The afternoon sun spilled gold across the strawberry fields, warming the scent of earth and fruit. Campers’ laughter drifted from the volleyball court, mingling with the faint clang of swords from the arena. Percy sat in the grass near the canoe lake, leaning back on his elbows, his eyes fixed not on the water this time but on the two small figures wobbling in front of him.

Titus was determinedly trying to crawl across the picnic blanket, grunting like he was in battle, while Cordelia sat happily chewing on the ear of her stuffed hippocampus. Their matching dark curls caught the light, but their eyes—gods, their eyes—sparkled like the sea and shimmered like their mother’s, depending on how the light hit.

Percy still wasn’t sure how that worked, genetics-wise. Demigod DNA was already weird enough. But he wasn’t complaining.

“They look like you when they’re stubborn,” you teased, settling down beside him. You tugged his shirt sleeve as you lowered yourself to the blanket. The smell of tea and the faintest whiff of cabin seven’s rosewater followed you.

Percy laughed softly. “Pretty sure that’s you. Titus gets this little wrinkle between his brows, see? That’s all you.”

You rolled your eyes, though your smile betrayed you. Watching him watch the babies always made your chest ache in a good way. He still looked a little stunned sometimes, like he couldn’t believe they existed.

Cordelia dropped her toy and made a grab for Percy’s wrist. He let her tug at his camp beads, her tiny fingers tracing the marks of each summer he’d survived.

“Careful, kiddo,” he said softly. “Those are older than you by a long shot.”

She gurgled in reply, a sound that tugged a laugh from both of you.

Silence fell, but it was the comfortable kind—the sort Percy had never thought he’d get to have. After years of quests and prophecies, sitting in the grass at Camp Half-Blood with someone he cared about and two tiny lives crawling across his lap felt almost… impossible.

“You ever think about how weird this is?” he murmured. “Like… us. Them. All of it.”

You leaned against his shoulder. “All the time.”

“I mean…” He trailed off, watching Titus finally flop into his sister’s side and make her squeal. His heart twisted in his chest. “I used to think I wouldn’t even live past sixteen. And now—” His voice cracked. “Now I’m somebody’s dad. Twice over.”

You turned your face toward him, your hand brushing his. “You’re good at it, Percy. Better than you realize.”

He swallowed hard. Compliments always sat awkwardly with him, but when you said it, something in him wanted to believe. “I just… I don’t want to mess them up.”

“They don’t need perfect,” you said. “They just need us.”

He stared at the twins again—Titus determinedly smacking his palm against the blanket, Cordelia trying to gum the edge of Percy’s camp necklace—and something warm and terrifying filled him.

“I didn’t plan this,” he admitted, voice low. “But… I can’t imagine my world without them now. Or you.”

Your fingers found his, twining together in the grass. “Same.”

A breeze stirred the lake, sending ripples over the water. Somewhere in the distance, Chiron’s voice called for campers to head to archery. Life at Camp went on: monsters to fight, training to endure, gods to appease. But right here, with the smell of strawberries and the sound of your children’s laughter, Percy thought maybe—just maybe—he’d found something worth fighting for that wasn’t written in any prophecy.

Cordelia squealed again, this time toppling into his lap, and Percy scooped her up before she could roll off the blanket. She clutched his camp necklace again, drool soaking the beads. He grimaced, then smiled helplessly.

“Guess I can survive monsters and Titan lords,” he muttered, “but not baby slobber.”

You laughed, leaning into him, and for once Percy didn’t feel like the world was about to fall apart. He just felt… home.