Annabeth nodded. "My fatal flaw. That's what the Sirens showed me. My fatal flaw is hubris."

Percy blinked. "That brown stuff they spread on veggie sandwiches?"

"No, kelp head. That's hummus." Y/N rolled his eyes. "Hubris is worse."

"What could be worse than hummus?" Percy joked.

"Hubris means deadly pride, Percy." Annabeth said. "Thinking you can do things better than anyone else... even the gods."

"You feel that way?" Percy asked.

She looked down. "Don't you ever feel like, what if the world really is messed up? What if we could do it all over again from scratch? No more war. Nobody homeless. No more summer reading homework. I mean, the West represents a lot of the best things mankind ever did, and that's why the fire is still burning. That's why Olympus is still around. But sometimes you just see the bad stuff, you know? And you start thinking the way Luke does: 'If I could tear this all down, I would do it better.' Don't you ever feel that way? Like you could do a better job if you ran the world?"

"Uh... no. Me running the world would kind of be a nightmare." Percy frowned.

"Then you're lucky. Hubris isn't your fatal flaw."

"What's mine then?"

"Who knows, Percy." Y/N sighed. "I don't know mine either, but every hero has one."

"And if you don't find it and learn to control it... well, they don't call it 'fatal' for nothing." Annabeth finished.

There was silence for a bit as Percy absorbed that information. "So was it worth it?" He asked Annabeth. "Do you feel... wiser?"

"I sure don't," Y/N muttered, curling the flames around his hands. Annabeth gazed into the distance.

"I'm not sure. But we have to save the camp. If we don't stop Luke..." Annabeth's eyes widened. "Guys..." they turned. Up ahead was another blotch of land, a saddle-shaped island with forested hills and white beaches and green meadows.

"30 degrees, 31 minutes north, 75 degrees, 12 minutes west." Percy whispered.

The home of the Cyclops.