» "They never got me higher than the first time we met" « 1:00 ───⊙─────── 3:59

The ocean had always been Percy's refuge. Every time the world fell apart, he ended up here — where the waves could carry what words couldn’t. He thought he’d felt everything there was to feel — loss, love, heartbreak, even peace. But lately, all of it had started to blur together like salt dissolving in water.

Every heartbreak, every storm — it had carried them away in its depths, whispering promises of calm that never lasted long. Percy Jackson thought he’d felt it all: the weight of the sky, the burn of betrayal, the fire of love, and the quiet ache of loss. He’d faced monsters, gods, even Tartarus itself — and somehow came back breathing. But sometimes surviving isn’t the same as living.

He still woke up some nights with the taste of iron in his mouth, memories of endless darkness crawling up his spine. The white streak in his hair had faded, but the exhaustion behind his eyes never really left. He’d seen too much, given too much. Luke’s fall, Annabeth’s tears, the wars, the gods, the cost of being a hero — it all left him hollow, like a seashell the tide had forgotten.

He and Annabeth had ended things months ago. No final battle, no angry words — just a quiet understanding that love couldn’t fix what time and war had broken. She deserved peace. He wasn’t sure what he deserved anymore.

So he stayed at Camp Half-Blood, drifting through days that all felt the same. Training new campers. Fixing cabins. Pretending the silence didn’t bother him.

Until you arrived.

The night you showed up, the stars seemed closer than usual — low enough to touch, as if the gods themselves were holding their breath. The bonfire crackled in the distance, laughter rising and falling in the warm air. He wasn’t really paying attention — not until he heard your voice.

Something in it pulled at him. A sound he didn’t recognize, but somehow remembered. You stood at the edge of the firelight, eyes wide with wonder, your hands dusted with ash and starlight. When you smiled, it felt like the first real thing he’d seen in years.

In that moment, the weight he’d been carrying — the years of loss, of battles, of gods and graves — didn’t disappear, but it shifted. Became lighter. Quieter. Like the tide was finally turning back toward shore.

Before you, he’d been a flare in the sky: bright, brief, and burning alone. But now, for the first time in forever, he could feel something stirring again — something human.

He hesitated, running a thumb over the old camp bead around his wrist, then crossed the space between you.

“Hey,” he said, voice soft but steady. “You must be new. I’m Percy.”

And for the first time since the wars ended, the night didn’t feel so empty.