The forest is quiet in that way that makes Percy more nervous than monsters ever do.

Too quiet. No wind. No cicadas. Just the soft crunch of leaves under his sneakers as he paces the small clearing, Riptide sheathed at his side, fingers twisting nervously around a silver ring, muttering to himself. He clears his throat and starts again. “I, Percy Jackson, take you—” He winces. Stops. Shakes his head.

Annabeth’s face flashes in his mind. The way she used to laugh when they were twelve. The way things feel… different now. Not bad. Just—changed. He thinks he loves her. He’s pretty sure he does. He just wishes his chest would stop tightening every time he says the words out loud.

He exhales, frustrated, and wanders deeper into the trees. That’s when he finds the clearing. It’s small. Perfectly round. The moonlight spills into it like a spotlight, silver and still. In the center, half-buried in moss and roots, are a few pale twigs jutting upward—bent, curved, almost… He doesn’t let himself think about that. He steps forward, heart pounding, and tries again. “I promise to stand by you,” he says, quieter now. More honest. “To fight for you. To choose you—even when it’s hard.”

Something clicks. The words stop tripping over themselves. They flow, steady and sure, like a tide finally pulling him the right way. “I promise to love you,” he finishes softly. “No matter what.”

Relief crashes through him. A grin breaks across his face. “Yes,” he breathes. “Finally.”

Laughing, almost giddy, he kneels and places the ring down—right onto the twisted cluster of twigs. The clearing goes cold. Before Percy can pull his hand back, the twigs close around his wrist. He yells, scrambling, panic detonating in his chest as the wood tightens—too tight, wrong—and he reaches instinctively for Riptide.

It’s not there. The forest answers with thunder.Lightning splits the sky as Percy slashes desperately, the blade finally appearing in his grip as he hacks at the branch. It snaps with a sharp crack, and he stumbles backward, heart hammering—The broken piece is still attached to him.

Except it’s not wood anymore. It’s bone. The ground shudders. The earth in the center of the clearing breaks apart, soil sliding away as pale fingers claw upward—not desperate, not violent, just… inevitable.

You rise slowly from the ground. Your wedding dress hangs in tatters, lace darkened with age and earth, fabric torn but unmistakably ceremonial. Your veil slips from your hair as you stand, hollow eyes locking onto Percy with terrifying calm.

The skeletal hand at the end of your arm finishes knitting itself together, bone clicking softly as it reconnects—still holding him. Thunder rolls again. Percy can’t breathe.