Funeral of Luke Castellan

"Luke Castellan was one of the bravest half-bloods I'd ever met, even if we didn't see eye to eye a lot of the time." I said with a choked up voice. I stared at Luke's burial shroud; a white veil embroidered with a green caduceus crossing a golden scythe. "If anyone here objects to that, I'll see to it you change your mind quickly."

Sure, he'd turned against us four years ago and didn't come to his senses until nine days ago, the standard time for honoring the dead. He had stayed free from decomposition thanks to a blessing from the gods of Mount Olympus. But I didn't think of Luke as an evil vessel for Kronos the Titan Lord anymore; now I thought of Luke as a hero, a hero worthy of Elysium and the Isles of the Blessed.

I stared down at the gathered group of half-bloods; among them were my friend Annabeth, who was tearing up, her eyes red. I saw Thalia, who wasn't much better. Travis and Connor Stoll, Luke's brothers, were dressed up and had Kleenexes in their hands, a clear sign that they missed their sibling.

I stared next to Chiron, our activities director, and at Luke's father, Hermes, the god of messengers. I felt terrible for the guy; he looked angry and sad too.

"Lord Hermes," I called.

We met eyes and he nodded sadly.

Hermes walked up slowly to the obsidian stone slab on which Luke's body was placed. I stepped down from the pedestal and watched as Hermes took up a torch resting in the arms of his aunt, Hestia. Hermes paused and turned to face the crowed.

With red eyes, he called out to the family of Luke, "My son was a hero. Loved beyond measure, and even though I knew his future, and what his terrible sacrifice would bring to me, I could do nothing about it; and for that, my son, I am sorry beyond words. I loved you, Luke Castellan, true son of Hermes."

With that, the god of travelers touched the torch to the cloth under which Luke was buried. The flames engulfed the blanket, and sent up into the air, a golden smoke.

Hermes stared at the burning cloth until there was nothing left to stare at; the shroud was gone, leaving behind nothing but the clean white bones of the hero who had saved the world from chaos.

Hermes reached into his bag and pulled out an urn; a jar with scenes from Olympus. It was solid gold, with silver rings around the mouth and precious gems decorating it. Hermes picked up the bones and set them in a royal purple robe, a sign that he was a favorite son of the god. Luke's father wrapped the bones in this and set them in the urn. He shed a tear as the lid of the golden urn was set and closed on top of the container.

I stared in amazement at the golden urn Hermes was holding. Then I did something I wouldn't have done otherwise. I took out my sword and raised it into the air.

"Hail Luke Castellan, son of Hermes and savior of Olympus!"

To my surprise, everyone else took out their weapons and waved them into the air, chanting and cheering.

Hermes cleared his throat, everyone quieted down. "I will take this urn to Olympus with me, and place it into the Temple of Heroes, where all those loved by the gods rest in peace, their urns undisturbed by time."

More cheering erupted from the crowd of half-bloods. Hermes disappeared.

And that was the Funeral of Luke Castellan, Hero of Olympus.