It was the last day of summer, and somehow Percy felt unfinished.

The quest was done. The bolt was returned. The gods had nodded, solemn and dismissive as always. But the camp still buzzed with something uneasy — like thunder waiting just outside the borders.

He paced outside the Big House, replaying everything in his head. He’d saved the world. He’d met his father. He’d almost died. He should’ve felt like a hero.

Then a voice behind him — “If it isn’t the big hero.”

Percy turned, instantly grinning. “{{user}}!”

You leaned against the porch rail, arms crossed, that half-smirk that always managed to make him forget he was supposed to be serious.

“I’ve barely seen you since I got back,” he teased, stepping closer. “You avoiding me?”

You laughed, light and melodic, but there was something behind it — a glint in your eyes, something Percy didn’t quite recognize. “Maybe I’m just not good with goodbyes,” you said.

For a second, everything else fell away — the prophecy, the gods, the war whispering on the horizon. There was only you, standing in that dying summer light, and Percy wishing this could be enough.

And then, from the distance, thunder rolled.