The Last Olympian

"Your powers drain you too much," I noted.
He nodded sleepily. "With great power . . . comes great need to take a nap. Wake me up later."

Because Hope survives best at the hearth,” I said. “Guard it for me, and I won’t be tempted to give up again.”

Hestia shook her head. “I am here because when all else fails, when all the other mighty gods have gone off to war, I am all that’s left. Home. Hearth. I am the last Olympian. You must remember me when you face your final decision.”

“Oh gee,” he said sarcastically. “You think?”

maybe a sign that I could see from anywhere in Manhattan. To let me know you’re okay.”

“You’re my son,” she said miserably. “I can’t just . . .”

I could tell I’d have to push her harder if I wanted her to agree, but I didn’t want to. I remembered poor Ms. Castellan in her kitchen, waiting for her son to come home.

I didn’t have anything against cardboard, so I tried one.

“A half-blood of the eldest dogs . . .”

“Er, Percy?” Annabeth interrupted. “That’s gods. Not dogs.”

Then she laughed for real, and she put her hands around my neck. “I am never, ever going to make things easy for you, Seaweed Brain. Get used to it.”

The world was collapsing, and the only thing that really mattered to me was that she was alive.