Disclaimer: All rights belong to Rick Riordan. I take no credit, and I do not mean to break any copyright rules. This is simply a work of fiction made for enjoyment. No money is being made.

Rating: T for dark themes and violence

Chapter 8

No one sleeps that night. The ship is a hive of activity. Lanterns hang from every available spot, casting light across the damaged ship. The Pax was barely held together in one piece even before a giant sea monster decided to attack it.

Beckendorf takes over the crew, organizing repairs and supervising projects. Will takes care of the wounded, most of whom are not critically injured enough to be exempt from working. Without Percy, everyone's doing double the usual work to keep the ship afloat. Frank helps wherever he's needed most, which is usually wherever there's heavy lifting involved.

Annabeth drifts around, bringing water to the workers, helping hold down patients while Will extracts large wood shafts wedged in their skin or sets broken bones and stitches up gashes, and helping Beckendorf identify which areas of the ship need immediate attention.

Worst of all, she helps keep track of the dead. She runs around with a ship ledger, checking off the names of the men working and making a mark next to the ones who are just a body or who disappeared altogether.

Occasionally she stops in to check on Percy, who's passed out cold. He's breathing normally and his skin isn't clammy, so she's confident that he's just utterly depleted and not severely injured. She doesn't think she could wake him even if she tried, but she's tempted to at some points; the crew could really use their captain right now.

Annabeth is nearly dead on her feet by the time the sun begins to rise in the east. She's accounted for every man on the ship, she's lugged Beckendorf's tools to every part of the ship and back, she's brought water and rations to every working man, and she's just finished helping Will with the last injury. Of course, many of the injuries will need to be monitored and redressed before tonight, but for now they're cleaned and covered.

She stumbles across the deck, trying to find the next assignment, when she runs into Frank. He reaches out and steadies her.

"You need to take a break," he says, looking concerned. Annabeth can barely see through her blurry vision. Her head aches, and she feels her hands shaking, but she opens her mouth to protest.

"There's still so much - "

"If you push yourself too far, you'll just be another issue for us to deal with," Frank says, his tone harder. His face softens. "You've already done so much, Annabeth. You've been through a lot in the last few hours. You'll be more useful when you've had a few hours of rest."

Annabeth can't argue with that logic. As much as she wants to press on and continue working, she knows he's right. Her body has been pampered her entire life. She's never had to work hard, not even before her mother's marriage to her rich stepfather. She's pushing herself to the limit, and if she drops, she'll just be another one of Will's patients.

She climbs down the ladder, her head spinning, and manages to make it to her room before collapsing in the hammock. She's never been a deep sleeper, but as soon as her head hits the cloth she feels herself falling away.

She's standing on a pristine beach, turquoise waves lapping against white sand. She's wearing a white dress with flowing sleeves and a loose skirt that flutters in the wind. She turns around and faces a stone pyre stacked high with sticks. On top of it is a sea green shroud. As she watches, fire spreads up and eats away the shroud. She stands in front of it until all that's left is ashes. In the midst of the ashes is a sand dollar attached to a shriveled leather cord.

She turns back to the sea, but no longer is it peaceful. The sun has disappeared and a storm is brewing over the waters. Lightning flashes in the sky and the waves roll in rough. Gray clouds move over the land and rain pours out. Annabeth lifts her hand to cover her eyes from the downpour.

A ship emerges from the storm clouds, completely unaffected. A familiar-looking man with curly black hair and sea green eyes stands at the bow of the ship, a twisted smile on his face. He is not Percy, but he looks startling like him. He has twin pistols tucked into the belt at his side and a bow and quiver slung around his back, a bandana tied around his neck. He holds out a glowing fist and opens his fingers, revealing a shining pearl the size of an eyeball.

Annabeth freezes as another figure steps out of the shadows to stand next to him. She'd recognize the blue eyes she's been in love with for years anywhere. Luke's brow is crinkled, as if he doesn't exactly approve of what's happening. He stares ahead, his hand resting lightly on the hilt of a bronze sword at his side - no, not just any sword; that's Percy's sword.

She turns back to the funeral pyre behind her, realizing exactly what's going on. When she turns back, Luke and evil-not-Percy are standing on the beach, the ship anchored behind them. Not-Percy is completely dry despite the rain, but Luke's untrimmed hair is drenched. He crosses the distance between them and wraps his arms tightly around her. Annabeth finds she can't return the embrace.

"Luke, what's happening?" she asks over the howl of the storm.

"I'm making the best possible future for us," he says into her ear. "You'll never be stolen away from me again."

"That doesn't answer my question!" Annabeth wrenches herself out of his arms and stares into his eyes, her gaze flickering briefly to the scar across his face, which almost looks sinister in the lightning. "What have you done?"

"I had to get you back. I would do anything for you, Annabeth." He reaches out and pulls out the bronze knife from her sheath, which she hadn't noticed attached to the belt of her dress. "Remember when I gave this to you? I did it to protect you. I promised that I wouldn't let anything bad ever happen to you. I promised to keep you from harm, no matter what."

"I was coming back to you, Luke." Annabeth reaches out and touches the side of his face, cupping his cheek and covering up as much of the scar as she can with her hand. "You taught me how to protect myself."

"I couldn't stay behind and do nothing. I love you, Annabeth."

The storm rages around them. Not-Percy scowls impatiently and rubs his finger across the pearl in his hand. Every time he does, thunder rumbles louder and the waves grow more agitated. Rain beats down across Annabeth's face, mixing with her tears.

"I love you, too, Luke." She drops her hand. "But I never wanted this."

She glances back at the funeral pyre, and a different type of grief fills her. When she looks back to Luke, he's gone and there's only Not-Percy, who's staring hungrily at her.

"You're pretty," he says. "I can understand why they were willing to risk everything for you."

"They?"

"It's too bad I have no room in the new world for mere mortals."

He tightens his fist around the pearl and a giant wave comes hurtling towards the beach. Annabeth watches it coming, the winds from the storm ramping up and blowing her dress and hair wildly around her. She closes her eyes as it crashes over her.

Annabeth sits up, her hammock swinging under her with the sudden movement. She looks around in alarm, but she's still in her room aboard the Pax. She climbs out, pulls her hair into a loose ponytail, and then rushes up to the deck.

Based on the position of the sun, it's the afternoon. The repairs are well underway, and the ship is sailing again. Annabeth catches sight of Percy and Frank on the topmost deck, standing behind the wheel and talking.

Annabeth glances over the water, her vivid dream still fresh in her mind. There's nothing but blue skies as far she can see, so she takes a deep breath before ascending the stairs.

Percy and Frank both look up when she steps on the deck. Frank nods to her and dismisses himself, leaving just her and Percy.

Despite his rest, Percy still looks exhausted. He has bags under his eyes and his hair is askew. His shirt is buttoned up wrong, so one side of the collar sticks up higher than the other, and he has red lines across his face, probably from his blankets. He must have just woken up.

He manages a half-hearted smile. "Hey."

Annabeth catches sight of the sand dollar necklace he wears and a chill runs through her. She crosses her arms and half-turns away from him.

"I know who you really are," she says. She watches him from the corner of her eye.

He doesn't seem surprised. "I knew you'd figure it out eventually."

"So this boat was the best your dad could do?" She raises an eyebrow and turns back to him, and he cracks a real smile.

"It was shipwrecked off the coast of Italy back in Roman times. They weren't much of sailors, not compared to the Greeks. See, the Romans feared him, but they didn't love him."

"And is that how you feel?"

Percy shrugs. "Gods are always distant from their mortal children. So distant that many times mortal fathers adopt them and they live much of their lives not knowing the truth, or at least ignoring it. That's why many of the legends of heroes have differing versions of the hero's parentage. I guess I'm lucky that my father cared enough to claim me."

"So how long have you known?"

"Since I was twelve. My mother always told me that my father went out to sea and never returned. I thought he was a sailor who either left or died; turns out she meant it literally. It wasn't until I killed the Minotaur and had nowhere to go that he revealed himself. He told me the truth about myself and the world. He gave me this sword and the ship and told me that my destiny was in my hands."

"That's it? He just left you on your own?"

"The gods are not allowed to meddle in our affairs. Some stupid ancient rule or whatever. They can help us from time to time, but anything more than that…" Percy's hand drifts to the sand dollar at his neck. "My father gave this to me on my fifteenth birthday. It's the day a boy becomes a man in Roman culture. He spoke to me for a while, and for a few minutes I felt connected to him in a way I've never felt before."

Annabeth remembers something else he'd told her. "What about your brother?"

"Tyson, my half-brother, he found me when I was thirteen. I was just starting to assemble a crew - Beckendorf was one of the first. He needed help, and at the time, so did I. My first big trip as captain was to the Sea of Monsters. Tyson proved invaluable. Then my father invited him to work in his palace under the sea."

"I thought gods couldn't get involved in your affairs."

Percy's jaw clenches. "It's different with Tyson. He's not mortal."

Annabeth doesn't fully understand what Percy means by that, but she can tell this is a sensitive subject, so she doesn't press.

"So you're doing all these quests to please your father? That's why you can't just walk away and start a different life. Especially now that the power of the sea or whatever has been stolen, you have to retrieve it to protect your father - who's never really been there for you."

"Children of the gods...we don't have a choice. We can't just walk away. Nothing good ever happens. Hercules lost his two wives and died from poisoning, and he was considered the greatest hero of all time. Theseus, another son of Poseidon, was killed by a king who threw him off the top of a cliff. Orpheus, a son of Apollo, was torn apart after he tried to bring his dead wife back from the Underworld. I could go on…"

"So you have to spend your whole life working from the gods, who only give you occasional help, or else they kill you."

"It's not the gods who kill heroes - well, not usually. They don't really care what happens to us. But we're too powerful. That's why the Minotaur tracked me down. Monsters have been hunting me since I turned twelve, and they aren't going to stop. And even if I kill all the monsters, there's still mortals and other demigods to worry about."

"You either die a hero or die a coward."

Percy leans against the wheel. "I don't like to think of the gods as using me, even if they are. I like to think that I'm choosing this life, that I'm choosing to be a hero. My father, he...he told me once how proud he is of me. He called me his favorite son. Even though he's not physically here, he's given me so much. Not all his children have the powers that I have. Theseus didn't, or else he wouldn't have died from falling off a cliff into water. I have to believe that counts for something."

Annabeth doesn't know what to say. She can see that Percy is trying to convince himself as much as he's trying to convince her. He obviously has a lot of mixed feelings concerning his father. Anger, because he feels abandoned. Jealous, because his father recruited his brother and not him. Gratefulness, for the gifts and abilities he was born with. Longing, because he wants him more than he gets. Love, because he's family, even if it's a messy and complicated family.

"Not to sound cruel, but what about the kraken attack yesterday? Was that some kind of test from him, or…?"

Percy's eyes darken, like storm clouds gathering. For a moment he looks like Not-Percy from her dream.

"My father is only one god of the sea. He rules the sea, but there are many gods and spirits who have powers within his domain. There's Oceanus, the Titan of the sea, although he doesn't usually get involved in wars. There's Kymopoleia, my half-sister, who's the goddess of storms at sea. There's Phorcys and Keto, who are the god of hidden dangers of the deep and goddess of sea monsters. They're children of Titans, so naturally they hate the gods and take it out on us demigods."

"Do you think they're looking for the pearl like us? It would be their best shot at overthrowing your father."

"It would make sense, but they couldn't be looking for the pearl themselves. Ancient laws and all that. There would have to be either a mortal or a demigod working with them. The laws don't stop them from sending monsters after us, though."

"But how would they have known about the pearl being gone in the first place? Is it possible they have spies in your father's palace?"

Percy shrugs. "I don't know exactly how the gods' power works. I'm not sure what they know and don't know, and how they get their information. That's not something they go around advertising. Like, hey, here's my strengths and weaknesses! Please come test them!"

"We should assume they know about it, though. And we should also assume there's another demigod or mortal searching for the pearl. That means we have to beat them to it."

Annabeth doesn't care much for the gods, but she knows that if someone gets control of the power of the sea and decides to overthrow Poseidon, his heirs are probably next on the list, Percy included.

"My father still has power," Percy says, as if he'd been reading her mind. "The trident - and the pearl inside - were gifts from the cyclops. The symbols of power - the trident, Zeus' lightning master bolt, and Hades' helm of darkness - do contain power in their respective elements, but they aren't the source of the gods' power."

"But if someone who already has power - Oceanus, say, or Phorcys and Keto - and they get the pearl, what's to stop them from being more powerful than your father?"

Percy doesn't have an answer. He just stares over the horizon.

"We just have to make sure no one else gets their hands on it," he finally says after a long silence. Annabeth remembers her dream and a shudder runs through her. She normally doesn't dream so vividly, but she can't get those images out of her head. Is that the future? Is she developing powers like Rachel? Or was it a warning of what could be? Or was it just a dream?

But if it was just a dream, then who was that Not-Percy? She's never seen anyone like him in her life. Somehow she can't believe that her vivid dream was just a coincidence, a fantasy of her mind.

She lives in a world of magic and gods now. Why shouldn't her dreams be supernatural warnings?

She thinks of the funeral pyre and a sudden emptiness fills her. She looks over at Percy and can't imagine him being gone. He's so strong and confident. She doesn't want to meet whoever or whatever is powerful enough to kill him.

She also can't imagine him dead when he's beside her now, full of life.

His voice breaks through her thoughts.

"We're going to have a funeral tonight at sunset for those who perished in the attack. We'll send them to Davy Jones, who will grant them safe passage to the Underworld, as he does to all brave sailors who die at sea."

Annabeth still doesn't understand exactly how the Greek myths intertwine and interlap with myths from all different cultures, but she simply nods. Davy Jones is the spirit of the sea - whether that means he's Poseidon or some other deity, it doesn't matter. A name is just a name, after all.

Yet she can't help but think of Percy's namesake, the original Perseus. From what she can remember of him from Homer's Iliad and other Greek myths, he'd been the only hero to retire and live the rest of his life happily with his wife and kids. Annabeth wonders if Percy's mother had known that when he was born. She wonders if it's a sign.

She's surprised by how deeply she hopes that it is.