The bronze tip of the sword was cold against my neck. I could feel the faint hum of power in it, a thrumming vibration that seemed to sync with the ringing in my ears. Every part of my body screamed, but I forced my hands up, palms out. A fine tremor started in my fingertips, a betrayal I couldn't control.
"I was being chased," I rasped, my voice a wreck. "Some... some bird attacked my plane. It was huge. I just... I survived." My gaze darted past him, and my heart sank. He wasn't alone.
A girl with blonde hair pulled back in a messy ponytail stepped out from behind the cabin. Her storm-grey eyes missed nothing, taking in my burned clothes, the raw patches of skin, the way I trembled. Beside her stood—my breath hitched—a man from the waist down, a goat from the waist down. A satyr. He nervously chewed on the edge of a tin can, his furry legs shifting on the wet grass.
Percy Jackson looked older than I'd pictured when my son talked about him. He was supposed to be 12. This guy was lean and solid, maybe eighteen. The exhaustion in his eyes was a decade too deep for his face.
"Is this Camp Half-Blood?" I asked, the name tasting foreign and dangerous on my tongue. The world tilted slightly, and I swayed on my feet.
The satyr, Grover, bleated, his eyes wide. "Did you cause the tsunami? The whole camp felt it!"
"I don't know," I said, shaking my head, trying to look as lost and pathetic as I felt. "Everything was chaos. The water... it just rose. Maybe... maybe Poseidon helped? Otherwise, otherwise I'd have drowned." I threw the name out there like Manny had told me to, a breadcrumb for them to follow.
The blonde girl, Annabeth, crossed her arms. Her analytical gaze was sharper than the sword at my throat. "How old are you?"
"You're 17."
Manny's voice slammed into my skull, a command so forceful I flinched. It wasn't a suggestion. It was an order. The tremor in my hands shot up my arms, a violent shudder I couldn't stop.
"Seventeen," I said, the word leaving my mouth before I could think better of it. My vision started to blur at the edges, the faces of my interrogators smearing like watercolors.
The air changed. Percy and Annabeth exchanged a look—a quick, silent conversation that screamed alarm. Grover stopped chewing his can. The tension, already thick enough to taste, became suffocating.
"Shit..." Manny's voice was a hiss of static in my mind.
Percy's sword didn't waver, but his grip tightened. "That's funny," he said, his voice dropping to a low, dangerous register. "Because most demigods don't see their seventeenth birthday. And after the oath the gods took, any new ones like you should have been claimed the second you crossed the border." He took a step closer, the point of Riptide now pressing into my skin. "So why am I not looking at a glowing symbol right now?"
I was silent. My mind was a blank canvas of panic. Manny's script had just gone up in flames. I had nothing. A muscle in my thigh spasmed so violently my leg buckled, and I almost went down. I just stared back at him, my breathing ragged, the pain in my body a dull roar compared to the screaming in my head. Sweat and blood from a cut on my forehead mingled, dripping stinging into my eye.
Percy's eyes narrowed, ready to press the issue.
And then it happened.
A searing heat bloomed on my forehead, so intense I cried out. It felt like a brand being pressed into my bone. My entire body convulsed, a spasm of pure agony that threw me back. I stumbled, clapping a hand to my head as my legs gave out from under me. Through my fingers, I saw it—a shimmering, holographic image of a trident, glowing with a faint blue light, hovering just above my face.
Percy froze, his sword lowering an inch. His sea-green eyes went wide with utter disbelief. "What?" he breathed.
I stared at him, my own shock so real it didn't need to be faked. I felt the mark on my skin, a new, strange injury on a body covered in them. "What?" I repeated, my voice a perfect mirror of his confusion, though it came out as a choked whisper.
From the shadows, Annabeth watched, her expression a volatile mix of shock and intense, furious calculation.
And in the quiet of my own mind, Manny let out a low, dry chuckle. It sounded less assured that he usually was.
"Saved your ass. I made you brothers... make the most of it."
I looked from Percy's stunned face to Annabeth's calculating one. My mind scrambled for a foothold. "Guess... Poseidon is my father?" I tried to shrug, but the motion sent a fresh wave of agony through my scorched shoulders and another violent tremor wracked my body. The act was clumsy, but the confusion was real.
That broke the spell.
"That's impossible," Annabeth snapped, stepping forward. Her eyes weren't on the trident anymore; they were boring into mine, searching for the lie. "The gods swore an oath. No more unclaimed children. And they certainly can't just... drop a seventeen-year-old son of Poseidon on our doorstep without any warning!"
"Maybe he's slow on the uptake," Percy muttered, but his voice lacked its usual bite. He was staring at the trident, then at me, a war of emotions playing out on his face. He finally lowered Riptide, but the sword didn't vanish. He kept it in his hand. "Okay. This is... a lot."
"He's dying," Grover said softly, taking a hesitant step toward me. "We need to get him to the Big House. Now."
"No," Annabeth said sharply. "We get him to the Big House for answers. Chiron needs to see this." She moved to my other side, her grip firm but not painful. A clear message: You're not going anywhere we don't want you to.
Percy mirrored her, taking my left arm. His touch was hesitant, as if he was afraid the connection would shock him. "Yeah. Let's go have a chat with the management."
They half-walked, half-dragged me across the green. My legs were useless, dead weight that I had to will into motion with every step. The world dissolved into a blur of faces and cabin roofs. Every step was a fresh torture, the charred skin on my legs screaming in protest. I could feel the blood from my forehead mixing with the sweat on my brow, stinging my eyes until everything was a watery, red-tinged haze. I was a puppet, and they were the only things holding the strings.
We stopped at the porch of a large, blue-painted house with a weathered look. It was the Big House. I'd seen it in drawings. In person, it felt like a final destination.
Percy pushed open the screened door, its hinges groaning in protest. The air inside was stale, smelling of old wood and something like grapes. My vision tunneled, the sound of their voices fading to a dull hum.
"Another one?" a bored, sardonic voice called from within. "Really, Percy, can't you go anywhere for five minutes without attracting a catastrophe?"