A Lost World
Prologue - White Clouds on the Horizon
Beware, my brothers, the day on which the white clouds return, for with them they shall bring to our shores war, and they shall bring the word of heathens, and the teachings of fools.
Perseus Jackson had grown up hearing these words, for they were words spoken among the people who had taken him in since the time that he had arrived among them. As a matter of fact, they were words spoken as a result of his arrival among them.
The elders spoke of white clouds upon the horizon, and of heathens who knew not the true ways. He had been told, at such a young age, that he had been one of those heathens, so long ago, and yet the taint had been purged of him, the sea itself purifying him as the island accepted him as one of its own.
Around him, the water seemed to still, the plants around him growing with wild abandon at his mere request, the great river along which the grown men transported rock and logs to work as they built the new sea wall and the new houses and boats. Nature itself sang for him, and he embraced it in return.

He had a name in their native tongue, of course.
Ahika, they called him, The one who sustains, who supports our community. To nearly all barring the elders, however, he was simply Perseus, or Percy, as he claimed to have been affectionately called by his mother.
His mother, of course, was a fossil, preserved only in memories and thoughts, lost to the great oceans beyond the reef, beyond which only the most senior of sailors were permitted to sail as they searched for new lands further afield, and as they defended their seas from those who wished to steal it from them.

In the boy's mind, the Elder had been told, were fading memories of a world long left behind, of soaring buildings and dirty, bustling streets in a world that was no longer his. These, however, were not memories that were to stick long in the mind, rather little inklings that had been clung to in his years on this wondrous land, like the log which he had clung to as the seas brought him to land, the waves drawing him past the boundary of the reef like a father leading his son to the forest for the first time. As a matter of fact, the King himself had gathered his elders, those of the greatest experience, the highest accumulation of Mana, and asked in all honesty if, truly, this boy of a few short years of life, was truly a gift, a Son of Tangaroa, the Great Atua of the Sea, to be honoured in the same breath as the Demigod Maui himself.
In all truth, the elder had not been able to give an answer to his King, though it was very quickly becoming apparent to him that this boy would have to be the next recipient of the great secret, the next traveller on the most sacred of boats to the land where the ancestors met.

Today, however, was the day upon which that boy ascended to man, taking his place as one who would explore, and fight to defend his people should the need arise.
It was prophetic, some might say, that the Son of the Sea God should reach his majority on the day the white clouds returned to the horizon; those same white clouds that had borne him, heralded his arrival past that rainbow-coloured reef which marked their borders.

Professor Malcolm Pace and Dr. Frederick Chase of the University of Cambridge peered through the telescope offered to him by the Captain of the ship, smiling as he saw the silhouette of an island upon the horizon. It had not been all that long since they had left port in Auckland, New Zealand, and he was all too happy to say that none of the newcomers had been particularly abrasive, even the Māori girl dragged along as a translator coming with no real fuss.

The researcher from the nascent University of Sydney, one Jason Grace, had been a Godsend with all his knowledge of culture, the American graduate of Harvard University having taken up a very much advantageous position in his desired area of study in his pursuit of a mastery in Anthropology. His sister Thalia, too, had come along, the girl having found a calling in botany of all things, and against all odds had fought a place into an expedition such as this one, in no small part thanks to Jason himself, who had been adamant that she was brought along. As it turned out, the girl was quite brilliant, her observations and insights speaking for what could only be experience, and her strength of character so different to many of the time.

As a matter of fact, there were a fair few on this voyage of a younger age; Thalia, as mentioned, aged a mere seventeen; Dr. Chase's daughter Annabeth was sixteen herself, and the young Māori girl taken from Auckland as a translator, a child of fifteen who they had taken from an orphanage.
As a matter of fact, Jason himself was only eighteen, his parents having delved into their considerable wealth to send him to Harvard at a distinctly young age that he might make his mark on society in some way or another. That would happen indeed, Chase noted, with the lad's academic excellence having impressed the pair of Cambridge researchers tasked by the crown with the completion of this objective. Forty Eight years of life, most of them dedicated to research had sent Chase into a frenzied excitement at the merest mention of Atlantis, and this mission he had been granted alongside one of his closest colleagues in the experienced Malcolm Pace was his dream. To have folks as talented as the Grace siblings alongside him, and his daughter at his side to witness his life's greatest triumph would truly crown it all, and his thesis on the back of this would most likely shoot his name into the annals of history.

The rest of the ship's company were older than the little group of four teens however, the British Lecturer of Aboriginal cultures noted, the Company of Royal Marines sent with them from Australia led by Captain Luke Castellan made up mostly of colonials, the exceptions being the Company Sergeant Major, a man by the name of Delian Sutherland, a gentleman from London, Chase had been told, and a fine soldier from what the Doctor had seen these past few weeks and months at sea.

All in all, the crew of RRS Argo came to a rather significant complement of some Five Hundred, with the nearby fleet in Australia committing a further three ships of the line to their effort, should they be required. Its three masts bore full sails which caught the wind and drove the gargantuan marvel of British Naval engineering across the waves of the Pacific Ocean towards its destination.

A rainbow-coloured reef, a lost kingdom and a place in history.

A/N
New story, and this one is again inspired by the usual source.
He never means it, and the idea always comes from a conversation that couldn't relate to the plot I've come up with in a million years, but there's always a hilarious moment of what he says just about fitting with something I had planned.
This particular story will be a combination of three Disney movies, interestingly, and there's not much use in me hiding what they are, because it won't make any sense to you unless you read it.
The narrative style of Pocahontas (polar opposites between natives and 'colonisers', though it's not going to villainise one side or another as the movie did)
Atlantis, for fairly obvious reasons.
The third is Moana, as a result of the Polynesian influence, and in part the motivation to be free that Moana herself has.
Now, I have this *imaginary* island somewhere off the coast of New Zealand (between New Zealand and the Cook Islands) hence a strong influence of Māori culture, though it will share other Polynesian influence, such as the reference I've already made to Maui. I can only promise to try my utmost to respect what I consider to be a beautiful culture and people. If someone with better authority than me has anything to say on it, I'd encourage you to PM me instead of commenting something unsavoury that I might take with offence.
Those of you waiting for a Waning Moon update, have patience - I'm working on it, and it'll be out once it's done and I'm happy with it.
Until next time then,
Sol
(I don't own PJO)