A/N: Hello, everyone! I'm Lucirui, and it is just great to be writing a fanfic. Finally. After years of reading them, I thought I should contribute to the community. -pretty nervous though, so excuse me omg ;c- sorry for any mistakes. Also, any guesses on what the story will be about? Cookies if you make the effort~ c: This chapter is pretty much a simple prologue.

Please review! I'd love to hear what you guys think (and I love reviews but yeah). Ask me stuff. I'm a real nice person. Really. Hey, don't look at me like that! I'm telling the truuuuth.

-Percy-

~let's dream of a perfect world~

(dreamt a dream of a perfect world
smiled and joked and looked at the clouds
held the laughter of a child, so clear
drank in all the honey and all the sweets

dreamt a dream of a perfect world
found it shattered, mirror shards scattered
held the eyes of a child, so familiar
fell into the twisted looking glass

dreamt a dream of a perfect world
broke the hands of the clock, the hero fell
held the melody of a child, so foreign
distorted the voice once honest and true

dreamt a dream of a perfect world
blinded all sight, misguided the light
held the reflection of a cruel, so cruel
lost the way back home

dreamt a dream of a perfect world-)

A wave of disorientation hit him like a punch to the chest made by a furious son of Ares. Percy sat up, dark green eyes wide open. A gasp escaped his lips. Hands reached for the pen beneath his pillow.

Inhale, exhale. Inhale. Exhale-

Fingers curling around the messy sheets and releasing the sword in guise of a fountain pen, Percy felt inexplicable fear grip his spine, and no matter how many deep breaths he took, it wouldn't go away. He felt like he'd had the worst nightmare ever. Maybe of the deaths he'd seen (oh gods, don't think of that, don't even touch that trail of thought with a ten metre trident). Maybe of losing what, and who, he had left. Probably the latter, and wasn't that selfish? Percy didn't care about the deaths unless they were of his friends?

He didn't care enough, and gods, a guilt trip down the memory lane was not what he needed right now. Not at, what? The demigod tossed a quick glance at the digital clock on his desk. It glowed green, with block numbers showing 5:31 AM. He didn't need his emotions overwhelming him, not at five in the morning. He put Riptide onto his night stand.

Too early for that, Percy thought wryly, with the ghost of a smile on his lips. Maybe after I eat some pizza for breakfast, because pizza makes the world go round.

"I need some water," he declared.

However, the more Percy thought about it, the more wrong it seemed. The fear was so real it was tangible. Yeah, Percy always remembered his nightmares, because they were always twisted versions of his memories, and he could remember them with a clarity he wished he didn't have. Percy's dreams were like looking from a one-way glass. He'd watch everything go from bad to worse, then to terrifying. He'd scream, but no one on the other side would hear.

Because then they would be dead.

It was like a movie of his past and future fears. In clear technicolor. So really, Percy wished he could forget- but he wouldn't if he could, because it'd been his fault, what had happened. He couldn't forget the sacrifices others had made for him. The freedom he had, now, it was...it was...

Was it really his?

Percy's mind went blank, and his wry smile was wiped off immediately, morphing into horror. He had never thought about this before.

"I really need some water," he muttered decisively to himself. He released his hold on the sheets, and cracked his knuckles. He hadn't realised how tense he was. Sighing, Percy rubbed his eyes. He could almost hear Annabeth say, "rubbing your eyes isn't good for you, you know. Stop rubbing them!" But then again, when had Percy heeded warnings, benevolent or not? Unconsciously, he flinched, as if burned. Memories of voices coaxing him, telling him to do this, to do that. Golden eyes mocking him gleefully, tauntingly, full of amusement.

He was his own person, damn it. Percy did not want to be used. He was not a puppet.

The navy blue curtains let in dim light- red from the outside traffic lights and yellow from the streetlamps. Occasionally a group of teenagers' voices could be heard (innocent laughter, and sometimes, Percy needed to be reminded that there was still something to live for, that supportive, caring Annabeth was there behind him, that he still had friends), and a car sped by every once in a while.

Nights like these were uneventful, and Percy thought they should stay that way. He really despised sleeping. It didn't bring him the rest he needed, not anymore. If anything, they did the opposite.

Death and war were terrible, evil things.

And life could be so much worse.

Percy groaned, standing up. What was wrong with him today? Just yesterday, Nico, Annabeth, and he had thrown a mini-party. They went to watch a movie, and Nico had thrown buttery popcorn all over Percy (damn Nico, that guy), laughing. Annabeth had laughed too. He was glad they could still laugh. None of them noticed the way Percy's smiles faltered when no one was looking, and how his laughs were sometimes forced.

But those memories felt foreign and faraway to Percy. Something out of place.

Percy shook his head and strolled out of his bedroom and into the kitchen to pour himself a glass of water. Given to him by Annabeth, the cup was shaped in the form of an owl- the symbol for wisdom.

Its eyes winked up at him, and a soft, small smile chased away his frustration.