•Prologue•

Hello!

Thanks for clicking on this story!

This story will not mention any of the Greek gods, and all the characters are all human. This is just the prologue; in the following chapters, it will have two time skips: the first part of each chapter will follow Percy and how he met Annabeth, and the second part of each chapter will follow present-day Percy and Annabeth's condition.

Happy reading!

EDIT (April 12, 2017): I have changed the viewpoint of the Prologue to match the viewpoint of the Epilogue. I have also changed some minor elements in this chapter. These changes do not affect the rest of the story in any way. The author's notes have been left untouched.

It feels as if he is watching the scene in front of him unfold in slow motion. He knows what will happen next; he knows.

But he doesn't do anything.

Rather, he can't.

His feet are stuck to the ground in fear. As much as he wants to move them, he can't.

All he can do is helplessly look on while he watches his blonde-haired fiancée get knifed in the chest. He can't get to her.

As he watches her fall to the ground, blood pooling on her chest, his feet finally decide to move. In a fluid motion, he vaults over the stone wall which previously concealed him, still holding onto the rifle in case the enemy tries to sneak up on him. Faster, faster, he urges his feet to go.

They're not fast enough.

"Annabeth!" he screams, running to her. He gently pulls her into his arms, and observes the knife sticking out of her chest. It's not good—that much he can already tell. Annabeth, he sees, hasn't gone into shock. She is aware of the knife in her chest, however, and stays as still as she can.

For a person who had a blade of metal embedded in her chest, she seems awfully calm.

He knows he can't pull it out; it will cause more damage as the blood will start flowing out and it might disturb other organs nearby. It breaks his heart to leave the blade in his fiancée's chest, but he knows that may be the only way to save her. "Annabeth! Oh my gods, I … I …" He's at a loss for words. He doesn't know what to say to her. What does one even say to their recently-shot-in-the-chest fiancée? 'Oh, hey, yeah you got shot, but whatever, let's kiss and everything will be alright'? "Let's get to the infirmary," he finally tells her, firmly.

For once, she doesn't argue with him. He almost wishes she does, so he can pretend that this isn't happening. She merely nods and lets him hoist her into his arms, and stays there, like a limp rag doll. He tries his best not to jostle her as he makes his way to the infirmary. The infirmary that's too far away.

He knows that time is critical.

She's losing blood too quickly; the wound is deep.

He knows that he must have her stay awake, so she doesn't go into a coma. "Annabeth, Annabeth," he breathes. "Talk to me. Tell me about your family. Tell me one of my embarrassing moments. Tell me anything."

"Once you thought this lady was your aunt," she whispers. "You yelled, 'Aunt Persephone!' and proceeded to hug her. It wasn't her, however, and that prompted some awkward exchanges of, 'Uh, why are you hugging me?' and 'Sorry, thought you were my aunt.' Thankfully, she had a good sense of humour, so she didn't mind too much. In fact, I think she found it hilarious."

"Another one?" he presses. Don't go into a coma, please … Any of his loved ones going into a coma is his worst and deepest fear … and it might come true.

"Once, you peed your pants in third grade in front of the entire assembly. Your class had to recite 'In Flanders Fields' for Veterans Day and it was your turn to do your lines. You got too nervous, and …"

"And?" The soldier sneaks another glance at her wound. Thankfully, the knife didn't puncture a lung, but it sure was close.

"And …" his fiancée trails off. With much difficulty, she looks up and locks eyes with him.

Suddenly, he knows what's going to happen. His heart sinks. "Annabeth …" he murmurs, looking down at her. "Please, stay with me. Please! Tell me the story about how your stuffed duck got destroyed in the washer, and you cried for days!" Annabeth lets out a small moan, and her eyes roll to the back of her head.

He quickly ducks as a bullet whizzes past his head. Once he is sure that there are no more following its path, he straightens up, looks around, and resumes running. The infirmary can't be far by now.

"Annabeth!" he cries, his voice rising. "Annabeth!" he repeats, panic in his voice. "Stay with me! Please!"

Her eyelids slide shut.

How cruel is the universe? he asks himself. How cruel is it that it makes my worst fear come to pass?

There's so much white here that it is driving him crazy. It smells so much of cleanliness, that after all his time outside, laying on the ground or staying in dark, slimy places, it gives him a headache.

He sits on the stone-cold benches in the little room outside the infirmary, with his head in his hands. News of Annabeth's condition will soon reach him, he knows, after her parents and brothers are notified.

Finally, after an eternity, a doctor wearing a white lab coat with a stethoscope hanging around his neck steps out of Annabeth's curtained room. The black-haired young man springs to his feet, arriving at the doctor's feet in two leaps. "Doctor," he says breathlessly, "how is she? How badly is the wound? Is she—is she going to live?"

The doctor, whose name tag reads Doctor Solace, looks at the young man with a quizzical expression. "In what relation are you to Miss Chase? Her brother?"

He shakes his head. "Apologies, sir," he tells him. "I temporarily forgot that her family needs to receive the news before I can be notified of her condition."

He looks at the clipboard in his hand, then back at the soldier standing in front of him. "We have not been able to reach her family," he says at last. "In what relation are you to her?" he asks me again.

"I'm—I'm her fiancé," he chokes out.

"Well, congratulations on your engagement," Doctor Solace says sombrely after a pause. "I'm sorry about this. Since you are her fiancé and the closest to a family member at the moment, I'll give you her diagnosis. It's not good, I'm afraid. She is bleeding quite profusely from her wound, even though we've tried to stop the blood flow, blood is still seeping quite a bit from her injury. My team and I have put her in a medically-induced coma so she can heal … medication can't help her that much now. We've given her a blood transfusion, to try to help her regain some of the blood she lost. Her body is the only thing who will decide her fate: life or death. Right now, it is a critical time; we'll see if her body is responding well. We'll notify you and try to reach her family again in the morning."

He leaves the infirmary, numb.

She's going to survive, he tells himself. She's a fighter.

But before he reaches the door which will lead him back outside, back to all the fighting, someone taps him on the arm. The young man whirls around. "Sir," Doctor Solace says quietly, "would you like to see her?"

He swallows. "Yes."

"Here," Doctor Solace tells him. "She's in here. I'll leave you two alone."

He thanks him and parts the curtains. Annabeth is lying on the bed, her blonde hair spread all around her. Her fiancé approaches her, and pulling a chair to the side of her bed, sits down on it. Reaching out, he takes her hand. "Um, hi, Annabeth," he says quietly. "I know you probably can't hear me right now, but … if you can, listen, okay?"

Annabeth doesn't react.

He's not surprised; he never expected her to.

"Even though we went through such trials, to just get to where we now are, I don't regret it. Not a single second of it. Not from the first word I wrote to you, years ago, not when I first realized that you were the one that I fell in love with, despite never meeting you until then. I don't regret joining the army, even though I wanted to get married before we did. I don't regret joining the army so soon, because we both knew how important it was for the both of us.

"I don't regret anything," he tells his fiancée. "Our relationship, though it had many difficulties, is beautiful in its own way, because it is ours, and we created it. It is our story, and … and …" he stops and drops his head between his knees. "It's not done yet," he whispers. "It's not done yet. It has dozens and dozens of chapters yet to be filled. There're still years and years of memories and joy for us to experience. This story is nowhere close to ending. Please, Annabeth. Don't give up fighting. You're strong; I know you can do this."

He sighs, raising his head and looks around the room and its machinery. Closing his eyes, he leans forward and kisses her forehead. "Goodnight, my dear," he says quietly to her, and leaves the room, closing the curtains quietly behind him. As he walks out of the infirmary, there is only one thing that's going through his mind: Wise Girl, please be okay.

I would just like to say that this story requires extensive research as this story deals with war, hospitals, and all that stuff, so I will try to update every week or every other week, depending on my homework.

Constructive criticism is appreciated :)

Thanks for reading!

-K