CLARISSE LA RUE

You didn’t remember dying. Not in the way people usually think about it—one moment, the world had been spinning with chaos and blood and fire from the temple monster’s claws, and the next, there was nothing. Nothing but darkness, and the sick, sharp pain that had consumed your body when Clarisse had screamed your name, trying to keep you alive.

The quest had been simple. Retrieve a magical object hidden in some ancient temple, make it back to camp, hand it over, go home. But nothing in life—or death—was ever simple. You’d argued before stepping inside the temple, a stupid quarrel that didn’t even matter, and it had left both of you distracted. And now, lying there, lifeless, you were the exact opposite of a plan. Clarisse had cradled you, her hands shaking and bloody, her screams echoing through the ruins as the monster roared away, leaving nothing but silence and ruin behind.

She thought she had lost you forever.

And for a while, she had. The weeks after your death were hell. Clarisse La Rue, daughter of Ares, feared nothing—except losing you. The tough, fearless, unbreakable girl of Camp Half-Blood had crumbled, leaving nothing but the raw, gnawing ache of grief, anger, and guilt. She tried to move on, she dated, she shoved her feelings into whatever she could—boys, training, missions—but it never touched the hole you’d left behind. And then, a few years later, somehow, you came back.

Your godly parent had revived you, pulled you from death itself, and kept you safe. Years passed with you being tended and trained, growing stronger, waiting for the right moment to return. And when Percy arrived on some chaotic quest, it all clicked into motion—you were coming home.

Your first day back at Camp Half-Blood was surreal. You had been fawned over, smiled at, questioned endlessly by curious campers and wary staff. Chiron had wanted to talk for hours about what happened, making sure you were truly ready to reintegrate into camp life. And yet, through all that, one thought burned in your mind like fire: Clarisse.

She didn’t know you were back. That was probably for the best. Because if she had, the camp might have exploded. Clarisse had loved you—still loved you, even after all those years. You could feel it in every corner of your memory. You knew how she worked, how she protected herself by pretending not to care, how she had thrown herself into relationships and reckless behavior to numb the ache you left. Seeing her in chaos when she discovered you were alive? You didn’t think you could handle that… not yet.

So you wandered, careful, letting your steps guide you toward your cabin. The wind was warm against your skin, carrying the scent of pine and campfires and the faint tang of magical energy that always lingered around the place. You were almost there when your heart dropped. There she was.

Clarisse.

She wasn’t alone. A boy stood nearby, Chris—someone you vaguely recognized from camp chatter. She laughed lightly at something he said, her guard down for the first time in what felt like forever. She looked… happy, or at least content. Not the way she looked when she’d looked at you. Not the way she’d looked in the aftermath of your death, when grief had made her eyes burn with longing and fury.

You froze.

Chris noticed you first. His jaw dropped, a literal pause in motion, his hand lifting to point before he opened his mouth in shock. Clarisse, oblivious, continued talking until her gaze flicked toward the commotion, following his line of sight. And then her eyes met yours.

Time stopped.

“User?” Her voice was small, quiet, almost fragile. Your name felt heavy in her mouth, weighted with everything she had bottled up. You could see the memory of her holding you, bleeding, the scream you never wanted her to hear again, reflected in the tight line of her lips and the blink of her tear-filled eyes.

“Clarisse…” you said, voice soft, steady. The years of separation made the words feel strange on your tongue, like greeting a ghost you’d always loved. “…hey.”

She looked away immediately, blinking, forcing herself to breathe. She couldn’t cry—not here, not now. Not with everyone watching. She was supposed to be strong. She was supposed to be untouchable. She was supposed to be Clarisse La Rue.

But she wasn’t. Not really.

“This has got to be a joke,” she snapped, voice sharp, anger and fear clawing through every syllable. “How the fuck are you here? Tell me—now!”

Her fists tightened, not at you, but at the impossible situation. Her jaw flexed, and her whole body vibrated with tension. Chris stayed quiet, confused, watching the interaction unfold, unaware of the history, unaware of the love that had nearly shattered her when she lost you.

You took a careful step toward her, hands raised slightly in a gesture of peace. “It’s… it’s true,” you said, voice low. “I… I died. But I… I didn’t. My parent—my godly parent brought me back. I’ve been… gone for a while.”

Her chest heaved, her breathing uneven. Part of her wanted to yell, part of her wanted to throw herself at you and never let go. Part of her wanted to scream at the gods for letting you go in the first place. She turned her gaze back to Chris briefly, a silent, cold warning in her eyes, before snapping back to you.

“You—” she began, voice thick with everything she’d been holding in, “you—you died. I saw it. I held you. And now you’re… here. Alive. You’re alive. How the hell am I supposed to feel about this?!”

You swallowed, stepping closer until you were just a few feet away. “I know… I know, Clarisse. And I… I don’t blame you for trying to move on. I don’t blame you for… anything. I’m just… here now.”

Her hands curled into fists at her sides, jaw tight, but tears pooled at the edges of her eyes despite herself. She wanted to yell, to laugh, to punch something, anything to release the storm inside her. But she couldn’t. Not yet. All she could do was stare at you, letting the reality sink in.

“You’re—you're really here,” she whispered finally, voice breaking. “…I can’t… I thought I’d lost you forever. And now you’re… here. And I don’t know what the fuck to do with that.”

You reached out, slowly, gently, letting your fingers hover near hers. “You don’t have to do anything right now,” you said softly. “I’m not going anywhere. Not without you.”

Her chest rose and fell, and you could see the struggle inside her—the fire, the fear, the love. All the years of pain and grief, the anger, the heartbreak, the guilt, boiled into that single moment. And finally, after a long pause, she let her hands fall to yours.

Not touching you yet, not holding you, just letting her fingers brush against yours like a tentative promise. “You’re back,” she whispered, voice barely audible. “You’re really back. Gods… I—”

You smiled gently, letting the tension melt from your shoulders. “Yeah,” you said softly. “I’m back. And I’m not going anywhere.”

Clarisse’s eyes shone, a mixture of relief, fear, love, and disbelief. And for the first time in years, the weight of the world on her shoulders felt lighter. You were alive. You were here. And maybe, somehow, everything else could wait.