FOR THE FIRST TIME EVER, Alex felt relief at the stench of a hot day in New York City. He knew these streets. Alex wasn't even sure how he knew them. But the path to the Empire State Building stayed in his mind as clear as if it had been marked for him.

The Mist must've hid them from the New Yorkers. If anyone had seen their true forms, broken, bleeding bodies and shredded, ash covered clothes, they would've been stopped by police. But no one stopped them.

Alex put one foot in front of the other. He ignored every ache, every stab of pain. He ignored the way tingling pain spread from the wound Ophelia had healed. And though it took almost all his concentration, he ignored the nausea building up in him as lack of food, drink, and overwhelming pain crashed into his body.

The only time Alex faltered was when the shadow of the Empire State Building fell over him out in front of the lobby. Wave after wave of memory hit him as he stood there, eyeing the pale stonework and glass doors. So much blood had been spilt here. Alex had thought he was going to die outside these doors, side by side with Connor and Travis.

Taking a deep breath, he stepped inside. He felt blood trickling down forehead. All the exertion must've reopened some of the smaller cuts. Sweat stung the open wounds. He could still hear Ophelia and Kitty behind him. But this part, this was his to do.

Tourists and security guards roamed about the lobby. Flashes of memory of dying Half-Bloods scrambling for ambrosia and the healers blinded him briefly. When he recovered his senses, he located the only security guard in the entire lobby whose wide eyes were trained on them. The tall, pale skinned man with graying hair straightened when they locked eyes.

Alex strode forward. He could almost taste the end. He just had to get there first. And he had to hope they had gotten here in time.

"600th floor." He didn't have time to play games. "Do it."

The security guard didn't protest. He hadn't taken his eyes off them or the Lyre. Only when Alex had the Olympus key card in hand and disappeared into the elevator with Kitty and Ophelia was he free from the man's gaze.

"There's no 600th floor," Kitty said.

He couldn't think about Kitty right now. He couldn't handle that. His body ached too much already. He couldn't take his soul aching too.

Alex slid the key card into the slot. Almost immediately, a red button appeared on the panel. He pressed it.

They took the elevator in silence. He didn't know what was running through Ophelia's mind. The important thing was that she had rejected Eris in the end. She'd come back to the mortal world. They could deal with other stuff later. Alex tried to ignore the tingling numbness in his abdomen.

The elevator door opened. Alex stared out at the white tiled bridge that had been renovated after the battle. So close. They were so close.

His feet knew where to go even as his mind shut off. Everything just hurt so much. He needed ambrosia. He needed water and food. He needed a nap for a month.

When Alex stepped off the winding marble staircase out onto the arched entrance of Olympus, the world seemed to quiet. He'd heard giggling wood and cloud nymphs all the way up. But as his dirty, ripped sneakers stepped on the beautiful main road up, they hushed.

And so it went as he led the way up to the palace. Whenever he past, people stopped. Whether this was because of how horrible they looked or because of the beauty of the famous Lyre, he had no clue.

Olympus looked far better now than it has after the Battle. Annabeth must've been busy. He passed a new statue to Tyche, a statue to Nemesis, a statue to Nike. Most of the buildings had been repaired. Garlands and ribbons hung from every corner.

They approached the entrance to the palace of the Olympians, Alex dragged himself forward. Twelve white and gold steps up. Each one sent agonizing waves of pain through his whole body. When he finally crested it, he found himself in a massive columned rotunda. He had never seen its like. Gold and silver inlaid drawings of star charts and constellations against a black ceiling shone over a large fountain: a trident, a bident, and a lightning.

The rotunda must've been a hundred meters in diameter. As Alex marveled at the new entrance to the palace, he noticed a small group further in and to the left. Campers. He'd recognize those traffic cone orange shirts anywhere. A lump formed in his throat. They were led by white centaur in a tan jacket with brown elbow patches over a red sweater vest.

Tears threatened to spill again. Not right now. He couldn't deal with this. Not now. So he turned right, to go around the other side of the fountain.

The colonnade to the throne room stood silent. No Apollo-curated radio stations, no minor spirits hawking goods, no campers chatting about architecture. Just silence. One foot in front of the other. Alex started down the long hall. Two pairs of footsteps followed him.

The gods were waiting for him.

Zeus sat in his full height upon his throne. In one hand, he grasped the Master Bolt. In the other, he gripped the arm of his chair. His sparked with residual electricity. Beside him sat Hera. Sat also were Athena, Demeter, and Dionysus. Standing in a circle to the side were Apollo, Artemis, and Hermes.

Alex halted just beyond the doorway. Blood had trickled down past his eye. He could feel himself struggling with each breath. All he wanted was sleep.

He gazed at the flames of Hestia's Hearth. Staring back, a small smile on her face, was the goddess herself. Even in the form of a girl no older than ten, he would recognize the peace that her presence brought anywhere.

He could breathe again.

"Lord Zeus!" He said, raising his voice to be heard over the flames and sparse conversation. The room fell silent. He hoped they'd gotten here in time. "Consider the quest complete."

But Zeus didn't have time to respond. A cry went up from the right hand side of the room and someone rushed forward. "It's back!"

Alex shied back as Apollo shrunk down to mortal size, his golden robes and hair glowing like a glow stick. The god's thousand watt smile nearly blinded him.

"Apollo!" Zeus stood from his throne. "You forget yourself."

Apollo stopped, frowning. But his hands itched for the Lyre and he had to stuff them under his arms to stop fidgeting. Zeus turned back to Alex.

"So. You bring the Lyre back at last. After quite the adventure in the Underworld."

Pain radiated from his whole spine through his back and shoulders, down his legs. He felt himself wavering. But he wouldn't fall. He wouldn't sit. He wouldn't ask for help. Not yet.

"It's over now," he said.

"Ophelia Byrd, daughter of Hecate," Athena said, "it is a bold move for you to approach us here on Olympus after vying for Eris's favor."

Hera sneered. "Indeed."

Ophelia stepped forward. Tear-stained cheeks and ash covered skin, she more closely resembled the girl he had met with Luke. But she held her head high. "Many of the greats have sought her favor and failed, my ladies."

Alex released a long, low breath as the unspoken insult over the Trojan War settled in the air. The only noise was the barely concealed half snort half laugh from Dionysus. Though he did catch the tiniest smirk on his father's face.

"If you do not wish for the return of the Lyre and the fulfillment of the prophecy, we can go," Alex said.

But Apollo shook his head. "That won't be necessary. Right? We do very much want an end to this prophecy." He turned back around to the other gods.

Zeus stood. He took a deep breath. "You have held up your end of the Delphic prophecy, boy. And I have held up mine." His eyes flashed with power, lightning crackling beyond the walls. "The children who fought for Kronos shall be allowed a second chance. Better hope they don't waste it."

Alex lost track of his surroundings. In the wave of relief that hit him, he suddenly became much more aware of his exhaustion and pain. Someone took the Lyre. Nausea overwhelmed him. Sinking to his knees, Alex focused on his breathing. Warmth spread through his chest as he tried to keep bile down.

The world went black.

He woke up in a bed so soft that for a brief moment he thought maybe it was a cloud. Everything in the room had been made of white stone or golden metal. The exception, a celestial mural on the ceiling, seemed to change colors every so slightly whenever he moved his head.

Beyond whatever room he'd been laid in, he could hear singing and the plucking of strings. Every few minutes the tune would change. But within these walls, he heard low chatting and the occasional clop of a hoof against marble floor.

Alex focused. He saw Chiron in the far corner of the room chatting with a dark haired man in a white track suit with the sleeves pushed up and black and gold winged sneakers. Hermes. He held his cellphone out, Martha and George watching the conversation between Chiron and Hermes like a tennis match.

George noticed him first. He turned his tiny serpentine head. Alex! Finally! You're so lazy.

George! Martha said. Now's not the time for joking.

Why not? He said.

Hermes and Chiron turned towards him. Both looked relieved, Chiron especially. He trotted over.

"How long was I out?" Alex said.

"About half a day," Chiron said. "After Apollo took the Lyre, you collapsed."

"He's taken this opportunity to test out new songs," Hermes said. "Healing and lyre practice all in one. My ears are bleeding."

Chiron let out a short laugh. "Come now. He's quite good, even you must admit it."

"After twelve hours, I don't care how good he is. I'm regretting ever making that Lyre." But Hermes flashed Alex a smile.

Alex, noticing for the first time that he wasn't in excruciating pain, snorted a laugh. He pushed himself up in bed. As the sheet fell away, he looked down at his bare chest. The black, web-like scaring and pale coloration around his right abdomen stopped him.

"Unfortunately, Apollo could not reverse Ophelia's magic. Necromancy is potent," Chiron said, voice soft. "I'm afraid it's permanent."

Hermes frowned. "Even Hecate could not reverse it."

"She tried?" Alex said. "Didn't know she cared."

Hermes shuffled his feet back and forth. With a small shrug, all he would say was, "She owed me a favor." He sighed. "Necromancy should not be played with. Ophelia is lucky she didn't turn you into some sort of zombie."

"Indeed," Chiron said.

Alex glanced around hoping to see some sign of her. When he didn't, he asked if they knew where she was.

"Ophelia has spent her time among the demigods you spared," Hermes said.

"And Kitty?"

Chiron gestured towards the wall. "In her own room. Apollo has spent the last several hours trying song after song to try to cure her lost memories."

He sat up straighter. "Any success?"

"Some," Chiron said. "But not much."

Alex nodded as he pushed himself out of bed. He wore cream colored sweat pants and white socks, but on the table beside his white bed sat a clean orange Camp shirt. He hesitated.

"Alex, I, we," Chiron corrected, "have a job proposal for you, if you will hear us out."

He turned back towards them. Hermes stood a bit behind Chiron, arms over his chest and cellphone in his track pants pocket. No hint of a smile, no mischievous smirk. Alex turned to Chiron. He didn't smile either.

"Go on then," Alex said.

"With the new policies regarding claiming children, as well as the recognition of the minor gods, the camp has seen quite an increase in attendance," Chiron said. "I could use an assistant."

Alex stared at him. "An assistant? Me?"

"You are a natural leader, Alex," Chiron said. "More than that, you look out for those who fall through the cracks. What happened before should never have happened. Now that so many are arriving who know little about the real world, I could use your skills to ensure no one gets left behind."

"Senior Camp Counselor," Hermes said. Then he smirked. "Connor and Travis would report to you."

"In some matters," Chiron said. "You would help with introducing new Half-Bloods to the camp, putting an end to any instances of bullying, that sort of thing."

Alex took a deep breath. He hadn't considered what he would do when the quest ended. Maybe college? He didn't want that. Not really. A trade school perhaps. What was an eighteen year old demigod supposed to do in the world? In all his scenarios, he'd never imagined a job offer at Camp Half-Blood, though.

"I urge you to consider it," Chiron said. "You're nineteen now, Alex. The young ones will look up to you."

Nineteen. He'd turned nineteen on the quest. Alex looked away from Chiron. He saw Hermes fiddling with the zipper on his sweatshirt.

Chiron pawed at the floor, as if he felt the tension. "I'll leave you to think about it. Regardless of your choice, you have completed a quest to be proud of."

His hoof beats slowly faded down the hall. But Hermes didn't leave. He leaned against a wall, the wings on his sneakers beating faster than usual. He stopped fidgeting with something in his pocket.

"You should take Chiron 's offer," he said.

"What day is it?"

Hermes took a deep breath. "September 19." He pulled something out of his pocket. A tiny caduceus bracelet. Vindication, even shinier than he remembered it. Hermes tossed it to him. "Happy birthday."

"No way," Alex muttered. He ran his hands through his hair, letting Vindication lay in the bed beside him. "No way."

What were the odds? The day he returned the Lyre, the day he paid reparations on behalf of the children who had rebelled. That was the day he turned nineteen. The same Luke had been when he first left Camp Half-Blood. The Fates must've been having a good laugh over that.

"I wish I could have saved her, Alex."

He looked up. Hermes had unshed tears in his eyes but he didn't let them fall. "What?"

"Your mother. I should have insisted you go to Camp." Hermes shook his head. "She wouldn't allow it. And I didn't push it. And you were happy." He let out a bemused half laugh. "I had another son to worry about. Lot of good that did."

Alex watched his father pacing in the room. Pity and resentment fought for control. Hermes had saved his life, more than once. But Hermes had also left Chris Rodriguez without a godly parent. Hermes had watched Luke suffer. But his father, though a god, wasn't omnipotent.

"I forgive you." The words came out of Alex before he realized he meant them. He did forgive him. But couldn't forget the pain Hermes had caused. He tied Vindication in his wrist. "I meant what I said to Phoebe in Disney World, though. I don't fight for you." He stood, almost equal in height to Hermes. He looked down at the camp shirt in his hands. "But I can fight with you. Maybe I'll take that job."

After a moment, Hermes answered him. "Do it for Luke."

Do it for Luke. Alex looked up at his father. The same sharp features, always ready smirk, and general air of mischief that all his children bore reflected back in his father's face. Alex extended a hand. He didn't expect his father, the Olympian god, to shake it. But then, he hadn't expected his father to save his life.

Hermes shook his hand. As his father turned and left the room, muttering that Zeus wanted a letter written, Alex pulled on the orange Camp shirt.