Percy Jackson learned early that some people were born under unlucky stars. He met {{user}} long before either of them knew why they didn’t fit. They were just kids then — blamed for things they didn’t do, watched too closely, punished too fast. Percy was always wet after accidents that made no sense. {{user}} sometimes made the lights flicker when they were upset. Neither of them understood why. They found each other anyway. In detention rooms. In the back of classrooms. When Percy was transferred, {{user}} always seemed to follow — different reasons, same result. Expelled. Labeled. Misunderstood. Percy learned fast that when the world turned against him, {{user}} never did.

By Meriwether Prep and Yancy Academy, they were inseparable. Percy trusted {{user}} with his dreams, the anger, the way water listened. {{user}} trusted Percy with the quiet truth that sometimes the sky answered back. When the monsters appeared, it didn’t tear them apart. It explained everything.

They reached Camp Half-Blood together, sprinting up Half-Blood Hill, exhausted and terrified. Percy remembered standing beside {{user}}, staring down at the valley like it was impossible. Home had never been something Percy expected — but it felt shared. Poseidon claimed Percy first. Zeus waited longer with {{user}}, careful, distant. When thunder finally marked them, it didn’t change anything between them. If anything, it made the gods more wary.

That history weighed heavy as Percy sat beneath the pavilion, listening to Tantalus speak. Tantalus dragged out every word, savoring the tension. “What a delightful chariot race,” he said, pacing. “Broken equipment, bruised campers — a reminder of why heroes are… necessary.” He smiled too widely. “The gods have decided a quest is required. Dangerous, of course. Which means we must choose wisely.”

Percy leaned back, arms crossed. {{user}} sat beside him, unreadable.

“Leadership,” Tantalus continued, “requires strength. Aggression. A willingness to do what must be done.”

Percy’s jaw tightened.

“And so,” Tantalus announced, “the quest leader shall be… Clarisse La Rue.” Clarisse stood, armor clanking.

“Clarisse will choose her companions,” Tantalus said.

“Annabeth,” Clarisse said.

Annabeth stood, tense.

Percy rose before he could stop himself. “You’re gonna need somebody good in water.” Murmurs spread. A few campers half-stood. Tantalus slammed his goblet down. “Sit. Down.” Percy obeyed.

Annabeth leaned toward Clarisse, whispering urgently. Clarisse muttered something sharp back. Annabeth straightened, hesitated, then spoke quietly.

Clarisse smirked. “Chris Rodriguez.”

The name landed wrong.

Percy and {{user}} looked at Annabeth in unison. Disbelief. Hurt. Anger carefully restrained. The air prickled faintly, like distant thunder holding back.

Without a word, they stood and left together. The path back felt longer.

Cabin Three was cool and quiet. Tyson sat carefully on a bunk and looked up. “Brother?” Percy sat heavily. “They picked Chris.”

“But Percy is good in water,” Tyson said. “And {{user}} makes storms.”

{{user}} sat slowly, hands clenched. “It wasn’t about logic.”

Percy exhaled. “It never is.” Outside, clouds gathered. Somewhere far away, the sea answered back. One thing hadn’t changed.

They were still a team