Archive of Our Own

The TV was still on.

The man on the screen slammed his hand on a counter, his voice loud and angry. It was one of the programs Gabe liked, the strange late-night shows Mom told Percy he was too young to watch. He was watching it now, but as a faint thud echoed from the other room, he wondered if he was too young to live here, too.

A smack rang out.

Percy flinched so hard his shoulders shoved up to his ears. His eyes flicked toward the hallway before he forcefully ripped his gaze away, staring instead at the note stuck on the refrigerator. Mom's scribbles twisted and squirmed like the worms he'd seen in the park after a rainstorm. He wrung the hem of his shirt in his fists, a flush crawling up his neck. He felt so stupid.

Something shattered in the next room. A stray beer rolled out in the kitchen, spinning around and around until it bumped against his bare foot.

Percy stared down at it.

Another smack echoed, and this time, his mother screamed.

The sound broke whatever fear had been holding him back. He wrapped his hands around the neck of the bottle. His grip was awkward—his hands were just too small to hold it properly—but he forced his fingers to lock around the glass.

He stood up and marched toward the door. The cold of the glass seeped into his palm. He was only seven, and he was small, but Mom was being hurt.

Percy clenched his jaw and pushed into the room.

Mom was curled on the floor, her hands locked around her head. A shape loomed over her. In the shadows, Percy couldn't make out his face, but he knew the stench of beer and cigars. He knew it was Gabe.

"Get away from my mom!" Percy screamed.

He raised the bottle high above his head and brought it crashing down on the first thing within his reach.

Gabe grunted, stumbling back in surprise.

"Go away, Percy!" Mom shrieked from the floor.

Percy wanted to soothe her. He wanted to keep hitting Stinky Gabe until he went away forever. But before he could lift his arms again, a hand shoved him backward.

He was seven. Gabe was a grown man.

The bottle flew from his grip, and for one second, Percy was weightless. Then, the wall stopped him.

Pain exploded behind his eyes. A high-pitched ringing flooded his ears, turning the room into a blur of smeared colors.

"He's just a kid!" Mom's voice sounded like it was underwater.

"Shut up!"

Percy tried to focus, but the world wouldn't stop spinning, and tears finally spilled over his eyelashes. His fingers twitched against the floor. The same empty bottle rolled across the floor, spinning around and around until it tapped against his knuckles.

"Dad… Dad," he whispered to the cold floor, his voice warbling. "You were supposed to be here. Why aren't you here?"

Through the buzzing in his ears, the scrape of metal against metal echoed. Without understanding why, Percy dragged his gaze to the left.

There, in the corner of the doorframe, were one, two, three spiders. They were weaving and weaving and weaving, their legs moving in perfect synchronization.

He blinked—

A loud snap echoed right beside his ear.

—and closed his eyes, letting the darkness drag him under.

There was something poking him.

Percy's eyelids peeled open, feeling as though they were glued together, before he snapped them shut again. It was blindingly bright. He flopped onto his side with a low groan, trying to escape the irritating prodding in his ribs. His head felt stuffed with cotton, and his limbs were as limp as a piece of wet paper. For one miraculous moment, the poking stopped.

Then, it dug into his side again.

Percy flapped a hand, blindly shooing the thing away, but his knuckles only smacked into the ground. His brows furrowed. His fingers curled, sinking into a loose, scratchy grain. He squeezed, grabbing a handful of it.

Sand.

Alarm jolted through him, shooing away the last of his drowsiness.

He bolted upright. The sudden movement sent his head swirling, and his vision darkened dangerously before a series of furious blinks cleared it. Wherever he was, it wasn't home. The sand beneath his hands was jet-black, completely unlike the pale beige shores of Montauk. Above him, the sky was choked with an impossible number of stars. For a fleeting second, panic gave way to pure wonder—Percy had never seen so many stars in his life—until reality crashed back over him all at once.

Waves crashed against the shore. That was entirely wrong. He had just been in the apartment. There were no sounds of passing cars here, no city hum. There was only the ocean, and a strange, metallic tink-tink coming from the ocean—a sound a normal sea should never make.

"What's your name?"

Percy jumped. There was a boy standing over him.

The stranger looked a couple years older than he was, with sea-green eyes and dark hair, dressed in a strange cloth. He was holding a stick.

Percy scowled. "Get bent."

"…Be-nt?" the boy echoed.

His accent was thick, and it took Percy a long second to realize the boy wasn't speaking English at all. Yet, somehow, Percy understood every single word.

He barely had time to let that realization settle before the boy’s face darkened into a scowl. "Speak properly. What is your name?"

"None of your business," Percy muttered, hauling himself to his feet. He didn't care about this weird kid; he just wanted to find a way back to his mom.

"I told you to speak right!" the boy snapped, stepping directly into Percy's space.

Percy didn't think. Driven by adrenaline and sheer anger, he just reacted.

His fist cut through the air in a wild swing. His knuckles collided hard against the boy's cheek. Percy pulled his hand back with a sharp hiss, his shoulders tense, waiting for the counter-attack.

The boy just blinked. He lifted a hand, casually touching his cheek where Percy had struck him. He looked surprised, but not hurt.

Percy’s scowl faltered. The kid wasn't much bigger than him; he wasn't an adult. A punch like that should have at least made him cry.

Instead, the boy's mouth stretched wide, his teeth tapering into sharp points. Percy barely had time to register it before an open hand cracked against his jaw.

He only felt the explosive white pain, the sudden taste of grit, and a hot, metallic copper flooding his mouth. By the time he realized he was back on the ground, his face was buried in the black sand, stained dark with his own blood.

The boy crouched over him, grin still hanging there, waiting. When Percy didn't scramble back up to swing again, the smile slipped, curdling into something confused.

"Why are you down?" he asked.

The wet sucking sound of the tide felt incredibly loud in Percy's ears, yet somehow miles away. He could barely make out the boy's sand-covered feet through his blurry vision before a foot roughly nudged his ribs, rolling him over.

Percy hissed, curling inward.

"One, two, three…" the boy muttered, flipping Percy onto his back as easily as if he were a discarded toy, despite them being nearly the same size. The boy’s brows furrowed deeply. He pressed a finger right against the center of Percy's chest. "You have a thing that beats inside. It's striking very fast now. Like hammer to steel."

He paused, waiting for an explanation, then huffed when Percy stayed silent. Percy didn't want to talk to this freak. He just wanted to go home, to burrow into his mom’s arms where it was warm and safe and nothing hurt.

A finger brushed against his face, deliberately digging into his freshly split lip.

Pain shot through Percy’s jaw. He blindly flailed his hands to slap the finger away, hot tears welling in his eyes. He stubbornly refused to let them fall.

The boy completely ignored the slaps. He pulled his hand back, staring intently at the bright red blood coating his fingertips, holding them so close to his eyes he nearly crossed them. Then, without blinking, he slid his bloody fingers into his own mouth.

Something's wrong with him, Percy thought, his stomach dropping as he desperately tried to crawl away on his elbows. He's—he's not a person.

"You have salt in you," the boy declared, his sea-green eyes suddenly flashing in the dark. He lunged forward, planting his foot squarely in the middle of Percy's back to pin him to the sand. Percy wheezed, the air knocked clean out of his lungs. "And you're still leaking. Stop it."

"I—I can't," Percy choked out against the dirt, the weight making it impossible to breathe.

"Name," the boy demanded again.

Percy glared up through his tears and said nothing.

Suddenly, the crashing of the waves vanished. The ocean went dead silent, as if the water itself was being sucked backward into the deep.

"Why are you still leaking?" the boy demanded. He kicked his foot off Percy's back, grabbed him by the arm, and hauled him upright in one effortless jerk. He stared at the bleeding lip with an intense focus.

Percy tried to shove him away, but his hands did nothing against the kid's chest. Before he could even open his mouth to scream, the boy scooped him up into his arms.

"Mine," he muttered—and bolted.

The wind ripped the breath right out of Percy's mouth as the world dissolved into a blur.

They crashed straight through a waterfall. The shock of the cold water was instantly swallowed by a sudden stop. Percy’s head jostled violently, and his stomach gave a sickening roll. He felt like he was going to vomit.

Maybe I should puke on this freak, he thought viciously, clenching his teeth together as another wave of nausea turned his face green.

They were inside a cave. But it was a weird one; the walls looked half-wet, almost like living skin that could sweat. And it was hot. The faint chill from the waterfall evaporated immediately under a warm blast of air blowing from deeper within the cavern, carrying with it the ringing echo of steel striking steel.

The boy didn't venture any deeper. Instead, he darted right, slipping into a hidden nook Percy hadn’t even noticed, and stepped inside.

The walls in this chamber felt less oppressive. They cast a shimmering glow across the room, making it look as though they were standing underwater. The space actually looked lived-in, though it was filled with strange, warped clay jars and chairs that looked more like low beds. There wasn't a TV in sight.

The boy came to a sudden halt in front of a woman.

"I found him. Fix him," the boy demanded, thrusting Percy forward as if presenting a broken toy.

"Hey!" Percy protested. His nausea was momentarily forgotten as he twisted his torso, shoving his hand hard against the boy's face. "I'm not a toy!"

"He cannot speak properly," the boy complained to the woman, his voice muffled beneath Percy’s palm.

Suddenly, Percy felt the boy’s lips stretch into a grin. Those sharp teeth scraped against the meat of his palm, and Percy yanked his hand back with a gasp.

"And he hit me!" the boy added triumphantly.

"Little Lord," the woman said in a rush. She hurried forward, but her eyes completely bypassed Percy.

Instead, she dropped to her knees beside the boy, frantically inspecting every inch of his skin for a wound, a bruise, or a scratch. Percy watched silently as her fingers gently prodded the boy's cheek. It was completely spotless—unlike his own throbbing, bleeding face.

It was fine. Percy swallowed the lump in his throat. He was used to it. Nobody ever looked at him first—at least, not until something went wrong. Then, it was suddenly always his fault.

"It didn't even hurt," the boy muttered, though his brow furrowed as his eyes flicked down to Percy's face. "But I hit him back, and he broke. The red thing won't stop leaking from him. Make it stop, Kapheira."

She finally pulled back from her inspection, her gaze shifting to Percy for the first time. At her look, the boy reluctantly let go of Percy's collar, though he refused to step away.

"It is because he is a mortal, Little Lord," she explained. She paused briefly when Percy flinched at her touch, but she continued with slow, deliberate movements.

"Mortal?" the boy echoed, tilting his head. "What is that?"

"It means he ends," she said simply. She tested the bridge of Percy's nose, and satisfied that it wasn't broken, she used a soft, cool cloth to wipe the blood from his skin.

"Ends how?"

"All the way," she answered, leaning back on her heels.

The boy wrinkled his nose, his sea-green eyes staring intently into Percy's matching ones. "But he tastes like me."

Kapheira went entirely still. Her gaze settled on Percy for a beat too long. Then, between one heartbeat and the next, she looked away, as if her hesitation had never happened.

"Where did you find the mortal boy, Little Lord?" she asked.

She dipped the cloth into a small hollow in the rock that was filled with water. Above them, a slow leak dripped from the ceiling, echoing in the quiet room. Drip. Drip. Drip.

"By the shore," the boy answered. He drifted toward a corner where the water pools were deeper.

Percy caught movement in the dark corner. He flicked his eyes toward a small opening in the rock face that looked out to the open sea, a hole just wide enough for fish to swim through.

"I see," Kapheira murmured.

"I have to get back," Percy said out loud. His voice sounded strangely deep as it echoed against the cave walls. He was trying to imitate the bizarre sounds of the language he suddenly understood. The words twisted awkwardly on his tongue, his mouth bending around the unfamiliar shapes, but somehow, he forced them out.

"You can speak!" The boy perked up instantly, his hand darting into the water and snatching a squirming fish. A beat later, his face darkened into a scowl. "Why didn't you talk before?"

Percy ignored him, keeping his focus entirely on the woman. She was the adult here. Even if she called the boy 'Little Lord'—and what did that even mean, was he a prince or something?—she was clearly the one running things, the same way his mom ran the apartment.

"How do I leave?" Percy demanded.

Kapheira eyed him for a long time, something soft and sorrowful swirling in her gaze. Percy had seen adults look at him like that at school sometimes, and it always made a hot flush of shame creep up his neck. He absolutely hated being pitied.

"The sea brought you," she murmured softly. "The sea will take you back—if it ever lets you go."

"But you're mine now," the boy added cheerfully. He bit down with a wet crunch. The fish in his hand was suddenly missing its head, and a slick, pinkish-red smear of gore slid down his knuckles.

Percy's stomach curdled violently. "What does that have to do with anything?" he snapped. He marched right up into the boy's space, completely ignoring the bloody fish parts. "Just because your babysitter calls you Little Lord doesn't mean you get to order me around. Take me home."

"Of course I can," the boy sneered, pulling his lips back over his sharp teeth. He straightened to his full height, trying his best to tower over Percy, though he was only a few inches taller. "I am the son of Kro—"

"Poseidon!" Kapheira cut him off, her voice cracking like a whip. She snapped her head up, her face pale with terror. "Do not say that name. He cannot find us here."

The boy’s hand clenched around the dead fish with so much force the remaining meat turned to mush between his fingers. His shark-like teeth glinted in the dim light, but he suddenly shuffled his feet. He glanced toward the small hole opening to the sea, a specific, haunted look crossing his face.

It was a look Percy knew intimately. He saw it in the mirror all the time.

It was the exact expression Percy wore whenever Gabe slammed the front door open.

Percy swallowed hard. "…Why can't he say that name?"

Kapheira’s face was grave. "Because Time, little one, comes for everyone in the end. And his father has a very good nose."

Percy's stomach turned to ice. He didn't fully understand what she meant, but he understood the look on her face.

"So how do I get home?" he pressed. "You said the sea brought me here."

"And the sea will keep you," Kapheira said quietly, "until you give it a reason not to." She rung the wet cloth out over the little stone basin, not quite looking at him. "That is its nature, little one. It keeps what it is given. It does not often give back."

"I didn't give it anything. It just—I just appeared here!"

"Then perhaps you'll have to give it something it wants more."

The other boy perked up at that, wiping fish blood on his knee, entirely too pleased with himself. "He can stay here. With me. I'll teach him how to talk right, and to swim, and—"

"Little Lord." Kapheira's voice was gentle, but there was something tired underneath it, like she already knew how this would go and was too soft-hearted to stop it. She glanced at Percy—at the split lip, the bruised jaw, the too-big anger in a too-small boy—and something in her expression settled, resigned. "…He may stay. For now."

Percy opened his mouth to argue that nobody had even asked him what he wanted, but Poseidon was already grinning, sharp teeth and all. Before Percy could stumble back, the kid grabbed him by the arm and hauled him backward into the nook, entirely without a by-your-leave, chattering nonstop about the sea.

Percy learned very quickly that the water reacted to Poseidon's mood.

A few days had passed, and every single one of them had been spent either pacing the shores or in the sea. Nothing else. Once, Percy had made the other boy furious by calling him a little kid when he didn't understand something basic. In response, the ocean had instantly gone freezing cold, turning Percy's toes numb. He’d felt bad afterward—he knew exactly how awful it felt when people treated him like he was stupid. To make up for it, Percy had presented Poseidon with an iridescent shell he’d dug out of the sand. The water had melted into a cozy warmth a second later.

Right now, it was neither.

Percy squinted through the glare, letting his fingers brush against the clear-blue surface before side-eyeing his companion. Poseidon was floating flat on his back, staring up at the cloudless sky with an unblinking gaze. Strangely, the rolling current didn't move him an inch from his spot.

Mischief sparked in Percy's chest. He slipped beneath the surface, instinctively closing his eyes. Mom always said the saltwater would irritate them, and even though the ocean never actually hurt his eyes, Mom knew everything, so he kept them shut anyway. He swam silently until he was positioned directly beneath Poseidon's floating back.

But just as he braced himself to launch upward and scare the daylights out of the kid, a sudden lurch of the current slammed into his chest, shoving him away.

He broke the surface with a racking cough, throwing his wet hair out of his eyes to glare at the smirking boy. He couldn't stay mad for long, though. The water around them had flared warm again.

"You don't need to cough," Poseidon said, his face pinching into that half-annoyed, puzzled expression he always wore when Percy did something human. Without moving a muscle, he drifted closer, as if the sea itself were gently pushing him forward. "You're made of salt and sea, too."

Percy rolled his eyes. "You always say that. I already told you: I'm just a boy."

"Yes," Poseidon said, sending him a flat stare. "A boy made of salt and sea."

"Whatever," Percy grumbled, turning to waddle through the shallows toward the shore. He was getting tired of the beach, no matter how much he loved the water. Poseidon could be so incredibly annoying that it made Percy want to shove his face into the sand, though the last time he’d tried that, Percy was the one who ended up face-first in the dirt.

"Where are you going?" the boy demanded, twisting his torso to swim after him. "I didn't tell you that you could leave."

Percy glared back over his shoulder. "As if you can tell me what to do."

"I can," Poseidon said, tilting his chin up arrogantly. "Come back."

"No," Percy enunciated slowly, mimicking the stubborn tilt of the chin.

A sudden chill in the sea was the only warning he got before a current wrapped around his ankles like iron shackles, dragging him straight down into the depths.

Panic froze his veins. The surface vanished above him, and he thrashed wildly against the pressure, his lungs screaming for air.

"Why aren't you breathing?" Poseidon asked.

He was swimming casually beside him, staring with genuine confusion. It took a few seconds of watching Percy suffocate before the boy realized that Percy actually needed to breathe, and that this wasn't just a stubborn game. He tilted his head, inhaling deeply to demonstrate, then looked at Percy expectantly, silently commanding him to try.

It was crazy. It was completely insane. Every instinct Percy had screamed that opening his mouth would kill him. But Poseidon was just watching him drown, bored, like Percy was the one being slow about it, and somehow that was what did it. Nobody who actually wanted him dead would look that unbothered.

Percy opened his mouth and inhaled.

Seawater flooded his mouth, rushing down his throat and filling his lungs. He braced for the burning, for the choking agony of drowning... but it never came. The water felt as light and natural as air.

He blinked rapidly, his panic bleeding off in slow waves. He was breathing underwater. How?

The impossible question vanished the moment he finally looked around, his vision completely clear now that the terror had faded.

It was so beautiful his mouth hung open, a tiny bubble escaping his lips. They were standing beside a colossal coral reef, glowing with neon pinks and deep purples, teeming with thousands of glittering fish and swaying sea plants. It was so vast and vibrant it made Percy dizzy just looking at it.

"See? I told you," Poseidon said from his side, crossing his arms with a smug smile. "You can breathe underwater."

"Shut up," Percy mumbled reflexively. He barely even paid the boy any attention, completely captivated by a tiny, glowing school of fish darting past his nose.

The water grew cold again—just a light, teasing chill this time. Poseidon wasn't genuinely angry, just frustrated at being ignored. It was almost funny how easily the kid's feelings were bruised.

"Look at this," Poseidon commanded, his voice taking on a grand, arrogant tone as he raised his arms. "Pay attention. You are awed by a stupid piece of rock, but I can do better."

Before Percy's eyes, Poseidon let out a low vibration that rattled right through Percy’s ribs and sent ripples tearing through the water. Instantly, every fish in the vicinity froze. They snapped around in perfect synchronization, staring at Poseidon as if awaiting royal orders.

The boy shot Percy a quick look to ensure he was watching. Satisfied by the wide-eyed look on Percy's face, he moved his arms in slow, deliberate arcs.

The fish followed his hands. Hundreds of flashes of silver, yellow, and blue swam in a dizzying, beautiful dance, weaving around each other until they locked into rigid lines. They stopped, holding perfectly still to form a single word.

Percy’s eyes widened.

θ ά λ α σ σ α.

I can read it, Percy thought, shock crashing through him. The letters... the words aren't moving. I can actually read it.

It spelled Sea.

"Now you," Poseidon said, already flicking his fingers to scatter the fish back into formless motion. His tone was carefully casual, the way Percy's own voice went carefully casual before he asked his mom for something he already knew the answer to. "Spell your name. I'll make them do it."

Percy glared. "No."

"Why not? I showed you mine."

"That's not your name, that's just—" Percy gestured uselessly at the water. "A word. For water."

"It is also me," Poseidon said, like that settled it.

His arms dropped to his sides, his smugness vanishing into a deep frown as he stared straight into Percy's eyes.

"Why are you leaking?" he asked suddenly, when Percy didn't answer.

"I'm not," Percy sniffled, aggressively rubbing the heels of his hands against his eyes. He felt nothing but cold seawater against his skin, wondering how on earth the boy could tell he was crying underwater.

With Poseidon's distraction, the fish began to scatter, the letters breaking apart into a blur. Panic flared in Percy's chest. He leaped forward, his hands snapping out to grab the boy's arm in a tight grip.

"Show me again," Percy demanded, and hated how much his voice cracked on it. "I could read that. I read that. Do it again."

Poseidon blinked at him, then smirked, clearly delighted to have found something he could use to show off forever.

"Again," he agreed, like it was the easiest word in the world, and raised his arms.

The letters were still swimming behind his eyes when Poseidon showed him what he called a "secret passage." It was really just an underwater tunnel leading back inside the cave behind the waterfall, but Percy had to admit it was pretty cool.

"Come on," Poseidon called, breaking through the surface with a sudden burst of energy that had Percy scrambling after him at a much slower pace.

"What is it this time?" Percy grumbled, though his tone held no real heat. The other boy had spent the entire morning forming fish into letters for him, even if he’d gotten incredibly huffy when Percy refused to tell him his name.

It was the principle of the thing. Percy didn't like being demanded to do things.

Poseidon didn't answer. Instead, he led him deeper toward the warm breeze blowing through the cavern. Their wet footsteps echoed faintly beneath the steady, rhythmic ring of hammer striking steel.

Percy slowed down, but Poseidon grabbed his wrist and hauled him along anyway, only stopping right before a dark, dimly lit entrance. Inside, Percy could barely make out the shapes of dozens of massive, humanoid figures hammering away at glowing metal. They didn't offer a single word of greeting, and Percy glanced at Poseidon, expecting the kid to get angry at the lack of attention. Instead, the boy's gaze was locked onto something else entirely.

Percy followed his look to the brightest spot in the cavern. It was a forge overflowing with a sea of roaring fire. Resting inside the flames was a hunk of orange, white-hot metal—three sharp prongs stretching from a thick base, still half-finished.

"When I'm bigger, I will use that," Poseidon said. His sea-green eyes reflected the glow of the forge. His face was entirely serious, his lips pulled into a severe line. "I will get strong."

"…You're already pretty strong," Percy muttered, rubbing his arm awkwardly.

Poseidon blinked at him, looking momentarily caught off guard—as if he’d forgotten Percy was even there—before quickly hiding his surprise behind an arrogant tilt of his chin. "I am."

"Mind the tines, little tide," rasped one of the figures at the forge, not even glancing up from his hammer. "That one's not finished singing yet."

Poseidon ignored him, already turning away, bored. Percy filed the sentence somewhere in the back of his brain anyway, next to all the other things here that didn't make sense and weren't going to.

"Little Lord," a second voice echoed from the depths of the forge. Percy couldn't see who was speaking. "We appreciate your enthusiasm, but your mortal companion cannot stand the heat of this place for long."

Poseidon’s grip tightened instantly around Percy’s wrist. "We were just leaving."

"Hey—!" Percy protested, a sharp pinch of pain shooting up his arm as he tried to yank himself free. "I can walk, moron. Don't grab me like that."

"You're too slow," the boy huffed, rolling his eyes, but he let go.

They retreated to the quiet nook Poseidon lived in. Kapheira was still nowhere to be seen, probably out gathering wild berries or fruit. Poseidon settled onto the stone ledge beside the pool, dangling his feet into the water and watching the tiny fish dart between his toes. Percy watched him for a moment before mirroring his posture, sliding his hands deep into his pockets.

His fingertips brushed against a crinkling piece of plastic.

Oh. He had completely forgotten about this. It was a piece of candy. It had been days since Percy had tasted sugar, and his mouth watered instantly. He hesitated, his hand closing around the small wrapper, before slowly pulling it out.

"Here," he offered, his voice a low mumble. He avoided looking Poseidon in the eye.

"What is this?" the boy asked. He snatched it from Percy's palm, holding it up to the faint light. His green eyes shone as he rolled the tiny package around his hand as if it were a rare artifact.

He was about to pop the whole thing into his mouth when Percy lunged and grabbed his wrists. "Wait—no! You have to eat it like this." Percy carefully peeled back the plastic, revealing the bright blue hard candy inside, and placed it back on the boy's palm. "The food is under the plastic. We don't eat the wrapper."

"I have never seen blue food," Poseidon said, staring at it curiously. He didn't seem disgusted. Percy had seen him eat raw fish, so he doubted the kid had any real concept of what was normal to eat.

"My mom makes it," Percy explained, a small, soft smile pulling at his lips. "Her... husband told her blue food didn't exist, so she started making everything blue just to prove him wrong." His fingers dug into his own thighs. "She always makes it for me."

Poseidon stared at him for a long, silent moment. Then, without a word, he tossed the candy into his mouth and gulped it down in one bite. A loud crunch followed. The boy’s eyes squinted tightly as his tongue processed a flavor he had never encountered in his life. Suddenly, his pupils dilated. He swallowed hard.

"More," he demanded, thrusting his palm out.

"I only had that one," Percy said, quietly folding the empty wrapper.

"Where is your mother?" Poseidon demanded, his face instantly twisting into outrage. He began patting down Percy's pockets, completely ignoring the way Percy slapped his hands away. "Bring her here."

"Stupid," Percy laughed, a genuine laugh escaping him. "I was alone on the shore, remember? She's not in my pocket."

"I know where you were found," Poseidon grumbled, grumpily looking at the water like it had personally failed him. "I meant later. Once you learn to call things properly."

"It doesn't work like that."

"Everything works like that if you're strong enough," Poseidon said, with the total of confidence of something that had never been told no.

Percy stared at him. "You're insane."

Poseidon didn't seem to hear that as an insult. His hand crept back over instead, fingers resting lightly against the pulse point on Percy's wrist, feeling for the fragile rhythm he himself didn't possess—the same way he checked it after every scrape, like he was making sure Percy hadn't quietly stopped somewhere in the last hour without telling him.

"I only have this left, if it makes you feel any better," Percy offered, extending the crumpled blue wrapper. It was the only piece of home he had left, but Poseidon had made the letters readable. He had made him feel like his brain wasn't broken for the first time in his life.

"Here."

The boy snatched it up instantly, cradling the cheap plastic carefully between his fingers as if it were one of the glowing crystals from the deep caverns. Percy snorted. It was just trash. But Poseidon looked like he had never seen plastic before. And... maybe he hadn't. Percy didn't understand the rules of this place, but he knew Poseidon was being kept here to hide from someone no one dared to name.

He hesitated, then finally whispered, "Why are you hiding?"

"My father eats his children," Poseidon said plainly, still fascinated by the blue wrapper, turning it over and over like it might do something new. "There are three of them in his stomach right now. They are awake. Sometimes, I can feel them pulling at the low tide."

Percy froze. A cold horror crawled up his spine. He didn't know what was worse, the fact that such a nightmare was real, or that Poseidon was talking about it as if he were describing the weather.

"And—and you?"

"He ate a baby horse instead of me," Poseidon said. He folded the wrapper with meticulous care, finally looking up to study Percy's face with an intense gleam. "What about your father?"

"Don't have one," Percy mumbled, looking down at his hands and scraping his fingernails against the rough stone.

"Everything has one," Poseidon stated matter-of-factly.

"Fine. Mine's lost at the sea," Percy said it flat. "That's the bedtime story. Mom says he's out there somewhere and someday he'll come find me." He kicked at the water, watching the fish scatter. "I used to believe that when I was a baby. Guess I'm still waiting."

Poseidon tilted his head. "The sea does not lose things," he said slowly, like the idea offended him. "It keeps them. Always. That is what it does."

"It's an expression," Percy muttered. "It means nobody knows where he is."

"Then someone is wrong," Poseidon declared. "The sea does not misplace what belongs to it."

"…Yeah, well. He's not calling it in anytime soon." Percy picked at a loose thread on his sleeve. "So either the sea's wrong, or he just doesn't want to be found. Same difference, I guess."

"Then he is a coward," Poseidon added generously. "Whoever he is."

Percy let out a breath, a bitter, small sound. "Yeah. He's a coward."

The other boy went quiet for a moment, turning something over. "But he is not the only man in your house," he noted. "You said your mother has a husband. The one who does not like the blue food." His head tilted. "Is he not your father?"

Gabe. Percy thought of the fat, terrible man. He wanted to change the subject. He wanted to run away. But for some reason, sitting here in the dark with this strange boy, he didn't.

"He's..." Percy swallowed hard. "He's not my dad," he finished lamely.

Poseidon’s green eyes lingered on his face, tracing the faint yellowing bruise on his jaw. "Do you want me to kill him?" he asked, completely out of the blue.

For one terrifying heartbeat, Percy actually considered it. He had spent his whole life smelling stale beer and cheap cigars, being locked out of his own home, knowing his mom was trapped with a monster. When he was home, Gabe treated him like trash, throwing him around whenever Percy spoke up or got too smart.

"…You can't," Percy said at last, his voice trembling slightly. "You don't even know where he is."

"Tell me his name," Poseidon demanded.

"Gabe," Percy whispered. "His name is Gabe."

"Ga-be," Poseidon repeated, tasting the syllables between his shark-like teeth, as if he were already shredding the man to pieces. He said it again, quieter, like he was filing it away somewhere it wouldn't get lost. "Gabe."

The water around Percy's ankles suddenly went icy cold, but he didn't say a word. When he glanced down, the pool had crept up higher up his shins than it had been a second ago.

A long moment passed between them, the cave returning to the gentle sound of dripping water.

"And what is yours?" Poseidon asked quietly.

A sudden, breathless laugh tore through Percy's throat. It was the ninth time the boy had asked, and the ninth time Percy had refused. A spark of childish joy leaped in his chest.

"You have to earn it," Percy teased, giving Poseidon a playful, light shove on his shoulder.

Poseidon’s brows knit together in confusion.

"Earn," he repeated slowly, testing the shape like he'd tested Gabe's name. "How does one earn a thing that is already—" he stopped himself, jaw tightening.

"You'll figure it out," Percy said, grinning despite himself.

Poseidon didn't say anything else. But the freezing water melted, turning very, very warm.

They were playing by the shallows one late afternoon, Percy trying to teach Poseidon how to skip a stone; a lost cause, since the water kept flattening itself the second the rock touched it, like it refused to let anything Poseidon threw actually sink. Poseidon found it hilarious. Percy found it deeply unfair.

It was a good day.

Then Poseidon went still, the way he did right before he wanted something.

"Come here," he demanded.

Percy rolled his eyes. He almost stood still just because he could, but his feet carried him over anyway. "What is it?" he asked, crossing his arms.

Poseidon extended his hand, palm up. "Give me your hand."

"What for?"

"You'll see."

Percy hesitated, but he placed his hand in the boy's anyway, trusting him. Poseidon wasn't so bad once you got past the weird habits, and Percy was finally getting used to him.

Then, white-hot pain shot up his palm.

A sharp hiss escaped through Percy's teeth, and tears welled instantly, spilling over his eyelashes. He snapped his gaze down. A thick shard of glass—reflecting strange, swirling shapes—was pressed deep into his skin. Red blood was already welling around the edges. Before Percy could pull away, Poseidon gently folded Percy's fingers over the glass, forming a fist, and squeezed. He pressed firmly, forcing the shard deeper.

Percy clenched his jaw so hard his teeth ached, his vision swimming with pain.

Red droplets fell from his hand, dripping into the ocean and instantly dissolving into the surf.

"Now the sea knows you," Poseidon said. His green eyes were wide, unblinking, and strangely gentle. He spoke as though he were offering a precious gift.

As if he hadn't just mutilated him.

Percy ripped his hand away with a choked cry, the glass slicing even deeper as it dragged across his skin. He feared the cut had reached the bone. Shaking, he forced his stiff fingers to peel open. He snatched the bloody shard of glass from his palm and hurled it into the ocean as far as he could.

"Why did you do that?" Poseidon demanded, looking genuinely baffled.

Percy whirled on him, cradling his bleeding hand close to his chest. "You—you can't just press glass into my hand!"

Poseidon's forehead creased. A flash of hurt washed over his face, passing so quickly Percy almost missed it, before it was replaced by something vast and old and out of proportion to the moment. His hand clamped around Percy's wrist like a vice.

Around them, the ocean began to bubble. The water churned into agitated, violent waves that crashed against the shore, growing louder and larger by the second. The very air rippled. A sudden gale tore at Percy's hair with so much force he had to sink his toes deep into the wet sand to keep his balance, which was nearly impossible as the beach itself began to shift and roll beneath his feet.

Above them, a storm crackled to life across the heavens, the sky bruising into pitch-black fury.

"This was my gift to you!" Poseidon roared.

"You don't get to hurt me and call it a present!" Percy screamed back, his voice straining to be heard over the rising thunder. "You don't—you can't! That's not what love is!"

Poseidon went completely still.

The wind howled around them, but the boy’s eyes locked onto Percy’s with sudden intensity. "…That is what everyone does."

Percy's throat tightened. He looked away, his voice dropping. "Yeah," he muttered. "I know."

Poseidon’s face crumpled. He looked as though he were fighting an invisible battle inside his own head. Slowly, he stepped back, releasing Percy's wrist, though his fingertips lingered on Percy's skin for a fraction of a second before dropping away.

As soon as the contact broke, the tide stilled. The waves flattened, clearing all the way to the horizon, leaving only the quiet air.

"I don't know how to have you without holding you," the boy whispered.

Percy bit his lip, staring at his bleeding palm. "My mom's never hurt me. Not once. Not ever. Not even by accident." He swallowed. "That's how I know it's supposed to feel. It's supposed to feel like nothing at all."

Poseidon's brow furrowed. "Nothing happened, and it was still love?"

"Yeah."

"That sounds like less."

"It's not less," Percy snapped. "It's the whole point. You're just supposed to be safe."

Poseidon looked at him—really looked at him—but he didn't apologize. He never did.

"Does it ever hurt her?" he asked instead. "Loving you?"

Percy blinked, thrown by the question. "… No. I don't think so. Not the loving part."

Poseidon’s face went thoughtful, his sea-green eyes staring deep into Percy's as he turned the idea over like a stone he wasn't sure was worth keeping. Finally, he gave a slow, solemn nod—not agreement, exactly.

"Little Lord!"

Kapheira's frantic voice sliced through the quiet. She skidded to a halt on the wet shore, her gaze snapping instantly to Percy's bloodied hand, then to the retreating storm clouds, and finally to Poseidon, who was standing three feet away, not touching the boy he had been glued to since the day he found him.

Her expression completely collapsed. She looked absolutely terrified.

"We need to go inside!" Kapheira urged, her voice trembling. "Come! Quickly! Inside!"

Percy turned, opening his mouth to answer her, one foot already sliding forward, when the sea froze.

The waves stood completely still mid-break, as though held up by invisible hands. Above them, a gull hung motionless in the air. The constant sound of hammering beneath the earth stopped.

Percy blinked. Poseidon had one hand reaching out for him, his face frozen into a mask of fear. Kapheira’s hair was caught mid-whip, her head tilted upward with wide, panicked eyes.

"…Poseidon?" Percy whispered. He reached out and touched the boy's hand. It was freezing cold.

He stumbled back.

"Kapheira!" He tried next, pulling desperately at her clothes, but she didn’t budge.

A shiver crept up his spine. Fear gripped him. He turned toward the horizon, and for one long moment, he felt a massive, ancient presence watching him from the deep.

He ran.

He ran and ran, trying to lead the unseen thing away from the shore, away from the hidden cave—just... away. But no matter how far he pushed his seven-year-old legs, no matter how hard his lungs protested, everything around him remained dead and frozen.

This isn't working, he realized, sliding to a halt. Then, he thought of Poseidon’s flat words—my father eats his children—and his breath hitched.

He turned back to the shore, forcing his legs into the still water. Moving through the frozen surf was like wading through solid rock, but he dragged himself forward until he was standing directly between Poseidon and the horizon.

I can move, he thought, his fingers pulling frantically at a loose thread on his shirt. No one else can. Only me.

He looked at Poseidon's frozen back, then turned his head to glare back at the shadow on the horizon. That thing wants me. But the sea... the sea is him.

And there was only one thing the sea wanted.

He scrambled onto the ledge, getting directly in front of Poseidon. He stared deep into those frozen green eyes, searching for even a fraction of movement, and swallowed the lump in his throat when he found none.

He thought of the kitchen. The wall. The bottle rolling against his knuckles while everything went dark. He hadn't been fast enough then.

He was not going to fail this one.

"My name is Perseus."

The world shattered.

Instantly, the sea rushed forward, the breath of the wind slamming back into the earth. Poseidon’s eyelids blinked.

"You gave it to me," the boy breathed, wonder cracking against the terror clinging to his face. "You—you gave it to me."

"Yeah," Percy said, his heart hammering against his ribs. "Now let me go."

"No." Poseidon's hand shot out and closed around his wrist, and the grip was not gentle. "No, you can't. You said I could keep you."

"I never said that."

"You're mine. I found you. I kept you—"

"You don't get to keep me and call it love," Percy said, and his voice shook but it didn't break. "Same rule. It's the same rule."

Poseidon's face crumpled like something enormous had been dropped on it. His grip didn't loosen, if anything it tightened, his knuckles going white around Percy's wrist.

"You are not mine," he said. He sounded like he was reading it off something far away, something he didn't want to say and couldn't stop saying.

His hand opened.

The tide pulled back from the shore all at once, a mile of retreating water, like the whole ocean had flinched.

Percy stumbled, suddenly weightless without Poseidon's hand holding him steady. He looked down on the mark blooming on his wrist, then up at the boy's face.

Poseidon searched Percy's face, a desperate, childish panic breaking through. He closed his eyes and pressed his fingers over the pulse point on Percy’s wrist one last time, feeling the beat with frantic desperation, like he was trying to memorize it.

"Please," he whispered, his voice cracking. "Come back."

Percy managed a small smile. "Yeah. I'll find you."

"Promise?"

Percy squeezed his hand. "Promise."

A sudden, violent snap tore through the air, and the darkness claimed him.

It rained on Rhodes for nine days, and it tasted like salt and nothing else.

The TV blasted against the buzz in his ears.

Gabe was towering above him, one hand reaching down, and Percy snapped.

A high-pitched, deafening screech cut through the apartment. Water exploded from the sink, bursting through the pipes and spraying from the walls, soaking the floor in a freezing deluge. Percy's hands pressed hard against the cool, wet hardwood. His bleeding hand—bleeding?—wasn't bleeding anymore, but he pressed it flat against the water as though he were still standing on that beach.

"Away!" Mom screamed, throwing her weight forward and shoving Gabe back. "Get away from my son!"

Percy was pulled into her arms. His brain felt like it was sloshing in his skull, a blinding migraine already forming behind his eyes. It hurt so bad.

"It hurts, Mom…" he whimpered, burying his face in her shoulder.

"I know, I know. Mom will make it better," she whispered back, her voice frantic as she carried him down the hall, tucking him securely into his bed.

"Mom, I made a promise to someone," he mumbled, his brow furrowing as the thoughts began to slip away, suddenly feeling miles out of reach.

A laugh. Dark sand. Warm water.

"To who, baby?" Sally asked softly.

"…I don't know."

Sally’s face fell. She pressed a tender kiss to his forehead, hiding her worried look behind a warm, comforting smile that instantly made him feel safer.

"I'm sure it was someone very important," she whispered. She quietly slipped out of the room, closing the door behind her just as the screaming started up again in the living room.

Percy rolled onto his side, watching the rain patter against the windowpane. He blinked. The water ran down the glass in thick droplets, and for a fleeting second, it held perfectly still, forming a shape.

He could read it.

Percy pushed himself up on his elbows, staring.

Π ε ρ σ ε ύ ς.

Perseus.

That's my name, he thought. He had no idea how he knew that, but he was so tired, and his head felt so heavy. His eyelids fluttered closed, and the darkness dragged him back under.

In the corner of the room, three spiders hung silently from the ceiling. One of them was tying a thread, pulling the knot tight.

He forgot it by morning.

He forgot the dark sand, the ringing of the hammers, and the warm water. He forgot the boy with eyes like an incoming storm. He forgot all of it, for five more years.

But somebody didn't.