AN:

I wrote this story in about an hour, and I didn't go back through and revise it once. If there are errors, spelling or any other kind, I just missed them and am not going back through to change them. But I'm still publishing this because, even though it's a bit late, some things need to be written.

The sky had turned gray, long before the events that had passed on the present day. Smoke billowed up from fires that dotted the landscape of downtown Manhattan. Mortals were passed out all over the city, in cars, in their homes, and in some cases just lying in the street. The best efforts had been made to avoid casualties, but nevertheless, they were inevitable.

The ravages of battle shown clear, the surroundings of the major war zones would never be the same. Damages could be repaired, but the memories would never go away. Blood and gold dust pooled and piled everywhere. Weapons lay scattered on the ground, like fallen branches. Arrows like fallen leaves. Bodies lay where they died, because it just felt… wrong to move them.

Percy picked his way through the wreckage in a haze, several people approached him, but their words were lost as he walked past. Each time his eyes saw a body, he closed them tightly shut and sped past. Not able to linger any longer.

Prometheus had talked to him about hope. He had used it as a means to try and persuade him to surrender, and while it's original intention was unfulfilled, it was having an entirely different effect. An effect that was far more devastating.

Hope was nearing its end, its pithos had appeared multiple times since it had been given to him. In the car with his mother and Paul, next to the bodies of dead demigods, sat just behind the most recent battle.

Each time, Percy had left it there, hoping that it would somehow disappear.

But it never did, it always came back. Because hope would never abandon humanity, though with the shape it was in, it probably should have left long ago. They had lost territory all the way back to a few blocks from the Empire State Building. The Party Ponies and the death of the drakon had spurred the moral of the fighters, but the deaths and the injuries had brought it back down once again.

Will and his siblings worked furiously to take care of the wounded, and Thalia and Annabeth were desperately hammering out strategies with the other leaders to try and turn the tide of the war. But it was in vain, because though Hope maintained its presence, it's effect was no longer felt.

And it was all his fault. He was the one in charge, people looked to him to guide them, and all he did was lead them to their deaths.

He didn't deserve to lead. He didn't deserve to be the son of Poseidon, the one who would play a part in The Great Prophecy. He was unworthy of all of it. He felt a crushing depression with every thought he took, each new word created a new invisible lash on his back.

He stopped walking, tears had made their way onto his face and slowly flowed down his cheeks. He wiped them away and took a deep breath. There was no one else around him. He had walked away from the main commotion. They didn't bother with guards anymore, everyone was staying as close to each other as possible. The strength in numbers method now being applied at a whole new level. Percy knew he could get back, but somehow he couldn't. Standing among the wreckage that dotted central park, something wouldn't let him leave. Hyperion's tree was visible through the canopy, and the gold monster dust of the monsters coated the trees and turned a small creek a dull, yet sparkly yellow.

Percy followed the water, trying to ease himself with the partially serene surroundings. The tears had already stopped, as if his body realized it's wasting of precious water. The emotions however weren't gone, only temporarily appeased.

He soon found himself at the foot of the huge Titan's tree. Now that it was no longer highly murderous, he found it a calming presence. Reminding him that they at least had the strength to do something.

The grass grew tall around it's base, from which sprouted gnarled roots, which met with the trunk and supported the massive maple. The leaves blocking out the rolling gray clouds.

He sat down on one of the roots, bringing his knees up to his head, he clutched at his skull. Praying and praying that his head would be clear. Though he didn't deserve the praise, people still depended on him. And a new feeling filled him, a determination that he would not let them down again.

But that vibrant fire that so briefly filled him with that precious thing we call hope died out quickly, replaced with a blackened smoking ember. A shuddering breath followed, and the tears returned. Despite the strength of his training and the Achilles Curse, he was brought to his knees by a crippling emotion. Sadness, which worked it's terrible magic to snuff out hope.

But in the embers, there was a small glow of red. And he opened his eyes, in front of him sat the pithos. He could feel hope stirring inside it. A soft hum emitted from it's interior.

He reached out to touch it.

"The sons of Poseidon were always more resilient to the charms that often burden humanity. It would be unwise of you to change that pattern, young Perseus."

In a flash Percy was on his feet, Anaklusmos flaring out into it's beautiful and deadly form. Whirling on the speaker, he saw a sight that didn't line up with the realities that were supposed to be present.

On the highest root of a tree, stood an old man. His hair snow white, contrasting sharply to the black coat, hat, and dark gray scarf that donned his tall, yet thin figure.

He smiled gently and gestured for Percy to lower his sword. The young demigod began to put down the blade, before jerking it back into position.

"Whoa, ok." he wiped his face on the sleeve of his jacket, careful not to catch his nose on any armor. "Who the Hades are you? A Titan?"

The elderly man let out a small chuckle. "No, I am not a Titan. Nor am I a monster, before you ask. At least, not a monster of that sort." He took a few steps, careful not to stumble on the uneven ground. "You can put the sword down, Percy."

Oddly enough, Percy was pretty sure that he could. He capped Riptide.

"You never answered my question." He stated. The sort which demanded an answer.

The man gave a sort of shrug, he stepped closer to Percy. Smiling gently he leaned down, and looked him dead in the eye. Percy didn't step back, he saw what the old man wanted him to see.

His eyes were a vibrant sea green, just like Percy's own. Except unlike Percy's they were worn, tired, and aged. But the still held life, for in them Percy could see a spark of something. That something was hope.

The man nodded to Percy's expression. "Hello, brother." He smiled, widely, full of happiness.

Percy didn't say any words, but returned the hug when the old man tightly wrapped his arms around him. The strength in the frail frame came as a surprise, but it didn't bother him. Despite all that had happened in the last few days, he felt happiness, and, as silly as it may sound, a brotherhood of the sort that men always dreamed they would feel.

The two separated, and the man clapped Percy's shoulders, still smiling. He then led him back to the tree and the two sat down, side by side.

The old man took a deep breath. "This isn't the best time to discover a long lost relative."

"No." Percy agreed.

"You probably didn't even have any suspicion that you had a brother."

"No, not really." Percy felt strange, having such a normal conversation. He was supposed to be in a war. He stared into the middle distance. "Why did Poseidon never mention you?"

The old man considered his words a moment before speaking. "When the great prophecy was announced, it was decided that it was best for all remaining children of the big three to… disappear." He gestured slightly to himself. "And that was that.:

Percy nodded slightly. "I guess that makes sense…" He left it at that.

"You were about to release Hope." The non sequitur was fired directly at Percy, no questioning in his tone, just a direct statement. In a baritone voice that left no room for him to debate.

Percy looked down. "Yes," the voice was quiet. "Yes, I did. I just wante-"

The old man held up his hand, Percy's words died in his throat. There was no anger in his expression, no sadness, no disappointment. Only, in his eyes, an understanding, and once again, a small smile.

"Hope always appears when her trustee is at their most fragile point. It's her way of attempting to comfort them. She appears as a reminder, but unfortunately, a reminder of two things. Of her existence, and that she could be lost at any time."

Percy considered the words, he never quite thought of it that way. He voiced his opinion.

"That's probably because of who told it to you." Percy wiped his head around, his eyes widened in surprise.

"How?"

"Only a Titan would play such a trick. No god would give you the pithos of Hope at a time like this. They have an almost unbearably large instinct of self preservation." The old man's lips turned upwards into another smile. "Well, a large instinct, anyway."

Percy felt it made the most sense to nod.

The old man leaned forward and took the pithos, placing it in his lap. His hands wandered over the patterns, feeling the texture of the pithos and the aura that Hope emitted.

"Hope is weak," he said at last. "Compared to her normal strength." He put the pithos back where he took it from. "You must strengthen it."

"How can I do that?" Percy asked, in a mixture of bitter sarcasm, and legitimate curiosity. And, dare he say it, a touch of hope.

"Hope survives best at the Hearth." The old man said.

The young demigod's brow furrowed. "You mean… the Hearth of Olympus?"

The old man nodded. "Hestia will know what to do with it. Take it to her."

Percy nodded numbly. That small piece of hope gaining strength. "It won't save Olympus though." He said.

THe old man turned his head thoughtfully. "How much do you know about the first Titan war?" He asked.

"Not much." Percy admitted. There had been history lessons at the camp. He never could get through them, he'd tried anyway.

The old man seemed to expect the answer. "Let me tell you a story,: he said. "After Kronos was overthrown, there was resistance, from his siblings and allies. This was the first titan war. The fight between the gods and the rest of the Titans. At the time, no demigods yet existed in the world, so the gods had to do nearly all of the fighting on their own. They spent most of the war, backed up to Olympus' gates. Much like the case now. They fought, their backs pressed to the wall. But they kept fighting, do you know why?"

Percy shook his head.

The old man turned to face him more directly. "Because they had freedom to fight for. More than just power. They finally had a chance to be free. They had hope." With the last three worlds, he used his hand to punctuate each one. "They won because they were stronger than the Titans. Not on brute strength and power, but in their entire basis for their existence. That basis has been passed onto you."

The old man stopped and reached into his pocket. Percy leaned forward to try and see what he was searching for. He finally withdrew a piece of paper. It looked aged, covered in wrinkles and folded up. He opened the piece of paper. It was a photograph. In it was a group of young men. Lined up facing the camera, each of them wearing a uniform.

"This picture was taken of me and my squadron in 1943." The old man said. "Each of us was a demigod, all from different parents. We each brought something different to the team, but as important as that was, it wasn't what allowed us to win."

"You were fighting against Hades, right?" Percy interrupted, needing to set that detail straight.

"Yes. Him and his allies. But that doesn't matter. What does matter is why we were always able to win. It was because when they strayed from their base, we stayed. We stayed strong, kept our ground, and kept our morals. They didn't." He tapped the photograph. "Everyone in this picture made it out of the war alive. I'm the last one still alive." The old man looked Percy dead in the eye. The powerful gaze magnetize Percy to it, and in it he could see the firm expression of a truly good man. A man who had seen all of the world of the last century, and never let it slow him down.

"Don't you dare let an old man's legacy die here, Perseus Jackson." Though only spoken, each word thundered into Perseus head and resonated with every corner of his brain. "Don't let the god's legacy die here."

Percy looked back at Hope, there now seemed to be a glow that filtered out where the lid didn't quite meet the pithos. "But I can't," he said. "I don't know how."

The old man looked at the ground briefly. Then his head rose back up. He blinked slowly and his smile widened. It was warm and kindly in the way that only an old man can be. He lay a comforting hand on his shoulder. And then, once again, he surprised the young demigod. He began to sing.

The man's voice came forth strong and unrelenting, a deep and aged power, vibrating everything that the sound waves passed through. The words woven like poetry, stirring up an orchestra in the mind of every listener. Drawing them further into the song.

In the willow-meads of Tasarinan I walked in the

Spring.

Ah! the sight and the smell of the Spring in Nan-

tasarion!

And I said that was good.

I wandered in Summer in the elm-woods of Ossiriand.

Ah! the light and the music in the Summer by the

Seven Rivers of Ossir!

And I thought that was best.

To the beeches of Neldoreth I came in the Autumn.

Ah! the gold and the red and the sighing of leaves in the

Autumn in Taur-na-neldor!

It was more than my desire.

To the pine-trees upon the highland of Dorthonion I

climbed in the Winter.

Ah! the wind and the whiteness and the black branches

of Winter upon Orod-na-Thön!

My voice went up and sang in the sky.

And now all those lands lie under the wave,

And I walk in Ambarona, in Tauremorna, in Aldalómë,

In my own land, in the country of Fangorn,

Where the roots are long,

And the years lie thicker than the leaves

In Tauremornalómeë.

The thunderous voice echoed off of the buildings, Percy was pretty sure it would easily reach the demigods, and hopeful that it would reach the titans as well. The two were standing now, Hope in the old man's arms, now positively shining from every edge of the pithos.

The ember which had been a dull red minutes ago now flamed brightly and passionately. Tears no longer threatened to fall from his eyes, and long gone was his hopelessness. Now it was replaced with something new, and yet still old. The optimistic bravery that people everywhere saw and loved. The characteristics that Percy had so missed.

Gently the old man handed him Hope. It hummed pleasantly in his arms.

"Now go, Perseus Jackson. Light up the world. The gods are depending on you." The phrase didn't scare him any more.

The old man began to walk away, but Percy called out to him. "Wait!"

He turned back.

"How did you do that? With hope, and me, and the song, and… well everything?" Not the most eloquently phrased question but it will do.

The old man just looked at him a moment. "You'll learn. Eventually." He said and began to walk again.

"Why did you show up. I mean… now. Why not before?" Percy called after him.

"Because I wasn't needed before. But you needed me then." The old man called back. he was getting further away, the air seemed to be swallowing him. It distorted around his figure.

"Where will you go?"

"To the mountains, away from all the fighting."

"Looking for safety?" Percy asked.

The air was really vibrating now. Particles zipped around him, and water gathered in the air. He turned back around, practically shimmering. Percy had heard of vapor travel, but he had never seen it done in person. "No," he said calmly. "But the view will be better."

And then he was gone.

Only then did it occur to Percy, that he never asked the old man's name. And, that he seemed impossibly familiar.

But he didn't have time to stand and think. He was running now, jumping over debris, Hope held tightly in his arms, and he had no plans to let it go soon.

He was back at the the Empire State Building in minutes. Demigods forming a sort of honor guard as he jogged past with Hope.

The doors opened automatically, revealing the lobby which had been converted into a partially war room, partially armory. He saw Thalia, who was going through armor, who immediately dropped her task and jogged over to him.

"Percy, where were you?" She asked, walking alongside him.

"Out." He responded. "Thinking."

She regarded him strangely. This was not a typical Percy Jackson answer. "What about, and what was that singing?"

He pushed the button on the elevator and it opened immediately. Dinging to signify it was already on the lobby floor. He stepped inside and selected the 600th floor. Olympus. "I know what I have to do. Stay down here, keep everyone prepared. We're about to have a lot on our hands." The elevator doors closed before Thalia could protest.

The elevator began to slowly rise, blasting out some seventies pop rock ballad. Sounded a bit like Genesis. But Percy couldn't care less, the words of the old man still echoed in his mind, and for the first time since the beginning, Percy felt like they had a chance. A chance to come out of this on top.

Hope hummed happily in agreement.

Which goes to show, that in the right hands, the worst situation can be made into a good one. Miserable depression can be cured, and replaced with happiness. And the best thing is, sometimes they don't even have to do much of anything. They just have to be. And their very path of life and existence during those events can leave such a strong imprint on the lives of so many people, that they can change the world for the better. Even if it's just in minor ways. Because those minor ways aren't always so minor. Sometimes a little hope, can turn into just a little bit more. And from there, it can go a long way.

Rest in Peace - Christopher Lee

1922 - 2015

Beloved Actor, Musician, and Veteran. You will be missed

I'm going to start out and say, as strange as it may sound, it brought a tear to my eye to write this. Christopher Lee was one of the most remarkable people I ever had the chance to meet. He truly was a wonderful man, and had the tenancy to be able to turn depression into happiness, and helplessness into hope.

And he was also an inspiration. A man who made old age seem less frightening, and even appealing. He was one of the coolest people already when he was young, and he just got cooler as he got older. He showed the world that you didn't stop having to do the things you love because you got old. You just were more bad ass when you did them. I am glad he was able to see his last film before he died and got the chance to star in Lord Of The Rings, like he always wanted. Even though he wasn't able to play Gandalf.

I advise everyone reading this to go and check the man's body of work. His two hundred plus films are mostly worth watching. From Lord of the Rings, to Dracula, to Sherlock Holmes, he brought something special to every role he played. And that's why he will always be remembered as one of hte greatest actors the world has ever seen, and one of the kindest and most bad ass men around.

AN:

Sorry for the lack of updates. I have been away from a computer the past week, but I am back at one now... obviously. I plan to rapid fire several updates soon. Still don't know about The Picture of Perseus Gray, I still love the idea and yet and indecisive on where to go with it.

Thanks to all of those who were patient. As always, read and review. I greatly appreciate it. I may add a second chapter to this story later if I feel like it needs it, but this may be it here.

Until next time, this is Hemlock Stones signing off.