He laid on the rickety old bed in his new cabin, absentmindedly spinning Anaklusmos between his fingers. That was strange enough as yesterday he had been relegated to sleeping on the most comfortable piece of open floor he could find in the Hermes cabin, but even more so strange was what being in this cabin even meant.

The Poseidon cabin.

Not used in almost 70 years, Chiron had told him, after his realization during capture the flag, that the children of literal gods were not capable of any less cruelty than the children of stock brokers and bankers at Yancy Academy. It was disappointing in a way, but also unusually reassuring. That even though he was now surrounded by people he wasn't even sure were fully human, it wasn't like dealing with a wholly different species.

But still, he was here in the Poseidon cabin.

Totally alone.

Not used in almost 70 years.

Something had gone very wrong.

That would've been evident even without Chiron's explanation. He had seen the faces of the other campers as they stared at the translucent trident above his head. At first, they wore a look of almost reverence. In awe that a child of the Big Three was actually among them. But very quickly their joy gave way to fear, distrust and he swore he saw something akin to hatred in many of their eyes. It was a look he had seen before, and like before it was preceded by an event that he swore was not his fault but was always blamed for. Like blowing his school bus up with a cannon.

It was a look of contempt for his very existence.

And so he did what he had always done in these situations, he thought about what he had supposedly done. Because if there was anything that he had done that he could truly be blamed for he would welcome it with open arms. It was much easier to accept hatred for an action he himself knew he had committed than to something that was seemingly being forced upon him. And like before he came up with nothing.

Not for the first time, Percy wished he had never been born.

His mother, dead.

His father, most likely ashamed at the very thought of conceiving him.

And him, burdening his mother with his life. Bouncing around from school to school while his mother picked up job after job just to ensure he could somehow have a life. The result of a broken oath, a stain on Poseidon's legacy. A miserable, lonely, disappointing-

"Perseus Jackson"

He jumped out of his bed, uncapping his blade with a quickness that surprised himself and charged into the direction of the deep, gravely voice that had broken him from his wallowing. Before he even knew it he had found solid flesh and pinned the voice against the wall and aimed Anaklusmos in the direction Percy was certain was his heart.

He had no idea why he was so certain, he just knew.

The cabin was pitch dark save for the candle on his bedside table, and as he regained control of himself, no longer acting and pure instinct he finally looked at the mysterious voice.

And was met with two glowing red eyes.

They stared into his eyes. And then slowly drifted down to his hand around what he assumed to be the voice's thick neck.

"It would seem your reputation precedes you, Destroyer."

Destroyer.

Something inside him seemed so disgustingly delighted at hearing that.

"Who are you?"

The voice laughed, although it lacked any sense of humor. Like it was the most ridiculous question he had ever been asked, beyond anything that could be considered humorful.

"Child, I am War."

Percy stiffened as he finally understood the gravity of his situation, or at least his current one. He was currently poised to strike a God.

An Olympian.

War itself.

Ares.

He stepped back, capping Anaklusmos as he did. He wasn't sure if he was supposed to bow or kneel and he wasn't sure that he would if he did. Because even though he knew that Ares could kill him with a snap of his fingers, he was just certain that wouldn't happen.

He didn't know why, he just knew.

He knew he was a lonely demigod in the presence of an incomprehensible being, but something told him that they were on a level playing field.

Percy thought that maybe his desire to never be born was overriding his survival instincts to believe something that would surely get him killed.

Oh well, at least he'd get to see Mom.

"Why are you here?" He asked. His tone devoid of any fear. If anything, he was curious. What could possibly warrant a conference with an Olympian? Ares chuckled again, with less humor than before if possible.

"We have much to discuss, Destroyer. Please sit." The cabin was completely dark save for the candle on his bedside table. Ares stepped forward and Percy was finally able to see him. He was massive, easily one of the tallest people he had ever seen. He wore military fatigues but he could still see his hulking musculature through the baggy clothes. His black hair was cropped short and had streaks of gray in it and his blood red eyes seemed to hold more tortured knowledge than Percy could even fathom.

His face was scarred so deeply, pockets of melted flesh from severe burns peppered across his face, one right below his left eye. Jagged cuts by all manner of blades covered him, one started at the top of his lip and seemed to continue well below his neck.

In truth, Percy felt sorry for him.

He sat down on the bed, his eyes never leaving Ares. Ares seemed pleased by this, nodded once and summoned his own chair. He felt he should have been surprised about this, but killing the fabled Minotaur with its own horn seemed to vanish any sense of wonder from him. Ares stared at him for what felt like ages before he finally spoke.

"I assume this to be the case, but before we get started, are you truly aware of who you are, Perseus?" He spoke in a surprisingly soft tone for the God of Bloodshed, his eyes never leaving Percy's. He contemplated Ares's question, because surely he knew who he was. He was Percy Jackson, apparently son of the Olympian Poseidon. Sally Jackson was his mother, his favorite color was blue and he had been kicked out of six schools in six years.

For some reason he didn't think that was what Ares was looking for.

So he went with the safer option. "I- I think I know who I am, but I don't think I understand what it means. I don't get why my life changed so quickly, and I- I'm not sure why it's my fault." He stared into Ares, forcing his unshed tears to stay that way. "Why is it always my fault?"

Ares stared right back into him. "You were born for this, Destroyer."

He finally broke eye contact with Ares and hung his head, hating himself for the way his shoulders shook as his sobs wracked his body.

"Why?" He choked out, staring at the floor. So it was all his fault? Everything that he was sure he was blameless for, it really was him?

How stupid was he that actually thought this would be better than knowing it wasn't him?

Ares sighed, and Percy believed he actually caught a hint of sympathy in it. Ares leaned forward and placed his hand on the top of his head. It radiated power and warmth, so much so that Percy was sure that prolonged exposure would leave a permanent mark. Ares pushed his head back, again surprisingly gentle, forcing Percy to look at him.

"This is not your fault, child." Percy stared into his eyes. He had just told him it was his fault. What was he playing at? Was he cursed? The revelation of real life Greek Gods made that a surprisingly likely option. Maybe he was like a TV show for the gods, being blamed for something that wasn't his fault, like a punchline that never got a old, a giant joke-

"This is no jape, Destroyer." Percy glared at Ares with all he could muster, which wasn't much with red ringed eyes.

"Can you read my mind? And why do you keep calling me that?" He spat out, not caring how close he was to being smited. He wanted answers. "And why does it feel so right?" Because it did, it was like something inside him perked up, like an old nickname being spoken out loud after years of disuse. Ares sighed again, and Percy definitely picked up sympathy in it now. Did this God feel sorry for him?

Ares removed his hand, seemingly satisfied with his eye contact. "I cannot read minds Destroyer, but I can read rage across a continent, let alone a foot in front of me. It is my first language after all." He added bitterly. He took a deep breath, which Percy found surprisingly human for an immortal and continued. "I call you Destroyer because that is what you are, and I say it is not your fault because it is not." Percy listened with rapt attention, he desperately wanted to ask questions but forced himself to remain quiet.

Ares seemed appreciative of his silence and continued, " What you are, it was decided before you were born, before this country was even born. In the ancient lands, shortly before the fall of Greece, a prophecy was given, not from the Oracle as is custom, but from Phoebus Apollo's own mouth. I shall recount this for you."

"In the land farthest west,

In a time of great unrest,

Every pore leaks destruction,

For which he needs no instruction,

Greece and Rome decided by his hand,

Everything must fall under his command,

Rebirth or Death must be decided,

The Destroyer chooses, no longer blinded."

Percy shook, his hands gripping the bed sheets.

"It's me." He muttered. "Why Ares? Why is it me?" He could no longer contain himself, he jumped off the bed and started pacing from the cabin door to the far window. Ares stared at the wall behind his bed, then stood and grabbed him by the shoulders.

"Destroyer-"

"How can I be this great prophetic Destroyer?"He asked desperately. "I'm twelve."

"In Sparta, you would have been a man."

"Well we're not in Sparta!" Percy spat. "We're here in 2006. And. I'm. Twelve." He said, enunciating each word.

Ares looked at him sadly. "Yes, a boy of twelve today, a man in Sparta, and in only a matter of months you will be a man here." Ares spoke mournfully, emotion Percy would have him thought incapable of.

"You are not only The Destroyer, but a God."

Percy stared at him.

Him.

Percy Jackson.

Who last week had been studying for his Latin final.

And the week before that had been in detention for forging parent's signatures for his classmates.

A God.

He did the only thing he could, he laughed.

"This is a dream!" He gasped out, smiling for the first time in what felt like years. "Thank the Gods!" he gasped out, feeling the pressure roll off him. He didn't notice Ares step back. He didn't notice how he started to glow, an ethereal light that seemed to shine from within every pore.

"Look at me Perseus."

He looked up, the smile still on his face until he saw Ares' eyes, now brighter than he thought possible.

"This is no dream."

Percy's eyes widened as the light grew brighter and brighter. Every instinct told him to run, hide, to avoid looking at God. Everything but the sick voice inside him that preened at being called The Destroyer.

"And you are no Demigod."

And then everything went white.