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Rolling, green hills spanned the entire landscape, dotted with tall oaks smelling like fresh wet barks, their crowns invisible above the whitest clouds. Everywhere he looked, there were birds singing, real birds, not ghostly ones like he’d pictured. There were no buildings in sight except for a small wooden hut at the mouth of a lake so clear it mirrored the sky perfectly. The sun blazed high above but it seemed to be melting the cold, not intensifying the heat. Everything was balanced perfectly here, he realized. That was it. It was perfect. Paradise. A world devoid of misery. Elysium was Earth if it had been carefully put together by the world’s greatest creator to fit the pleasure of humans.
“Will?” Nico called from ahead, who’d begun climbing down the hill. Will was standing at the top, still staring. Gaping. He closed his mouth. “Will?”
“Is everywhere like this?” he asked. Will loved nature, green being his favourite colour and everything. But he did not like the idea of spending eternity in a world without Star Wars or an Xbox. “Don’t they . . . don’t they have cities?”
Nico sighed as he ran back up. “They do. This is the reflection of someone’s heaven. I don’t know where we landed so I can’t say for sure. But every three miles, you’ll find yourself in a different place. Sometimes there will be cities, like New York or even Las Vegas. Sometimes we’ll land in Ancient Greece. Sometimes places like this. Just . . . woods. Father likes them best. They require the least maintenance.”
“Wait . . . so, only one person lives here?”
Nico shrugged. “They can choose companions, but there is a lot of paperwork and they have to register the names in the—Will!”
But Will was already racing down the hill, going north. Man, it had been a long time since he let himself run down a hill like that. Back in their family farm in Texas, Mom would set him atop a small hill nestled between two yellowing ponds. He’d roll and always land in the pack of hay Mom had set at the foot. Once though, he nearly drowned in the pond. He had been three. Now, of course, he knew how to swim.
When he came to a stop, he took running off into the woods. Nico would catch up. He could sense the presence of souls, even if they were trapped in mortal bodies. And he had an uncanny ability to be just where he was needed and just in time. Will jumped over an overgrown root and snatched a fig off the branch of a tree. He kept running. His legs felt like they’d been built anew. He guessed it was the effect of Elysium. Nico had warned him he might feel “unnaturally” elated or feel “unhealthy” desires to “have fun”. Will laughed, bit into his fig, and sang along the hummingbirds now flying around him in circles. He did a quick turnabout and scanned the woods. Nico was nowhere in sight. But he turned and kept running towards the lake. He needed a good swim after last night in the infirmary.
He was about thirty yards from the lake when a silver blade landed between his eyes.
The birds scattered. Will dropped his fig.
“Do not move,” said the boy in front of him. He looked about Will’s age, and was devilishly handsome, golden like Will, his face cut sharp. Like a model’s. He had tied his yellow hair back in a messy bun, though most of his hair fell freely behind his shoulders, flowing lightly in the perfect wind. He was dressed in a traditional Greek tunic and was bare feet.
Then Will blinked. “That was—That was Ancient Greek.”
Will knew he could speak Greek, but he hadn’t ever talked to someone who still actually spoke Ancient Greek. The boy tilted his head. “And you, you speak Greek too. Most who pass by do not speak our language.”
“Are you . . . Are you, um, going to kill me?”
The boy smiled.
Will ducked just in time. He summoned his bow and it landed in his hands as he turned. He had an arrow nocked and trained at the boy by the time the boy prepared for another attack. The bow was light, made of redwood. It was a gift from his father before they left for Tartarus, as a blessing. (Will still dreaded the place but the date of departure was nearing.) It was a weapon sacred to Apollo and Will had bested Kayla just this month. He nearly felt smug about himself.
“Are you here for a visit too?” Will asked, stretching the string back.
The boy grimaced instead of answering, as if pained by being defeated so easily. He touched the blade to Will’s neck. Will loosened the arrow a little. The boy grunted and threw his sword. It pierced the trunk of a tree and stuck there. Will loosed his grip and his bow vanished.
The boy wiggled his fingers, closed his fist, unclosed it. “I’m only a soul. I exist here and everywhere.”
Will cocked his brow. “That’s a very . . . standardized answer.”
The boy only frowned. “That bow. I recognized it. Apollo’s.”
“Yeah,” Will said. “He’s my father.”
Something must have snapped inside the boy. He nearly scrambled back, but crashed into another boy wearing the same flowy tunic. He was bare feet too, and his skin was bronze and smooth. His eyes were strikingly beautiful and utterly black. His hair was curlier than the first boy’s, darker than his skin but lighter than his eyes. Will stared and found it hard not to fall in love.
Then the second boy glowered, having dropped his basket. Will looked down. It seemed he was collecting figs. “Achilles!” the boy said, frowning harder.
Now Will scrambled back. Both boys turned to look at him. The second boy, the boy who had just called the first boy Achilles, looked mildly concerned. “Who is he?”
“Son of Apollo,” Achilles whispered cautiously.
Will gathered his wits and made a time out sign. “Hold up. Hold up.” They quieted, looking about as stunned as he. “You’re . . . Achilles? The Achilles?”
“I don’t understand what you mean. But I am Achilles, son of King Peleus and the goddess Thetis, prince of Phthia, and the greatest warrior of all the—”
“Hush up,” the other boy said. “Pardon me for his arrogance, Son of Apollo. May I know your name?”
“Will,” said Will. “I—You’re seriously Achilles?”
Achilles tilted his head again, like a confused puppy. “Why?”
Will looked back at the second boy, who was hiding behind Achilles. “That makes you Patroclus,” Will said. “Isn’t it?”
Patroclus shied behind Achilles again. “We’re not visiting the palace again. That beast is dreadful.”
Achilles kicked Patroclus’s shin playfully. “Cerberus. And he’s delightful. He plays ball with me.”
“Hold up. Again? You’ve been to Hades’s palace?”
Achilles nodded. “Wonderful times. Lady Persephone even called Odysseus over for dinner. He had so many stories.”
“But—you’ve met Nico?”
Achilles scowled. “Oh, yes. The prince. Lord Hades appointed me as his tutor. That is what I have been reduced to, Patroclus,” he whined. “A mere tutor. A tutor!”
Patroclus looked amused. “You’re dead, Achilles. You should consider this a glorious opportunity.”
Achilles only wailed. “I miss being alive. Now I only have the lions to fight.”
Will shuddered inwardly. “You fight lions? The mountain lions? I spotted them earlier with my . . . uh . . .” He racked his brain, but apparently there was no word for boyfriend in Ancient Greek.
“Your beloved?” Patroclus asked, having stepped forward.
Will scratched his scalp. “I guess. But lions. Are they seriously—”
That’s when he heard the low growl. Achilles’s eyes immediately darted to his sword, far from his reach. Patroclus had paled alarmingly, staring ahead. Will followed his gaze, and whimpered. An eight foot tall lion was standing twenty yards from him, swishing its tail happily. Will tried to summon his bow and took a very small step back. The lion ran its tongue over its snout, tail still swinging. It was waiting.
“Do not move,” Achilles warned. “We are already dead. It cannot harm us. But the lions especially hate the presence of mortals.” Achilles spared him a glance. “And you are, in fact, mortal?”
“Sadly,” Will said.
Patroclus said, “What can we do? You cannot outrun it.”
Achilles looked at his silver blade longingly. “My sword—”
And then, because of course he had the whole world’s misfortune, Will’s bow shimmered into existence. In a second, he fumbled to straighten his bow, Achilles leapt towards his sword, and Patroclus yelled Will’s name as Will released an arrow.
Then the lion pounced.
IOIOIOIOI
Will cracked open one eye. The sun blinded him. He cursed silently and shut his eye. Dull pain flared in his head. A headache, he mused. Great. At least I’m not dead. Then, the voices came, soft and laced with concern.
“Do you think we should wake him? The sun will set soon.”
An absent hum. “He’s so very young.”
“Patroclus, I asked if we should wake him.”
“No. Let him rest. We’ll inform the guards at Lethe tomorrow.”
“Very well. I’ll gather some firewood. Do you want to eat today?”
“I’m not hungry.”
A huff. “We’re never hungry, dearest.”
Will groaned when the pain in his head intensified. Tears welled up in his eyes. He realized he was really badly hurt. A hand, as gentle as a mother’s touch and soft as velvet, lifted his torso up. Soon, he was sitting up, his back against the rough bark of a fallen tree, it seemed. He opened his eyes. The sky was orange now, the sun already sinking below the hills. Patroclus was blinking at him curiously. He beamed when he noticed Will was awake.
“Your head,” Patroclus said. “You cracked it on a rock before you killed it.”
Will’s tongue was heavy and his head was groggy, but he asked, “Killed what?”
“The lion,” Patroclus said, smiling. Will fumbled for words. There was no way he’d killed that thing. But Patroclus said, “You were very brave.”
Will blinked, then sighed. He smiled. “Thanks, I guess,” Will said, trying to blink the sleepiness out of his eyes. Then he touched the back of his head. It was bandaged thoroughly with thick cloth. The bleeding seemed to have stopped, but he sensed penetration in the occipital bone.
Patroclus confirmed his thought. “You nearly died. Achilles had to pinch together the shards of bone while I bandaged it. It hasn’t been put together yet. But it’s only the outer layer. I don’t think you’ll have any problems with memory and such.”
“You’re a healer,” Will said in wonder.
Patroclus nodded solemnly. “I do not know how to help further. I wish I—”
“It’s fine,” Will said, then began unwrapping the bandage, which caused him to let loose a guttural scream. Patroclus sprang into action, already urging him to lie down as he tried to bandage his head again. Will shoved him aside. “Please,” he said. “Just wait.”
Patroclus bit his lip but settled down.
“The fracture is in the occipital bone,” Will said. “It’s very close to the vertebrae so I have to be careful. But I can seal it easily.”
“It would take months, and we don’t even have the proper amount of heat to—”
“Just . . . hush,” Will said, and the bandage came loose all the way. He managed to stifle his scream this time. Warm blood dripped down his neck. He could feel a dent in his skull. He placed his hand over the fracture and began his hymn.
“You’re glowing!” Patroclus beamed.
Shut up, Will thought, trying hard to focus.
It took several minutes, but by the time he was done he was both giddy with the relief from the pain, and sleepy from the effort of healing. He fell against Patroclus, who looked absolutely delighted. Patroclus checked his skull, poking it several times. When he found that it was in fact solid and completely intact, Patroclus laughed happily, nearly falling over.
“How did you do that? Are you a sorcerer?”
Will had no energy left to explain and only managed a small, “Uh-huh.”
Patroclus set him down on the grass, looming over him. Will knit his eyebrows. Patroclus said, “You are in need of rest.”
“Clearly.”
“What?”
Will cursed, realizing he’d slipped into English. “Yes,” he managed in Greek.
Patroclus nodded and began unbuttoning Will’s shirt. Will tried to scoot away. “What are you—”
“It’s bloody,” Patroclus said. “I’ll give you one of my tunics. They will fit you well.”
Will relented. By the time he had changed into the most comfortable tunic in the world, Achilles came back holding a large bundle of wood. Patroclus told him about Will’s sorcery and together they entered their hut near the lake, Achilles nearly carrying all of Will’s weight.
They gave him a sleeping mattress and he rolled over, pulling the blankets over himself.
“I want to sleep today too,” Patroclus said. “I got us a token.”
“Oh, finally,” Achilles said. “I’ve missed sleeping. Come.”
Will vaguely heard some shuffling and saw two silhouettes snuggling under a single blanket. Then, he slept.
IOIOIOIOI
When Will woke again, his first thought was: Nico. Oh, gods, Nico. I’m so dead.
Achilles, who was sitting over him, tapped his forehead. “It’s so barbaric.”
Will tried to sit up, groaning at the light filtering into the hut. “What?”
“The language you speak in your sleep. It sounds filthy.”
“Huh.”
“Are you hungry?” Will’s stomach rumbled in response. Achilles smiled. “I miss being hungry. Come,” he said, dragging Will up like he was weightless. Will shuffled away and stumbled out of the hut. The light instantly gave him a headache.
“Ugh,” he said. “Can’t you ask the sun to die or something?”
Patroclus looked up from where he was stirring the pot set over the burning ashes of last night’s fire. “You’re awake!” he said. “Come, I made you breakfast.”
Will looked at his breakfast. It was stew. He made a face.
Achilles patted his shoulder and laughed. “You need it to regain your strength.”
So, Will ate. Achilles and Patroclus encouraged him to finish his stew and shoved another bowl into his hands when he finished the first one. They told him stories to keep him eating, stories about the Trojan War, adding details that had been omitted, correcting what the Historians had gotten wrong. Will was more than happy to tell them how the world remembered Achilles as History’s greatest warrior and how his and Patroclus’s romance had fueled multiple adaptations. (They blushed at this, which Will found oddly endearing.) Then they mentioned their time on Mount Pelion and how Chiron had been their tutor for three years.
“Chiron!” Will beamed, stew forgotten. “Do you know he’s alive? He teaches at Camp Half Blood now!”
“Camp?” both boys asked. Achilles tucked back his loose, golden hair and his face scrunched. Will nodded. “Camp Half Blood. It provides sanctuary for all the Greek demigods in the world. Chiron protects us and trains us.”
Achilles and Patroclus exchanged a worried look. “All the demigods at one place?” Patroclus asked. “That’s absurd. How many of you are there?”
“About two hundred during the summer,” Will said.
“Gods,” Achilles said. “And you’re all . . . half god?”
“We don’t like calling ourselves that if it can be prevented,” Will said. “But, yes. Apollo, he’s my father. I have six other siblings.”
“Incredible,” Patroclus said, then winced. “And Apollo . . . he’s . . .”
“You know,” Will said, smiling sadly, “Dad says he regrets it now, guiding Paris’s arrow. He was angry . . . about Hector.”
Now Achilles winced. He said nothing though.
Will swallowed. “Alright, um, I should go now. My” —he glanced at Patroclus— “beloved, he must be looking for me. Gods, he’s so going to kill me.”
“The prince?” Achilles asked.
Will laughed. “I didn’t know he was a prince, but yes. You really tutored him?” Achilles nodded. “No wonder he’s so good then. Can you take me to Lethe? I need to go the palace so I can contact Nico.”
Patroclus nodded. “Let me just—”
“WILL!”
His name was a broken wail, a scream that reverberated through his bones. He looked up. There, radiating darkness and an aura of death, stood Nico, leaning heavily against the single tree on the hill. His face was weary and creased with worry. Will could sense his distress. There was no anger, just grief, such deep wretched grief it made Will sick to the stomach.
“Nico,” he whispered.
And just then, Nico waved a hand, as if swatting a fly, and Achilles was sent flying away. He crashed into a tree and made a sound like choking. His essence already seemed to be fading away, shimmering white particles leaving him in a rapid haze. Patroclus screamed.
Nico closed his fist and now Achilles screamed. He was in agony.
No. No. He’s going kill them.
Will ran.
He sprinted up the hill, even as his legs protested. He dodged a stone. He couldn’t afford to stumble. There was no time.
Behind him, Patroclus was still screaming, wailing Achilles’s name.
He nearly crashed into Nico, who was sweating and fading into the shadows even now. But there was no time. Will wrapped his hand around Nico’s fist and guided his arm away, cupping Nico’s face.
“Look at me. Nico, look at me.”
Nico stared at him, unseeing.
Will spared a glance back. Achilles had faded into nothing. Patroclus was still screaming, ripping his lungs as if it would bring Achilles back.
“Nico,” Will pleaded. “Please.” Nico blinked, his vision seemed to be clearing. “Bring him back. Put him back together. Nico, please.” Will rested his forehead on Nico’s, tears falling down freely now. “Please.”
Nico opened his fist.
Will turned. Achilles flourished back into existence and gasped, already enveloped by Patroclus. Will laughed in relief and turned. “Thank you.”
Nico collapsed in his arms.
IOIOIOIOI
Will couldn’t stop crying. It had been hours. But he couldn’t stop. His tears wouldn’t dry.
Patroclus, sweet, beloved Patroclus had wrapped Nico a blanket, trying to keep him from melting into the shadows even as wisps of black smoke left him. Will had healed him for the most part, his light had expelled the shadows from him. But he still needed several hours to recover. Perhaps more than that.
He glanced up, blinking through his tears. Achilles was staring at his hand again, turning it, touching it, as if unable to believe it was still solid.
“I’m sorry,” he said for the hundredth time, then sniffled. More salty tears fell on his lips and he sobbed into his hands. He could barely speak through his shuddering sobs but he had to try. “I’m so sorry. I left him. And I . . . He just—he gets worried. He really gets worried and then he . . . I should have known.”
Achilles, as stunned and overwhelmed as he looked, reached over awkwardly and then gave him an even more awkward hug. Will curled into a ball and pressed himself against Achilles’s chest. Even though Achilles only looked sixteen, his embrace was that of a grown man’s, like a father comforting his son. Will sobbed and sobbed and sobbed and Achilles didn’t let go, never even complained. Will hid his face against Achilles’s chest, his face heating up, as it occurred to him that he was crying like a baby and being comforted by the greatest warrior of all generations. But he couldn’t bring himself to pull away. He merely pressed closer, the warmth was so welcoming. His worries soothed, his grief subsided.
“My fault,” he would say. And Achilles would give him a watery laugh and hug him harder.
Hours must have passed but the sun was still at the zenith. At last, Will pulled away. “You nearly died,” he said.
Absurdly, Achilles laughed, then glanced at Patroclus who was still tending to Nico, and Achilles’s smile faltered. “Yes,” he said gently. “But I’m already dead.”
“Nico,” Will said, shivering. “He can scatter souls. You would have been non-existent but still conscious. You would never be able to regain form.”
Achilles looked at Patroclus again. A crystal tear fell from Patroclus’s eyes, but he wiped it away, continuing to apply a green salve to Nico’s skin, where it was tearing as more shadow seeped out. Will turned away.
“Yes,” Achilles said. “He,” and Achilles glanced at Nico, “is very powerful. Lord Hades told me never to anger him.”
Will had to laugh. “But he’s always angry.”
Achilles smiled knowingly. “I must talk to Patroclus. Will you be alright?”
Will nodded. And Achilles rose, already guiding Patroclus away. Will's eyes followed them to the lake, where they sat under an olive tree, dipping their feet in the water. Achilles wiped Patroclus’s eyes and then kissed him. It seemed to steal Patroclus’s breath away, but he deepened the kiss, cupping his beloved’s face with both his hands. The tension seeped away from their shoulders and they sagged against each other, still kissing, still whispering to each other breathlessly.
Will looked back at Nico. He had never been able to achieve that kind of closeness with Nico even if Will loved him with his whole heart and his soul. Nico had never allowed himself to be comforted that way. Only once, the night of Jason’s death, when Will had found him in a sobbing heap in the woods, soaking from head to toe in the rain.
Will sighed and left his place near the hut. He sprawled next to Nico on the grass, turned to his side, and looked. He never tired of looking at Nico, the sharp curve of his jaw, the flawlessness of his skin, the pointed end of his nose, the thinness of his lips. Will moved closer and pecked Nico on the cheek. Then he slept.
IOIOIOIOI
“Will.”
A gentle shove.
“Will.”
He groaned in protest but opened his eyes anyway. Nico was there, Nico was there, wrapped around him, his chin digging uncomfortably into Will’s shoulder. But Will only smiled. Nico. Nico, Nico. Here. Now.
“Wake up, idiot,” Nico said, then smiled ever so softly.
Something melted inside Will’s chest. Perhaps his heart. “Beloved,” he managed.
Nico looked thoroughly disgusted. “What?”
“Beloved,” Will said, and then kissed him. It was a soft kiss, just the barest brush of his lips against Nico’s. An invitation. But then Nico kissed him back, fervently, and Will’s heart burst. He turned giddy and greedily accepted every kiss Nico gave him, every feather-light touch, every breathless chant of his name. Will, Will, Will.
He pulled back, then pushed back in, eager for every taste, every touch like an electric spark on his skin.
Will, Will, Will.
Will took Nico’s face in his hands and kissed him and kissed him and kissed him.
Will. Will. Will . . .
IOIOIOIOI
Someone was giggling.
No, two people were giggling.
Very conspicuously.
“Who—”
The silhouettes above him, one golden and one bronze, scattered away immediately, still giggling as they sprinted away.
He looked to his left, where Nico was sleeping. It was night, so Nico’s face was glowing silver in the moonlight. Just heavenly, Will decided. “Nico,” he said.
“Ngh,” Nico managed, snuggling closer.
“We’re two days late for our appointment with Jason, love.”
“I don’t wanna go home. Not ever. Stay here.”
Will laughed, carding his fingers through Nico’s hair. “We’re not dead though. The lions will eat us raw.”
“Father’s guards. Hate them,” Nico complained sleepily, then rubbed his eyes. “Achilles? Is he . . .?”
“He’s fine.”
Nico’s face fell. “I didn’t mean to. I was delirious and worried and—”
“Hush,” Will said. “You can apologise when they visit the palace next time.”
Nico blinked. “He told you?”
Will nodded, then helped Nico stand. “They just ran away. We should leave before they come back.”
“You like them,” Nico said, tilting his head.
“I don’t want to say goodbye.”
Nico nodded, then took his hands. “I love you,” he whispered, in Ancient Greek.
Before Will could say it back, Nico kissed him, and they dissolved into the shadows.