A few updates: Percy will start as a god from the very beginning, but he'll still attend Camp Half-Blood. I'm removing the concept of the ancient laws—it's never been my favorite. Instead, the gods will be depicted as aloof and largely indifferent, which feels more fitting. Percy won't be overpowered; he's a young god, and his abilities will reflect his inexperience. To balance things, I'll also scale up the power of other characters and challenges. Hope you enjoy!
A prince is Born:
And so, the young goddess of frost and the ancient king of the seas met beneath the gaze of the eternal stars. In their union, something profound was born—a waltz of creation, a dance of the divine that bore fruit. When Sylfrid, last of the Jotun, returned to her northern realm, she did not return alone. From their bond, a seed of Poseidon grew and flourished, blossoming into a godling destined for legend: Perseus.
In his veins surged the sea's relentless power, drawn from both father and mother. Within him coursed the ancient, fading bloodline of the Jotun—cold as glaciers, enduring as the mountains. He was the son of frost and waves, the grandson of kings, and the godson of the nine realm's mightiest: the All-Father and the Trickster. The hunt burned fiercely in his heart, and the sea roared endlessly through his soul.
Thus begins the tale of Perseus—a hero born of gods and giants, a child of frost and tide, whose name would echo through the ages. A figure destined to rise and shake the Graeco world to its very foundations.
Poseidon:
I begged her to join me beneath the sea.
"What of your wife?" she asked, her voice calm yet laced with challenge.
"Her opinion on the matter is unimportant," I replied. "I am her king. She would never harm you or... our child. She knows her place."
"And here I thought you avoided the unchivalrous notions your brother holds." Her eyes glimmered with a ghost of amusement, the faint curve of her lips teasing. She knew exactly how her disapproval would affect me, and she wielded it with precision. My face warmed, a faint golden hue rising to my cheeks as ichor flushed them.
"I—uh, you're right," I admitted, the weight of shame pressing against me. "I shouldn't speak of her like that."
Amphitrite was a saint of a goddess—kind, loyal, steadfast. Yet here I was, arrogantly proclaiming my intent to parade my disloyalty before her and demanding she endure it in silence.
"She wouldn't harm you or our child," I continued, my voice softening. "You'd be safe. She might need time to... accept you, and longer still to forgive me for my insult. But she would. She's—"
"A wonderful woman who deserves your total and unending loyalty?" she interrupted, her teasing tone blossoming into a radiant smile. She had trapped me, and we both knew it.
"My dear king," she purred, her voice like the rolling tide, and I shivered at the sound. "I must return home—to my kingdom. The northern seas need their queen, just as the seven need their king. I miss my forests, my friends, my family. It's time. I've lingered too long, my king. And never forget this: the sea does not like to be restrained."
Her words drew a laugh from me, though the ache in my chest lingered. She had turned my own truths against me with a grace that only she possessed. How could I conquer her heart when it belonged to the sea, as wild and free as the frigid northern winds? Just as I could never conquer hers, she could never truly conquer mine.
No more than Amphitrite could. No more than my brother could cow me or bend my kingdom to his will. The sea is wild, it is free, and it rages against all who dare to tame it.
Zeus PoV:
I felt it the moment it happened—the shift. The first in, what, a thousand years? Perhaps longer. I was in the throne room, ironically waiting for him. Well, now I knew why Poseidon was late. I chuckled, drawing the attention of the other ten gods. Hera arched an eyebrow, clearly sensing the broken marriage vow. My other siblings widened their eyes in realization. The younger Olympians, too unrefined in their abilities, remained oblivious to the subtle shift in divine energy—a mingling of essences so intimate it felt like coiled snakes entwining.
Yes, we first-generation gods can sense it when another's divine essence entwines with another. Mortals might call it a gift; I'd call it a burden. It's intrusive, uncomfortable, and impossible to ignore—like trying not to see something directly in front of you. Still, it has its uses. At least I know, with absolute certainty, that my maiden daughters have kept their oaths.
I turned to Hestia, whose face was glowing a brilliant gold. Oh, this was going to be fun.
"That old dog, eh, Hestia?" I said, a smug smile spreading across my face. Her wide eyes betrayed her mortification.
Hestia, often overlooked by my children, was never spared by her siblings. Embarrassing her was a pastime we all enjoyed. Aphrodite caught my eye—one of only two Olympians outside the original six who could sense Poseidon's... activities. Older than even Hestia, her awareness wasn't surprising. I reached out to her telepathically.
"Don't say a word."
She shrugged, amused but obedient.
"What do you mean, Father?" Athena asked, her tone sharp with curiosity.
"Ask Hestia," I said, feigning innocence. "She's the one best suited to explain what's going on. Right, sister?"
Hestia's face deepened to a molten gold, and she squeaked, her childlike form flickering before settling into her older, eighteen-year-old visage. Likely involuntary.
"It's not impor—" she began, struggling to keep her composure.
"Come on, Aunt Hestia!" Apollo interrupted, whining dramatically. "I hate when you have your little 'good old boys club' secrets!"
"Please, Aunt Hestia," Artemis said with a tired sigh. "I really don't want to hear Apollo and Hermes's jokes. Just leave it."
Apollo turned to his twin, affronted. "Wait, you know?"
Artemis groaned, facepalming as if lamenting her existence. "Of course, I know. I hate that I know."
She wasn't wrong. As the Goddess of Childbirth, she sensed every time a child was conceived. An awkward burden for a goddess sworn to maidenhood. My little girl is the maiden goddess—the very embodiment of the concept. And gods, I am grateful for that. My little girl, forever my little girl. It feels... right. One of those ironies crafted so intricately by the Fates: the maiden goddess, tied irrevocably to the very purpose of sex.
I smiled as the divine dance concluded. Raising my Master Bolt, I summoned Poseidon.
In a flash of light, my brother appeared.
"Sorry I'm late," he said gruffly. "Something came up."
"Oh, I'm sure," Apollo quipped, smirking. "In more literal ways, I bet."
Poseidon frowned, confused. "What?"
"Poseidon, my dear brother," I said, catching his attention. "In your... excitement, you forgot to throw up protection and privacy wards. Congratulations on the new child, by the way. Oh, and Artemis— is it a boy or girl?"
Poseidon's face turned a radiant gold as he buried his head in his hands and groaned. "Fuck,"
"Boy," Artemis replied, and even she couldn't suppress a small smile.
Hestia giggled, reverting to her childlike form as she rushed over to hug Poseidon tightly. "I can't wait to have a baby on Olympus! It's been ages—since before the war against the Giants!"
The room filled with smiles, even from Hera, though her tight-lipped expression betrayed her fury. The Fates preserve me—marriage vows, the dumbest mortal invention ever imposed on us. In ancient Greece, you had a wife, and often someone else you truly loved. Now? One and done, or you're the villain. Hera's glare told me she knew exactly what I was thinking and firmly disagreed. She's taken to these modern notions of love and marriage. It sucks.
Still, as I watched my siblings and children brimming with excitement, I noticed Poseidon stiffen. Hestia, who had been bouncing on her toes, stopped and looked at him with concern.
"She isn't of our pantheon," Poseidon admitted, his voice heavy. "She's a... Jotun."
I groaned, but Hestia's smile didn't waver. "Ignore him," she said, reassuring Poseidon. "We don't care if she's Greek or not. She's family now."
"That's not the problem," Poseidon continued. "She's leaving—she wants to raise him in her home, with her people. She misses her family, her home."
Hestia's eyes flared with dangerous light. "She can't take my nephew away!" she said defiantly, the hearth roaring behind her.
"You have to get... visitation rights or something," Apollo chimed in, trying to lighten the mood.
"She's not gone for good," Poseidon said softly. "She's an amazing woman. She wouldn't separate me from my son—I know it."
Hestia huffed but relented. "I get him first. Over everyone else. Understood?"
"Yes, ma'am," Poseidon replied, bowing his head.
"What's his name?" I asked.
Poseidon's voice softened, his expression unreadable. "His name is Perseus," he said.