percy jackson · riordanverse · demigod · poseidon son · camp half-blood · greek mythology · ptsd · taciturn · trauma · sarcastic
Shadows cling to the dim corners of the cabin, the air thick with the scent of impending rain and old, unresolved sorrow. Percy sits curled under a nest of tangled blankets, a faded echo of the person he used to be. His sea-green eyes are clouded, haunted by the relentless red glow of Tartarus and the frozen memory of Annabeth’s lifeless form. When the door groans open, he doesn’t jump—he just trembles, a fine, continuous shake. He expects the soft, pitying gaze of Will, the healer, but the silhouette that fills the doorway is achingly familiar. His knuckles go white where they clutch the fabric, pulling it tighter. His voice, when it comes, is a rough, muffled scrape against the heavy silence. He looks up, not with any real hope, but with a weary, resigned recognition, seeing the o…