Percy was laying on his back in the middle of the Camp Half Blood field, staring into the sky. His muscles felt tense and stiff, after not moving an inch for hours. His eyes stung due to the intensity of the shining sun. But he didn't care. He stopped caring. About anything.
No one had come to find him. He had been lying there since lunch, and now he saw the sky start to enter the beautiful color changes that signaled the sunset. He didn't know exactly how long that had been, but it felt nice, if not a little sad. Here, he was free from responsibility. From the overbearing eyes that criticized his every move, every smile, every word. Here, he could simply exist, without actually living.
Without a war, his life felt useless. Without a conflict, he felt that he had no purpose. His previous college plans with Annabeth faded slowly, but surely, from his mind, as the days wore on. Each day, a normal life seemed further and further out of grasp. He would always be a pawn for the gods. Unable to escape it. He was like Rapunzel, but he couldn't let down his hair. He would be locked inside that tiny castle forever.
It felt expected of him. Once a strong leader, he had charged into battle before his fellow demigods. Now, he was hardly needed. Did camp really need a leader if there was nothing to lead? They already had a director to keep the camp flourishing. He was there for battle, and without one, he was nothing.
He surely felt like nothing. He felt alone, lonely. Any variation of that term would do. Friends? He hardly knew that word either. His friends scattered around the world, striding through life with an end goal in mind. He was left behind. He lacked the motivation that fueled them. Gone were the plans of a normal life, replaced by dread and depression.
A laugh bubbled out of his lips before he noticed, and the insanity that was intertwined felt sudden, but not unusual. It was short-lived, but with a twinge of madness. He knew he was scaring people. Sometimes he scared himself.
He tried not to get all cynical, but sometimes it was hard not to. He noticed the attitude changes when people talked to him, or how they not-so-subtly went out of their way to avoid him. His glory days of camp were over. The campers his age were starting to leave, branch off into the mortal world. New kids filled their spots. The only thing they knew about him was rumors. He was infamous, in a way. They admired his skill and legend, but they couldn't match it to the face they saw every day. The angry, tired looking face he wore everyday. He could feel the fear wash over them as he happened to walk by.
This is what will happen to you if you follow the gods, he wanted to scream, he wanted to warn them. What being the gods' plaything does to you. It turns you into nothing. He wanted to grab the kids who desperately vied for their parents' attention, and show them what it does. The gods are destructive. Anything they touch is ruined. Don't let them grab onto you, too.
The gods know it too. They know it, oh, so well. Just take a look back at history. And at him. They know that he's got nothing left in the mortal world. It's why they try to keep him on his toes, training, getting stronger, doing pointless missions just to remind him that they owe him. What was he to do about it? Maybe he should've taken Luke's offer, all those years ago. When he came knocking on his door, begging him to change his mind. That with Percy, they could have anything they wanted. They could be anything they wanted. But they had to get rid of the gods, together.
He contemplated on what his life would've been like if he had looked into Luke's piercing blue eyes, and grabbed his hand. For while the Titans aren't any better, surely he wouldn't feel like this. Like not even human anymore. He felt more god than human, and it disgusted him. They made him like this. Like something he never ever wanted to be.
He felt like a god. He humphed as he let the thought roll over in his mind. That was ironic, wasn't it? He had declined godhood, but the gods were never very good at listening to the wishes of mortals, weren't they? As his powers increased, he wasted away in agony, wishing he could scrub his skin raw of the feeling of godhood (but he wasn't a god).
As the sun set over the horizon, changing into oranges and pinks and reds, he felt the wind on his face. However, he felt a very different type of wind behind him. It was an unnatural wind, one that was made by hands and feelings and powers, and not the beautiful Earth.
He kept staring straight at the sky, not bothering to get up and greet the god who just appeared behind him properly.
"Percy," His name broke the silence around him, and a face appeared into his vision.
"Dad." Percy stated, rather blankly. "What do I owe the joy of this visit?" He asked flatly, a hint of mocking creeping in, as he finally, and quite slowly, shifted his eyes to meet his fathers.
Poseidon looked quite worried, a crease appearing on his forehead as he frowned at Percy. Percy knew that his father was one of the more compassionate gods towards his children, but even then, he didn't know how much of that compassion was real. It could be a farce. All of it. He remembered how Poseidon only acknowledged him for his own benefit. Because of the summer solstice, and nothing else. Every single interaction to Percy could've been filled with selfish thoughts, and he wouldn't be surprised. Not anymore.
Poseidon stood there for a moment, silent. Eventually, he took a seat on the earth next to Percy. Percy refused to move his head to even look at Poseidon, and continued staring straight up at the sky. He admired the pretty, changing colors, as he waited for Poseidon to speak. At least there was something beautiful in the world. He hated the formalities, and he wanted his father to get right to the point of the visit. Because he knew that he was there for something. He always was.
"Son," He started off, and Percy rolled his eyes.
"Yes?" He said, snippy. He knew that his disrespect would get him killed one day, but he was always like this, and so far nothing had happened. Honestly, he wouldn't really care if they killed him for his insolence. He knew that they most likely wouldn't. They needed their champion.
"I've been thinking," Poseidon ignored Percy's tone. "I think it's best for you to leave Camp Half-Blood, and explore other areas." He stated firmly, all no-nonsense like, although he still sounded a little hesitant on what Percy's reaction would be.
Percy finally sat up on his elbows, keeping his legs sprawled out in front of him. He turned to Poseidon, and raised an eyebrow. "Explore? Explore what? Go where? Where can I possibly go?" He asked, his eyes narrowed, trying, and failing, to keep his tone from being too frustrated. It was hard for him to think about the fact that he didn't have a place in the mortal world. At least, he didn't think he could have one.
"College?" Poseidon sighed. "Finding work?" He continued. "You're of age now, and I think it would benefit you if you started to venture into a mortal adulthood, just like the others are doing."
Percy stared at him, his eyes boring through Poseidon's soul. "Don't need your little demigod hero to run errands for you anymore?" He questioned, trying to keep his tone even, yet somehow still coming across as cold and icy. Poseidon frowned, and Percy left the emotions off his face as best he could.
"You're not just a demigod, Percy. You're part mortal, and you deserve to live that part of your life too. I know that's what you've always wanted. Is it not anymore?" His father asked, clasping his hands together as he stared at his only living demigod son.
"Is it?" He threw back at Poseidon. "I didn't know the gods would leave me alone enough to have a normal life."
Poseidon looked away from Percy, not responding to his comment. After a couple beats of stillness, he answered. "I think you need to leave Camp Half-Blood." He said, turning his head to look at Percy in his eyes. He stood up, not bothering to dust the dirt off of his shorts. "I hope you strongly consider my advice."
Percy wondered if there was a thinly veiled threat in his words. Gods don't like it when you ignore their words, and even a god like Poseidon would not take kindly to it. It was hard to tell the difference between a simple suggestion or a direct command, hidden underneath a guise of concern.
"I'll think about it." He answered tersely, looking away from the god. He missed the god's small nod, not wanting to face Poseidon anymore.
"Goodbye, Perseus." He spoke softly, quickly turning into a bright gold light, which Percy knew not to look at.
Percy's face drooped as he looked down, grabbing a fistful of grass from next to his leg, ripping it out of the ground. He was so incredibly exhausted.
He let the grass blades flutter out of his hand, letting the wind take it away. He just wanted to be left alone, make the decision to wither away slowly without anybody interfering. But the gods didn't know how to stay out of people's business, especially demigods. Sometimes he wished he was in Elysium already, free from the gods' will, and allowed to live his afterlife the way he wanted.
But he couldn't. Not yet, at least. Even though he didn't swing by his mom's as much, scared of the scent he carries, he knows that his death would crush her. He needed to stay here, on this hellish Earth, until it was his time. Not to mention, a less than "heroic" end could mean that he be placed in the Asphodel Fields, and he knew that Fate would play such a cruel trick on him. So, his demise is not quite yet. He just hoped it could be soon.
Percy wondered why death was so heart-wrenching, and something viewed as negative, especially among the demigod world. If you had done good, you knew you were most likely going to Elysium. And if he didn't make it into Elysium, he would crawl out of the ground, bloody, to face the gods himself. Gods know he has done so much for them already to not make it to the Heaven that demigods desire.
In Elysium, you could truly just enjoy. Enjoy life. Although it isn't really life, is it? He could be happy again, feel warmth, something he hadn't felt in so, so long. Why would his death make anyone sad? They would eventually see him again. There would be no need for the tears, the grief, the sadness. He didn't get it anymore. Why?
He slowly lay back down on the grass, as the moon started to peek from the horizon. His sea green eyes fluttered shut, and one lone tear slipped from his closed eyelashes.
Slowly, he fell asleep. Content, for now.