Prologue
All rights belong to Riordan
(Percy's Perspective)
These past few years have been the strangest of my life, and that's saying something, considering I've been embroiled in wars since I was 12 years old. What's so odd about it, you might wonder? Well, allow me to enlighten you. But first, introductions.
I'm Percy Jackson. Perhaps you know me as the Son of Poseidon, the Savior of Olympus, the Slayer of Kronos, the Bane of Gaia, and all those other titles that people like to throw around. The point is, I'm something of a legend in the Greek world. And unfortunately, that kind of fame tends to lead to some rather peculiar situations, like the one I'm about to tell you.
It's been a few years since the Second Giant War ended, and with it, my world fell apart. Annabeth, the love of my life, decided that godhood was more important to her than our relationship. Now, given her fatal flaw of hubris, I suppose I shouldn't have been surprised, but that didn't make the pain any easier to bear. She tried to talk to me after the ceremony, but I had no interest in hearing her excuses. So I walked away. The gods tried to stop me, but one look at my face was enough to deter them. Or so I thought.
The male gods—specifically Hermes and Apollo, or as I liked to call them, "the boys"—thought it would be a good idea to take me out drinking that night to drown my sorrows. My father wasn't thrilled about the idea, but after some reassurances that the boys would take care of me, he reluctantly relented. What they didn't anticipate (or so I hoped) was a certain silver-eyed goddess following them as they dragged me from bar to bar.
Eventually, the boys abandoned me as they found companions for the night, leaving me to sit alone at the bar. That's when the seat next to me was occupied by said goddess. At that point, I was completely out of it, and I don't recall much of what happened the rest of the night. There was a flash of bright light, some shouting, and then everything went dark.
When I woke up at home the next morning, my memory was hazy at best. I looked around, half expecting to find someone else in my bed like the boys, but to my relief, it was empty. Imagine my surprise, then, when nine months later, a baby appeared on my doorstep, accompanied by a note that read, "Her name is Zoe. She is neither a demigod nor a godling. She will age rapidly until she's 15, at which point her aging will slow to a normal pace until she turns 18. At that point, she will become fully immortal. Please care for her until she's ready for camp. I will explain everything then. -A."
I was thoroughly bewildered, but I brought the baby inside and consulted my mother. She was just as perplexed as I was until a few days later when the baby opened her eyes—piercing silver orbs that could only belong to one deity whose name started with an A.
Lady Artemis.
"I'm so screwed," I thought to myself.