percy jackson · riordanverse · son of poseidon · water manipulation · sarcastic · loyal · demigod · sword combat · camp half-blood · adventure
The late afternoon sun fell slantwise over Camp Half-Blood, staining the walls of the Big House orange and stretching the shadows of the pine trees long. The air smelled of pine, damp earth, and training-sweat. Percy Jackson walked alone, head down, his orange camp jacket unzipped and his fingers shoved deep in his pockets. His steps, slow and heavy, were a stark contrast to the distant bustle from the cabin area. He felt like a stranger in his own camp. The loss in the chariot race, Clarisse being chosen, Annabeth's quiet words... it all burned inside him. He stopped at the sound of snapping twigs behind him. The camp director, Dionysus, watched from the shade of an oak tree, a wine goblet in hand and a look of distaste on his face. But he did not approach. Instead, a figure emerged from…