Hello! Here's something that struck me one day, and I decided to write it while you guys wait for me to get my act together with my other stories. It will only be a couple of chapters long, but I felt like writing it, soo... Anyway, expect inconsistency, and I hope you like it!

- ROC6

Disclaimer: I own nothing that you can recognize, rights go to Rick Riordan. This goes for all chapters.

Everyone thought he was senile. It was kind of hard not to, the way he gripped his pen like a lifeline in dangerous situations and was always whispering about 'his Annabeth'. Admittedly, the screaming fits didn't help his case. And nobody was allowed near the hat or the necklace if they valued their life. The last one that tried nearly lost a limb. Everyone thought he was senile, but there was a look in his green eyes that kept me from agreeing. Not the look of a man gone mad, but that of a man that's seen too much. A man that's broken.

He was ninety six, and the last person that tried to get to know him was living in New Athens, so none of the campers know what to think of him. He taught advanced sword fighting, but otherwise stayed in his house unless absolutely necessary.

I went to visit him one day. It was a warm summer day, and I was sweating on the walk through New Athens to his house. When I arrived at his house, I was touched, but sad. The architecture was beautiful, but it was a home meant for a family, not a lonely old man. I held my hand up to the blue door to knock, but I hesitated. What if he was senile, like everyone said? No, I had seen something in his eyes that told a different story. I knocked on the door.

A moment later, he answered, and his green eyes met mine. They seemed too lively for such an old man, bright and swirling like the ocean. Most prominent on his wrinkled face, which was beaten and old like a fisherman's, or a demigod with a hard life, were the smile lines. Yet somehow, they looked old, as if they were no longer used as much as they were meant to.

His eyes were calculating, like those of my siblings, but they were the wrong color. I knew not to underestimate him, though, it was clear he knew exactly where to hit to take you down, and that he could do it, too.

"You're not another person trying to take me to an old folks home, are you?" He asked, his voice strong and smooth, contrary to the feeble sound I expected.

"No no no!" I exclaimed, "I just want to talk."

"Oh," he replied sheepishly, obviously embarrassed. He ran a hand through his hair, which was surprisingly all still there, if a little thin, and was the gray color of stormy seas. He gave a lopsided grin, "Sorry, then. Bad way to say hi. So uh, hi. I'm Percy."

Styx, is he that Percy? I responded nervously, "Hi. I'm Silena Charles." I held out my hand for him to shake.

At my name, his gaze fractured and he didn't respond for a moment, before putting his hand out and shaking mine. His hand was strong and calloused, contrary- you know what, I should should just throw all of my preconceived notions of this old man out the window.

"Good to meet you, Silena," he kindly responded. He led me inside of his house, and the first room they came to was enormous. Surprisingly, the house didn't smell like old people, but like the ocean, and if you inhaled deeply enough, I could catch a whiff of a scent I'm all too familiar with. Books. He had me sit on the blue couch-I noticed that was becoming a trend-and went to look out at the ocean. The whole far wall was virtually a giant window, surrounded on both sides by a massive fish tank containing an assortment of aquatic creatures. It shouldn't have looked nice, but the architect must have been amazing because somehow it worked.

He turned around to look at me after moment, "What did you want to talk about?"

I ran my hands through my dull brown ponytail, a nervous habit I developed, "Everyone thinks you've lost your skata."

I started fiddling with my FlameAlpha7, setting it to holorecord the next events until I stop it.

"And your point is?" He asked dryly.

My fingers started running through my hair again, "I don't agree with them. Your eyes tell a different story. I want to hear it."

He let out a small laugh, "Smart girl. Daughter of Athena. My Annabeth would've liked you. In a way, your spirit reminds me of her." He grabbed an old Yankees cap off of the coffee table and started to fiddle with it. He didn't even seem to notice he was doing it, "What do you want to hear?"