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The war was over. Although, "war" wasn't exactly the right word. It was a revolution. A violent one, but it takes a lot to change Olympus. Those who had survived were celebrating with their godly parents or fellow members of the legion or Hunters of Artemis. Except for the surviving members of the Athena cabin. They stood awkwardly gathered at the broken and burned remnants of their mother's Olympian throne. It was odd to know she was in Tartarus now. Along side Zeus and Hera. The victory as a whole felt unreal but the impossible had been done before. But like every time the impossible is achieved, it had come at a great cost. From hundreds of thousands of Demigods and Legacies, now there were only a few thousand. More than expected given they had fought three gods, but still a heavy toll. The one who took on some of the most pain willingly and lived was Thalia. Most demigods wouldn't even be able to hold the Master Bolt while it was active but Thalia had WEILDED it against multiple gods and their thrones, and it showed. Lightning burns stretched from the tips of her fingers to her elbows. If not for Apollo being directly helping the demigods and healing their injured, Thalia's arms would be paralyzed where the burns were. The only reason she was alive was because of the lightning immunity that came with being Zeus' daughter. But the eldest of the Greek survivors couldn't help but feel at least a little conflicted. Isn't this what Luke tried to do? Over throw Olympus? But there was the solace that, they had done what Luke INTENDED, make a better world for demigods. Not Razing all of Olympus, but giving it the opportunity to change. But now, it was only a matter of waiting with baited breath, for The Fates to arrive, and determine who would replace the banished gods.