep after what just happened?”
    “You may be invulnerable in combat,” Chiron chided, “but that only makes your body tire faster. I remember Achilles. Whenever that lad wasn’t fighting, he was sleeping. He must’ve taken twenty naps a day. You, Percy, need your rest. You may be our only hope.”
    I wanted to complain that I wasn’t their only hope. According to Rachel, I wasn’t even the hero. But the look in Chiron’s eyes made it clear he wasn’t going to take no for an answer.
    “Sure,” I grumbled. “Talk.”
    I trudged toward the Empire State Building. When I glanced back, Rachel and Chiron were walking together in earnest conversation, like they were discussing funeral arrangements.
    Inside the lobby, I found an empty bunk and collapsed, sure that I would never be able to sleep. A second later, my eyes closed.
    In my dreams, I was back in Hades’s garden. The lord of the dead paced up and down, holding his ears while Nico followed him, waving his arms.
    “You have to!” Nico insisted.
    Demeter and Persephone sat behind them at the breakfast table. Both of the goddesses looked bored. Demeter poured shredded wheat into four huge bowls. Persephone was magically changing the flower arrangement on the table, turning the blossoms from red to yellow to polka-dotted.
    “I don’t have to do anything!” Hades’s eyes blazed. “I’m a god!”
    “Father,” Nico said, “if Olympus falls, your own palace’s safety doesn’t matter. You’ll fade too.”
    “I am not an Olympian!” he growled. “My family has made that quite clear.”
    “You are,” Nico said. “Whether you like it or not.”
    “You saw what they did to your mother,” Hades said. “Zeus killed her. And you would have me help them? They deserve what they get!”
    Persephone sighed. She walked her fingers across the table, absently turning the silverware into roses. “Could we please not talk about that woman?”
    “You know what would help this boy?” Demeter mused. “Farming.”
    Persephone rolled her eyes. “Mother—”
    “Six months behind a plow. Excellent character building.”
    Nico stepped in front of his father, forcing Hades to face him. “My mother understood about family. That’s why she didn’t want to leave us. You can’t just abandon your family because they did something horrible. You’ve done horrible things to them too.”
    “Maria died!” Hades reminded him.
    “You can’t just cut yourself off from the other gods!”
    “I’ve done very well at it for thousands of years.”
    “And has that made you feel any better?” Nico demanded. “Has that curse on the Oracle helped you at all? Holding grudges is a fatal flaw. Bianca warned me about that, and she was right.”
    “For demigods! I am immortal, all-powerful! I would not help the other gods if they begged me, if Percy Jackson himself pleaded—”
    “You’re just as much of an outcast as I am!” Nico yelled. “Stop being angry about it and do something helpful for once. That’s the only way they’ll respect you!”
    Hades’s palm filled with black fire.
    “Go ahead,” Nico said. “Blast me. That’s just what the other gods would expect from you. Prove them right.”
    “Yes, please,” Demeter complained. “Shut him up.”
    Persephone sighed. “Oh, I don’t know. I would rather fight in the war than eat another bowl of cereal. This is boring.”
    Hades roared in anger. His fireball hit a silver tree right next to Nico, melting it into a pool of liquid metal.
    And my dream changed.
    I was standing outside the United Nations, about a mile northeast of the Empire State Building. The Titan army had set up camp all around the UN complex. The flagpoles were hung with horrible trophies—helmets and armor pieces from defeated campers. All along First Avenue, giants sharpened their axes. Telkhines repaired armor at makeshift forges.
    Kronos himself paced at the top of the plaza, swinging his scythe so his dracaenae bodyguards stayed way