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"You do not need to know precisely what is happening, or exactly where it is all going. What you need is to recognize the possibilities and challenges offered by the present moment, and to embrace them with courage, faith, and hope."
-Thomas Merton
Percy's voice was wrecked as he tried to scream loud enough that Nico could hear him, and so that he didn't sound like he was afraid.
His arm ached, Annabeth's hand was slippery from both sweat and blood, and Tartarus's pull on them was growing stronger, but Percy couldn't break. Nico was visibly terrified, his face young in a way Percy hadn't seen since Westover. The others didn't have much more than one quest to their name; certainly nothing like this. It would have to be Nico.
And for him, Percy had to be brave in these last few seconds. He couldn't break, not if he could convince them that this would work. And it would.
Percy chose to believe that he and Annabeth would live. He refused to accept any other option. "Lead them there! Promise me!"
"I—I will."
Far below in the darkness, a voice laughed. Sacrifices. Beautiful sacrifices to wake the goddess.
Percy grit his teeth. He and Annabeth weren't going to be sacrifices to Queen Dirt Face.
They were heroes—their sacrifice was of a different kind.
Percy had learned a long time ago was what a hero was. It was why Hades and Hera and Ares called them idiotic.
It wasn't just being foolish enough or smart enough to do and know what was right. It was being prepared to do what was right, know that you were about to be smashed into a thousand little pieces, and then tell Thanatos to just wait another five minutes until you were sure someone else could take up the torch. And, well—Percy knew better than anyone: death wasn't pretty and nice and quiet.
It was messy and terrifying and ugly, even when he knew very well what awaited him on the other side. But he wasn't going quietly, and he would certainly take Gaea with him if it came to that.
'Cause once in a while, if you were really, really lucky, you might not die. You might even win. And that's what kept you going. For the off-chance that maybe, just maybe, the Fates decided that being foolish enough and smart enough and stubborn enough was going to keep you alive.
And so he took that belief, wavering and bright, and tucked it inside his heart. He and Annabeth were going to make it. They were going to make it through whatever bullshit Tartarus threw at them, and they were going to save the gods-damned world.
If this is what it would take, Percy wasn't going against his will. He chose that fate. He made it his, and in that moment, Percy was no longer afraid.
He looked down at Annabeth, and her face, bloody and bruised from her quest to save the Athena Parthenos, was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen.
Percy tightened his grip on her wrist. Neither of them would be alone down there. "We're staying together. You're not getting away from me. Never again."
The stubborn faith in her eyes was familiar. "As long as we're together." To whatever end.
And it wouldn't be theirs.
Percy heard Nico and Hazel screaming for help, even as the tiny little ledge in his grip continued to grumble. He swore that he would see them again, and took a deep breath for what came next.
Percy Jackson didn't fall into Tartarus.
Percy Jackson jumped.