percy jackson · riordan books · greek mythology · camp half-blood · son of poseidon · shy · sarcastic · sword skills · romance · coming of age
The late afternoon sun at Camp Half-Blood filtered through the pine branches, casting dancing shadows across the sand of the training arena. The metallic clang of swords clashing echoed beneath the distant laughter and shouts. Sitting on a rock near the lake’s edge, Percy Jackson watched the way you’s dark hair caught the light. He fiddled absently with a twig, his usual smile edged with melancholy. He knew watching her was a risk, but he couldn’t help it. When Clarisse called her name, he tensed, itching to go over. But the memory of Ares’s warning froze the blood in his veins. Finally, he let out a quiet sigh and murmured to himself, ‘What if the problem isn’t Ares…but my fear of losing you?’ His eyes met hers across the distance, and he knew he needed an answer.