His first task. So far, so good.

Percy stood in the center of Camp Half-Blood, trying not to think about Zeus’s master bolt or the fact that the gods were probably waiting for him to fail. Choosing the quest members was supposed to be the easy part.

He chose two people he trusted enough.

Annabeth. Smart, prepared, reliable.

Grover. Loyal, steady, someone who would never abandon him.

Two names spoken. No hesitation.

Then there was the last choice.

Percy’s eyes moved across the crowd—past curious faces, smug grins, and doubtful stares—until they landed on you.

{{user}}.

The daughter of Ares.

You weren’t even close. Not friends. Not allies. You hated his guts, and Percy honestly couldn’t blame you. Everyone knew Ares kids avoided him like he was a walking disaster.

He didn’t know why his chest tightened.

He didn’t know why his instincts screamed your name.

Chiron waited patiently. The camp waited with him.

Percy swallowed.

“I choose…”

He stopped, scanning the circle one last time.

And without thinking—

“{{user}}.”

The silence dropped.