What if Percy was the son of a Mycenaean god instead of a greek one? Lets find out...
What if I were to say to you that history lied to you? History has often been told by the victors, by those who have the power to shape narratives and obscure truths. What if the myths you know, the stories passed down through generations, were but a shadow of reality? What if the gods you revere have secrets, hidden in the depths of time, waiting to be uncovered? Would you turn away, or would you seek the truth?
This ancient secret has lasted for many millennia. To begin this story, we must go back to the beginning.
The very beginning. In the beginning, there was only emptiness, a great bleak darkness that was never-ending, and its name was Chaos. Chaos was nothing and everything and after a long time, Gaea, Ananke, and Chronos, rose.
Then Tartarus and Eros, and following them was Nyx, Erebus, Pontus, and Thalassa. From Eros sprung Phanes.
From the union of Erebus and Nyx sprung Aether and Hemera.
From Gaia, without a consort, came Ouranos.
Many years passed and the universe and primarily Earth were peaceful. The Primordials were forming unions. The union we will be focusing on is the one between Gaia and Ouranos.
From the union of Gaia and Ouranos, they gave birth to their first-born son Oceanus, the Titan of Ocean and Sea.
The second eldest was Hyperion, the Titan of Light, Fire, Sight, the Sun, the Moon, and the Dawn. The third eldest was Krios, the Titan of Stars, constellations, Seasons, and Wind. The fourth eldest was Coios, the Titan of Intelligence, Wisdom, Knowledge, Foresight, and Prophecy. The second youngest son was Iapetus, the Titan of Mortality, Lifespan, Death, and the Underworld.
Kronos, the Titan of Time, Harvest, Justice, Honour, and Order was the youngest.
The firstborn daughter of Gaia and Ouranos was Mnemosyne, the Titaness of Memory and Scripts.
After her was the second eldest daughter Tethys, the Titaness of Freshwater and Rivers.
The third eldest daughter was Theia, the Titaness of Sight and Lustre. The fourth eldest daughter was Phoebe, the Titaness of Mystery and Prophecy. The fifth eldest daughter was Themis, the Titaness of Justice and Divine Law. Lastly, the youngest daughter was Rhea, the Titaness of Fertility and Motherhood.
Though let us focus only on Kronos.
He was, as the youngest of the Titans, the least respected. Ailed by this, he went to his mother, Gaia.
"Mother!" He cried to the grassy earth. "I am but the youngest of your sons, and hold no corner of the earth or the oceans! Bless me with your power!"
The sleeping face of Gaia appeared, and with it, a scythe. "Come forth then," the earth mother said. "Take this blade and strike down your father as was prophesied. Become the king of my earth."
Kronos looked troubled for a second.
Gaia was undeterred. "All of your brothers refused to do this. Do you not want the power?"
Eventually, the Titan took the scythe - to bring forth a brand-new age - the Age of the Titans. The Golden Age.
Kronos, emboldened by Gaia's words and driven by his desire for power, accepted the scythe. The weight of destiny rested in his hands as he approached his father, Ouranos.
Gaia called her husband down, and under the cover of night, with stars as silent witnesses, Krios, Koios, Iapetus and Hyperion ambushed Ouranos, holding him down as Kronos struck him with the mighty scythe. The blood of Ouranos spilled onto the earth, giving birth to the Furies, the Giants, and the nymphs of ash.
With Ouranos dethroned, Kronos declared himself the ruler of the cosmos, ushering in the Golden Age. The Titans, now free from the oppressive rule of Ouranos, spread across the earth, each taking their place and fulfilling their roles. The Golden Age was marked by abundance, peace, and prosperity.
Kronos took Rhea as his consort, and together they ruled over the Titans. However, the prophecy that foretold Kronos's rise to power also spoke of his downfall at the hands of his own children. This ominous prediction haunted Kronos, who was determined to prevent it from coming true.
As Rhea bore children, Kronos, consumed by fear, swallowed each one at birth. Hestia, Demeter, Hera, Hades, and Poseidon - all met the same fate, swallowed whole by their father.
At this point - most of the myths focus on Zeus. Not this. In Kronos' stomach, Poseidon, the eldest, shook with rage. Rage and vengeance, power and death.
This is the part of the story where I am usually interrupted. "Poseidon wasn't the eldest!" People said.
He wasn't in Hellenic mythology, but at one point he was. In Mycenaean mythology. Posedao. Posedao's fury was unlike anything the world had ever seen.
In Kronos' stomach, Posedao's rage burned brighter each day. His divine essence, one of power and dominion, churned with the fury of a thousand gods. His siblings, trapped alongside him, felt his energy and their own powers began to resonate with his.
The sea does like to be restrained, and Posedao, even though him and Zeus and Hades had not drawn lots yet, he had the sea in him, much like how Hades had death in him.
From Hades, he took the underworld, and its blazing hellfire and its rivers of Hate and Misery and Death. From Demeter, he took the earth, and its destruction and shaking. It was not just powers he took. Posedao took Hestia's pain and Hera's vengeance.
He absorbed their pain, their resentment, their desperate desire for freedom.
Posedao took divine essence from not only his siblings, but also his father. In the dark, confined space of Kronos' stomach, he reached out with his growing power, feeling the very fabric of his father's being. He drew upon the ancient strength of Kronos, the essence of time itself, intertwining it with his own burgeoning might.
The pressure inside Kronos began to build, an unstoppable force gathering momentum. Posedao's rage transformed into a coherent, focused determination. He would not merely escape; he would obliterate the chains that bound him and his siblings.
Meanwhile, Rhea, desperate to save her remaining child, Zeus, devised a plan to overthrow Kronos. She sought the counsel of Gaia, who whispered ancient secrets and prophecies to her. Gaia revealed that only by combining the might of all her children could they hope to defeat Kronos.
Zeus was secretly raised by nymphs and nurtured by Amalthea on the island of Crete, far from Kronos' watchful eyes. Zeus grew up knowing the truth of his birth and the fate of his siblings. As he matured, his power and wisdom flourished, and he understood the gravity of his destiny.
When the time was right, Zeus approached Metis, the wise and crafty Titan, for help. Metis concocted a potent potion of mustard and wine and other things that would force Kronos to regurgitate his swallowed children. Zeus, disguised as a cupbearer, offered the potion to Kronos during a grand feast. Kronos, unaware of the deception, drank deeply.
The potion worked swiftly.
Meanwhile, with a final, titanic surge of power, Posedao unleashed his full strength. Their divine energies converged, creating an explosive force that ripped through Kronos' being. The Titan, overwhelmed by the internal and external assault, convulsed violently and retched.
The siblings, reunited and empowered, prepared for the monumental battle ahead - the Titanomachy. This war would determine the fate of the cosmos. Zeus, Posedao, and their siblings led the charge against Kronos and the Titans. The earth shook, the seas roared, and the skies were filled with thunder and lightning.
Posedao, wielding his trident, commanded the oceans and unleashed titanic waves that crashed against the Titans' strongholds. His control over the earth caused devastating earthquakes, splitting the ground beneath their enemies.
Hades summoned legions of the dead to fight alongside them, while Demeter's power over nature caused the Titans' fortresses to crumble and decay.
Zeus, with his thunderbolts, and Hera and Hestia, with their cunning and strength, fought fiercely. The battle raged for ten years, a cataclysmic struggle that reshaped the world.
In the end, the prophecy was fulfilled. Posedao with his trident struck down Kronos.
Kronos and the Titans were defeated and cast into the depths of Tartarus, imprisoned for eternity. Atlas was kept under the sky. The Olympian gods, victorious, established a new order. Zeus took the skies. Posedao, now known as Poseidon, claimed dominion over the seas, and his place as the king of the gods, ruling from Mount Olympus, and Hades ruled the Underworld. The age of the Olympians had begun.
He took many forms. Poseidon, the eldest among his divine kin, had been known by many names across millennia. First he was a pre-Greek horse deity who rode the waves over two and a half millennia before the Common Era, Posedao initially manifested as a horse guiding ships through storms and causing earthquakes with the thunder of his hooves upon the shore.
The genesis of the Mycenaean gods began when he encountered a mysterious figure he pursued ardently, eventually winning her as his wife on the sandy shores of Knossos. Initially Demeter, she became known as Damate, his sister and consort.
Their offspring, Preswa and Areion, embodied formidable traits: Preswa, a daughter of death, and Areion, a swift stallion of winds. Mortals revered and feared their daughter, referring to her only in hushed tones as Despoina, the veiled queen of the underworld who, each winter, escorted souls beneath the earth as she transformed into a stallion like her brother.
As others began to follow his lead, Posedao was acknowledged as Wanax, the king of all gods, alongside his queens, Despoina and Damate. The healer Pajawo was the first to pledge allegiance, while Artemito, the bear huntress, born of a bear cub cradled by Damate, became his wife and ally. Other deities like Atana, a shield-maiden, and Diwunoso, born first as a ram and later reborn through Preswa's intervention, added to the divine cohort.
For a millennium, Posedao ruled with equilibrium over the underworld, storms, and seas until the arrival of Diwo and Era. Diwo assumed dominion over the skies and storms and justice. Era, once Qowia and now Diwo's wife, contested Damate's queenship.
As time passed, Posedao's reign shifted, assuming the title of Gasilius, sovereign of sea storms, waves, and earthquakes, while Diwo ascended as Deus and Wanax. The pantheon expanded with the rise of Aides, older sibling to Posedao and Deus, who claimed Despoina as his queen in the underworld. Posedao, now ruler of the seas with a domain over storm, the underworld, and earthquakes, navigated the evolving dynamics of divine hierarchy amidst the growing pantheon.
Eventually, Aides and Gasilius came together to form two - Poseidon, named after Posedao, and Hades, named after Aides. As he switched to Poseidon, the god gave his brother Diwo, now Zeus, the divine throne in return for a shared connection to storms. He had the endless depths of the sea, the remnants of Pontus' realm and its currents. He had no need for the crown.
Everything shifted with the changing crown. When Zeus became the king, Poseidon let go of Posedao, and his underworld and fire. He kept the earthquakes, but used them sparingly.
Poseidon, husband to Amphitrite, and father to Triton, not father to Persephone and Artemis and Dionysus. Damate became Demeter, wife to none, and mother to Persephone and Arion. Preswa who became Despoina became Persephone and Kore, wife to Hades, and mother to Zagreus. Diwunoso, madness personified, became Dionysus, though Bacchus was common as well. Diwo and Era became Zeus and Hera, king and queen of the gods, youngest yet eldest of the Kronide siblings. But there has never been a demigod of these elder gods.
But they were all apart of him, of Posedao. Zeus who came from Diwo got his crown from Posedao. A large part of Hades' power came from Aides, who was an aspect of Posedao. Demeter was once his wife, and shared the earth with him. Dionysus and Artemis and so many others were once his children.
The gods all had connections to the sea, and they feared it as much as mortals.
Because what belongs to the sea… shall return to the sea.
Complicating? Yeah, most myths are. Let's simplify it.
First there was the nameless stallion, who came from Posedao who took Damate (Demeter) as a wife and gave birth to Preswa (Persephone) and Areion (Arion). The stallion shifted to Wanax, king of the gods. Preswa became Despoina and became his second wife. Wanax became Posedao again, and Aides, who was the god of death and the underworld. Aides gave his power over death to Hades, and the remnants of Aides merged with Posedao to form Poseidon. Diwo and Era came from the heavens, and became Zeus and Hera, and Poseidon, who still had the crown, gave it to Zeus. Damate became Demeter, wife to no-one, and Despoina became Persephone, wife to Hades.
That's the important stuff.
Poseidon, now reigning over the seas, held within him the remnants of Posedao's fury, a power he seldom unleashed. His siblings, too, took their places in the new cosmic order. The age of the Olympians was marked by both order and strife, peace and conflict, as they navigated their divine responsibilities and relationships with mortals.
Poseidon was calmer than Posedao. Very rarely did he ever switch into his eldest form. The form where he rallied his siblings to battle, ruled over the gods and fell the Titan Lord.
In the depths of the ocean, Poseidon would sometimes recall the fury that had once consumed him. It was a part of him, a reminder of his past and the struggle that had forged him and his siblings into the gods they had become. Yet, he chose to rule with wisdom and restraint, using his immense power to protect and nurture, rather than destroy.
However, the tale of Posedao and his rage became a hidden chapter of history, a story that few dared to tell. The gods of Olympus were revered and feared, but the true nature of their ascent to power remained shrouded in mystery.
But there were whispers - whispers that persisted through the ages. These whispers hinted at the true power of Poseidon, the ancient rage of Posedao that still lay dormant within him. Scholars and seers speculated about the true origins of the Olympian gods, but such knowledge was often dismissed as heresy or myth.
It couldn't be a secret forever, however. He was Posedao when he chased Odysseus across seas and oceans for his son. He was Posedao when he birthed monsters as deformed and evil as the spawn of Tartarus. The father of monsters, they called him. How right they were.
As centuries passed, mortals crafted new myths and legends, often overlooking the darker truths of their divine patrons. The gods themselves encouraged this, preferring to be seen as benevolent rulers rather than the remnants of a bloody, primordial conflict.
But some, those who sought the truth behind the myths, would find fragments of the ancient stories. They would learn of Posedao, the eldest, whose rage had once shaken the very foundations of the cosmos. These seekers of truth understood that history, as told, was but a shadow of the reality that had been.
The Romans saw it. They revered Jupiter, attempting to stave off death and prevent Pluto, as was the nature of mortals, yet they feared the seas. Even the Roman emperor Caligula declared war on the seas, calling him Neptune in that newer form, where he never unleashed the pain and fire of the underworld as he did in the stomach of his father, but kept his earthquakes from Demeter.
Many, many years later, when Posedao was forgotten and buried, the mortals had two wars. They called them World War One, and World War Two. In the dark depths of the ocean, Poseidon pondered the state of the world. He saw the advancements of mankind, their triumphs and their failures, and the ceaseless conflicts that seemed to mirror the ancient wars of the gods. He felt the turbulence in the seas, the disruptions caused by the warships and submarines, and he was reminded of his dominion over the waters - a power that was both nurturing and destructive.
Poseidon watches mortals wield fire and steel, and sees how similar they are to him.
Poseidon's ancient rage, the fury of Posedao, began to resurface. It was a primal force that connected him to his earliest memories, a time when he had absorbed the pain and power of his siblings and father. Yet, he had grown wiser over the millennia, and he understood that unleashing this fury could lead to catastrophic consequences for the mortal world.
His children were dying, they were burning the earth like he once did, and Poseidon was watching.
Despite the chaos above, Poseidon chose to remain a guardian of the seas. He calmed the storms, guided sailors to safety, and tempered the destructive forces of the oceans. However, he could not ignore the whispers of his past, the ancient power that lay dormant within him.
In the aftermath of World War Two, humanity began to rebuild. The gods of Olympus watched as new myths and legends emerged, shaped by the events of the 20th century. Poseidon, now more than ever, understood the delicate balance between his power and the need for restraint. So when Zeus proposed to him and Hades an oath to not have kids so the events of the world wars wouldn't repeat, he accepted.
Yet, the whispers of Posedao persisted. They were carried by the winds and the waves, reaching the ears of those who still sought the hidden truths of the ancient world. Scholars, mystics, and seekers of knowledge continued to piece together the fragments of forgotten stories, uncovering hints of the true origins of the gods.
But when he met Sally Jackson, he thought he was behind that. He had just found out about Thalia Grace, and he was furious. Poseidon of the modern day is calm, his storms gentle, his waves weak, so he turned into a stallion and rode up the shore, his hoofs making the earth shake as they thudded against the sandy shore.
Then he saw a mortal with a smile that made him swoon, and Poseidon's fury melted away like ice under the sun. Sally Jackson stood there, her hair as light as the air and her eyes as sparkly as they were. Poseidon looked at the beauty of the world as if he were a mortal, without a shirt.
One summer later, which was but a drop into the ocean for a god such as Poseidon yet the longest period he had ever lived, Sally Jackson fell pregnant.
At first, he was scared. He had sworn an oath on the river Styx, and even if it couldn't harm him, the river of hate could harm his son. And then he was overjoyed, because he had a son. But then he felt it. A shift. Not like his roman ship to Neptune, but like an ancient tide stirring within him. The fury of Posedao began to surface once more, mingling with the joy and fear he felt. This child, this boy, would be different.
A few months later and the boy was born. A few months later and Poseidon could see himself in the boy - or rather, remnants of Posedao.
Sally called him Perseus, citing that he was one of the few heroes with a happy ending. Poseidon agreed, not for the same reasons. Perseus meant many things, but its root was Destroyer. Poseidon knew that this boy was born to destroy.
There was an ancient power in Percy's eyes, a glimmer of the fury that had once consumed Poseidon in his primordial form. There was a burning hellfire in the newborn's eyes, and Poseidon knew that the boy would be destructive as the storms and the underworld and the earth and the sea.
"Sally?" Poseidon's voice trembled slightly as he called out to Sally. He stood at the edge of the room, watching her cradle their newborn son. The room was dimly lit, the soft glow of the night light casting gentle shadows on the walls. Sally looked up, her eyes meeting Poseidon's with a mix of exhaustion and contentment.
"Yes?" she replied, her voice barely above a whisper. She looked down at Percy, her expression softening. "He's perfect, isn't he?"
Poseidon stepped closer, his eyes fixed on the tiny bundle in her arms. "He is," he agreed, though his mind was racing. The ancient power he sensed within Percy was unlike anything he had ever encountered in a mortal-born demigod. It was as if the very essence of Posedao, his primordial wrath, had found a new vessel.
Poseidon was the father of monsters and he had what could be the most powerful demigod in history.
"Sally," he began, his voice steadying. "There is something you must know about our son. He carries within him a power that is both extraordinary and dangerous."
Sally's brow furrowed slightly as she looked up at him. "What do you mean?"
Poseidon hesitated, searching for the right words. "When I was young, I was different. I was Posedao, a being of immense power and fury. That part of me still exists, buried deep, but it seems that a fragment of it has passed to our son."
"What do you mean?"
"You know the story of how my father Kronos swallowed me, yes?" Sally nodded. "In his stomach, I took the Underworld from Hades, and the earth from Demeter, and when we defeated the Titans I took the storms from Zeus. I was king of the gods as Posedao but even gods can change and evolve. Over time, I became Poseidon, ruler of the seas, more restrained and wiser. But that ancient part of me, the fury and power of Posedao, has somehow found its way into Percy."
Sally's grip on Percy tightened protectively. "So, he could be dangerous?"
Poseidon nodded. "Very. He is of the eldest part of me. The son of the sea's wrath."
Sally's eyes widened with concern, but she remained calm. "What does that mean for Percy?"
"It means," Poseidon said slowly, "that he may possess abilities beyond those of other demigods. He may also struggle with a temper and power that can be difficult to control. He will need guidance, and he will need to understand the responsibility that comes with his heritage."
Sally nodded, her grip on Percy tightening protectively. "We'll make sure he understands. We'll help him."
Poseidon smiled softly, his heart swelling with love and admiration for the mortal woman who had stolen his heart. "Thank you, Sally. I know he will be strong, just like his mother."
"Oh yes," Poseidon said, as if he had just remembered something. "I think you should grate the fireplace, he'll try to crawl in there to burn his mortality away."
"What?"
Percy Jackson was not a normal child. Everyone could see it. Mortals often see divinity in the worst way possible, and they could feel who he was, even if they didn't know it.
Percy was different from the other kids in his class, and at first glance, you could tell.
Eyes too bright, too green, like a sea-green, or a greek fire blazing under those lashes. Hair that fell around his face like snakes that hissed if you listen very carefully, and seemed to be placed very deliberately. His voice was too sharp, too melodic, with an echo of something else, inhuman. Something godly, or monstrous. Being pinned under his gaze triggers your fight or flight, and you know that whatever he asked you to do you would do it because he is far more powerful than you.
But then he smiles and acts like a normal kid, and you have to just chalk it up to paranoia and say he's just your average kid, even though you're certain he is anything but.
Percy absolutely hated his life. Many teenagers would agree with this sentiment, but Percy had more reason than most. He had never known his father, who his mother claimed got lost at sea. He had ADHD and dyslexia, and was barely making it by with his D's and the occasional C. Percy's mom was married to what might very well have been the worst man to ever walk the earth, and Percy had just gotten a letter saying that his mom was in hospital.
"No," came the bored voice of the secretary. "This is a boarding school. We can't just let you go."
"LET ME SEE MY MOM!" For a second, the secretary could have sworn that the boy's eyes were alight with green flame, but she chalked it up to stress.
"This is a boarding school," she repeated. "Westover Hall is very strict about visitation policies. You'll have to wait until the holidays, which start tomorrow afternoon."
Percy's frustration boiled over. "But she's my mom! She's in the hospital! I need to see her now!"
The secretary sighed, unmoved by Percy's plea. "I understand, but rules are rules."
Percy clenched his fists, feeling a surge of anger mixed with something deeper, something he couldn't quite explain. He took a deep breath, trying to calm himself down. His mother needed him. He couldn't afford to lose control now, not when everything felt like it was falling apart. He shook with rage.
Rage and vengeance, power and death.
Suddenly, the secretary screamed. She screamed as the ground beneath her feet trembled, cracks spider-webbing out from where Percy stood. Startled, Percy looked down and saw fissures forming in the floor, as if the very earth was responding to his emotions. Green flames danced in the cracks, licking the secretary's dress.
As Percy stood there, trembling with suppressed emotions, a low growl emanated from deep within his throat. His eyes, usually a calm sea-green, now glowed with an eerie light, flickering like flames in a storm. The air around him seemed to shimmer with an unseen force, and the secretary took a step back, fear etched across her face.
"Percy...?" she stammered, her voice trembling.
As suddenly as it started, the phenomenon stopped. Percy stood there, panting heavily, his eyes still glowing faintly with residual energy. The secretary stared at him in shock, her mouth agape.
"What... what was that?" she managed to whisper, her voice barely audible.
Percy shook his head, trying to process what had just happened. "I... I don't know," he admitted, his voice hoarse. "But I think... I think I need to see my mom now."
The secretary nodded numbly, her eyes wide with disbelief. "What happened?" she managed to whisper, her voice barely audible over the ringing silence that followed Percy's outburst.
Percy, too, was stunned. He had never experienced anything like this before, not even during the worst moments of his life. The power that surged within him, the rage that threatened to overwhelm him - it felt primal, ancient, and utterly terrifying.
"I... I don't know," Percy finally replied, his voice shaky. He looked down at the cracks in the floor, now fading away as if they had never been there. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to…"
The secretary took a cautious step closer, her fear giving way to concern. "Are you okay, Percy?"
Percy nodded slowly, still trying to process what had just happened. "Yeah... I think so."
The secretary hesitated, unsure of what to say next. She had seen many things in her years at Westover Hall, but nothing like this. Percy Jackson, with his stormy, fiery eyes and strange abilities, seemed to defy explanation or logic.
"Percy," she began gently, "you should go back to class."
Percy nodded again. Without another word, he turned and hurried out of the office, leaving the stunned secretary behind.
As he walked through the empty halls of Westover Hall, Percy's mind raced with questions. What was happening to him? Why did he suddenly feel so powerful, so out of control? And what did it all mean for his future?
Outside, the storm that had been brewing all afternoon finally broke, unleashing a torrent of rain and thunder. Percy paused at the entrance, feeling the cool drops of water on his face. He raised his eyes to the darkening sky, the anger and confusion within him mirrored by the roiling clouds above.
"Of course it starts raining now." He muttered. "Just my luck."
"I don't understand," Percy whispered to the storm, his voice lost in the wind. "What am I?"
But the storm offered no answers, only the distant rumble of thunder and the relentless drumming of rain.
He watched as a van, adorned with the markings of a winged horse pulled up to the school. Out came a girl with spiky black hair and electric eyes, another girl with blonde hair and stormy grey eyes, and a boy with curly, wispy hair as well as a limp.
Percy took a deep breath. Whatever he was, whoever these people were, whatever this power was, he knew one thing for certain:
His life was about to change forever.
LINE BREAK
The Fates observed the boy as they attempted to cut his string.
He was not quite under their domain, but too powerful, much to powerful: under the domain of only his father to reap his soul if he goes too far.
He is, after all, still the child of the eldest of all gods. That is enough for them to claim his string and place him under their command - as the prophesied child. Prophesied to raze the earth and burn the skies and topple Olympus - oh, they would have fun with this one.
But in the days of old - older than they are - there was no such thing as a demigod. Gods and humans and spirits; no in-betweens in the lines drawn between immortal and mortal. Unions between mortals and gods ended up in monsters more often then demigods.
And he is from those days, the abomination of a child.
In those ancient times, when gods walked the earth more freely, boundaries were clearer. Immortals kept to their realms, and mortals to theirs. But then came the aberrations, born of forbidden unions and ancient prophecies. Half-divine, half-mortal beings who blurred the lines and challenged the order of things.
He, born of the eldest, of the Mycenaeans, embodied this defiance. An abomination to some, a harbinger of change to others. The Fates, ancient weavers of destiny, saw threads tangled and futures uncertain around him. They watched with a mix of fascination and apprehension, for he was beyond their full control.
The boy, unaware of their scrutiny, moved through the world with a power that echoed the primal forces from which he sprang. His very existence stirred whispers among the divine, tales of doom and destiny intertwined.
And amidst it all, the Fates plotted, weaving and unraveling threads as they sought to shape his path.
Percy Jackson was of the sea and its depths and poisons, and born from the underworld, and its hell, and its hate and pain and fire, and is prophesied to shake the very foundations of the earth, to topple the divine.
He comes from Aides and Wanax and Gasilius and the nameless stallion - the son of Posedao.
The Fates could not cut his string but they could twist it and weave it and orchestrate. They whispered across realms, across times, their ancient eyes fixated on the boy who bridged worlds, whose blood carried the weight of gods and the adrenaline of mortals and the depths of power and wrath. They saw in him the potential for cataclysm, for upheaval, and for the rewriting of destinies.
He would not fall before sixteen. Only Aides could claim his soul, and he would let the world turn as dark as his underworld before that happened.
Shall reach sixteen against all odds…
The Moirai laughed.
I'll respond to every review, and the more reviews this gets the faster I'll update. Also, any and all pairings are up for grabs so ask away!