Chapter 4: The Final Straw
The atmosphere in Camp Half-Blood had become oppressive, and every passing day it only grew worse. Percy could feel the weight of the campers' stares as if they were tangible, suffocating him with each glance. What was once his sanctuary, his home, had turned into a battleground of distrust. Even his closest friends, the people who had fought by his side, now seemed to be slipping away from him.
Rachel's prophecy, once shrouded in mystery, had finally caught up with him. The attacks had escalated to the point that no one could deny something dark was hunting the camp. And yet, all the fingers pointed in one direction—at Percy. Whispers about him being the cause grew louder and more vicious. The rumor mill spun stories of him being corrupted by some dark force, of him planning the attacks while he was conveniently away.
Despite Percy's repeated denials, despite his insistence that he had no part in any of it, the damage had already been done. The final straw came when another attack hit the camp, and this time, the monsters nearly breached the core of the camp—right near the Big House. Percy wasn't there, again, and by the time he returned, the camp was in chaos. Grover had been seriously injured, and everyone was demanding answers.
Chiron, normally calm and wise, was looking at him with an unreadable expression. The campfire blazed behind them, casting long shadows as the assembled campers, demigods Percy had once called friends, watched in stony silence.
"I wasn't there!" Percy shouted, frustration and desperation leaking into his voice. "I was with my mom! I didn't do this!"
Annabeth, standing nearby, wouldn't meet his gaze. Her silence cut deeper than any words. Percy's heart twisted as he tried to read her expression, but she looked as lost as he felt. This was the person he had trusted with his life, the one who had stood by him through everything. Now, she seemed a thousand miles away.
"Percy," Chiron began, his voice heavy with sorrow, "the prophecy Rachel gave... it cannot be ignored. The signs, the attacks—they all point toward you."
"I didn't do this!" Percy repeated, his voice breaking. "You know me, Chiron! You know I would never hurt this camp!"
But the centaur's eyes held pity, and that pity was worse than anger. He opened his mouth to speak, but Clarisse La Rue, of all people, stepped forward, her face hardened by anger and grief.
"You've always been the hero, Jackson," Clarisse growled. "But what if this time, you're the villain? What if all that power, all that fame finally got to you? It's been happening under our noses, hasn't it?"
Percy recoiled, feeling as though he'd been physically struck. He looked around at the gathered faces, faces that had once cheered for him, trusted him. Now, they all wore expressions of fear and doubt.
"I've saved this camp more times than I can count!" Percy shouted, his fists clenched in frustration. "I've fought wars for you!"
"And maybe this time you're fighting against us," Clarisse shot back. "The prophecy said an attack would come from within. What if that's you?"
Percy turned to Annabeth, hoping, praying for her to step in, to defend him. But she remained silent, her eyes downcast, refusing to meet his gaze. The coldness in her expression shattered what little hope he had left.
"I'm sorry, Percy," she finally whispered, her voice barely audible, "but we have to protect the camp."
Those words broke something inside him. Percy's vision blurred as the world seemed to tilt on its axis. He had been their hero. He had bled for them, fought for them, risked everything for them, and now… now they were casting him out like a traitor.
"Percy Jackson," Chiron said, his voice solemn and filled with regret, "until we can understand what's happening, until we can be sure of your innocence, I must ask you to leave the camp."
Percy felt the breath leave his lungs. It was a dismissal, a banishment. They were exiling him without mercy.
"I'm innocent," Percy said weakly, his voice barely a whisper now, more to himself than to anyone else.
But no one spoke up for him. Not Annabeth. Not Grover. Not even Chiron, the mentor who had been like a father to him.
That night, Percy found himself on the beach, the one place he had always found solace. He knelt by the water, the waves lapping at his feet as the cool wind brushed his face. The stars twinkled above, indifferent to the chaos that had consumed his life.
He pulled out a drachma, his last hope, and held it over the water. His hands shook as he whispered, "Dad, please… I need your help."
He tossed the coin into the waves, watching as it sank beneath the surface, offering his silent plea to Poseidon.
There was no reply. The waves kept moving, unbothered, and the stars remained cold and distant. His father was silent.
Percy gritted his teeth and threw his head back, tears burning his eyes. "Anyone! Please, help me!" he screamed to the sky. "I've done everything you've ever asked! I've fought your wars! I've bled for you! And now—now I'm the one who's cast out? Someone help me!"
Nothing. The gods remained silent, indifferent to his cries.
Percy sank to the ground, his hands digging into the sand as sobs wracked his body. He had given everything for the gods, for the camp, for his friends. And now, he had nothing. The world had turned against him.
As he lay on the beach, his mind replayed the events of his life. All the battles, all the near-deaths, all the sacrifices he had made. And for what? To be cast out like a villain? To be abandoned by those he had loved the most?
His fatal flaw—loyalty—was beginning to gnaw at him, twisting in on itself. His heart ached with bitterness, with a growing sense of betrayal. The camp, his friends, Annabeth—none of them had stood by him when he needed them most. Maybe he had been wrong to trust them. Maybe he had been wrong about everything.
The next morning, Percy sought out help from the Roman camp, Camp Jupiter, but the reception was just as cold. Word had already spread of his exile, and no one was willing to listen to his side of the story. Reyna, the praetor, regarded him with a mixture of pity and suspicion.
"I'm sorry, Percy," Reyna said, her voice clipped but not unkind. "But we can't risk it. The prophecy, the attacks—there's too much at stake. I can't let you stay here."
It was the same everywhere he went. Even the Hunters of Artemis, who Percy had once helped, turned him away. Thalia, once his friend, looked at him with sorrow but didn't speak in his defense.
"Orders are orders," Thalia said quietly, her eyes betraying her guilt. "Artemis doesn't want to take any chances. I'm sorry, Percy."
With nowhere left to go, Percy found himself back at his mom's apartment. It was the one place where he still felt welcome. His mom, Sally, had always been his anchor, the one person who had never wavered in her love for him.
Sally opened the door, her face lighting up when she saw her son. "Percy!" she exclaimed, pulling him into a tight hug. "I was starting to worry. Are you okay?"
Percy hesitated for a moment before nodding. "I'm fine, Mom. Just… needed to see you."
Sally looked at him closely, her motherly intuition telling her that something was very wrong, but she didn't press. Instead, she wrapped an arm around him and led him inside, where Paul was already setting the table for dinner.
That night, Percy slept in his old room, the familiar sounds of the city outside his window bringing a strange sense of comfort. But even as he lay in the bed he had once called his own, his mind was troubled. The words of Geras, the accusations from his friends, the silence of the gods—it all weighed heavily on him.
In the depths of the night, Percy dreamed. He was standing on the edge of a great, dark pit. The air around him was thick with shadows, and the darkness seemed alive, pulsing with energy. Out of the abyss, a figure emerged—Erebus, the primordial god of darkness.
"You've been cast aside, Percy Jackson," Erebus's voice echoed, deep and resonant. "The gods have abandoned you. But I have not."
Percy's heart raced as he looked at the dark god. "What do you want from me?"
"Nyx, the goddess of night, is rising," Erebus said, his voice a low rumble. "She is coming for everything you once held dear. The gods will not help you, but I can. I can give you the power to stop her."
Percy stared into the pit, the darkness swirling below him. "What do you want in return?"
"You must meet me in the Underworld," Erebus replied, his eyes gleaming. "Only there can I share my power with you. Together, we can stop Nyx before she consumes everything."
Percy's mind was clouded with doubt and confusion, but something deep inside him stirred. Power. The power to stop the ones who had abandoned him. The power to prove them all wrong.
Percy awoke with a start, his heart pounding in his chest. His mom was already up, making breakfast, the familiar smell of blue pancakes filling the air. Paul was reading the paper, his face calm and relaxed. For a moment, Percy felt a strange sense of normalcy wash over him.
But the dream still lingered, and the promise of Erebus haunted his thoughts.
As Percy sat down for breakfast, his mom smiled at him, her love and care shining through.
"Blue pancakes, your favorite."
Percy forced a smile, but his mind was elsewhere. He ate in silence, savoring the food, knowing that this might be the last moment of peace he would have for a long time.
When breakfast was over, he hugged his mom tightly, feeling the warmth of her embrace one last time.
"I love you, Mom," he whispered.
Sally looked at him with concern, but she smiled. "I love you too, Percy. Come back soon, okay?"
Percy nodded, but as he left the apartment and set out on his long journey, he knew that things would never be the same. He was walking toward a darkness that even he wasn't sure he could survive.