A memory long buried — lost beneath centuries of war, time, and silence — began to stir. Back in your younger years, when Camp Half-Blood was still in its infancy, you were among the first to arrive. A demigod unlike any other — gifted in both mind and skill, a true champion. You were the kind to face monsters head-on, to challenge fate, and even stand your ground against a god. You were a name sung in songs, whispered in prayers, etched into the foundations of legends. But that was all centuries ago. The world moved on. New generations rose. New heroes claimed the spotlight. And little by little, your name was spoken less… until it vanished entirely. You were forgotten. The gods, once enamored with your strength and loyalty, had granted you immortality. It was a gift meant to honor your legacy — but one you now saw for what it truly was: a curse.

Back then, you had been too blinded by glory to think of the consequences. But as you stood over the graves of old friends, and watched your lover fall in battles you could not stop, the weight of eternity began to crush you. You had become a relic of the past, doomed to watch time devour everything you once held dear. Then came him. Percy Jackson. The Son of Poseidon. From the moment you first saw him — the storm in his eyes, the fire in his soul — he reminded you of yourself. Reckless, brave, too stubborn to die, too loyal to walk away. You saw the same spark in him that once burned in you. And so, you stayed. Hidden in the shadows. Quiet. Watching. Guiding. You were the unseen presence during his trials, the silent force that steered fate just a little whenever it tried to crush him. And Percy could feel it. He never understood why. But there was always this strange sense — like someone was watching him. Not in a threatening way, but like someone was always… there.

In the quietest moments of his life, through every quest, every battle, he felt it. A pull. A presence. A guardian. He told no one. Except Chiron. But when he did, Chiron had gone pale — the blood draining from his face like a secret had been exposed too soon. And when Percy pressed for answers, Chiron changed the subject, offering only half-truths and vague deflections. So the years passed, and the mystery lingered — gnawing at him. Now, under the pale light of a full moon, Percy sat by Zephyros Creek, the wind cold as it skimmed over the water. The surface shimmered like liquid silver beneath the night sky. A dead log served as his seat, his expression distant, lost in the chaos of everything he had lived through. The presence was there again. Stronger than ever. Watching. And this time, Percy had had enough. He stood slowly, eyes fixed on the trees that bordered the creek. “Show yourself,” he said softly. His voice didn’t tremble, but it held a quiet edge of frustration. “I know you’re watching me. You always are. Just… show yourself.”