Stop and Stare:

Grover Underwood stood on top of a large rock. He wasn't sure why he was up there, but after several minutes of gathering up his courage, he finally pushed away his fear of heights and after many falls, he found himself looking over his beloved Camp Half-Blood.

His favorite place on Earth and skies and mountains and in the Underworlds was in its ruins.

Some of the cabins were up in flames and Gaea's game pieces were either lying on the ground, dead, or they were about to fly up into golden dust. The monsters were hacking away at his friends—the few who were still alive from the disastrous fight. The others were either hiding in fear with their friends, or injured, getting their wounds fixed in the infirmary from the Apollo demigods, or they were dead.

His nostrils flared, tears beginning to burn at his eyes.

His sanctuary was dying.

This was worse than when Kronos was trying to bring reign over Manhattan.

None of the seven were here yet. They promised they would, but right now, they're at the Doors of Death, trying to stop the monsters from coming back, to stop Gaea's army from breaking through again.

The gold dust was starting to arise, forming something even worse than before.

He couldn't really do anything now that almost all hope was lost.

His best friends—companions—were gone. Dead at their own home, injured and even though they could barely get up, they had to get back out there to defend their family.

No—he took that back. They didn't have to drag themselves back out, they did it willingly. Knowing that even though the risk of their deaths was higher than any other, they still fought.

Then, his two best friends ever were in Tartarus. A deep, dark pit that sucked them in.

"As long as they were together," Nico had told him in the Iris message.

Nico, the little boy who had just wanted revenge for his sister, had seen it all. He had been into Tartarus himself even; almost dying. He came back out only to have been captured by dimwitted giants. Stuck in a jar with only one of his stepmother's fruits. He was practically dead; Hazel had told Grover after Nico passed out, due to lack of sleep. He was there, trying to hold up Percy and Annabeth. He knew that there wouldn't be hope without them.

Now, Nico was just a pile of frail bones. Annabeth and Percy were probably dead, or severely injured; probably on the verge of going insane.

And there was nothing Grover could do about it.

That just left the others of the prophecy alone. The seven were lost; broken apart.

But they had hope.

Camp Half-Blood did not.

The Romans marched in, ready to attack. The Greeks weren't ready. With their instincts, the gathered as many weapons they possibly could and stood their ground. They might be practical jokers compared to the strict and wise Romans, but they didn't recognize as many tricks as the Greeks could.

After many had been lost from that fight, suddenly, the opening from the Labyrinth had opened, creating a blinding light.

Monsters rose from the ground.

Demons spewed from the entrance.

All of their slimy poison dripping from their fangs. Their claws ready to strike. Their tails swishing, making a hard, swiping contact with any camper behind them. Their glare enough to turn someone to stone.

Reyna, the fiercest and sharpest warrior Grover had ever seen, shared quick eye contact with Chiron. She then ordered her troopers to fight, but not kill any Greeks. She knew that they had to work together in order for anybody to live. Annabeth had told her about the statue; Reyna didn't believe it at first, thinking it was only just a mere myth. But then she knew. She knew that if not bonded in an alliance, both of their worlds would fall and the world would be doomed.

The Greeks had then waved off the Romans, knowing that they now had to deal with an enormous, vigorating aura full of cruelty. Thick with sweat, hair matted down under their steel helmets, biceps and muscles aching from the heavy bronze sword in one hand, a spear in the other, abs and waste pinching from their belts packed up with explosives, they raged on.

It was their daily routine.

Now, the results of the battle were beginning to shine clear and bright: they were losing. They needed just an ounce of hope—something to know that they would still come out on top in the end.

But nothing came.

They were alone and nobody in the world would know what kind of pain they were experiencing except for each other.

Grover took a deep breath. He was tired; tired with grief and misery. There was nothing he could do to cheer the spirits. Even the naiads had run away.

He exhaled slowly.

He closed his eyes.

Although he knew that this was the time to panic, he had to stop.

He wanted to stop everything.

His eyes squeezed tighter.

He didn't want to disappear, no. He needed to become alive. The Camp needed to come alive with anticipation and excitement.

Grover opened his eyes again. He stared at the sight before him.

A ship was soaring through the sky. The clouds curled beneath it like waves, the sails whipping in the wind. It was huge and glistened in the sun. The wood looked polished and clean.

Grover's lips parted as his jaw dared to drop.

Three people ran to the edge.

A young woman, tanned and her curly, blonde hair churning with the current of the air, the loose ponytail keeping it from whipping at her face.

Next to her, a young man. All Grover could tell about him was that he was also tan, but with jet black hair.

But the other one was a teenage boy who was pale, his deep black hair spiked up and curling at the tips.

Grover could sense their emotions: first shock. Then worry and concern. Then lastly, a fiery rage and vengeance.

Grover recognized them and a ghost of a smile caressed at his pale and cracked lips. His heart jumped giddily inside of him. It was Annabeth and Percy—they were alive. Nico was stable on his own.

The ship grew closer, almost nearing him in the forest. They set the ship on the outskirts of the forest, away from the fight, but close to the cabins, probably containing supplies and first aid kits.

Grover could feel the pride and joy swell in his chest. But most of all, he felt hope.

He leaped off of the rock and trotted to the ship as the three hurried off. Annabeth and Percy had scratches and scraps on their faces, hands and knees; covered with blood and tears. Nico was worn out, but looked stronger than ever, full of confidence.

They might look scared and beaten down, but Grover could sense the warm feeling inside of them.

Percy spotted Grover and jogged toward him. Annabeth followed, grinning behind those strict, gray eyes.

Grover was too speechless to bleat out with joy and sadness. Instead, he ran up and flung his arms around the two, holding them tight, proud and jubilant that they were okay. They were his best friends, he could never lose them.

"Hey, G-man," Percy said, grinning. The two shook hands, performing their ultimate handshake.

Grover didn't greet back, although he desperately just wanted to spend some time with the two. "Percy… Camp Half-Blood's in trouble."

Percy's eyes filled with sorrow. But then he looked back at the fight. "Not for long. Once they die, they stay dead." He growled.

"The Doors of Death are closed. We kill those monsters and they're gone forever." Annabeth said.

"The only thing is, is that we still have to kick Gaea's stupid, dirty ass." Percy cursed.

Grover smirked. "You ready to fight then?"

"We've been ready." The two spoke in unison.

The trio stopped and stared at each other one last time.

Then they raced out into the fiery chaos.