When my vision came back into focus, I saw Kronos grasping his sword. Then he

bellowed in pain and dropped it. His hands were smoking and seared. The hearth

fire had grown red-hot, like the scythe wasn't compatible with it. I saw an

image of Hestia flickering in the ashes, frowning at Kronos with disapproval.

 

Luke turned and collapsed, clutching his ruined hands. "Please, Percy . . ."

 

I struggled to my feet. I moved toward him with the knife. I should kill him.

That was the plan.

 

Luke seemed to know what I was thinking. He moistened his lips. "You can't . . .

can't do it yourself.

 

He'll break my control. He'll defend himself. Only my hand. I know where. I can

. . . can keep him controlled."

 

He was definitely glowing now, his skin starting to smoke.

 

I raised the knife to strike. Then I looked at Annabeth, at Grover cradling her

in his arms, trying to shield her. And I finally understood what she'd been

trying to tell me.

 

You are not the hero, Rachel had said. It will affect what you do.