The Last Olympian

sapling, Annabeth and I went around trying to cheer up the wounded. I passed a satyr with a broken leg, a demigod who was bandaged from head to toe, and a body covered in the golden burial shroud of Apollo’s cabin. I didn’t know who was underneath. I didn’t want to find out.
    My heart felt like lead, but we tried to find positive things to say.
    “You’ll be up and fighting Titans in no time!” I told one camper.
    “You look great,” Annabeth told one camper.
    “Leneus turned into a shrub!” Grover told a groaning satyr.
    I found Dionysus’s son Pollux propped up against a tree. He had a broken arm, but otherwise he was okay.
    “I can still fight with the other hand,” he said, gritting his teeth.
    “No,” I said. “You’ve done enough. I want you to stay here and help with the wounded.”
    “But—”
    “Promise me to stay safe,” I said. “Okay? Personal favor.”
    He frowned uncertainly. It wasn’t like we were good friends or anything, but I wasn’t going to tell him it was a request from his dad. That would just embarrass him. Finally he promised, and when he sat back down, I could tell he was kind of relieved.
    Annabeth, Grover, and I kept walking toward the palace. That’s where Kronos would head. As soon as he made it up the elevator—and I had no doubt he would, one way or another—he would destroy the throne room, the center of the gods’ power.
    The bronze doors creaked open. Our footsteps echoed on the marble floor. The constellations twinkled coldly on the ceiling of the great hall. The hearth was down to a dull red glow. Hestia, in the form of a little girl in brown robes, hunched at its edge, shivering. The Ophiotaurus swam sadly in his sphere of water. He let out a half-hearted moo when he saw me.
    In the firelight, the thrones cast evil-looking shadows, like grasping hands.
    Standing at the foot of Zeus’s throne, looking up at the stars, was Rachel Elizabeth Dare. She was holding a Greek ceramic vase.
    “Rachel?” I said. “Um, what are you doing with that?”
    She focused on me as if she were coming out of a dream. “I found it. It’s Pandora’s jar, isn’t it?”
    Her eyes were brighter than usual, and I had a bad flashback of moldy sandwiches and burned cookies.
    “Please put down the jar,” I said.
    “I can see Hope inside it.” Rachel ran her fingers over the ceramic designs. “So fragile.”
    “Rachel.”
    My voice seemed to bring her back to reality. She held out the jar, and I took it. The clay felt as cold as ice.
    “Grover,” Annabeth mumbled. “Let’s scout around the palace. Maybe we can find some extra Greek fire or Hephaestus traps.”
    “But—”
    Annabeth elbowed him.
    “Right!” he yelped. “I love traps!”
    She dragged him out of the throne room.
    Over by the fire, Hestia was huddled in her robes, rocking back and forth.
    “Come on,” I told Rachel. “I want you to meet someone.”
    We sat next to the goddess.
    “Lady Hestia,” I said.
    “Hello, Percy Jackson,” the goddess murmured. “Getting colder. Harder to keep the fire going.”
    “I know,” I said. “The Titans are near.”
    Hestia focused on Rachel. “Hello, my dear. You’ve come to our hearth at last.”
    Rachel blinked. “You’ve been expecting me?”
    Hestia held out her hands, and the coals glowed. I saw images in the fire: My mother, Paul, and I eating Thanksgiving dinner at the kitchen table; my friends and me around the campfire at Camp Half-Blood, singing songs and roasting marshmallows; Rachel and me driving along the beach in Paul’s Prius.
    I didn’t know if Rachel saw the same images, but the tension went out of her shoulders. The warmth of the fire seemed to spread across her.
    “To claim your place at the hearth,” Hestia told her, “you must let go of your distractions. It is the only way you will survive.”
    Rachel nodded. “I . . . I understand.”
    “Wait,” I said. “What is she talking about?”
    Rachel took a shaky breath. “Percy, when I came here . . . I thought I was coming for you. But I wasn’t. You and me . . .” She shook her head.
    “Wait. Now I’m a distraction ? Is this because I’m ‘not the hero’ or whatever?”
    “I’m not sure I can put it into words,” she said. “I was drawn to you because . . . because you opened the door to all of this.” She gestured at the throne room. “I needed to understand my true sight. But you and me, that wasn’t part of it. Our fates aren’t intertwined. I think