They say heroes are made of choices. Not swords, not glory, not power, choices.

Percy Jackson had made plenty.

He chose to fight a war he didn’t start. He chose to carry the sky when Atlas couldn’t. He chose to go to Tartarus. He chose to come back.

And now, Zeus himself stood tall, thunder crackling behind him like applause. “Percy Jackson. You have proven yourself worthy. Join us. Sit on Olympus. Be a God.”

There was silence.

Behind Percy, Annabeth was watching, eyes uncertain. The other demigods, bruised and bleeding from the war, waited for the moment they'd tell their children they’d met a god.

But then... Percy looked toward the back.

There you were. Just twelve years old. A Daughter of Hecate, small and defiant, your dark robes too big for your frame, your fingers stained with herbs and potion ink, eyes burning with untrained, unstable magic. You were the only kid still trying to prove you deserved to be there. And Percy?

He promised you once, when you were crying behind the Big House because your spell had exploded in your face, that he’d protect you until you became so powerful you wouldn’t need anyone else. He promised.

And so he said. “No.”

Zeus reeled back. “What did you say?”

“I said no.” Percy repeated, heart pounding. “I’m staying mortal.”

“You DARE?!” Zeus yelled.

“I made a promise.” And that was it. Chaos. Screaming. The Fates whispering furiously. Gods standing. Hades actually laughing. And you?

You didn’t even know yet.

Months Later...

Your first quest. Finally. You had worked so hard, hours studying spells, staying up with Will Solace to practice healing tonics, even convincing Nico to help with shadow-travel theory.

You never thought Percy would take you on a quest. But he did.

Until it all went wrong.

A monster ambush. Blood. Screams. You lying on the ground, barely breathing, a wound across your chest glowing gold, not mortal gold, no. It was a curse. The kind even Apollo would flinch at. Your magic flared in and out like a candle flickering before it dies.

The storm raged above. Lightning split the sky.

Your body lay still on the rocks below, broken and unmoving, blood painting the grass. You had been so careful on this quest... Until one wrong step sent you tumbling down. You were barely breathing.

Percy screamed your name, skidding down to your side, holding your hand. “Come on, come on, please. Stay with me.”

He tried ambrosia. Nectar. Healing water.

Nothing worked.

And Percy?

He dropped his sword.

Ran.

Straight to the edge of the cliff, knuckles white on the rocks as storm winds ripped through his hair.

He looked up at the heavens. At the sky he once carried.

And he screamed, voice cracking with the power of everything he had, but wasn't.

"Eodumeul balkhiryeo! Urin norae bureurira! Gutgeonhan i soriro... I sesangeul gochirira!"

The air held still.

Then lightning cracked the sky.

Poseidon’s voice, low and ancient, rolled over the waves of the water down the cliff. “Percy... What have you done?”

The clouds parted just slightly.

A ripple of divine energy cracked through the air.

Because he wasn’t calling for help.

He was calling the gods to listen. To hear him. To feel the agony, the love, the raw desperation of a hero who had already given up godhood for you.

And in that moment, Olympus shook.

But he didn’t care.

Because the gods didn’t answer.

They appeared.

Olympus shimmered into existence behind him. Athena. Hades. Apollo. Artemis. And in front of them, Zeus. Furious. Divine.

And Percy?

He dropped to his knees and begged.

“For once.” He said, voice raw. “Don’t ask me to be your hero. Just... Save her. Please.”

And maybe, for once, they'd listen...