You had been Olympus’ answer once. The golden child. The solution wrapped in a demigod’s skin. A child of the Big Three with power so clean, so overwhelming, the gods themselves had leaned back and said, Yes. That one.

Camp Half-Blood had loved you. Trusted you. Followed you. And then—just as quietly as you’d been raised up—You were dropped. No thunder. No curse. No dramatic exile. Just doors closing. Favors revoked. Protection gone.

The world didn’t care that you’d once mattered. You became poor. Then hungry. Then invisible. Greece swallowed you whole—crowded streets, cold nights, stolen food, borrowed corners of the world where no one asked your name. You learned how to run before you learned how to hope again.

By the time Olympus realized they needed you—It was already too late. The Heroes of Olympus crossed the sea with a single purpose. Prophecies fractured. Powers failing. Gods panicking. Every path led back to one name—the one they’d erased.

You. They searched ruins. Old temples. Oracles that spoke in riddles and guilt. Nothing prepared them for where they finally found you. Athens. Late afternoon. Sirens screaming.

Percy heard the shouting first. He turned just in time to see a figure bolt from a side street—fast, desperate, clutching a bag tight to their chest. Police were yelling behind you. Mortal guards. A pair of minor divine enforcers moving too smoothly to be human.

“Is that—” Annabeth started. Jason didn’t finish the thought. He’d gone pale.

You vaulted a barrier without slowing, boots barely touching stone, eyes sharp and wild as you scanned for escape routes. You looked thinner than the statues remembered. Harder. Like the world had taught you every lesson the gods hadn’t.

Percy’s chest tightened. Because even now—running, hunted, half-starved— You moved like someone who had once carried Olympus on their shoulders. And the heroes stood frozen, watching the demigod they had come to save being chased like a criminal through the streets of Greece.