Nothingness—it is a really cool thing, I'm not going to lie. Seeing complete emptiness day after day after day is really entertaining!

Ha, no.

If I had to rate my experience in the void, I'd give it a solid one out of ten, never again. See, the void is an endless expanse of literally nothing. No light, no smells, no colors, and nothing fun. It was a lot like detention but far more permanent.

So, how did I, Percy Jackson, manage to get stuck in the void for all of eternity? Well, it all started when the universe ended—actually, no, that's not true. It wouldn't even be true to say it started when Kronos won.

No, it started when my dad decided that, no, stopping Typhon wasn't that important. Well, he's dead now because he was wrong, so good going, Dad. Because my dad refused to help out the rest of the Olympians against Typhon, Dollar-Store Godzilla did as advertised.

Typhon destroyed New York City. Olympus fell. Every camper died in an instant—besides me, obviously. While you might think that is how the world ended…nope, you'd be wrong. That wasn't The End, that came a bit later. Or much later? I'm not too sure, but I'm getting off track.

When I found out I was a demigod at twelve, Dionysus gave me a neat little package of information. I got the whole, 'your daddy is a god, the Greek myths are real, and, oh, every monster wants to gobble up your demi-guts!' conversation.

Have you ever done something in math and it ended up being super simple and easy? Then, soon after, your teacher introduces a bunch of bullshit exceptions to the rule you were just taught and now you need to learn x, y, and z? Yeah, that's basically how the myths are.

Turns out, all of them are real, not just the Greek ones. Who'd have guessed? Not me, that's who. But they were all real, and they threw a big fat hissy fit over Kronos and Typhon sending Manhattan back to the stone age.

Blah blah blah, World World Three broke out, and Einstein's prediction was wrong. World War Four wasn't fought with sticks and stones because sticks and stones don't exist anymore. The gods didn't pay much attention to the whole mutual part of Mutually Assured Destruction.

They all died, but I somehow lived. How? I'm not really sure—notice that I said somehow? But, if I had to guess, I'd put it up to time shenanigans and the Curse of Achilles.

After we lost to Kronos, the guy was a little miffed that I was still alive. Only an eensy weensy bit, though, because he froze me as a statue and would take me out every once in a while to see his heinous, nefarious act of the week.

It sucked to the three-sixtieth degree, as in it sucked very much. It was a whole circle of sucking, that's how many degrees of suckery it was. Every moment I was conscious, I'd just see whatever evil deeds Kronos wanted to do to some poor schmuck.

Considering his myths involved him munching on babies, take a wild guess to the sort of kind stuff he'd do. But, yeah, Kronos's Torturous Times of Terror(trademark pending) really wasn't fun.

I even told him where my mortal point was after a while, but nope, he found too much joy from making my life suck to end it.

Anyways, when the world ended I was still frozen in time. Then I wasn't frozen in time—no, I was trapped in absolute nothingness. Or maybe I am still frozen in time? I'm not an expert on destroyed-universe physics, though, so I'm not exactly sure as to how time functions here.

If it functions, that is. Complete sensory deprivation has made it somewhat difficult to tell time, after all. I do know I haven't been getting hungry or thirsty. I haven't needed to breathe. It could be the influence of Kronos's powers on me, but I can't be very sure.

Regardless, the only space that exists is the Percy-shaped hole in reality that contains me. I can't exactly move any part of my body, so I'm just stuck…existing.

And existing.

And existing.

Have I ever mentioned I have horrible ADHD? Maybe? No? Well, I do have ADHD…aaaaannnnd I'm stuck by myself…with my thoughts…alone…with nothing to do…

This sucks so, so much. I wouldn't even particularly mind dying at this point—Hades, if I could just move my arms even a smidge, I'd have stabbed the small of my back ages ago. I just have nothing to live fo—

Flavors of existence barraged my senses. Stale air permeated my nose, cold light flickered across my eyes, and the sound of emptiness—opposed to nothingness—assaulted my ears.

Something, there was something. It seemed to sit a million miles away, an infinite distance from where I floated in nothingness. It was like I was staring up at the edge of a cliff and into a massive, foreboding cave.

The senses I got from it were dull and certainly plain, but I almost wept at the feeling of feeling. I'd felt absolute nothingness for so long, far too long. I urged my body to move forward, to move towards the ledge oh so far away.

And I failed.

My body wouldn't move. I felt like a mosquito trapped in amber, a fly in a massive web. I could only watch the sweet, sweet reality ahead of me sit oh so far away.

Please! I pleaded to my body. Move! Move that way, let us leave this hell!

My body must've forgot to pay its telephone bill, though, because it wasn't picking up on my signal. I was stuck floating like an idiot, staring at the oasis in the distance.

And not long after, I was once again left with nothingness.

The next few..days? Weeks? Of my existence were driven singularly by the random flashes of reality I would occasionally see. It was always the same barren cliff that I saw, the land stretching from it in an endless expanse of wastelands.

If I were a normal person, I'd probably think it was a horrifying field of inhospitable death. But I've been alone for…so long. Far too long. Days? Months? I'm not sure, but being deprived of all of your senses for that long is horrible.

So, I looked forward to every glimpse I'd get of that dead world. I didn't know what it was, nor did I know how it could exist, yet that didn't matter. Every time it showed up, it was like downing a coke after a Popeyes' biscuit—salvation.

As had become routine, the cliff appea—it felt like the ocean.

It felt like water.

It felt like the sea. Like home. In my veins, I could feel it. It called to me like the sea always had. The ocean had always been my best bud, my number one pal…but I didn't see it. I just saw the same barren wasteland that always appeared.

But why did I feel the sea?

I reached out with my powers, trying to grasp at wherever the sea was. Yet again, I couldn't feel where the ocean was. I could just feel it in my veins and in my soul.

If just experiencing the most dull glimpse of reality had almost made me cry…I might bawl my eyes out from feeling the sea. I couldn't see where it was, nor could I sense where it was.

The sea was there, somewhere. It called to my soul. Mine, mine, mine, it repeated like a mantra in my brain. Honestly, I was getting flattered. If I could move my arms, I'd be fanning myself like a blushing schoolgirl.

The ocean wanted me? Ooh, how risque!

Don't worry, sea! We can elope, but please just free me first? Pretty please? Pretty-pretty please? Pretty please cubed?

No?

The sea only got closer, somehow. And it was a…pretty girl…? Okay, what?

The feeling of the sea was radiating from a girl standing at the edge of the cliff. If I could open my mouth to yell, I'd probably give some advice on not jumping into nothingness. My TripAdvisor rating, however, got promptly denied by the universe.

Yeah, fuck you too, cosmos.

Ignoring the universe rudely shutting off my capacity to tell it off verbally, pretty girl. Pretty girl standing on cliff. Ooga booga?

Ooga booga—I'd solemnly nod at those wise words if I could. But, yet again, I can't move! So, ooga booga pretty girl. When's the last time I saw a human?

One who wasn't being tortured by Kronos, that is…huh. I actually can't remember. It was maybe Annabeth? Maybe? So about a year ago, then.

Again, ooga booga. And what do I mean by that? Well, I mean that she is hot. Very hot.

Like, a solid ten out of ten. Gorgeous, stunning, and jaw dropping.

She was the sort of girl you'd see on a magazine cover. Mom would smack me on the back of the head for thinking any of this, but she's dead.

Wow, I really deserve to be smacked now. Sorry, Mom.

…anyways, it is very possible that I'm embellishing due to not seeing anyone in probably a year…and that is quite possible, I won't deny that. But just hear me out—I know a thing or two about good looking girls.

I've met the Goddess of Beauty! I knew nymphs, dryads, goddesses, and titanesses—this girl easily is in the top five best looking girls I have ever seen. Not in any particular order, that group has Aphrodite, Calypso, Annabeth, my mom—yes, I'm a momma's boy. My mother is beautiful, thank you very much—and to finish off this list, we now have this girl.

Look, I'm not exaggerating about how pretty this girl is; she has lavender colored hair, orange eyes, and…other features that guys tend to like. Also, she might be the human embodiment of the oce—she is singing.

It is very nice singing. And I'm not talking about Tupac or Biggie kind of singing, nor even Madonna. She sang like she was speaking in cursive while everyone else could only communicate through print.

Is this what Annabeth heard when she was listening to the Sirens? If so, lavender over there could be their lead singer.

I tried to meet her eyes, praying that she could see me. If she could, maybe she could get help. Maybe someone could free me.

But she didn't see me. Her eyes just wandered across the endless nothingness. I wanted to thrash and rage against the world—there was a person! People are alive out there, and I'm just…trapped.

Stuck.

Unmoving.

Maybe in a million years, someone would find a version of me that had long since caved to insanity. I wonder who would get freed from here, then; would they even be recognizable as me?

If I were freed today and met Annabeth or my mom again, would they think I'm an imposter? Am I like the Percy who fought at the Battle of Manhattan…however long ago that had been. Details of my life have been getting hazy, after all.

It was almost like I had inhaled vapors and the fumes got stuck in my mind, blocking me from accessing my memories with any sort of clarity. For how much longer would I remember what my mom looked like?

I'm just—just so lonely. So alone. Maybe that is the reason why I was watching the girl in the distance like she was the Holy Grail. She was a person, and I had long since given up on seeing another human ever again.

Yet, she soon vanished. The cliff faded away like a forgotten memory, the beautiful melody that was her voice dragged from my mind as emptiness took its place.

I'm…so lonely.

It was days—I think—later when the void decided that it was time for me to be evicted. I must've forgotten to pay my rent or something because I was given the boot with a violent lurch.

I didn't particularly mind the faulty service, though, because it meant I got to leave the void. I don't know why I finally was freed from hell, nor did I particularly care.

One moment, I'd been a Percy-snowglobe, watching the pretty girl sing sadly from the cliff edge. Now, however, I found myself getting propelled from the void at mach fuck. Like a dolphin diving out of the water, the void clung to my form as I pushed out of it.

Then, the surface tension snapped. The nothingness that had clung to my skin rippled and shattered, emptiness warping and wailing below me while I dove out of the void and onto the cliff.

I toppled face-first onto the edge of the wasteland, Rocketship Percy crashing into the dirt without any elegance. With a pained groan, I rolled over. My lazy muscles complained at even that—they were like French people, protesting over the tiniest things.

From where I laid on the ground, I could see the orange-eyed girl looking down at me with some hesitancy and equal parts confusion.

She blinked, not moving a muscle. The girl opened her mouth, closed it, and repeated that motion several times, unsure as to what to say. Eventually, she decided on words. "...Ocean Man?"

"...take me by the hand?" I eloquently responded, but she seemed to not understand because she awkwardly reached her hand out to help me up.

I took her hand, obviously, but my body was not a fan of moving. How long has it been since I moved last? Weeks? Months? A while, at the minimum. I managed to get up to my feet, though, even if it was a struggle.

I finally was able to get a decent look at her face—it had been hard to do so from a billion light years aways. Her face looked just generally attractive, the sort you'd see someone sketch in a renaissance painting.

She looked sleepy, though. And sad…depressed, maybe? Sleepy and depressed, sounds a lot like me.

"...um, Mister Ocean?" The girl quietly asked, and I realized with some embarrassment that I'd been staring at her face. Also, what in the world did she mean by Mister Ocean? "Why were you in the void?"

She had a very monotonous way of speaking; it reminded me heavily of those telephone receptionists my mom would sometimes talk to. Tired, weary, and flat would be the best words to describe her tone.

"That?" I rhetorically asked, not too sure as to how I could respond. "I was on vacation."

"...vacation?"

"Vacation," I confirmed again, nodding solemnly. "The void is a pretty good place to avoid all your troubles and get away from it all, you know. Excellent spot to venture to if you want some quiet."

Not peace and quiet, though. The void wasn't particularly peaceful…or maybe being purely left to my thoughts didn't feel peaceful.

"Oh…but why would the ocean need to go on vacation?" She confusedly asked, orange eyes wide with interest.

I closed one eye and hummed, casting her an odd look. "Maybe the ocean got tired of the sailors?" I offered. "I don't know, why are you asking me?"

She slowly blinked, looking just as confused as before. "...but I thought you were the ocean?"

"I thought you were the ocean," I replied back. She radiated a brine-like aura, after all. Being next to her felt remarkably like standing directly next to the sea.

"...but I'm not the ocean."

"Neither am I."

Her eyes narrowed slightly, the lost expression on her face not leaving. Admittedly, it was a cute look—I'm going to have to relearn social norms, aren't I? "Then…why do you feel like the ocean?" She asked, eyes roaming over me. "I didn't know people could feel like the ocean."

You'd think that what she just said was meant to be sarcastic, but nope, she genuinely seemed to be considering the possibility that people can just feel like water.

The only person I've ever met who felt like the ocean was my dad, and he was the Supreme Lord of Big Puddles, so that made sense.

"You also feel like the sea," I countered, crossing my arms. "So either neither of us are the ocean or we both are the ocean."

Something I said made her cheeks dust red, which I found to be slightly confusing. I don't think I said anything that was flirty? Then again, women are as complicated as rocket science, so who knows.

"...I feel like the sea?" The girl said in her usually whimsical tone, but there was a flattered hitch to her words.

Also, am I the only one who finds it a bit odd that she always speaks slowly? I could practically feel the ellipsis in front of every sentence she said. She seemed to be constantly on the verge of a nap.

I mean, not like I couldn't relate. It is waaaay past my bedtime.

"Yes, you feel like the sea," I confirmed, holding back the urge to roll my eyes—I mean, I did just say that she felt like the sea before. "So, Sea-Lady, what's your name?"

A tiny smile crossed over her face. It was a nice expression; it really is unfair how attractive some people can be. Leave some of the good looks for the cavemen like me, pretty please?

"My name is Ingvild…" She trailed off, a frown forcing out the small smile. A far away look appeared in her eyes. "...for my last name, I can't remember it. They told me it was Leviathan after I woke up, but…" An amused glint appeared in her eyes, but it was painfully sardonic. "...I'm not sure that is right."

Her melancholy was doing a great job at bashing the glee from my freedom over the head with a bloody mallet. I felt bad for her—due to whatever happened to her—when I'd much prefer to be cackling maniacally over escaping the void.

Gods forbid a man wants to laugh like a machiavellian mastermind, geez.

"Ingvild, that's a nice name," I commented, shoving down my urge to pout viciously. No, me, you cannot be huffy over not manically laughing. I reached my hand out to finish the greeting, putting on a fancy-shmancy British accent. "My name is Jackson, Percy Jackson."

She glanced down at my hand, glanced back up at my face, and then glanced at my hand again before shaking it. "...was that an Englishmen's accent?"

Ingvild recognized the accent. She was from Earth. Earth existed. She was speaking English, something which should have made it obvious that she was from Earth, but alien movies had always made it pretty clear that all aliens knew English, okay?

"You're a human?" I eagerly asked, hand still holding onto hers. "Where are you from? What country? What year is it?!" Did I time travel? Maybe it was all a bad dream.

It wouldn't explain why I was in the void, but let me be delusional, okay? Camp might be alive, Mom might be alive, Annabeth might be alive!

Just a dream. It was all a dream. Please, Ingvild, do not break my delusion.

Ingvild was awkwardly silent, staring at our connected hands with rosy cheeks. She made no effort to let go. "Um…I—I'm a human, yeah," she paused, almost as if she remembered something. "Half-human, I mean. The other half is from a devil, I'm told…strange, right?"

"Half-human, half-devil?" I parroted her words.

She was a half-blood like me, just a different kind of half-blood. It isn't like you can control your parentage, so who am I to judge her? Papa Poseidon was chasing girls left and right millenia before I was born. He also was smiting cities, leveling nations, and flooding poor towns.

I wouldn't want her judging me for being his son, so I can't exactly judge her for being the child of, what, Lucifer? Satan? The fly dude? "I'm half-human, half-god. We're two peas in a pod."

She brightened at my words. "You're like…like Sæmingr?"

"Who?" I said, having zero clue who that was. I like to think I knew my myths well, but I'd never heard of him.

Ingvild faltered, frowning. "Just…he's from a myth my mother told me when I was a child. He was Sæmingr Odinson, King of Norway." She pulled her hand away from my own, looking down at her feet, voice falling to a mutter. "...I miss them."

I don't know if she meant for me to hear that. Probably not, honestly. Ingvild was a real bag of mysteries, wasn't she? "Hey, why don't we go somewhere besides the Pit of Doom and Gloom? Maybe find a Mickey D's?"

Ingvild swallowed, head swivelling around the wasteland we stood in. "There isn't anywhere to go," she softly said, eyes settling back on me.

"So the Hole of Despair is the only tourist spot?" I rhetorically asked, legs already tiring. It was likely due to a mix of the Curse of Achilles being a real bitch while my lazy muscles were preparing to go on strike.

She opened her mouth slightly and laughed. "I guess it is the only tourist attraction, yes."

I clapped my hands together and allowed for my body to collapse to the ground. Ingvild gasped and rushed to her knees to help me, but I waved her off. "I just wanted a place to lay down—my heart isn't failing me…yet. Too many Big Macs will do me in one day, but not today."

Lucifer Junior remained silent for a moment as she kneeled by my side. If anyone walked in on our clearing by the Sinkhole of Suffering, they'd think she was doing a blood sacrifice. Usually they use virgin girls, though, so I think she might have missed the fine print.

"I've never heard of a Big Mac." She decided on saying, sitting down next to where I laid. "What is that?"

I cast her a look of faux-horror, hand crossing over my heart. "You've never heard of a Big Mac? Blasphemy!" I intoned, giving a gasp along with my words. "At the very least, you must have heard of hamburgers."

Ingvild giggled, orange eyes lighting up with much-deserved happiness. "Of course I've heard of Hamburg. I may have never been to Germany, but I do know the big cities," she brightly said, still giggling.

I shook my head, a pout crossing over my lips. "Noooo, not Hamburg. Hamburger."

"What's the difference?" She asked with a tilt of her head.

Ouch, just hit me where it hurts, why don't you? I could have sworn hamburgers were a well known thing, so maybe I really did time travel…but just a little bit too far.

Germany only became a thing in the eighteen hundreds—hah, Annabeth, I do listen when you yammer—so we must be in the early nineteen hundreds, maybe?

"Well, one is food, the other is a city," I sarcastically replied. I once again did a British accent. "The hamburger is only the finest of dining cuisines; it is the most decorated sandwich to ever be made. With its well-cooked ground beef, delicately crafted American cheese, numerous assortments of vegetables, and beautifully smithed buns, it is truly the finest dish to grace the Earth."

Ingvild stared at me with complete bafflement for a moment before giggling again. "...you are quite passionate about food," she commented, smile almost glowing now. "...even if pinnekjøtt is better."

"I will not even attempt to pronounce that word," I said. It wasn't like I even knew what that was.

She perked up. "It…it is salted lamb. We often had it with mashed rutabaga and boiled potatoes. My mothe—" She froze, almost as if she had been punched in the gut. Any momentum I had made in getting her to open up had been bashed to a brutal death.

Now, I have two options here. One, I could stop myself from trying to pry about her private life when I just met her. Or…I could be nosey.

I want to be nosy. She looked sad and lonely every time I've seen her, and I don't particularly like that. It hits too close to home.

"Did your mom die?" I tentatively asked. And hey! Don't judge how I am asking her—do you think you'd be better at comforting a girl(or guy)? Yeah, pipe down, buddy. My girl-experience may be from actively pissing off Annabeth, but that is better than nothing.

Ingvild's face remained monotone. She looked like a pretty robot, an attractive android. No emotions crossed her face for the moment. "...my mother is dead. And so is my father. And my friends. And every neighbor I would greet in the morning with a smile. The granny who would sneak me treats whenever my parents spoke to her is also dead. Odd, right?"

She quietly let out a laugh, a pained whimper exiting her throat. "...and the elkhounds who would give me kisses when I went with my father to the butcher are dead. And so is the butcher. They—they're all dead. All of them. The tailor who my mother was close with, my auntie who repaired my shoes, my uncle who would bring me out on his boat to catch fish—-gone, all gone."

I listened, chest growing tight. Gone, all gone. Yeah, I could relate. The hollow look in her eyes, the choked whimpers she let out when she talked, and the agony spilling from her voice?

It was so familiar. So, so familiar. Two peas in a fuckin' pod, huh? It was scary how similar her story was to my own—likes the sea, has some sort of innate pull towards the ocean, is a half-blood, and she lost every single person she loved.

What's next, she also is narcoleptic?

I swallowed saliva, sitting up even while my muscles protested. Staring at the stalactites on the roof of the massive cave had grown dull. My hands instinctively wrapped around my knees, almost as if I were bracing myself for the personal stuff I was about to say.

She must be as lonely as I am to be telling her deepest feelings to a complete stranger. I sighed, meeting Ingvild's tired gaze. "I…also lost everyone," I admitted, teeth biting into my lower lip. My skin, however, could not be pierced. "My mom, my dad, my friends, the girl I liked, and every person I ever knew. The beaches I used to travel to, the city I lived in—all of it, gone, left to rubble. No, not even rubble. It's all just, just gone."

I pressed my forehead to my knees and laughed. Gods, everyone I knew was dead. I can't even think of a joke to deflect with or—or anything. They're all dead! "Bwahahaha," I chuckled softly, clenching my eyes tightly.

I wouldn't cry. I can't. I won't.

"...are you alright?" Ingvild asked, but it was more like she was trying to prod a bear with a ten foot long stick; she was tentative and hesitant in her speech.

My knees and forehead separated as I looked back up at her. Like all the other promises I had made, I failed to keep the tears from leaving my eyes. Us Greeks and our tragedies, huh?

The look I gave Ingvild was as dry as the Sahara. "Are you alright?"

She glanced away, eyes wandering around and about the endless cavernous wasteland we were in. Her eyes settle back on me, tears trailing from the edges of her eyes. "I'm…as fine as you are," she decided, voice barely even shaking from the water cascading down her cheeks.

"I'll tell you how everyone I loved died if you tell me how everyone you loved died," I offered, because talking about your dead loved ones is always a good conversation starter.

Ingvild snorted, tears still trickling down her face—not that I was much better. The lavender haired girl laughed, but there was more humor to it now. "You're…horrible!"

"So I've been told," I replied, hand brushing over my face to wipe away tears. "And should I begin or should you?"

Ingvild shook her head, a tiny smile gracing her lips. She had a nice face. "This is horrible," she said, voice tinged with macabre humor. "I…guess I can go first," Ingvild decided, brushing tears from her face. "One day…one day I lived my life like any other day. I ran on the beach in the morning, went out with my uncle to catch fish from the sea, and helped my mother with the housework once it got to noon."

A day like any other? Funny how similar and different we are. I lost everyone in a day like no other, while she lost them in a day like any other.

Dichotomy, that's what Annabeth would call it. She would say some clever adage and make some wise connections that I could never have thought up.

Would. She's too dead to do it now.

Ingvild looked down at her palms, hands slightly shaking. "Then—then my father got home and I assisted my mom in the kitchen. It was a normal day…just…just like any other day," her voice wobbled, eyes tightly shutting. "We prayed as usual right before the sun went down, preparing to go to sleep…I went to bed, but I didn't wake up the next day. I didn't wake up the day after. Or the day after that. No, I only woke up after a hundred years when my mom, my dad, my friends, my family, and everyone I loved was dead."

I drank in all of what she said. It was…unimaginable. I knew when I had failed—she hadn't even known she was playing the game.

What was better? To lose everyone when you can make your peace with it, or to have them ripped away in a confused haze? And, to make it worse, she got the Captain America treatment. She lost a literal century of time.

Her monotonic behavior suddenly made a lot of sense.

"So, my turn, then?" I asked, and she nodded her head, lavender tresses bobbing. "Great. So, I was fighting my gramps—see, he's a titan, pretty important dude. I was in the big, anticlimactic fight with him; it was the sort of fight that…no, can't make movie references."

I shook my head, forcing myself to get back on track. "Basically, the final battle. Me vs Kronos. I was only losing slightly badly, but then a monster the size of several mountains destroyed New York, all the gods in the world got huffy, and the world ended while I was frozen in time as Kronos's statue."

Ingvild looked taken aback by my rapid-fire response. She shot me a skeptical look. "But…the world still exists?"

"Does it?" I tilted my head curiously and then shrugged. "Well, I'm fairly certain I went back in time, anyways. The world absolutely ended, so that's the only way I could be experiencing stuff. What year is it, anyways? I asked you earlier, but you never told me."

"The year…um…I think it is 2007?" She replied, slightly hesitant. "I—I don't know for sure…sorry."

I waved my hand. "Don't apologize for something so small. I came from…" I blanked. "It was the year…" What year had it been? It was—it was… "I don't know. I can't remember. I can't—how do I not remember what year it had been? It was…"

I devolved into incoherent babbles as I tried to grasp at straws of memories in my mind. Every time I drew near, though, it was like the knowledge slipped through my fingers like sand.

"...I also can't remember my past too well," Ingvild quietly said, trying to give me comfort. And it did make me feel a little better: solidarity in numbers and all that really helps.

I swallowed, glancing at my fingers and cracking my knuckles. A sigh came from my throat. "We really are alike, aren't we? Are you also chronically tired?" I amusedly asked, meaning for it to be a joke.

The sheepish expression on her face was startling.

"Wait…you actually are also narcoleptic?" I asked in bafflement. Dear gods, she is literally girl-me. "I got mine from a fancy river; were you just born with it or…?"

I swear to the gods if she also got cursed by a nasty river, I will…I don't know yet, but it will be suitably impressive.

"A curse? No…no, it isn't. I'm sick," Ingvild somberly replied, face unhappy.

She was sick? She looked healthy to me, all things considered. Actually, I'd argue she was in good physical shape.

Ingvild continued, voice soft as she spoke. "I caught a disease only devils can get. One day, a day like any other, you are fine. The next?"

"You sleep forever," I finished for her. "That sounds terrifying."

Ingvild nodded with half-lidded eyes. "It—" a small yawn cut off her words, making her cheeks flush in embarrassment. "It was…"

I yawned reflectively, eyes fogging partially with exhaustion. How did Achilles handle needing constant nap times? I'm not too sure. I mean, I can't exactly fall asleep only several yards from the void.

Unfortunately, I'm not exactly a nuclear power plant…nuclear Percy plant?

Okay, yes, I'm not funny. Quit heckling me, alright?

Anyways, I don't think I have the energy to walk more than a foot without passing out. I'm well overdue for naptime, and I'm all out of binkies, blankies, and pillows.

"Say, Ingvild?" I called out to her, my eyes flickering open—when had they closed? I'm not too sure, honestly.

Ingvild's eyes also fluttered open, so my sleepy buddy was no better than I. "Hm?"

"Is there any place I could go to get a bed? Any motels? Do they have Hampton Inn down…wherever we are? Or Hilton?"

Ingvild blinked slowly, deep in thought. She seemed to be deep in contemplation, almost as if she were considering something very important. The girl decided on an answer, shook her head negatively to communicate said answer, yawned tiredly, and laid on her side to sleep.

Well, at least she's efficient?

So, no bed for Percy. I'll just…lay down next to my narcole-pal.

A yawn broke from my mouth as I laid down on my side. Sleep took me almost immediately after my head touched the ground.

AN: Somewhat inspired by Boiling Points May Differ by A Firm Refusal of Organics. Very different, but I am only writing this due to that story, so, yeah. Anyways, I'm writing this because I like Ingvild's character(even if she is barely in the story, lol) and find it pretty fun that Curse of Achilles Percy and Ingvild have some very niche traits in common. Thing like chronically being nappy and water powers.

I don't think this story will ever have Issei and his crew in it—this is set about a year or two before canon. Ingvild woke up early due to stuff. This is mostly because I don't want to write him. Issei was hilarious in the anime, but I found his POV in the LN to be insufferable. If I go anywhere with this story, it will be exploring the stuff that isn't really talked about in Highschool DXD, things like the world building outside of Japan and the Abrahamic faction.

Also, my knowledge of the series isn't perfect. I doubt I'll majorly miss anything, but I only sporadically read through volumes 13-25. I read 26 and 27, but nothing after that(if there is anything).

Lastly, while this is a DXD story, I will not be writing smut, lemons, harems(for Percy), or anything of that sort. The romance her is fluff, not smut. The story is rated T, not M, for a reason. I will be making use of cursing, though, because Percy as a New Yorker would have some clever insults(I hope I captured his character decently here, even if it was addled by the insanity he was fighting).