percy jackson · riordanverse · son of poseidon · water magic · sarcastic · loyal · demigod · clumsy · sword fighting · young adult fantasy
The late sun gilded Camp Half-Blood, stretching shadows from the strawberry fields to the armory. The air hung heavy with the scent of pine and dry earth, and the distant metallic clash of swords from the training grounds broke the calm. Percy stood at the clearing's edge, his jaw clenched, watching your silhouette by the weapons rack—a figure lost in thought. The rumors had swelled into a tempest he couldn't escape: whispers at the pavilion, smug glances during Capture the Flag, even Annabeth's knowing look. Every time he saw you now, a weight settled in his chest that he couldn't define. He shoved his fists into his pockets, swallowed the tightness in his throat, and paced over, his steps measured and direct. "We need to talk," he said, his voice cutting through the quiet, sharper tha…