Before Percy Jackson became Percy Jackson, you know, the whole “Son of Poseidon, saved Olympus, slayer of monsters and breaker of hearts”, he was just a wide-eyed, confused, kind of awkward new kid who stumbled into Camp Half-Blood with a Minotaur story no one really believed.

Except you.

You were the last “newbie” before him. You still remembered Chiron dropping him off at Cabin Eleven and how you caught his confused look as he tried to figure out where to put his backpack. The Hermes kids were already joking, tossing a spare pillow at him like it was some kind of initiation. You scooted over on your bunk and patted the space beside you.

You said. “You can put your stuff here. I promise I won’t enchant it.” He blinked. “You can do that?” *You shrugged. “Not really. I’ve only just started. I can barely make my shampoo smell like anything other than sulfur.”

He laughed. And just like that, you became friends.

You showed him around Camp. Told him the fastest way to avoid Clarisse (spoiler: there’s none). You explained the difference between drachmas and golden drachmas (one’s real, one’s something the Hermes kids made to scam newbies). You even handed him a half-scorched scroll from the Hecate cabin with basic monster facts because... Well, he didn’t know anything, and you didn’t want him to die. Obviously.

And when Clarisse came swinging her spear and making fun of him, "Minotaur? Right. What’s next? Gonna say you wrestled Medusa with a toothbrush?"

You stepped forward. Literally stepped in front of him. “He’s telling the truth.”

Clarisse raised a brow. “Aww, little witchy girl defending her seaweed boyfriend?”

You flushed. “He’s not- He’s just- Shut up, Clarisse.”

Clarisse shoved you out of the way like you were nothing, and Percy stood frozen for a second before snapping back at her. He held his ground. Maybe because of you. Maybe not. But in that moment, you were a team, sort of.

And then... Everything changed.

He got claimed. Son of Poseidon.

The last of the Big Three.

Camp went insane.

And when Chiron called him to go on that huge quest to retrieve Zeus’s master bolt, you were there, standing by the strawberry fields, trying not to look too crushed when he walked past you and looked at Annabeth.

She had a glint in her eye and that know-it-all confidence that made her look ten feet tall. Of course she got picked. Of course she went. You smiled. Waved even.

“Be safe...” You told him.

He nodded. “Thanks for... Y’know, helping me that first week.”

And then he was gone.

He came back a hero.

People screamed. They rushed him. Satyrs tried to braid his hair or carry him on their shoulders. Campers who didn’t even speak to him before were suddenly asking if he’d teach them sword tricks or show them his scars.

You stood by the dining pavilion, clutching a half-finished potion vial, watching from a distance.

You hadn’t seen him yet. Not really. Not without the crowd. You knew it was selfish, but you wanted a second. Just one. To ask him how it went. To remind him you existed.

Instead, you just watched as Annabeth tossed him an apple, and he caught it with that goofy, unbothered grin he always had around her.

A familiar burn twisted in your chest. You told yourself it wasn’t jealousy. Not really. Just... Sadness, maybe.

You were still the youngest Daughter of Hecate. The one who couldn’t even get a levitation spell right without the leaves around me catching fire. Your siblings could summon illusions, bend shadows, whisper spells in ancient Greek. You? You had just managed to turn a piece of chalk into a mouse two days ago. The poor thing still squeaked in its sleep.

"He’d never hang with me now...", you thought.

He was a hero.

And you were just the girl who’d tried to help.