Disclaimer: I do not own anything you see here.

Warnings: This is a REWRITE!

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Under The Moonlight
— Chapter 2 —

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"Son?" he echoed incredulously. Perseus wasn't the best when it came to maths or science but he was sure twelve-year-old girls couldn't be the mother of a six-year-old when the moment of said child's birth would be when the mother was six-years-old herself. "That's impossible," he blurted out.

And, anyhow, the word had rolled awkwardly off her tongue, as if she was surprised by her own use of it. She did not seem to accept or heed his words of denial. "My name is Artemis, goddess of the moon and hunt."

"Goddess?" he repeated, feeling that common sense had dropped entirely out of this conversation.

The girl who introduced herself as Artemis sat on the patch of grass, gesturing for Perseus to approach. So he did and sat gingerly before her. He'd heard the phrase stranger danger but this girl didn't give off the aura of a stranger or danger. In fact, she felt familiar and her appearance matched the description of the matron and definitely how Perseus imagined his mother to have looked like. "I don't... understand," he stated truthfully. "If you're my mom, why do you look so young and ... where were you? For the past six years?"

The moment he spoke, his voice betrayed him, cracking towards the end.

Perseus had envisioned various scenarios when he was to be reunited with his mother: a happy one where he would hug her and she'd apologize profusely for abandoning him and the other where he'd scream and rage and possibly hit her. He swallowed the lump in his throat.

"Perseus, what do you know of the Greek gods?"

His world turned upside-down that very night.

—

Perseus didn't very much like his elementary school that was, supposedly, mandatory less he grew up to become an idiot—his mother's words. For one, his name had been shortened to "Percy" and he didn't like it. Perhaps it was childish and irrational but he felt these mortals were trying to strip away his identity.

He felt that Percy was childish, immature, so unlike any of the hopes his mother had lauded onto him.

Perseus was the name of a hero his mother wished he would become: one with a happy ending. Percy was a no-name boy, a hero without a beginning and an end. However, to Percy he must answer.

Ever since two years ago, when he'd met his mother for the first time and was introduced to the life of a demigod, it's been hectic. He'd woken up in the orphanage, startled, disbelieving but not tired. Moonlight always energized him and he could stay awake the whole night long and he wouldn't even be that depleted of energy.

Perseus wasn't arrogant and his opinion of mortals was unbiased; he thought they were rather funny people, coming up with their scientific theory that he no longer stuck by (his science results were abysmal, but no surprise there). Perseus guessed that he felt superior to them most of the time, that he knew the truth of the world and they didn't.

Perseus rarely got into trouble in the orphanage anymore. He was out as often as possible, disappearing into the woods to hone his skills as a hunter.

His bow was perfect, silver and a complete replica of his mother's. He never ran out of arrows and for every animal he hunted down, a new one would always regenerate on the other side of the world, his mother assured him of this.

Perseus was delighted and in awe of his new powers to really concentrate on the revelation of his mother first. But after much thorough research (that consisted of demanding answers like an annoying bee), he'd learned that Artemis was actually a virgin goddess, which meant that he wasn't born the normal way.

...That explained why he didn't have a navel (or bellybutton).

The day he realized that was also the day he realized he and the other children in the brownstone building was vastly different; even to this day, he could remember the sensation of running his slender fingered-hand down his stomach, feeling only a smooth expanse of skin and no dip in his lower-torso.

The mortals never realized anything because of the Mist.

But, jeez, he couldn't erase the impression that he was a freak.

—

Though Perseus now knew who his mother was, that did not mean she actually fit the role of a real mother. Not that Perseus had realized this as he still lived in an orphanage and he remained unloved and unwanted. It was at school, on Parent's Day where parents would be invited over to talk about their jobs or simply receive their kid's report card, that he was most acutely aware of this: Artemis wasn't exactly his mom.

Yes, she gave him life, but she never hugged him, and teaching him how to hunt, telling him of his true origin was simply not enough to be a parent. It took more than that to be a mother.

Perseus had never seen his mother after that though so there was little that could be said about that.

Thinking about his mother made him feel all hollow and empty inside; his heart ached as he craved the impossible. No one in the orphanage understood, much less his classmates in school who shied away from him already.

They were either all or nothing but Perseus was stuck in between: he had his mother but wasn't exactly a mom.

So it was through that train of thought that he came to a realization: there were others like him, demigods, in a place his mother never told him about. Perseus refused to believe he was the only demigod in the world.

Truth was, he was lonely. His mother spent more time with those girls who weren't even her daughter than him, her son.

Being a virgin goddess who'd sworn off men, Perseus felt that it was not unusual for her to avoid men and boys in general but he was her son; didn't that count for something? He felt as if she thought he was a burden, a freak. The night they'd officially met, she'd looked highly reluctant and uncertain.

Perseus wondered why she even let him live when she could've easily smote him.

—

Perseus figured he could pull off the 'wild' look perfectly since that was a part of his mother's spectrum of jurisdiction. He'd ran away from the orphanage when he was ten and here he was, four years later—fourteen years old—hacking blood in an alleyway out of sight.

He hoped no "nice pedestrians" would poke their noses in his business—he was tired of making up excuses to bluff those perfectly nice people. Perseus wasn't sure when he started to feel ill. He'd just woke up one morning, twisting onto his side, coughing and stopping himself from drowning in his own blood.

Perseus dry-heaved, stomach contracting and expanding with the violent movement. He groped for his bag, rummaging in for boxes of tissues he'd frequently stocked up on. He'd hurled on asphalt so there was very little he could do about it; he dabbed his nose and lips, hating the metallic tang lingering in his mouth, on his tongue.

"Hey!"

Perseus jerked, springing to his feet and nearly punching the one who'd so helpfully patted his shoulder to give him a heart-attack. "Dude," he gasped, tasting blood all over again. "Don't startle me like that."

"Sorry," murmured the kid. He had curly brown hair and peachy skin with a nervous disposition about him. His Rasta Cap hung loosely on his head. "Are you okay?" he asked. "Do you need a doctor?"

Perseus' lips twisted into a wry smile. "I have no money. And these mortals," he gestured to the passing people out of the alleyway, "won't do anything for free."

"Mortals?" echoed the boy suspiciously.

"Ah, sorry, ya won't understand." Perseus clapped the boy's shoulder: they seemed to be the same age. "Bye."

"Wait!"

"What?" asked Perseus, turning halfway to look at him.

"I'm Grover Underwood," he said, one hand thrust into his pocket, and Perseus watched with a spark of curiosity as he retrieved a card and pushed it into Perseus' pale, heavily veined hands. "A satyr. You're a demigod." It was a question without a question mark.

"How do you know?" the demigod asked instead.

"I can smell you," answered Grover, shrugging. "How old are you?" He squinted at Perseus. "You look about the age where monsters would be hunting you down."

"I've fought nearly every monster in Greek mythology," Perseus stated, not bragging but proud of his accomplishments. Every spoil of war had been offered to his mother as sacrifices since his food supply was too limited to be offered to her: he hoped he'd never offended her, especially with Medusa's head. The gorgon's head had been his proudest spoil of war and hunt yet.

Perseus would never admit the stinging hurt when his mother didn't even send him a stupid note saying, Good job, son! or Are you trying to turn me to stone, you ungrateful boy?!

Then Perseus recalled that satyrs could read emotions and he was quick to swallow every ounce of bitterness and resentment he felt towards his mother. Heavy in his bag was a book on Greek monsters, he'd ticked every page of which monster he'd encountered and hunted.

Satyrs were a type of sapient monsters but they worked with demigods instead of hunting them down and possessed human-level intelligence, unlike most monsters he could name. Anyway, if he killed this satyr, what sort of spoil of war would remain?

Perseus decided to hunt this satyr who'd displayed kindness and worry for him though. He could always hunt one of those fauns instead—those creatures were generally a hindrance, different from their Greek counterpart. (Speaking of which, Perseus had yet to grasp the concept of Greek-Roman switch in personalities of the gods, despite the detailed explanation Lupa and her wolves had provided.)

Perseus hadn't meant to stumble into the Wolf House and he was certainly a Greek demigod. After he revealed that little tidbit, Perseus had been chased out of there faster than he could say, Cheese!

Though he himself didn't know why he chose that particular phrase instead.

"Oh, good, then I was wondering if you can, uh, give me some lead."

Perseus blinked, arching a brow. "What do you want to know?" he asked, resting his weight on his left foot. The satyr was sniffing something, nose twitching

"Well, I'm on a quest actually," continued Grover, looking nervous, "and we're looking for a lost goddess."

"Lost?" Perseus repeated, puzzled. "Persephone was rescued, oh, thousands of years ago."

"Not Persephone," moaned the satyr. "Artemis! Lady Artemis has been captured and we're—"

"What did you say?" the demigod snarled, voice hot and cold at the exact same time: he felt as if his stomach had fallen to a thousand feet underground.

Perseus didn't know why he cared. He thought he'd conned himself into thinking that he didn't care about the mother who rarely, if ever, checked up on him. The only gift he received was the bow and the book—both in the same night and ever since then, he'd never seen the goddess again.

Perseus could deny it all with his dying breath but he knew he couldn't change facts. Cold, hard facts staring in his face, a wall that he would walk into inevitably—and this was the moment he walked into it: a road constructed by the news of his mother's disappearance.

Perseus didn't realize he'd had his Imperial Gold dagger (nicked from Lupa's) out, and pressed tightly against Grover's neck until the satyr started whimpering: his body reeked of fear.

Being the son of Artemis had perks no demigods had: Perseus' physical capabilities and six senses were all enhanced to the brim. He could hear things others would have trouble picking up from the distance and his sense of smell was very acute. The son of Artemis could scent danger from a mile away.

That was how he'd stayed alive for so long, without any help but his bow and book. (Indirectly, did that count as his mother lending a hand?)

"Lady Artemis was hunting something!" Grover screeched. "A threat to Olympus— and— and her Lieutenant Zoe had a dream the same time Thalia had a dream and their dreams were connected—Artemis had been captured, a prophecy was issued and here we are—pleaseletmego!"

There were a lot Perseus wanted to demand of Grover: such as how the Hades did it happen? Artemis wasn't Persephone for crying out loud, how did she get captured so easily?

Perseus scowled, releasing Grover.

"You're worried," stated the satyr shakily. Surprisingly, he hadn't legged it the moment Perseus threatened him for answers and had released him. "Why?"

"Curiosity killed the cat," said Perseus wryly. He'd heard it as a child and he thought it'd sounded absolutely cool so he'd memorized it and used it whenever the opportunity presented itself; such as now. His lips quirked despite the dire situation. "Why would you ask me for a lead to Mo—Artemis?"

"Because the prophecy says that we would be meeting a hunter along the way. This Hunter will be the last member of the quest."

"Prophecy?" Perseus repeated blankly.

"Yeah, Apollo's Oracle of Delphi speaks the prophecy that guides the questers."

"Ah." Perseus didn't know that. He ran a hand through his hair. "Who are the other questers? Why did you wander out here? Why are you alone?"

Grover cast a shifty glance around. "I smelt monsters—Dr. Thorn, the manticore that kidnapped Annabeth." Perseus was getting a headache here: first Artemis and now Annabeth. How many more girls had been kidnapped anyway? The next thing they knew, all the demigoddesses would be gone. "I tailed him while the girls explored the museum."

"Girls?" Just what Perseus needed: to let the girls go missing, add to the list of people they'd need to search for or his conscious would continuously torture him.

For reasons beyond Perseus, he had been born with an abnormally well-defined moral compass. His courteousness to girls could be easily explained by his mother's blood flowing through him: never underestimate or undermine girls. But the hero-complex was something he'd never understood. It could've been his dad.

Perseus never knew his father, he just had a name, Sander Jackson, to construct an image of the man himself. Artemis never knew Sander personally either; she'd just stumbled upon him, bleeding and from the mixed blood (his father had already died before Perseus was created), he'd been born.

Artemis had also told him a story about Adonis and his birth: there had also been very, very embarrassing births that should not be mentioned of again and Perseus was born, in a way, that could be considered normal and non-awkward.

"Zoe Nightshade, that's Lady Artemis' lieutenant and another Huntress, Bianca di Angelo; then from Camp Half-Blood, there's me representing as a tracker and Thalia Grace, daughter of Zeus."

Perseus hummed. "Anyway, I work alone. I don't think we need to team up."

"But the prophecy says so!" yelped Grover, seizing his arm. At first, Perseus thought the satyr was trying to stop him from moving away but he noticed instantly that Grover's eyes were zeroed in on someone else. "Dr. Thorn..." he whimpered.

Perseus' gut instinct told him to follow. "Stay here," he instructed the satyr. "I'm going to follow him."

"What, why?"

"Just get out of my way, Underwood."

"Wait." Starting to get very irritated, Perseus turned, about to give him a tongue lashing when Grover handed him a Yankees baseball cap. Perseus stared. "At least take this with you. It was—" The satyr sobbed. "We'll get Annabeth back," he murmured to himself. "This belongs to Annabeth, it can turn you invisible."

"Thanks," said Perseus, starting to feel guilt curling at how he'd previously insulted the satyr in his thoughts.

"We'd be in the museum if you change your mind."

"I won't," assured Perseus, putting on the cap and in a split second, he found himself staring at the pavement, right through his hands. "Whoa... cool."

"I have a strong feeling you're the answer, the reason why we're here, um—what's your name?"

Still invisible, Perseus answered, "Percy Jackson," then he leapt after the hunched-back man who stunk of monster.

—

[A/N]: Yes, this skips the Lightning Thief and Sea of Monsters. This story'll concentrate on reforging the mother-son bonds between Percy and Artemis then comes the Great Prophecy and HoO. I'm still accepting suggestions on the pairings.

(EDITED: 24 November 2014)