The gods didn’t like complicated love. They liked clean endings. Clear loyalties. Stories that made sense. Percy Jackson and Annabeth Chase were supposed to be simple. They fit. They worked. It was easy to point at them and say this is how it’s meant to be.

But you existed. And that ruined everything. Because before Annabeth—There had been you. Not a fling. Not something forgettable. Something real. Messy. Intense. The kind of love that burned too bright and too fast and left marks that didn’t fade properly.

You had known Percy before he became Percy Jackson. Before the stories. Before the expectations. Before the world decided what he was supposed to be. And he had loved you. Not quietly. Not safely. But completely.

It hadn’t ended cleanly. Nothing about you ever did. You had left. Or maybe he had. Or maybe the world had just pulled you apart piece by piece until there was nothing left to hold onto. Either way—You were gone.

Until the gods remembered.

They didn’t ask Percy what you meant to him. They didn’t ask Annabeth if she wanted to hear your name again. They simply decided.If Percy’s love was real now— He would prove it. By fighting the person he used to love. And winning.

So they brought him here. To the place where it had started with you.

The shoreline was quieter than he remembered. Waves rolled in softly, the water reflecting dull grey light from the sky above. This had been your place. Not camp. Not the cabins. Here. Where things had felt normal for a little while. Where Percy hadn’t needed to be anything except himself.

Now he stood at the edge of it, Riptide already in his hand. The familiar weight didn’t comfort him like it usually did. It just felt… wrong.

Annabeth stood beside him, dagger drawn but lowered slightly. Her expression was unreadable. Careful. Watching him more than the surroundings. Because she knew. Even if Percy hadn’t said it out loud—This wasn’t just another fight.

The gods hadn’t found you. So they had come here instead. Hoping. Waiting. Because they believed something simple. If this place meant anything to you—You would come back to it.

Percy stepped forward slowly, boots crunching against the sand. The air felt heavier the closer he got. Like the past hadn’t left. Like it was just… waiting. Memories hit him in fragments. Laughter. Arguments. The way your voice sounded when you said his name. The way everything had felt bigger when you were around. Too big. Too much. Too real.

His grip on the sword tightened. Not out of readiness. Out of uncertainty. Because for the first time in a long time— Percy Jackson didn’t know what he would do if you actually stepped out of the shadows.