Chapter Text
Three days into Percy’s weeklong visit to Atlantis, and he finally felt comfortable enough to move around on his own. The first day he’d stuck to his dad’s side like glue—and the one time he had moved away he’d gotten lost and ended up halfway across the palace before Dad had managed to track him down—and he’d spent much of the second day being rotated between different family members in an effort to get to know them better—except for Triton, who avoided him like the plague.
He’d spent several hours with Tyson in the forges—not allowed to touch anything, of course, but just watching his little brother work his magic.
Kym had already dragged him outside the city to cook up some underwater storms, much to Poseidon’s chagrin.
The god of the seas had tried, unsuccessfully, to stop Kymopoleia from continuing to teach Percy how to make storms, but Percy was quickly learning that his dad was…well, a little bit of a pushover, to be honest.
Maybe it was because Percy was still recovering from his near-death experience under the sky, but Poseidon folded like a lawn chair everytime Percy turned his begging face on him—and now that Percy was aware of this, he very much used it to his advantage every opportunity he got.
Rhode and Benthesikyme both warmed up to him rather quickly. Percy had mentioned, offhandedly, his ordeal over the past week and that had apparently awakened both goddess’s inherent mothering instincts—sisterly instincts? It felt a little more like big sister instincts, actually. They reminded him of Silena, to be honest, especially when they teamed up to drag him out into the city to a fancy spa in one of the outer circles.
Herophile liked to spend her time in the library—a place Percy generally never stepped foot in, but found himself enjoying in this case, both from the company and the fact that the books were written in Ancient Greek. The immortal daughter of Poseidon and Aphrodite didn’t like to talk much, preferring to communicate with her hands because it was easier than speaking in word puzzles all the time, but the two of them had a lot of fun trying to teach Percy sign language.
Amphitrite, truly, had come as the biggest surprise. Percy had expected her to be polite but standoffish, and yet the Queen of the seas had showed up in the library at the tail end of Percy’s time with Herophile and asked if he’d like to accompany her to the city markets.
Percy accepted, but his nerves must’ve been obvious on his face because Amphitrite had been exceedingly careful on their trip not to make him any more nervous. As soon as she’d caught on to his uncomfortableness around him, she’d been determined to fix it, stopping him gently just outside the palace and guiding him to a bench in one of the nearby gardens.
When you’re immortal, she’d told him softly. You find it’s hard to love just one person for all eternity. I have loved more than one in my life, as has my husband. Your father will always be my husband, and he will always return to my side. I do not begrudge you, or your mother, for your existence. You have nothing to fear from me, Perseus.
Percy’d heard the truth in her words, seen the earnestness in her face, and found himself relaxing. Amphitrite had been pleased, spending most of the afternoon showing him around the markets and buying him whatever she noticed caught his eye despite his protests.
It was rather nice, all things considered. Amphitrite was…a lot different to the last stepparent Percy’d had—she couldn’t have been more different, actually. By the time they’d returned to the palace, Percy’d felt comfortable enough to joke around with his stepmom—mostly they’d made fun of Poseidon, and the god had given them a suspicious squint over dinner when they kept looking at him and snickering to themselves.
Percy’s dad had stolen him away this morning for some father-son bonding time, lamenting over how the rest of the family had gotten him all of yesterday, and they’d spent the entire morning with Poseidon showing Percy some of the more hidden wonders of the city.
Poseidon had been called into a meeting after lunch and had, after some grumbling, relinquished Percy to wander the palace on his own with a promise not to cause trouble.
So now Percy was strolling through one of the many palace gardens, admiring the coral structures and shining pearl lights all on his own. He meandered along the path slowly, blinking when he emerged into an open courtyard.
The floor was made of soft sand, and multiple kelp dummies were scattered throughout and—oh, Percy’d found the training arena, it seemed.
There was only one other occupant in the arena, and Percy took in the green skin and two tails with a slight grimace.
Triton.
The merman had done an impressive job of avoiding Percy over the past several days, giving him haughty sniffs and looking down his nose at Percy every time they crossed paths and Percy was…fine with it.
He was.
Percy was no stranger to people disliking him on principle. Before camp, most of the people he’d interacted with had, in fact, looked down their noses at him—they’d looked at his scruffy, torn clothes and dirty fingernails and crooked grin and decided he was too much trouble before he could even open his mouth.
And Percy was fine with that. Used to it, in fact.
That didn’t mean his chest didn’t sting with every scowl sent his way—didn’t mean Percy didn’t give as good as he got back to his half-brother because he wasn’t just going to let Triton treat him like shit for no reason.
In the arena, Triton flicked his tails, somersaulting over a kelp dummy and stabbing down with the gleaming trident in his hand.
Percy, despite his less than pleasant feelings toward Triton, was enthralled at the sight. He’d never used a trident before, but a part of him felt he’d be good at it, if he had the chance to try. Percy was proficient enough with spears—because Clarisse had been determined to teach him how to use all types of weapons when she’d discovered he’d really only ever practiced with the sword and beating him up was how she showed she cared—and, from watching Triton, it looked like wielding a trident wasn’t all that different.
There were just…two extra points at the end.
And obviously the weight was going to be different than on a spear so that the entire weapon was balanced.
But other than that, it looked like a lot of the basic moves were similar.
Percy blinked as Triton twisted in the water and executed a complicated looking spin before using the butt of his trident to stab into a dummy which…okay, that was pretty cool.
Triton tilted his head before whipping around to glare in Percy’s direction like he’d just now noticed Percy’s presence.
“What are you doing here?” The god’s voice was tight, suspicion dripping from every word.
“Just…” Percy floundered for a moment; his gaze caught on the trident still gripped in Triton’s hand. “Just walking by and I saw you and…”
“And?”
Percy bit his lip, rocking back and forth on his heels, “I’ve never seen anybody fight with a trident before—or underwater, either—so it was…kinda cool.”
“Cool?” Triton squinted over at him, but he looked a little taken aback by Percy’s lack of bite—in all fairness, Percy had been a bit rude to the god over the last several days, but he was just treating Triton how Triton had been treating him.
“Yeah, like…impressive.” Percy shrugged, but found himself unable to keep Triton’s gaze, dropping his eyes to the pale sand under his feet.
“Hmmph.”
Percy frowned, his head shooting back up to scowl at the merman. “Remind me again why you hate me so much?”
“Oh,” Triton scoffed. “Forgive me for not wanting to interact with the living reminder of my father’s unfaithfulness to my mother.”
Percy jerked back, “I—that’s not my fault, you know? I didn’t ask to be born. If you have a problem with what Dad did, maybe you should be taking it up with him.”
Triton bared his teeth—sharp and serrated like Kym’s—but his tails flicked uneasily. “I don’t have a problem with Father. I have a problem with you.”
“For existing?” Percy stepped forward, his heart pounding in his chest at the raging unfairness of it all. “I didn’t ask for this. I didn’t ask to be his son. I didn’t ask to break a decades-long sacred oath just by being born. I didn’t ask to be a prophet. I didn’t ask to be the prophecy child. I didn’t ask for any of this!” Percy was shouting by the end of it, chest heaving as he took another step forward.
“Mind your tone, boy—”
“Or what?” Percy snarled, reaching forward to poke his brother in the center of his chest angrily. “You—”
As soon as Percy’s finger made contact with Triton’s chest he was gone. The arena shifted around him, no longer underwater but under the open sky. The sun beamed down as two beautiful young women sparred spear to trident in front of a cheering crowd. Percy spotted several Olympians high up in the stands surrounding the arena—his father and Zeus among them—as well as Triton himself grinning and clapping heartily in the front row.
The woman fighting with the spear was familiar, severe gray eyes staring out of a serious face and dark hair braided tightly down her back—the goddess Athena.
The other woman made something ache deep in Percy’s chest, even though he knew he’d never seen her before. Her hair was the exact shade of blonde as Annabeth and her siblings, pulled back into a braid similar to Athena’s, and she was smiling brightly as she dodged away from Athena’s swipe.
Percy’s breath caught in his chest as the woman danced back, coming close enough to Percy that he could make out the color of her eyes.
Sea-green.
The exact hue of Percy’s own eyes—the eyes of his father, of Triton.
The woman wielded the trident in her hands like an extension of herself, leaping over Athena and catching the goddess’s spear in the tines, almost disarming her before Athena managed to rip her spear back.
She said something Percy couldn’t make out, sea-green eyes flashing with mirth as she smirked at Athena—and Percy knew that smirk, crooked and teasing and light, could feel the shape of it on his own lips.
Now that she was closer…Percy could see the similarities between himself and the mysterious woman. Their eyes, their jawline, the shape of their cheekbones, the curve of their lips. If not for the hair—and the difference in gender and age—they almost could’ve been…twins.
Athena’s face split into a teasing grin as she responded to the woman’s remark with a lunge. The goddess looked young—not that that meant much in regards to immortals, but there was a lack of weight on her shoulders that spoke to her youth. Less rigidity in her stance, less experience in her eyes. She looked…happy—worlds different to the severe face that had stared down at Percy on Olympus less than a week ago.
The woman had Athena on the retreat, but both of them were grinning heartily—a friendly spar, Percy gathered, and far from their first, given the ease with which they traded blows.
Athena lunged, her spear thrusting forward in a move the woman was already shifting to avoid.
There was a flash of light in the stands, sunlight reflecting off of something that gleamed gold in Zeus’s hands—the god’s lips were downturned, frowning as though something had displeased him.
The woman paused, sea-green eyes catching on the shimmering light, and Percy realized what was going to happen a second before Athena’s spear pierced her chest.
The crowd erupted into gasps, standing up in their seats in shock, but nothing compared to the noise that burst forth from Athena—grief and pain and regret all rolled into one word.
“No!” The goddess dropped her spear like it scalded her, catching the dying woman in her arms right as she crumpled to the ground.
There was a flash of green in the corner of Percy’s eye as Triton leapt over the barrier and rushed forward.
“Pallas!”
Percy shot up with a gasp, and Triton barely avoided the same fate as their father—a savage headbutt—several days before, reeling back just in time from where he’d been leaning over Percy.
“Wh—” Percy’s chest was heaving, his head whipping around as though searching for the grieving goddess and her dying friend.
“What’s happened here?”
Oh.
Poseidon had arrived at some point, glancing back and forth between Percy—who was still on the ground—and Triton—who was hovering a little way away looking distinctly guilty—suspiciously.
Percy only realized how it looked when his dad turned back to Triton, lips pursed and eyes dark.
“Triton—”
“‘s my fault,” Percy said, and both gods turned to look at him incredulously. “I was—I touched his chest and I wasn’t—I didn’t think—I saw…”
“You had a vision?” Poseidon knelt down on Percy’s other side.
Percy nodded, swallowing heavily as he looked between the other two—at the eyes that perfectly matched his, that matched hers.
“An arena,” he said, his voice faint. “A spar…I—she looked—she looked like me but…blonde.”
Triton stiffened, his eyes widening as Percy turned to look at him. “You—you called her…Pallas.”
Triton’s eyes blazed and he shot up. Within an instant, the god of the tides was gone, and Percy was left alone with his father.
Percy locked eyes with his dad, grief evident in the depths of his eyes, and knew that, whoever this Pallas was, she must’ve been very important.
“I didn’t mean…”
“It’s alright, son,” Poseidon sighed heavily. “You can’t control the things you see, Triton knows this as well as I do. He’s just…well, he doesn’t do well with the reminder of her. Besides, it’s not as bad as when Herophile met him and gave him an acrostic puzzle that spelled out her name.”
Dad pulled Percy gently to his feet, giving him a small grin tinged with humor and grief in equal parts. “I don’t think Triton looked at her for three months after that.”
Percy nodded slowly, biting his lip as he looked up at his father. “Who…who was she?”
His dad closed his eyes, laying a heavy hand on Percy’s shoulder. And, slowly, haltingly, the god of the seas told Percy the forgotten myth of Pallas.
Dinner was tense that night, to say the least. The rest of Percy’s siblings didn’t know what had occurred that afternoon, but they could tell that something had happened—Triton stabbed directly through his plate with his fork, and Percy barely looked up from his food the entire time.
Rhode swept him away as soon as they were finished eating and slowly pried the story from Percy as she led him in a long walk through the royal garden.
“I feel bad about it,” Percy admitted after a long silence. “Even though I know it wasn’t really my fault—I can’t control the things I see, or when I see them—but…”
“You still feel bad for reminding him of the daughter he lost, and you want to fix it however you can,” Rhode finished gently.
Percy looked down at his feet, “I don’t know what to do, though. He doesn’t like me, he doesn’t want to talk to me, but…not saying anything about it feels wrong.”
Rhode hummed contemplatively. “Triton can be…difficult to get to know, especially for our dad’s mortal children. Few have ever made a real effort to get past his rough exterior, but that’s not to say it’s impossible.”
“Got any advice?”
“Hmmm, maybe,” Rhode grinned. “Tell me the dirt you have on Dad, and I just might help my new little brother out.”
“He pouted like a five-year-old when Apollo told everyone I was a prophet and then proceeded to bicker with him like a little kid for half an hour in front of the entire Olympian council.”
Rhode snorted, bringing a hand up to cover her mouth. “Oh, please tell me you already told Amphitrite this.”
“Absolutely. She was most interested in it, and I know for a fact she’s already planning to use it to her advantage the next time he tries to argue that he’s a mature adult.”
His sister let out a giggle, light eyes bright with amusement. “Right, well, a deal’s a deal, little brother.” She pulled him to a stop in the middle of the path.
“Triton is many things: our father’s herald and messenger, a bringer of the tides, a warrior, a commander, but most of all…he’s a teacher. He cannot turn away someone who asks him for guidance, who begs upon him most sincerely for the chance to learn at his hand. Appeal to this side of him, and he may be inclined to look past his general disregard for mortal heroes.”
“So, I just…ask him to teach me something?” Percy asked, furrowing his eyebrows.
“Yes, but you must be sincere about it. Ask him to teach you something you want to know, something important to you. It might also help to slip in some anecdotes of your previous near-death experiences…for all his glares and scowls, Triton is an older brother. I do not think he would take kindly to the harm that has been brought upon you in your lifetime.”
“Okay,” Percy blinked. “So, I ask him to teach me and trauma dump in the process. I can do that.”
Rhode’s mouth twitched into a grin. “You are an odd one, little brother.”
She dropped him off at his room shortly after that, and Percy went to bed with a budding plan as to how to win Triton over at the forefront of his mind.
He woke up a mere hour later, twisting and turning in his bed so much that he flipped right off the edge and crashed onto the floor. His shoulders were trembling, aching beneath the phantom weight of the sky that his dreams had trapped him under as soon as he closed his eyes.
Percy ran a cold hand through his hair as he stood, glancing longingly at his very comfortable bed before slipping out into the hallway.
He wouldn’t get anymore sleep tonight, he knew.
Despite his little sleep, Percy’s veins were buzzing with energy, his muscles itching to work off some of the excess.
It was the middle of the night, so Percy was more than a little surprised when he stepped into the training arena and found it occupied.
“Oh,” he said, stopping right as his feet hit the sand.
Triton turned, trident limp at his side from where he’d just finished demolishing a dummy.
“‘m sorry,” Percy said when Triton stayed silent. “I didn’t think anyone else would be here.”
Triton said nothing and, his face unreadable, turned back around to attack another kelp dummy. Percy watched him for several moments, caught on the effortless way he moved, the clear precision in every step that spoke to millennia of practice, and then made his way to the other side of the arena.
They practiced in silence—on opposite ends of the sand—for what must’ve been half an hour before Percy sensed Triton’s eyes on him. He did his best to ignore it, but he could feel his shoulders steadily rising higher the longer Triton watched him.
“You leave your left side too open.”
Percy almost dropped Riptide in his shock, whipping around to where Triton had gradually wandered over to Percy’s end of the arena.
“What?”
“Your stance,” Triton said. “You’re right-handed, so you naturally cover more of your right side. Means your left side is too open.”
Percy looked down, considering his stance and the position of his sword and…huh, Triton had a point.
Percy shifted slightly, adjusting his feet and the angle of Riptide slowly before looking up at Triton again. “Better?”
Triton pursed his lips. “A little. Have you considered picking up a secondary weapon? For your empty hand?”
Percy frowned slightly, “I hadn’t thought about it before, you think it could help?”
“Certainly, and that way your left hand will be of some use in a fight—especially if you’re not fighting with a shield, which…I don’t think appeals to you.”
“It doesn’t,” Percy admitted. “It slows me down more often than not, so I just go without it.”
“In that case, I would recommend putting a dagger or short sword in your empty hand.”
Percy looked down at his left hand contemplatively. It was a sound idea, though not one he’d ever really considered for himself in the past.
“I…thanks, Triton.”
Triton nodded, and then, seeming to remember just who he’d been offering unprompted advice to, spun around and made to head back to his own side of the arena.
Percy rocked back and forth on his heels, deliberating for a moment longer before deciding to trust Rhode’s advice.
“Can you teach me?”
Triton froze, shoulders stiff and back straight, and Percy’s heart beat in his chest like a war drum.
“The trident…can—can you teach me?”
Silence.
And then…
“You wield a sword.”
“Yeah, but…I mean, it’s good to be proficient in as many forms of combat as possible, yeah? And I’ve always wanted to learn, because—you know…but no one at camp really…”
Percy had been itching to try trident wielding since he’d found out who his father was, but…well, it wasn’t exactly a common weapon at camp. Luke had offered to commission a few from the Hephaestus cabin so the two of them could learn together back in Percy’s first summer.
Of course, less than a week later the son of Hermes had tracked Percy down in the forest and tried to kill him, so…
Oh, hold up.
“I mean,” Percy continued, figuring it couldn’t hurt to drop that little tidbit. “The one person who even kind of offered to help me learn also tried to murder me a couple days after that, so I haven’t really…asked anybody else.”
Triton made an odd, choked noise, his shoulders drooping, and Percy knew he had him.
Triton was, in actuality, a pretty decent teacher.
One of the best Percy’d ever had, in all honesty.
He was clear and concise in his instructions, calm and firm and, most importantly, unflinchingly patient. He adjusted Percy’s form more than once without complaint until Percy settled into the correct stance with ease, walked Percy through the basic movements and drills until Percy’s muscles were aching, and he let Percy try over and over again until he succeeded.
The practice trident sat in Percy’s hands easily, his fingers curving over the leather grip.
Percy was far from an expert—that would only come with time and practice and experience—but the way the trident fit in his palms felt a little like coming home. Felt like Percy’s hands were made for it, in a way. The sea in his blood sang at the feeling of leather on his skin, at the weight of the bronze as he executed a final thrust.
Percy craned his head over his shoulder, grinning broadly at Triton at the successful move.
The god of the tides had been watching impassively, but at the sight of Percy’s grin he looked like he’d been sucker punched. A low oomph escaped Triton’s chest, and he took a miniscule step back.
Percy’s excitement faded, “Triton?”
“I…” Triton looked like he’d seen a ghost, and Percy’s mind flashed back to his vision. To the similarities he’d noticed between himself and Pallas—the line of their jaw, the angle of their cheekbones, the sea-green hue of their eyes, the curve of their lips.
Maybe…maybe Triton was seeing a ghost—maybe every time he looked at Percy, he saw the image of his daughter.
“Are you—” Percy cleared his throat, practice trident dangling limply at his side. “Are you okay?”
Triton tensed like he was preparing to bolt before, inexplicably, his shoulders dropped, and he locked eyes with Percy. There was an unfathomable grief in his eyes—a father mourning his daughter, a father forced to stare at the mirrored face of someone long lost to him.
Triton opened his mouth, and then, seeming lost for words, closed it again. Opened it. Closed it.
Percy let him.
“She would’ve liked you,” was what eventually came out of Triton’s mouth, barely audible but wrought with pain and loss.
Something ached deep in Percy’s chest at the words—a grief for someone he’d never met, someone he never would, someone who’d died long before his time in the arms of someone she’d trusted.
“I—I think I would’ve liked her, too.”
“I see her every time I look at you,” Triton whispered it like an admittance of guilt—the words of a man seeking penance, whose sins welled up in his throat until he choked on them.
Triton curled his shoulders inward as though bracing for Percy’s anger, as though Percy could ever find it in himself to blame Triton for seeing Pallas in his face.
“Most of Dad’s mortal children look like her, don’t they?”
Triton blinked, sea-green eyes uncomprehending, and Percy continued softly.
“She looked like you, and you look like him. And we look like him, so we look like her. That…that can’t be easy for you.”
Triton’s jaw clenched. “No. No, it isn’t.”
“We’re not just a living reminder of Dad’s unfaithfulness, we’re a living reminder of her. That’s why you don’t like us much.”
Triton’s nostrils flared, and Percy got the feeling he was thrown off by how easily Percy’d read into his motivations. “That’s…part of it, yes. The rest of it is just…well, I just have a lack of fondness for mortal heroes in general. Dad’s demigods tend to embody the worse parts of his nature—the wrath of the seas, the ferocity of the Stormbringer, the destruction of the Earthshaker. They walk the earth for such short periods of time and yet almost always leave a trail of blood in their wake. They come down here and push their way inside like they have every right and never…they never care. Not really. They—they almost always have her eyes and yet there’s none of the care for the sea in them, not like there was for her, and it…”
Triton stopped, forcing a deep breath out of his lungs like he was expelling his anger with it.
“Most—most of Dad’s demigods have his eyes—her eyes—but…none of them have looked so much like him as you. As a result, I may have been…harsher…on you than I would’ve normally been.”
“I hadn’t noticed,” Percy commented wryly, sighing when Triton wilted slightly. “I’m not mad, dude.”
Triton squinted disbelievingly, “I’ve treated you like shit for three days for happening to look like my father—and consequently my long-dead daughter—and you’re…not mad?”
“It’s hard to be mad at you when you look so pathetic.”
“Pathetic?” Triton squawked in outrage.
“Ehhh, just a little bit, you know?” Percy made a face, putting his thumb and pointer finger close together.
“I do not—you—”
“If it makes you feel any better,” Percy said, sensing a golden opportunity. “You don’t look near as pathetic as Dad did at the winter solstice when he honest to gods pouted like a child after Apollo publicly claimed me as a prophet and then proceeded to argue with him like divorced parents in the middle of a custody battle for a solid half hour in front of the entire Olympian council and also me—said child in the middle of said custody battle.”
Triton’s mouth gaped, opening and closing like a fish for several moments, before a familiar devious gleam lit up in his eyes. “Tell me everything.”
Poseidon knew as soon as he sat down at the table for breakfast the next morning that something had happened between Triton and Percy, though—given the way he narrowed his eyes at Triton—he seemed very much under the impression that things had worsened between them.
Percy hid his anticipation all throughout the meal, knowing that Triton was simply waiting for the perfect opportunity to utilize his newfound knowledge.
The opportunity came in the form of Kymopoleia complaining about her day—apparently, she’d misplaced her bronze disk that she used in creating her most powerful storms, and she’d had to track it down across the whole city and threaten a bunch of merpeople.
Poseidon had responded with something about Kym needing to be more careful about portraying a responsible and mature image to the people of Atlantis as a member of the royal family, and Percy saw Triton straighten in his seat at the opening.
“Bold words from someone who almost lost custody of his sole demigod child to Apollo of all people.”
Percy, who’d been expecting it, had made sure to put down the food and drink in his hands just moments before.
The rest of his family weren’t nearly so lucky.
Rhode choked on the toast in her mouth and probably would’ve needed the Heimlich if she weren’t a goddess. Kymopoleia spat her drink all over Benthesikyme—an odd sight considering they were already underwater, and one would think that would mean they couldn’t get covered in other liquids, which clearly wasn’t the case. Benthesikyme likely would’ve been more offended if she hadn’t been leaning over to grab the bowl of eggs in the middle of the table and promptly dropped the entire bowl all over herself in shock. Herophile inhaled an entire waffle and burst into a coughing fit. Amphitrite jerked so hard she banged her knees into the table and also managed to knock over an entire pitcher of juice onto the floor. Tyson’s tools slipped from his fingers, clattering to the floor and scattering under all of their feet.
Percy and Triton, throughout the whole thing, kept up two truly impressive poker faces. Poseidon, too, froze as though he were made of marble, the only sign of life being the various emotions that passed across his face—shock, disbelief, confusion—and then the realization that had him turning betrayed eyes on Percy.
“Perseus.”
Percy kept up his guiltless facade—though he was positive no one at the table was remotely fooled—blinking innocently at his father.
“Yes, Dad?”
Poseidon made several aborted motions to speak, seemingly unable to settle on what he wanted to say.
“Why?” The god eventually got out.
Percy let his father wallow in misery for several long seconds before responding. “Nothing brings estranged siblings together like making their father regret having them.”
Poseidon did, in fact, look very much like he was regretting ever having children.
“You wanted us to get along, Father,” Triton pointed out, sharp teeth pulled into a grin that made him look like the cat who caught the canary. “We’re getting along.”
“I am…so pleased that you two have gotten over your differences,” Poseidon ground out, sounding anything but. “But could you have, perhaps, done it in a way that let me retain my dignity?”
“It was a necessary sacrifice,” Triton said.
“We needed the common ground that was making you suffer,” Percy added on brightly.
Poseidon groaned, dropping his head into his hands, and the move made him seem so human that Percy had to press his lips together to keep from laughing out loud.
Amphitrite took pity on her husband, giving him a consoling pat on the arm. “Come now, dear, it’s just some good fun. The boys are bonding.”
She turned her gaze on Triton and Percy then, giving them a look. “Boys, give your father a break.”
Percy pouted, but Triton just smirked.
“So, you don’t want to hear about how Apollo called Father a…what was it again, Percy?” The eldest child turned, raising an eyebrow at Percy.
“I believe it was something to the effect of…” Percy paused, tapping a finger against his lips lightly. “A ‘Barnacle Encrusted Shrimp Dick.’”
Poseidon made a sound like a deflating balloon.
The god of the seas was still grumbling when he led Percy into the outer city, but Percy could tell his father wasn’t really upset.
“Are you going to tell me where you’re taking me yet?” Percy asked for the dozenth time.
“Hmmph, not sure you deserve the knowledge,” Poseidon huffed.
“Oh, come on, Dad,” Percy whined. “You’re killing me here.”
Poseidon smiled but shook his head, reaching out to ruffle Percy’s hair. “We’re almost there, son, a little patience won’t kill you.”
Percy ducked away with a squawk, narrowing his eyes at his dad. “I get my lack of patience from you, you know.”
“Hmmm, yes, I’d gathered that. Come on, through here.”
Poseidon led him through an open archway into an enclosed garden—more of a miniature forest, really. Waist high seagrass and kelp stretched out before him, with clumps of red algae and coral structures scattered around. Small pearl lights floated above them, casting a warm glow on the entire place.
“Where…”
“I thought you’d like to see him,” Poseidon gestured right as the sea grass rustled and a small figure burst out.
“The Ophiotaurus,” Percy breathed. The Ophiotaurus rushed forward with a happy moo, winding around Percy.
Percy scratched behind the cow’s ears, cooing softly. “Oh, who’s a good boy—you’re a good boy. Oh, you’re so sweet. Yes, you are.”
The cow nuzzled Percy’s hand, staring up at him with big brown eyes.
“He’s settled in here well,” Poseidon said. “Only a few people even know he’s here—Amphitrite, Triton, a couple caretakers. He’s safe here, and he’ll remain that way.”
Percy turned to look at his dad, gratitude welling up in him. “Thank you, Dad.”
Poseidon smiled softly, reaching out to run a hand over the Ophiotaurus’s head. “There’s nothing to thank me for, son. He’s a sea creature—a part of my domain. It’s my responsibility to protect him.”
“A sea creature with the power to destroy your home if the Titans got a hold of him,” Percy pointed out.
“But a sea creature nonetheless,” Poseidon said. “He cannot change the circumstances of his birth or the power in his blood.”
Percy paused in scratching behind the Ophiotaurus’s ears. “You’re not just talking about the Ophiotaurus anymore, are you?”
Poseidon laid a hand on Percy’s shoulder. “You didn’t ask to be born nor to wield the power you have in your veins. I wish…I wish I could protect you, my son, but…”
“I’m the prophecy child,” Percy whispered. “And you can’t—you can’t change that. My fate is my fate.”
“If I could change it,” Percy’s father said desperately. “If I could bear the burden for you—”
“I know,” Percy said—the weight of the Great Prophecy settled in his chest, slipping through his ribcage to wrap around his heart like a noose. “I know, Dad. But you can’t, and that’s okay.”
Poseidon squeezed Percy’s shoulder, looking deep in his eyes—searching for something in the depths. “Do you—do you know…”
“No,” Percy shook his head. “Prophet I may be, but I don’t know those words. I could if I wanted to, but…I won’t. I’ll know my fate when it’s time, and not a moment before.”
Poseidon’s gaze dropped, and Percy ducked his head to force his father to meet his eyes once more. “I do know this, though. No matter how clear cut a prophecy may seem, one won’t truly know how things come to pass until they do. There are many different ways a line can be interpreted.”
Percy’s dad slumped, a wry smile flicking across his face. “I brought you out here to comfort you, and here you are giving me advice.”
Percy just shrugged, looking down when the Ophiotaurus nudged his hand petulantly, begging for more scratches—to which Percy obliged.
“You’re a good dad, you know,” he said softly. “I’m—I’m proud to be your son.”
“Not as proud as I am to be your father,” Poseidon returned firmly. “Even when you’re teaming up with your siblings to make me regret ever introducing you.”
Percy flushed but leaned into his dad’s chest when Poseidon wrapped an arm around him.
The morning of Percy’s fifth day in Atlantis found him waking with a familiar itch in his fingers. He was twitchy all throughout breakfast, dodging his family’s concern by asking for a sketchbook and pencil. Poseidon snapped them into existence, albeit rather confusedly, and Percy ducked into the royal gardens as soon as the plates were cleared.
His hands were practically shaking with the urge to draw—he hadn’t drawn a single thing in over a week, since before Westover Hall.
Percy found a comfortable bench in a secluded alcove and plopped down. As soon as he put the pencil to paper his muscles took over.
Percy’s mind stayed firmly in his body—even as his hands moved on their own—for the first four sketches: Percy and Thorn on the edge of the cliff, Apollo kneeling under the sky with Percy at his feet, Clarisse and Chris in separate dark hallways, a grove of trees with wind chimes hanging from the branches.
And then, between one blink and the next, Percy was gone.
There were no visions, no feelings, no thoughts. Just oblivion.
A minute could’ve passed, or an hour, or a day, before Percy blinked his eyes open to Benthesikyme’s worried face. She had one of her hands on his cheek and seemed to be trying to speak to him.
There was a strange ringing in his ears though, and Percy tried to open his mouth to tell her he couldn’t hear her. His mouth wouldn’t move. All that escaped his throat was a strangled sort of groan.
Benthesikyme was frowning, her thumb running across his cheek gently. The movement left a trail of heat, and Percy tried to press his face closer.
He was cold all of a sudden…or he thought he might be cold. It was hard to be sure when he couldn’t really feel…well, anything.
“…ercy…can…ear me?”
Benthesikyme’s voice filtered in a little like radio static, and Percy’s brows furrowed as he tried to respond.
“Ben…?” He mumbled questioningly.
Benthesikyme smiled, seeming too relieved to care about Percy’s shortening of her name.
“You back with me?”
Back?
Percy frowned, forcing his sluggish mind to think back on the last thing he remembered.
He’d…he’d been—oh, he’d been drawing.
“…did it ‘gain,” he said.
Benthesikyme looked confused.
“Floated,” Percy elaborated. “Happens sometimes.”
Feeling was creeping back into him slowly. And…oh. Oh.
Percy was—Percy was positively frigid. That aching, biting cold was crawling through his veins again.
A shudder wracked through him, and Benthesikyme frowned again.
“Your lips are blue,” she noted. “Fingers, too. Is that…is that normal for you?”
“N—” Percy cut himself off with a shiver. “Cold.”
“Cold,” Benthesikyme repeated. “Okay, can I—how can I help?”
Ice crept up Percy’s throat out of frostbitten lungs. He wanted…
He wanted—
“Dad?”
Percy felt five years old all over again, wanting the comfort of a father and finding only Gabe’s beady eyes and clenched fists.
Percy was cold. Percy was cold and he wanted his dad.
“You want Dad?” Bentheskyme checked, waiting for Percy’s tiny nod. “Okay, okay, I’ll call him here.”
Percy blinked and then it was Poseidon kneeling in front of him, frowning deeply and turning over his shoulder to speak with Benthesikyme.
Percy slumped forward into his dad’s hands, letting the crashing waves of Poseidon’s aura soothe the chill in his veins.
“…said he was…how long…got it from here.” Poseidon shifted to sit on the bench next to Percy and pulled him into his side. Percy curled into his father’s chest gratefully. Somebody wrapped a blanket around him, tucking him further into his dad’s chest, and Percy craned his head around to catch Benthesikyme as she was leaving.
“Thanks, Ben,” he murmured quietly.
Poseidon clutched Percy’s numb fingers in his own hands, gradually rubbing warmth back into them.
“Perseus, son,” Poseidon said softly. “Can you tell me what happened?”
“Floated,” Percy told him.
“Yes, Benthesikyme mentioned something about that. It’s happened before, she said?”
Percy nodded, his cheek brushing up against his father’s shirt.
“When I draw, it’s like…sometimes my mind just—just leaves. I never really mean to do it…just happens. Except on the mountain. I kept—under the sky, it hurt too much, so I just kept…throwing myself out of my body. And then once Apollo took it, he said it was dangerous. That it took a toll on my body every time I did it.”
Percy couldn’t see his dad’s face, but he was sure the god was frowning. “Did Apollo tell you what it was?”
Percy shook his head. “Just that I couldn’t keep doing it in my condition. Lee says it's something similar to dissociation, but I always just call it ‘floating.’ We’ve…we’ve been working on methods of keeping me grounded when I draw, but…”
“But it hasn’t really worked,” Poseidon finished.
“The only really effective methods we found were if I was sitting by Aunt Hestia at the hearth or if Lee was there to pull me out as soon as he saw I was starting to float. We talked about seeing if other people might be able to do the same—like I’d just need to draw with another person with me, but I didn’t…I didn’t want anyone else to know.”
Poseidon sighed heavily, “I wish you’d said something sooner, but I can’t blame you for not wanting to talk about it. It’s…not an easy thing for you to admit you need help.”
“Noticed that, have you?” Percy snorted.
His dad didn’t respond except to run a warm hand through Percy’s hair.
“Your fingers aren’t blue anymore,” Poseidon said eventually. “You feeling warmer?”
“Mhmm,” Percy burrowed deeper into the blanket. “Thanks.”
“Of course, my son. I was…concerned,” Percy’s dad admitted slowly. “When Benthesikyme called for me and told me what happened.”
“Didn’t mean to worry you. I didn’t know drawing—floating—would give me a cold spell.”
Poseidon hummed, and Percy felt him drop a kiss on his forehead that had him flushing with happiness. “What do you say we get you some lunch, yeah? The others will be waiting.”
“M’kay,” Percy murmured.
Poseidon stood, pulling Percy up with him and then bending down to pick up Percy’s discarded sketchbook. The god paused then, eyes caught on the open page.
“You drew this?”
Percy frowned, leaning over to catch a glimpse of the sketch—he didn’t recognize it, so he must’ve drawn it while floating.
“Does it mean something to you?” He asked his father, who had yet to look away from the page.
“It’s Oceanus,” Poseidon responded.
“The Titan of the Ocean,” Percy said. “He ruled the seas before you.”
“He did, and he stepped down peacefully, at that. He refused to fight in the first Titanomachy, and has remained neutral in every godly war since.”
Percy furrowed his eyebrows, looking up at his father before turning his gaze back to the picture.
Oceanus was the main focal point, riding in a chariot pulled by huge sea serpents. His hair and beard were long, braided tightly into a warrior’s plait, and a pair of bull horns stuck up near the front of his head. A serpent was curled around his arm, head raised and mouth agape as though ready to attack.
“He doesn’t look very neutral,” he said.
“No,” Poseidon sighed. “The seas have been restless as of late. Old creatures that have not awakened for millennia are stirring in the depths. This—what you drew…I fear it means war is coming to my kingdom.”
“You think your father convinced Oceanus to fight?” Percy asked.
His father pursed his lips, “I could not find the Princess Andromeda. For it to be hidden from my sight, someone truly powerful must be at play. Oceanus is the only one who could effectively hide the vessel from my sight on the sea.”
Percy bit his lip, snaking a hand out of his blanket to flip the page, hoping for another sketch that would explain more.
Poseidon’s breath hitched as Percy unveiled another drawing, and Percy felt a shock of horror run through him.
“My kingdom,” Poseidon whispered.
Atlantis in ruins, crumbled marble columns and crushed coral gardens and shattered pearl lights, dust from the destruction clouding the water.
Percy, fingers trembling, flipped the page again only to find it blank. He flipped back to the page before Oceanus, but the sketch was of Chris.
Percy cursed, turning away and leaving the sketchbook to his father. What was the point of being a prophet if he didn’t see things that could help? Why couldn’t he see something that would help his dad—help his father’s kingdom?
Maybe…could he—he’d given Luke a full prophecy, hadn’t he? He could give one to his father, couldn’t he?
But he hadn’t done it on purpose. The words had slipped out of his throat against his will. How did he do it willingly?
Percy frowned, closing his eyes and reaching deep down into his chest, reaching for his sight. He didn’t reach for it purposefully often, and never in hopes of speaking an actual prophecy.
But…for his dad? For his new family and the people of Atlantis?
Percy would try.
“Perseus?”
He jerked away from his father’s touch—he was close, he could tell, the words bubbling up in his lungs and crawling up his throat.
“Per—”
Every muscle in his body locked up at once, neck straining from the effort, and then Percy spoke. The voice he spoke in was his, but only barely, something soft and whispering, sweeping through like a sea breeze despite being underwater. Something powerful and ancient layered his words, echoing throughout the garden with every syllable.
The pride of the sea shall call for you,
And you must choose which fight is true.
To save your pride or save your home,
A dangerous monster left to roam.
Abandon all to he who was neutral,
And aid your pride when it is most crucial.
Percy staggered as the tension flooded out of him all at once, and the only thing that kept him standing was his father’s arms catching him, pulling him into a warm chest.
“Perseus?”
Percy couldn’t respond, too busy wheezing, struggling to draw air into lungs that didn’t seem to remember how to work.
“Breathe, son,” Poseidon placed a hand on his chest, soothing his aching lungs until he could breathe again.
“‘m okay,” he murmured as soon as he had enough breath to speak. “I’m—I’m okay.”
Poseidon hummed, cradling Percy’s face so he could look him in the eyes. Whatever he saw had him narrowing his eyes.
“You did that on purpose,” Poseidon accused.
“Wanted to help,” Percy said.
Poseidon pursed his lips. “I appreciate that, but you didn’t need to—”
“I wanted to,” Percy said. “If war is coming to Atlantis—these are my people, too. I want to help as best I can.”
His dad sighed, but couldn’t hide the pride in his eyes—Percy knew that not all of his mortal children cared about the wellbeing of Poseidon’s subjects, but…despite only having met them for the first time just this week, they were Percy’s people. If he could help protect them by speaking a prophecy then he would.
“I’m proud of you, my son, for caring about my subjects. Just…warn me next time you decide to spontaneously spout a full prophecy, yes?”
Percy blushed. “I’ll try,” he promised.
“I suppose that’s the best I can hope for,” Poseidon smiled, tucking Percy under his arm and beginning to lead him out of the garden.
“Now, hungry?”
“Starving,” Percy admitted.
“Well, we can’t have that, can we? We’ll have lunch, and then you’ll take it easy the rest of the day,” Poseidon said.
“Wh—but Triton was gonna give me another trident lesson today,” Percy protested.
“Triton will understand if you need to rest.”
“But—”
Poseidon met Percy’s eyes, for once not crumbling under Percy’s begging face. “You still have two more days here, yes? And this’ll be far from the only time you’ll visit. Triton will have plenty of time to teach you.”
Percy grumbled, but accepted that if the begging face didn’t work he had no shot at winning—and to be honest, he kind of wanted to spend the day curled up in a blanket.
Percy’s last few days in Atlantis seemed to fly by. He bounced around from family member to family member, went to go see the Ophiotaurus—who Percy lovingly called Phio because saying the Ophiotaurus everytime was getting old, and wandered the streets of his father’s kingdom getting to know the merpeople of Atlantis.
They had a shark sanctuary where sharks injured by humans could recuperate and get help—Percy may have spent half a day cooing over the different sharks in the sanctuary, but they had a baby thresher named Vanity that was absolutely adorable, and Percy couldn’t be blamed for falling in love.
The head of the sanctuary—a merman named Kula—had been rather enthused about Percy’s clear joy and had answered every question—and there were a lot of questions—eagerly.
Percy was packing up to leave, not quite sure how he’d accumulated so many things in the week he’d been here when he’d literally arrived only with the clothes on his back, when Triton popped up in the doorway looking uncharacteristically nervous.
“You about to leave?”
“Yeah,” Percy zipped the waterproof bag shut and did one last checkover to make sure he hadn’t missed anything. Amphitrite had said that the room Percy was in was his, meaning even if he did forget something it shouldn’t matter. She’d also said that next time he visited they would decorate to be more personable—because Percy had a room here. He was coming back, and he had a room that was just his.
“You need something? I thought you and everyone else were gonna say goodbye at the entrance.”
“I…yes,” Triton looked more awkward than Percy had ever seen him. “I thought…well, I—I have something for you.”
“You…oh,” Percy straightened up, his hands falling lax around his bag. “You do?”
Several of Percy’s siblings had given him gifts already: a storm in a glass ball from Kym, a new and improved shield from Tyson, a frankly gigantic set of fancy drawing materials from Herophile, an enchanted heated blanket from Rhode, a lava stone from Benthesikyme that would fit in his pocket and always stay warm—and when Percy said lava stone he meant an actual rock with lava swirling around inside that would never cool down.
Amphitrite, also, had gifted him with an entire matching jewelry set proudly displaying the sigils of the royal family—a trident, crab’s claw, conch shell, storm, curling wave, palm tree, and an open oyster with a pearl in the center—and Percy had tried very hard not to tear up at that one.
Poseidon had presented him with a full set of armor—because he was over the top like that. It was leather, which Percy appreciated, seeing as his style tended to rely on speed and the bronze armor from camp had a tendency to weigh him down too much. A dark blue green, molded to look like overlapping scales, with accents of gold.
It was also—because of course it was—stamped with gold tridents pretty much everywhere: the center of his chest, his shoulders, his greaves, his gauntlets.
Percy had given his father a look and the god had just grinned shamelessly, so Percy had shaken his head and accepted the set.
Truthfully, Triton was the only member of the family that hadn’t given him anything yet, and Percy had taken that to mean he wasn’t going to—which was fine, really. Percy hadn’t expected the rest of the family to give him anything, and he’d expected it from Triton even less.
Clearly, he’d been wrong.
Triton flicked his tails, swimming forward and stopping directly in front of Percy. He was clutching something tightly in his hand, and Percy tilted his head curiously.
Triton dropped it in his hand unceremoniously, revealing the gift to be a silver bracelet with a trident charm.
“Pull the charm,” Triton instructed before Percy could say anything.
Percy obliged, letting out a startled squawk when the charm expanded in his palm until Percy was holding—
A trident.
“Is this—you…”
“Ah, so this is what it takes to render you speechless,” Triton said with a smirk before sobering. “I—well, you’ve made significant progress with the trident, and I know you wished to continue practicing, so…”
Percy couldn’t take his eyes off the weapon in his hand. The grip was leather—the same leather as Percy’s armor set from Poseidon—and the rest of the trident was made of expertly forged Celestial bronze. The tips were gleaming, and the butt of the trident contained a hidden point as well—just like Triton’s own trident.
It was beautiful.
And it was Percy’s.
“I—Triton, I don’t even…thank you,” Percy said sincerely.
Triton looked uncomfortable with the thanks, his tails flicking awkwardly. “Don’t mention it. I just…didn’t want my hard work to go to waste, that’s all.”
Percy ducked his head with a small smile, not believing Triton’s words for a second. “Mhmm, okay.”
Triton cleared his throat, looking away and avoiding Percy’s knowing gaze. “Its name is Current. Drop it with the intent to return it to a charm and it’ll reappear on your bracelet. It’ll also return to the bracelet on its own on the off chance you lose it.”
Percy clasped the bracelet around his left wrist with another grateful smile at his brother.
Percy slung his bag over his shoulder, and Triton swam with him to the entrance to the palace, where the rest of their family were waiting next to the hippocampus who was going to take him to camp.
Every single one of them grinned knowingly at Triton when Percy bounced forward with a beaming grin, and the eldest child blushed a dark green.
“Not a word,” Triton muttered.
Amphitrite took pity on her son and moved forward to envelope Percy in a tight hug.
“Come back soon, yes? Don’t wait for your father to invite you.”
Percy nodded, letting the rest of the family bid him goodbye before mounting the waiting hippocampus and speeding off toward the surface.