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Paul Blofis never considered himself anything more than an ordinary guy. A high school teacher, fiancé, and stepdad-in-training—that was his life. But ever since Percy had come into it, "ordinary" was a word that didn’t quite fit anymore. He’d seen strange things, flickers of something not quite right at the edges of his vision, but he always brushed them off. Stress, he figured. Living with the son of Poseidon would do that to a man.
But nothing could have prepared him for what was to come during the Battle of Manhattan.
Paul had evacuated with Sally like everyone else, pushed along in a sea of confused New Yorkers. Sirens blared, and the streets buzzed with rumors of a terrorist attack, but Paul knew it wasn’t that. There was something else. He couldn’t explain the feeling gnawing at his gut, something ancient and primal, but it was there.
They were halfway to safety when Sally suddenly stopped, her hand gripping his arm tightly. Her face was pale, her eyes wide with fear. “Paul, I have to go back,” she said, her voice trembling. “Percy’s there.”
Before Paul could respond, she was already moving, darting back toward the heart of the city. “Sally, wait!” he called after her, but she didn’t slow down. His heart pounded in his chest as he sprinted to catch up.
When they reached the edge of Times Square, Paul’s world shifted. At first, it was subtle—a strange shimmer, a warping of the air around them. He blinked, rubbing his eyes, but it didn’t go away. Monsters—things that couldn’t possibly be real—appeared and disappeared in flashes. Cyclopes. Harpies. Giants. His mind struggled to make sense of it, and for a moment, he felt dizzy, like the ground beneath him was tilting.
Then the veil dropped completely.
Suddenly, everything was clear, and the world was not what it had been. There, towering above the city, was a massive giant with hair like fire, swinging a sword the size of a building. Cyclopes charged through the streets, smashing cars and scattering terrified mortals who couldn’t even see what was happening. Winged creatures screeched as they swooped down from the sky, talons sharp and deadly.
And in the middle of it all was Percy.
Paul froze, his breath catching in his throat as he spotted the boy. Percy was moving with a speed and ferocity Paul had never imagined. His sword—a shimmering bronze blade—flashed as it sliced through one monster after another. His face was a mask of determination, though Paul could see the exhaustion in his eyes, the weight of what he was fighting.
A minotaur charged Percy, knocking him off his feet, and Paul’s heart lurched. He wanted to shout, to do something, but he was rooted in place. He watched helplessly as Percy struggled to stand, bruised and bleeding, but unbroken. There was a deep strength in him that seemed to call to the very earth beneath them.
Then Paul saw him—Kronos.
The Titan of Time strode forward, his presence overwhelming. His armor glowed with an unnatural golden light, his scythe gleaming in his hands. Paul’s entire body tensed as he realized what Percy was up against. This wasn’t just a battle—it was a fight for survival, for the world itself.
Kronos raised his scythe, and for a moment, Paul thought it was over. He thought he was about to witness Percy’s end. But Percy stood tall, eyes blazing with a fierce resolve. Paul could feel the power emanating from him, something ancient and untamed.
The ground rumbled beneath their feet, and Paul barely had time to register what was happening before a massive wave of water surged through the streets. It crashed into the monsters, sweeping them away like debris. Percy called the Hudson itself to his aid, and it answered.
Paul could hardly believe what he was seeing. Percy, this kid who should have been worrying about school and friends, was out here fighting gods and monsters, commanding the forces of nature. It was too much. It was all too much.
As Paul’s attention shifted, he saw something else—someone else. A group of demigods dragging a girl through the chaos, her form limp and bloody. His eyes widened when he recognized her: Annabeth. Her skin was ashen, and her breathing was ragged.
Beside her, a young boy was being practically shoved forward. His golden hair stood out in stark contrast to his pale, terrified face. Paul’s heart twisted at the sight of the boy, who couldn’t have been older than thirteen, his hands shaking as he was led toward Annabeth. He looked like he wanted to run in the opposite direction, his blue eyes wide with fear.
“Will!” someone called. “She needs healing, now!”
The boy—Will—nodded frantically, though Paul could see the uncertainty in his movements. He knelt beside Annabeth, his hands hovering over her wound, hesitating.
Paul watched as the boy finally placed his trembling hands on Annabeth’s side, muttering something under his breath. Light—a soft, warm glow—emanated from his palms. But the terror in Will’s eyes never left. He looked so young, so vulnerable. This was a child thrust into a war he had no choice but to fight in.
Paul wanted to run to him, to tell him it was okay, that he didn’t have to do this. But Paul knew better. This boy, this healer, was their only hope for Annabeth. He was already burdened with the weight of responsibility that no one his age should carry.
Will’s hands shook even as the light continued to grow, his face pale with concentration. Annabeth’s breathing slowed, the color returning to her face, but Will looked like he might pass out at any moment. His fear was palpable, but he didn’t stop. He couldn’t stop.
And Paul couldn’t look away.
The battle raged on, but for a moment, all Paul could see was this boy—just a child—facing horrors no one should have to witness.
The war dragged everyone in, no matter their age, no matter their skills.
And still, Percy fought. Annabeth, now partially healed, was carried off to safety, while Will collapsed to the side, breathing heavily as others rushed to his aid. Paul’s chest tightened, knowing that these demigods—these children—were the ones holding the line, protecting the world from destruction.
The battle continued, and Paul’s eyes darted back to Percy just in time to see him clash with Kronos. The sound of their blades meeting was like thunder, echoing through the streets. Sparks flew as they fought, their movements almost too fast to follow. Percy looked small next to the Titan, but there was no fear in his eyes. Only determination.
The city trembled as their battle reached its peak, and Paul’s heart was in his throat. He wanted to do something, to help, but he knew there was nothing he could do. He was just a mortal, watching gods and monsters tear apart the city he called home.
And then, just when it seemed like there was no end in sight, the sky darkened. A massive figure descended from the clouds, and Paul knew—this was Poseidon. The god of the sea had come to claim his son’s victory.
With Poseidon’s arrival, the tide turned. The monsters fled, the air thick with the sense of a great power retreating. Kronos faltered, and Percy, exhausted but unrelenting, struck the final blow.
It was over.
The battlefield fell silent, save for the groans of the injured and the distant sound of rushing water. Paul’s legs trembled as the weight of what he had just witnessed settled over him. He scanned the wreckage, his eyes landing on Percy, who was still standing, though barely. His sword hung at his side, his body battered and bruised, but he was alive.
Sally ran to him first, tears in her eyes as she embraced her son. Paul followed, his mind still reeling from the horrors he had seen. He reached Percy, pulling him into a hug, feeling the boy’s exhaustion in the way he leaned against him.
“Percy,” Paul whispered, his voice hoarse, “you—are you okay?”
Percy gave him a faint smile, his eyes heavy with fatigue. “Yeah,” he murmured. “I’m okay.”
Paul wanted to believe him, but after what he had seen—the monsters, the destruction, the sheer scale of the battle—he wasn’t sure anything would ever be okay again. But Percy was alive. That was all that mattered right now.
As they stood together in the aftermath of the battle, Paul glanced back at the wreckage, at the smoking ruins of the battlefield. He didn’t know why the Mist had let him see through it that day. But now that he had, there was no turning back.
He had seen the horrors of Percy’s world, and he knew, without a doubt, that this ordinary life he had thought he was living would never be the same.
Paul had never been so acutely aware of the weight of silence. The battle had ended, but the devastation it left behind was like an invisible force pressing down on him, making it hard to breathe. He stood beside Sally and Percy, watching as the demigods began to regroup, their numbers painfully diminished. The air was thick with exhaustion, the kind that went beyond physical tiredness—it was the heaviness of survival.
Sally hadn’t let go of Percy since the battle’s conclusion, and Paul couldn’t blame her. He’d seen the boy do incredible things—impossible things—but Percy was still her son, still a kid who had been thrust into a war that no one should have to fight. Paul wanted to pull Percy into his own embrace again, to protect him from whatever was coming next, but there was no shielding him from this reality.
As the survivors gathered, Paul’s eyes drifted to the fallen. Bodies of monsters faded into golden dust, but there were demigods—real, human children—who wouldn’t be going home. He could hear the quiet sobs of those left behind, kneeling beside friends who wouldn’t be standing up again. His heart ached, not just for the loss, but for the innocence that had been torn away from these kids.
The sight of Will Solace nearby brought Paul’s thoughts back to the young boy. Will was sitting on the ground, his head resting in his hands, his shoulders shaking. Paul wasn’t sure if the boy was crying or just trying to breathe after the intensity of the healing he’d performed. Either way, it was clear that he was overwhelmed, haunted by the weight of the lives he had been responsible for—both those he saved and those he couldn’t.
Paul hesitated for a moment, glancing at Sally, who was still whispering comforting words to Percy. He knew she wouldn’t mind if he stepped away for a minute.
Walking over to Will, Paul crouched down beside him, his voice soft but steady. “Hey, you okay?”
Will flinched at first, clearly startled by the presence of an adult who wasn’t a demigod. His blue eyes, still wide with fear and exhaustion, looked up at Paul. There was something in them that Paul recognized all too well—a kind of brokenness, the kind that comes from seeing too much, too soon.
“I—” Will’s voice was shaky, barely a whisper. “I don’t know. I—I tried my best. I healed Annabeth, but there were others… I couldn’t—”
His words trailed off, his hands trembling as he stared at them. Paul didn’t have to be a healer to understand what Will was feeling. The weight of responsibility, the pressure to save lives, the guilt when it didn’t work—it was too much for anyone, let alone a boy who should’ve been worrying about school or friends, not life and death.
“You did everything you could,” Paul said gently, placing a comforting hand on Will’s shoulder. “You saved her. I saw it.”
Will shook his head, his voice barely audible. “But what if… what if I didn’t do enough?” His voice cracked as he whispered the words, his eyes glassy.
Paul’s chest tightened at the sheer vulnerability in Will’s words. He didn’t have the right answers—how could he?—but he did know one thing. “You’re not responsible for all of this,” he said, motioning to the battlefield. “You’ve been asked to carry a burden that no one should ever have to bear, especially not someone your age. You’ve done more than enough.”
Will nodded, though it was clear the weight of his guilt was still heavy on his heart. His gaze shifted to the battlefield, to the bodies being gathered and the cries of those who’d lost their friends.
“I had eighteen siblings when we went into battle,” Will said suddenly, his voice soft, but the pain in it cut through the chaos around them. “We weren’t fighters. We’re healers. Artists. But we went anyway because it was the right thing to do.” He swallowed hard, his hands clenching into fists. “Now there’s only three of us left.”
Paul’s heart sank. He hadn’t known how much Will had lost. He hadn’t realized the extent of the tragedy that had hit him personally, beyond the battle as a whole. These demigods weren’t just fighting for the world—they were losing their families in the process. And for Will, the burden was almost unbearable.
“I keep thinking about them,” Will continued, his voice shaky. “My brothers, my sisters… they trusted me. I was supposed to keep them safe, and now—now they’re gone. And I don’t know how to—”
He stopped, his breath hitching as if the words were too painful to say. His hands trembled, his body a mixture of exhaustion and grief. Paul didn’t know what to say. He couldn’t imagine the weight Will was carrying—the sense of failure, the survivor’s guilt, the agony of losing almost his entire family in one fell swoop.
Paul wanted to reach out, to say something, anything, that might ease the boy’s pain. But what comfort could he offer to someone who had lost so much? What could he say that would make the crushing weight of loss any lighter?
“You’re still here,” Paul said quietly after a long pause. “And your siblings, the ones who are still here… they need you. Just like the others did. And you’re going to keep doing what you’ve always done—you’re going to help them. Because that’s who you are, Will.”
Will’s shoulders shook, a quiet sob escaping him. “But what if I lose them too?”
Paul’s throat tightened. He didn’t have an answer for that. There were no guarantees in this world—least of all for demigods. But he couldn’t let Will carry that fear alone. Not when he was already so burdened with grief.
“I can’t promise you won’t lose anyone else,” Paul said gently, his voice thick with emotion. “But I can promise that whatever happens, you won’t have to carry it alone.”
Will nodded, wiping at his eyes with the back of his hand. The exhaustion was still there, the grief still raw, but something in his expression shifted—a small glimmer of resilience, buried deep but still present.
“You’re strong, Will,” Paul added. “Stronger than you think. And your siblings—they know that. They trust you, even now.”
As Paul stood back up, he noticed something else—Percy was watching them, his expression unreadable. It wasn’t until Paul saw the flicker of recognition in Percy’s eyes that he realized what had happened: Percy had been forced into this world years ago, just like Will. And now he was watching another child go through the same brutal initiation.
It was a cycle that never seemed to end.
Paul made his way back to Sally and Percy, his mind racing with questions. How long had this been going on? How many children had been sacrificed to wars they didn’t ask for? He had always known Percy’s world was dangerous, but until today, he hadn’t truly grasped the depth of the horrors these kids faced on a daily basis.