BLURRED | Annabeth Chase

XVI • κυματιστά

κυματιστά

waves

• • •

The last living demigod son of Poseidon stood alone on a dying beach, half-listening to the violent crashing of waves. He was deep in thought, as he recently always seemed to be. What else was there to do on this broken form of Ogygia?

Percy Jackson had changed; that much was clear. His dark hair fell in uneven strands, stirring against his face in the breeze. His sea-green eyes, once full of youth and life, were now clouded like the sky above him, a wisdom to them that had no right residing in the gaze of a boy so young. He was stronger now, as he quickly learned he had to be. Training was the only thing that kept the nightmares away.

Training, and the vague hope that Annabeth was alive.

Percy's grief was strange in that way; even after watching Annabeth die, he never truly believed she was dead. And after that strange dream a week ago, he was more convinced than ever. Annabeth was alive, and Percy would finally be able to leave this cursed island that had served the role of his home.

"It's beautiful, isn't it?" a voice asked from beside Percy, shattering the shaky tranquility that he had managed to find.

Somehow, Percy wasn't surprised when he turned to see his father standing there, staring at the sea with a deep sense of longing in the eyes that looked so similar to Percy's. Poseidon smiled, feeling his son's brutal gaze rest upon him.

"I've been alive for thousands of years," Poseidon continued casually, as if it was normal to disappear of the face of the Earth for two years and then pop up without announcement. "But I've never once grown tired of this view."

Percy looked back to the open sea, staring at it with resentment. The ocean was what had been separating him from his family, from his friends. From his Annabeth.

"Why are you here?" Percy finally asked, his voice hoarse from hours of being unused.

"To warn you," responded Poseidon, his voice devoid of urgency. "There's change and a storm on the horizon."

"Annabeth's alive," Percy said. It wasn't exactly a question, but it also wasn't exactly a statement. It was something in between. Over the past two years, Percy had gotten much better at recognizing the in-betweens.

Poseidon nodded. "Yes. But she's in danger."

The gray sky shone above them, the color a shade that belonged to Annabeth's eyes. "Then why am I here?"

The god that was his father sighed. Poseidon had always maintained a youthful form, but for the first time, he truly looked his age. "It's for your protection."

A hot fury twisted in his stomach like a knife. "My protection?" repeated Percy, unaware of the increasing violent crescendos of the crashing waves below him. "You kept me isolated from the people I should have protected for my protection?"

"It wasn't my choice," sighed Poseidon, "but it was the choice made. For the world's behalf."

The old Percy would have been mad, but he would have gotten over it. Easily. The old Percy could hold a grudge, but he had been quick to forgive. But this Percy was bred of war and violence, isolation and abandonment. So it only made sense that when his voice spoke, it spoke with the brutality of a thousand battles, sharper than any sword.