The Tower of Nero (The Trials of Apollo, #5)

by Rick Riordan

He hadn’t meant all the terrible things about being human, of which there were plenty. He’d meant the best things: standing up for a just cause, putting others first, having stubborn faith that you could make a difference, even if it meant you had to die to protect your friends and what you believed in. These were not the kind of feelings that gods had…well, ever.

Somehow, he had inherited all my best qualities and none of the worst.

Mortals and gods had one thing in common: we were notoriously nostalgic for “the good old days.” We were always looking back to some magical golden time before everything went bad.

As an immortal, of course, I should have known that there never were any “good old days.” The problems humans face never really change, because mortals bring their own baggage with them. The same is true of gods.

I wanted to go back to a time before all the sacrifices had been made. Before I had experienced so much pain. But making things right could not mean rewinding the clock. Even Kronos hadn’t had that much power over time. I suspected that wasn’t what Jason Grace would want, either. When he’d told me to remember being human, he’d meant building on pain and tragedy, overcoming it, learning from it. That was something gods never did. We just complained. To be human is to move forward, to adapt, to believe in your ability to make things better. That is the only way to make the pain and sacrifice mean something.

Now, though, one of those “not-so-rare” lives was Estelle Blofis’s, giggler and future ruler of the Crusty Crust. And her parents, Sally and Paul…In fact, there wasn’t a single mortal I considered expendable. Not one deserved to be snuffed out by Nero’s cruelty. The revelation stunned me. I had become a human-life hoarder!

“I’m so sorry,” I managed at last. “No, no,” Jason said. “I made my choice. You’re not to blame. You don’t owe me anything except to remember what I said. Remember what’s important.” “You’re important,” I said. “Your life!” Jason tilted his head. “I mean…sure. But if a hero isn’t ready to lose everything for a greater cause, is that person really a hero?”

Perhaps that was what Styx had been trying to teach me: It wasn’t about how loudly you swore your oath, or what sacred words you used. It was about whether or not you meant it. And whether your promise was worth making.

“Always,” I promised. “The sun always comes back.”

So, dear reader, we have come to the end of my trials. You have followed me through five volumes of adventures and six months of pain and suffering. By my reckoning, you have read two hundred and ten of my haiku.

However, anytime you take aim and prepare to fire your best shot, anytime you seek to put your emotions into a song or poem, know that I am smiling on you. We are friends now. Call on me. I will be there for you.