Luke often contemplated whether he really deserved Elysium. He had done so many terrible things in his life. He'd let his longing for a family curdle into bitterness and resent to such an event that he'd become the living vessel of probably one of the most evil beings on the entire planet. Sometimes, in the slice of empty time between the last reaches of sleep and the trailing expectation of wakefulness, he thought he could hear Kronos' screams echoing from the pits or Tartarus. But when he awoke, properly, all such lingering feelings of uncertainty disappeared. That was the charm of Elysium. Nothing awful ever remained for long.

And although life -well, death- was undeniably wonderful in Elysium, he couldn't shake the feeling that he was missing something. Someone. Luke didn't remember having any mortal friends. Sometimes the brief memory of childhood playdates fluttered in his mind but they disappeared almost immediately. The wonder of Elysium snatching away at any painful moments. And yet, in these brief snatches of reminiscence he caught a glimpse of a time when friends would come over. But they never stayed for long. May Castellan would doubtlessly experience one of this visions; they'd be another flash of green light and the shaky whispered prophecies that would tumble out of her mouth. Luke was terrified of his own mother. And his visiting friends would be subject to the same terror. They would never visit again. And so Luke spent much of his childhood alone, hiding in the wardrobe, under the table, behind the window ledge, always running from his mother.

And then, when he was nine years old, he finally did the unthinkable: he ran away. He met Thalia. Thalia. Whenever he thought of the daughter of Zeus, he experienced a kind of warmth. As if Elysium amplified all those happy memories with the girl so that they culminated into a kind of unseen golden light. Sometimes, he did have the fleeting feelings of regret, and hatred at himself, for poisoning her tree, for poisoning her. But the invisible workers of Elysium soothed away such worries. Comforted him with the idea that he too had been poisoned. By Kronos. That the events that led to the great battle of Olympus was not his fault. He didn't press at those consolations. He didn't argue. It was useless to fight against such powerful entities. He knew that from experience. And so he let the brilliance of Greek paradise work on his mind, subdue those horrible thoughts that threatened to hurt him.

Luke had grown to understand that forever was a very long time when you had nobody to share it with. He lived in a beautiful Italian villa. It was a tall, domineering piece of architecture with an irregular rifling punctuated by a tall tower, a campanile as Annabeth had called it. Once he had mentioned that he liked the particular architectural style and, as a result, an eleven year old Annabeth had designed a gorgeous mansion, that befit his own imaginings. Even then, Luke knew that Annabeth would grow up to be extraordinary. The elaborate drawing, sketched on a flimsy piece of butcher's paper, had long been lost. Luke wondered what happened to it? Did one of his many siblings steal it when he left Camp Half Blood? Was it buried with him once all the usual funeral rites had been conducted? Nevertheless, the image had somehow been seared, subconsciously, into his mind. And the palatial building had been waiting for him when he arrived in the Underworld.

Luke recalled how animated she'd grow when discussing the characteristics and features of specific architectural styles. When he'd first entered his new home, he'd wandered through the space as Annabeth's voice echoed in his mind. Each and every little detail resonated with some scrap of conversation he'd had with the daughter of Athena. The Tuscan detailing, the small balconies and cantilevered eaves that offered deep summer shade. The arcaded porticos that made it the gorgeous picturesque vision of the house. All of it summoned memories spent with Annabeth. He sighed as he thought of the girl. How old would she be now? And he never had the chance to tell her how he felt about her. It was a moot point anyway. She was, and would forever remain, with Percy. The only hope that Luke held was that Thalia would die before leaving the hunters of Artemis. She, preserved in her youth, would eventually die and doubtlessly be sent to Elysium. He would finally be with her then. And so Luke waited for years. He would wait an eternity to see the daughter of Zeus again. But why did forever have to take such a long time.

It was undeniably nice to live in such a place. Fred Rogers lived a few blocks over; Luke literally lived in Mr Rogers' neighbourhood, and he had met Thomas Jefferson at a barbecue a few weeks ago... or was it months, years even? Time was so fluid in the Underworld. The only reminder of it came with the snatches of conversation with the newly deceased. Fragments of a world threatened by the rise of Gaea. Of a world saved from Gaea by Percy Jackson, Annabeth Chase and other demigods he didn't know. How time changed things. It hurt to think about the lives Annabeth, Thalia, Grover and the other heroes of Olympus were living, without him. And so he threw himself into new hobbies. He spent years mastering the piano, refining his chess prowess, and peculiarly, learning to sew and crochet after spending dozens of afternoons with Rosa Parks who elaborated not only as her past as a leader of the US Civil Rights Movement but also as a seamstress. But in those little moments when the listlessness of forever crept in, all he could think about was how long it'd be until he would finally be joined in the afterlife by a friend.