The rain fell in heavy, icy drops, soaking through his clothes and plastering his hair to his forehead. But Percy barely noticed. His mind was stuck replaying the scene over and over—the shadow creature lunging at him, the panic gripping his chest, and then the music. That one chord, like a pulse of energy, had ripped through the air and destroyed it. Not just scared it off. Destroyed it.

The guitar still buzzed in his hands, like it was alive, and that was the part that freaked him out the most. Music had always been his escape. Now it was something else—something that could tear apart shadows.

He stared down at the guitar. The strings were still vibrating, humming faintly like they were whispering a secret only he could hear. He swallowed hard, a knot tightening in his throat. This was wrong. This was all kinds of wrong.

"Okay," he muttered, voice shaking just enough to irritate him. "So now I'm zapping monsters with a guitar. That's... something."

He glanced around the empty alley, as if expecting the shadows to shift again, to come for him. But everything was still, save for the rain tapping against the pavement. His heartbeat was still hammering, but the danger seemed to have passed.

For now.

"Just great," Percy groaned, wiping a hand down his face. "This is exactly what I needed in my life. Shadow monsters and magical guitars."

His sarcasm wasn't doing much to calm him down. The truth was, he had no idea what had just happened, but whatever it was—it wasn't normal.

As if anything in his life had been normal.

He started walking again, guitar slung across his back, his thoughts spiraling. He needed to get out of the rain, get some space to breathe. But no matter how far he walked, the questions wouldn't leave him alone.

What was that thing?

How did my music do that?

Am I losing my mind?

Part of him wanted to believe it was a hallucination, some messed-up vision brought on by stress or lack of sleep. But he couldn't lie to himself. The fear that had gripped him when that creature appeared was too real, too visceral. His gut told him the truth—something had changed tonight. And it wasn't just the music.

His boots splashed through puddles as he wandered through the empty city streets, the neon signs above flickering like they were teasing him. The rain had let up slightly, but the chill in the air clung to his skin, making him feel more exposed than ever.

Percy shoved his hands into his pockets, his mind drifting back to his past—the past. The kind of memories he didn't like thinking about. Gabe and his drunken rages, his mom's vacant eyes, the endless days of feeling trapped. Music had been his only way out, the one thing that made sense in a life that never did. Now? Even that was slipping away from him.

The thought stung more than he wanted to admit. His music had always been his anchor, the thing that kept him from losing it when the world got too heavy. Now it was something else—something dangerous. And Percy wasn't sure he wanted to know what that meant.

He didn't realize how far he'd walked until he found himself at the edge of a small, empty park. The kind with a few scraggly trees and a couple of benches that no one ever used. He stopped, staring out at the dark, rain-soaked grass, the distant glow of the city blurring in the mist.

It was quiet here, save for the faint patter of rain and the distant hum of traffic. But the silence didn't feel comforting. It felt... wrong. Like the world was holding its breath, waiting for something to happen.

And that's when he saw the figure.

At first, Percy thought it was just another shadow, something cast by the streetlights above. But as the figure moved, stepping out from the trees, Percy's entire body went rigid. It was a man, standing there in the rain like he'd been waiting for Percy to show up.

Percy tensed, instinctively reaching for the neck of his guitar, ready for anything.

The man was tall, with dark hair plastered to his forehead, his features sharp and angular, almost too sharp. His clothes were soaked, but he didn't seem to care. He stepped closer, his eyes fixed on Percy with an intensity that sent a chill crawling down Percy's spine.

"Who the hell are you?" Percy called out, his voice harsher than he intended. The sarcastic bravado was kicking in, but inside, he felt his stomach twist.

The man didn't answer right away. He stepped fully into the dim light, the rain streaking down his face. "You felt it, didn't you?"

Percy raised an eyebrow, gripping the guitar tighter. "Felt what? The rain? Yeah, it's pretty wet."

The man didn't smile. "The power," he said, his voice soft but firm. "You felt it in your music."

Percy's sarcasm faltered, his heartbeat picking up. "Look, buddy, I don't know what you're talking about, but I'm not really in the mood for cryptic weirdos right now. So why don't you—"

"You're not like them," the man interrupted, his voice cutting through the rain. "Your music—it's more than sound. You know that now, don't you?"

Percy stared at him, his mind reeling. The way the man spoke, the way his words seemed to know—it made Percy's skin crawl. "Who are you?"

The man stepped closer, his eyes never leaving Percy's. "My name is Orpheus. And you, Percy Jackson, are my son."

The words hit Percy like a punch to the gut. His mind blanked for a second, the weight of them too much to process all at once.

"Son?" Percy echoed, his voice barely a whisper. Then, louder: "Son of who?"

Orpheus's gaze was steady, unreadable. "There's much you don't know, Percy. Much you need to understand. But first, you need to listen."

Percy blinked, still trying to wrap his head around it. Son of Orpheus? Like the guy from the myths? The guy who played music that could move the dead? He wanted to laugh, wanted to call this guy out as a lunatic. But after everything that had happened tonight, could he really brush this off?

"Right," Percy said, voice heavy with sarcasm. "So what, you're some long-lost dad who just happens to be a Greek myth? Because that's exactly what I needed in my life."

Orpheus stepped even closer, his expression grave. "I stayed away to protect you. But the gods have found you. And now you're in more danger than you realize."

Percy felt his heart skip a beat, a cold wave of dread washing over him. The rain continued to pour down, each drop a sharp reminder that this wasn't some nightmare he could wake up from. He was standing in a dark park, talking to a man who claimed to be his father—a man who looked like he'd walked straight out of an ancient myth.

"Danger?" Percy repeated, his voice thick with disbelief. "You think you can just show up, drop that on me, and I'm supposed to... what? Start panicking about gods and monsters? Sorry, man, but I've already got enough problems in my life."

Orpheus didn't flinch. He watched Percy with an intensity that made it impossible to look away. "I know you've been through hell, Percy. I know you've had to survive things no child should ever have to face. But this—this is something far beyond what you've known. The gods are real, and they're not just watching you anymore. They've found you."

Percy clenched his fists, his knuckles white. Anger flared up, hot and defensive. He wanted to punch something, scream at the sky, do anything to burn off the frustration and fear that were gnawing at his insides. "You stayed away," he said, his voice shaking with barely contained fury. "You stayed away while my mom was dying, while I was getting beat down by that piece of crap Gabe. And now you show up, talking about gods like I'm supposed to just believe you?"

Orpheus took a breath, and for a moment, Percy thought he saw something like pain flash across his face. "I stayed away to protect you. If I'd come sooner, the gods would have found you before you were ready—before you had any chance to survive what's coming."

"And now I'm ready?" Percy shot back, his voice laced with sarcasm. "You think one night of dealing with some shadow monster and suddenly I'm supposed to go all Chosen One?"

"No," Orpheus said quietly, "you're not ready. But you don't have a choice. They're coming, Percy. And they won't wait for you to be ready."

Percy's mind raced, the anger starting to give way to something colder, something that felt a lot like fear. He had faced down real-world monsters—Gabe, the system that chewed up kids like him—but this was different. This was something ancient, something he didn't know how to fight.

"What do they want with me?" Percy asked, his voice quieter now, the sarcasm drained out of him. He needed answers, and fast.

Orpheus stepped closer, his expression softening just a fraction. "You're my son, Percy. That makes you powerful in ways you don't yet understand. Your music—it's not just a gift. It's a weapon. A bridge between worlds. The gods fear what they can't control, and you… you are something they can't afford to let loose."

Percy swallowed hard, trying to process it all. His music—his one refuge, the thing that had kept him sane—was a weapon? It didn't make sense, but at the same time, it explained so much. The way the air had seemed to crack open when he played, the way that shadow had disintegrated under the force of one chord.

He could feel it now, the truth settling into his bones like a weight he wasn't sure he could carry. This wasn't just some weird fluke. This was real. And if Orpheus was right—if the gods really were after him—then running wasn't an option anymore.

"What do I do?" Percy asked, his voice barely more than a whisper. He hated how vulnerable he sounded, but he needed to know. Needed to figure out how to survive this.

"You need to come with me," Orpheus said, his voice steady. "There's a place where you'll be safe—a camp. It's where others like you have gone, where they've learned to harness their power and protect themselves. It's called Camp Half-Blood."

Percy blinked, his mind spinning. A camp? For kids like him? The idea sounded ridiculous, like something out of a bad fantasy novel. But at the same time, the name felt oddly familiar, like a word he'd heard in a dream but could never quite remember.

"You're telling me there's a camp for demigods?" Percy asked, trying to wrap his head around it. "And you want me to just pack up and leave everything behind to go there?"

"I'm telling you it's your best chance," Orpheus said firmly. "If you stay here, you'll be alone. The gods won't stop until they've gotten what they want, and by then, it will be too late."

Percy ran a hand through his wet hair, staring at the ground as he tried to think. The idea of leaving—of abandoning Jason and Frank, the band, everything he'd fought to build—felt impossible. But so did staying here, waiting for whatever was coming.

"You want me to just disappear?" Percy asked, his voice tinged with bitterness. "Leave behind the only people who've ever mattered to me?"

Orpheus hesitated, his eyes searching Percy's face. "I know it's not fair, Percy. I know it feels like you're being asked to give up everything. But this is bigger than you. It's bigger than the band, than the life you've built. The gods will come, whether you're ready or not. And if you stay, you'll be putting everyone you care about in danger."

Percy clenched his fists, the reality of it all sinking in. He didn't want to believe it, didn't want to accept that his life was about to be ripped apart by forces he couldn't control. But he could feel it—the truth of Orpheus's words, the inevitability of what was coming.

He had to leave. There was no other choice.

But not yet.

"One more gig," Percy said finally, his voice rough. "I'll do one more show with the band. I need to say goodbye. After that… after that, I'll go to your camp."

Orpheus nodded, a flicker of relief in his eyes. "One more gig. But after that, you need to leave immediately. The gods are already watching, and they won't wait much longer."

Percy swallowed hard, nodding as the weight of his decision settled over him. One more night. One last chance to hold onto the life he knew before everything changed forever.

He turned, ready to walk away, but Orpheus's voice stopped him.

"Percy," Orpheus said quietly. "I'm sorry."

Percy paused, his back to Orpheus, the words hanging in the air between them like a heavy cloud. He wanted to say something—anything—but the anger and the pain were too much. Instead, he just nodded once, a barely perceptible motion, and kept walking.

The rain continued to fall, soaking through his clothes and chilling him to the bone. But the cold was nothing compared to the storm raging inside him.

One more gig, Percy thought, the resolve hardening in his chest. One last goodbye.

Then, he would face whatever came next.

The moment Percy stepped into the venue, he felt it. The air was thick with the familiar pulse of anticipation, but there was something different tonight—something heavier. He could hear the crowd out front, their restless energy bleeding through the walls as they waited for Rebel Tide to take the stage. Normally, this was where Percy felt alive, felt at home, but tonight… tonight was different.

He hadn't told Jason or Frank yet. Hadn't figured out how to say it, let alone when. The thought of leaving the band—leaving them—made his chest tighten with a kind of pressure that had nothing to do with stage fright. He was walking into this gig knowing it was the last time, and that knowledge felt like a ticking bomb.

One more show. Just one more.

Jason and Frank were already setting up, their banter back and forth barely registering in Percy's ears. Jason, all grins, spinning his drumsticks like he always did before a show. Frank, calm and steady, tuning his bass with his usual laser focus. They were so in their element, and here Percy was, standing on the edge of a decision that would break everything apart.

"Percy, man, you good?" Jason's voice snapped him out of his thoughts. He looked up to see Jason watching him from behind the drum kit, a grin on his face. "You look like you're about to puke."

Percy forced a laugh, though it came out more like a breath. "Yeah, I'm good. Just thinking."

Jason raised an eyebrow. "Thinking's dangerous, man. We've got a crowd out there ready to lose their minds, and you're gonna leave them hanging?"

Frank glanced over, his brow furrowed slightly, but he didn't say anything. Percy could feel both of them watching him now, waiting for him to snap out of it. Normally, he'd shake off whatever was bothering him and slip into show mode, but tonight, that wasn't an option.

"Right," Percy muttered, gripping the neck of his guitar a little too tightly. "Let's do this."

The lights dimmed, plunging the venue into a pulsing darkness. The crowd's roar swelled like a wave, crashing against Percy and vibrating through his bones, the sound so intense he could feel it in his chest, like a second heartbeat. His fingers twitched over the neck of his guitar, his palms slick with sweat. This was it. The last time he'd stand here, guitar in hand, ready to tear the roof off this place with the only family he'd ever had.

For a second, as he stepped forward into the hazy glow of the stage lights, the heaviness in his chest eased. He scanned the crowd—bodies pressed together, hands thrown into the air, their faces glowing with excitement and expectation. The energy of the room was like static, sharp and crackling, crawling across his skin. They weren't just here for the music. They were here for him, for the raw chaos that was Rebel Tide. The band was their lifeline, the escape they all needed. And for a brief moment, Percy felt that surge of power he always did just before they started—a rush of adrenaline that made everything else fade away.

Jason shot him a wide grin from behind his drum kit, sticks poised in midair, and Percy nodded back. Then, without hesitation, he hit the first chord.

The sound wasn't just noise—it was like lightning, striking through the room and shattering everything in its path. The chord ripped through the crowd, reverberating through the walls, shaking the floor beneath them like an earthquake. Jason's drums followed, pounding hard and fast, syncing with the thrumming of Frank's bass, but it was Percy's guitar that carried it all, cutting through the chaos like a blade.

Each note hit with the force of a storm. Percy's fingers moved instinctively, faster than thought, blistering riffs that bled anger, frustration, and grief into the air. The crowd roared back, surging forward like a living thing, and for the first time in hours, Percy let himself drown in it.

He didn't think about tomorrow, about Orpheus, about the gods waiting for him. All that mattered was the music—loud, raw, and electric. Each chord was a punch to his chest, each scream into the mic a release of everything he couldn't say in words. His voice was hoarse, rasping as he belted out the lyrics, but he didn't care. He poured everything into that first song, every bit of pent-up emotion he had been holding in for days, weeks—maybe years.

"You thought you'd break me down, but I've been broken before," he sang, voice ragged, the words tearing out of him like a confession. "You took everything I had, but I'm still standing here, alone and alive."

The crowd screamed, feeding off his intensity, and he fed off theirs, a vicious cycle that built the energy in the room higher and higher until it felt like the walls would come down.

Each song blurred into the next, and with every one, Percy's intensity only grew. His fingers flew over the strings, the guitar hot and heavy in his hands like it was alive, like it was feeding off his desperation. Sweat dripped down his back, soaked through his clothes, but he didn't stop. Couldn't stop. Every note that left his fingers, every scream into the mic, felt like another piece of him breaking free.

And the crowd—they were right there with him, caught in the same wave. Their bodies moved with the music, their hands reaching up like they could touch it, feel it. Percy could see their faces, eyes wide, mouths open, shouting the lyrics back at him, but it was like they were miles away. The only thing that felt real was the music, the way it pulsed through him, how it dug into his chest and pulled him apart, piece by piece.

Finally, they reached their last song—Broken Chains. The one that had always been the soul of their set, the one that had always felt the most Percy. His fingers trembled as he strummed the first chord, his heart pounding in his chest. This was it. His last moment with the band, with Jason and Frank, with the only thing that had ever made sense.

The opening riff hit, and the crowd exploded, the sound a physical force that crashed into him. Percy closed his eyes, letting the music fill him up one last time, every word, every note cutting into him like glass.

"I wore your chains for too long, but now I'm breaking free," he screamed, his voice raw and desperate. "I won't carry your weight anymore, I'm cutting the ties—there's nothing left of me to hold on to."

The lyrics hit harder tonight, sharper, more personal. Every word felt like it was tearing something out of him, leaving him hollow. His fingers burned as they moved across the strings, the chords ringing out like a battle cry—defiant, angry, a scream against everything that had tried to hold him down.

But even as the crowd roared back at him, even as the energy built to its peak, Percy felt the weight pressing down on him again. The finality of it all. This wasn't just a song—it was a goodbye. Each chord he played was the last, each note a step closer to the end. He was leaving the band, leaving the only family he'd ever had, and the ache of that loss was unbearable.

His fingers blistered, raw, but he played through the pain, every stroke of the guitar a mix of agony and release. He could hear Jason's drums pounding behind him, Frank's bass thundering like a heartbeat, but all Percy could feel was the heat in his chest—the emotion threatening to break through.

The final chord rang out, hanging in the air like a ghost, and the crowd's cheers exploded around him, deafening. But for Percy, it was silent. The silence of everything ending. The song was over, the gig was over, and now—his life as he knew it was over, too.

He looked at Jason, who threw his drumsticks into the crowd, grinning, blissfully unaware of what was coming next. Frank gave him a small, proud nod, but Percy's chest felt tight, the words he needed to say weighing him down like lead.

It was done.

But for Percy, the hardest part was just beginning.

Jason threw his drumsticks into the crowd, his face lit up with the kind of grin that always made Percy laugh. "Man, we killed it tonight! Best show yet."

Frank gave him a small nod of approval, the unspoken "good job" in his eyes. But Percy could barely meet their gaze. His chest felt tight, the reality of what he was about to say crushing him.

"I need to talk to you guys," Percy said, his voice quieter than he intended.

Jason wiped sweat off his face with a towel, still buzzing with post-show adrenaline. "Yeah, yeah, man, let's just grab a drink first—"

"No," Percy cut him off, his voice sharper now. "I need to talk to you. Both of you."

Jason stopped mid-motion, glancing at Frank, who immediately sensed that something was off. "What's going on, man?" Jason asked, the grin slipping from his face. "You're freaking me out."

Percy looked down at his guitar, the weight of what he was about to say making it harder to breathe. "This… was my last show."

Frank was the first to react, his brow furrowing in confusion. "What do you mean, your last show?"

Percy swallowed hard, his mouth dry. "I'm leaving the band. I have to."

Jason's eyes widened, the shock hitting him like a punch. "Wait—what? You're leaving? Where is this coming from?"

"I don't have a choice," Percy said, his voice strained. "Something's happened. Something big, and I can't stay. I—I'm putting you both in danger just by being here."

Jason let out a short, disbelieving laugh. "Danger? What the hell are you talking about, Percy? We've been through everything together, and now you're just… walking out?"

Frank stayed quiet, his eyes on Percy, but there was something else there—understanding. It wasn't complete, but he saw that this wasn't just some rash decision. He knew Percy well enough to know that whatever this was, it was serious.

"I don't want to leave," Percy said, his voice cracking under the weight of it. "But I have to. If I stay, you'll get hurt. I can't explain everything right now, but you have to trust me."

Jason shook his head, running a hand through his hair in frustration. "Trust you? Dude, we're your family. We've been through hell and back, and now you're telling us you're just gone?"

Percy's stomach twisted. "I'm sorry. I don't want it to be like this, but it's the only way to keep you safe."

Frank finally spoke, his voice low. "This is bigger than us, isn't it?"

Percy nodded, his throat tight. "Yeah. It is."

Jason looked between them, his expression one of betrayal, but he didn't say anything. The silence stretched out between them, heavy and painful, until Percy couldn't stand it anymore.

"I'll see you guys around," Percy said, though the words felt hollow. He knew, deep down, that he wouldn't. This was goodbye.

He turned, slinging his guitar over his shoulder and walking off the stage, the cheers of the crowd still ringing in his ears. But all Percy felt was the crushing weight of what he was leaving behind.

One last show.

And now, he was on his own.