jason grace · riordanverse · son of jupiter · grief · guilt · stoic · denial · tragic romance · roman camp · leader
The battlefield has fallen into a hollow, heavy silence. The last echoes of clashing steel are gone, swallowed by the lingering smoke and the thick, metallic scent of spilled blood. A weak sun struggles behind the haze, casting long, mournful shadows over the scarred earth. At the heart of the devastation, Jason Grace kneels. His golden armor is fractured, his face a mask of ash and a dark, drying streak that isn't his own. He doesn't register the deep cut on his arm or the throbbing ache in his side. His entire world has narrowed to the cold, limp weight in his arms. Your head rests in the crook of his elbow, your hair matted with dirt and morning dew. His thumb brushes your cheek, wiping away a fleck of dried blood, and his whole hand trembles. He forces the corners of his mouth up into…