Chapter Text
Percy’s life was finally looking up. The Second Giant War had ended, and most of the rebuilding at Camp Half-Blood was done. The cabins stood tall again—some shinier than before, some still bearing scars from battle, but whole.
He and Annabeth’s plans to attend New Rome were no longer just distant hopes—they were tangible. Real.
Which, naturally, meant something was about to go wrong.
That’s just how Percy’s life worked.
His early memories were stained by the smell of Gabe’s cigars and beer, by the sound of slammed doors and shouted insults. He remembered being pulled out of yet another school, watching his mom pack their things with tired hands. Friendships never lasted. Teachers always wrote him off.
Then came Yancy Academy. Things were finally starting to look better—he’d met Grover, made a real friend. But then came Mrs. Dodds, demon math teacher from literal hell, and everything unraveled again.
Still, he had a brief stretch of calm. A weekend trip to Montauk. Just him and his mom. The sea. Peace. For once, the world felt okay. Then the Minotaur came crashing through it all, and he lost her.
Since then, life had followed a pattern: moments of safety shattered by something worse.
Case in point: he survived his sixteenth birthday, the prophecy fulfilled—but then he got kidnapped from his own cabin by Hera, stripped of his memories, and dropped into the start of a second war.
And that’s how we got to now.
He still didn’t quite trust his father’s cabin. Once you get snatched out of your bed in a place that’s supposed to be sacred, it’s hard to feel safe again. He kept the windows locked. Tucked Riptide close under his pillow. Woke at the slightest noise.
Which, of course, seemed to be exactly what fate had been waiting for.
That morning had actually been good. He’d spent it teaching hand-to-hand combat to the younger campers. Normally, he stuck to swordplay—hand-to-hand wasn’t that useful against monsters—but after his first summer at camp, Percy had made a point to learn it. You couldn’t always rely on celestial bronze. Not against mortals. Not against people like Gabe.
One of the new campers had that same guarded look. A little girl with a jagged edge in her smile, the way she flinched whenever someone moved too fast near her. She hadn’t said anything, but Percy recognized the signs. Camp wasn’t a stranger to kids from abusive homes.
So he showed them how to throw punches, how to block, how to fall without getting hurt.
She smiled. Just once. But it was real.
He’d gotten good over the years—his natural battle instincts made him a quick study. After his first two years at camp, he could outmatch most of the Ares kids in sparring. He’d pulled from everything he could find: boxing, judo, jujitsu, krav maga, even some awkward karate katas. Mixed it with sword fighting. Built his own style. It played to demigod strengths—quick reflexes, enhanced speed, the unpredictability of ADHD. He’d even practiced fighting multiple opponents at once, figuring if monsters didn’t fight fair, he shouldn’t have to either.
The kids were picking it up quickly, and the little girl—Lena, her name was Lena—looked a little taller, a little stronger by the end of the lesson.
His day, for once, had been free of flashbacks. No sudden plunge into memories of Tartarus. No panic attacks. Just the sun on his face, sweat in his eyes, and laughter in the sparring ring.
That night, the campfire was loud and bright, crackling with joy and music. Someone was roasting marshmallows. Will was tuning his guitar. Annabeth had her head on Percy’s shoulder, the firelight catching in her hair.
And for a while—just a little while—Percy let himself believe it would last.
He remembered Lena’s smile as she landed her first clean punch.
He remembered Annabeth laughing when he dropped his s’more into the fire and tried to pretend he meant to do it.
He remembered how, when the music swelled, he actually got up to dance—awkwardly, badly, but without fear.
He remembered, because deep down, he already knew it couldn’t stay perfect.
Not for long.
…
But all of that—the peace, the laughter, Lena’s smile—made Percy more on edge.
Things were going too well. He was staring at the ceiling of his cabin waiting for the other foot to drop.
So when the voice echoed in his head, it sent a spike of ice down his spine.
“Please, Hero, help.”
It was a child’s voice. Young. Scared. Pained. Desperate. No more than four years old, maybe five.
It wasn’t just the words. It was the way she said them—the trembling breath, the rasp like she'd been crying for hours, the hopelessness bleeding through every syllable. Percy froze. His heart dropped into his stomach.
Because he knew that sound.
It was the same cracked tone he’d used when Gabe had one too many beers and took it out on him. That quiet, broken way of speaking that only came from long-term hurt. From knowing help never came. From being too small to fight back.
It tore through him like a jagged blade.
He didn’t even get time to react—no chance to ask who or how or why—before everything went dark.
The campfire vanished. The music, the laughter, the warmth—gone.
When Percy opened his eyes again, all he saw was white. Endless, shimmering white like he’d been swallowed by a snowstorm.
Then a figure appeared, cloaked in white from head to toe. He couldn’t see her face, but her voice was soft—gentle, even. Distinctly female. Motherly.
“Percy Jackson… I’m sorry.”
He tensed instantly.
Mystical, disembodied voices apologizing had never once ended well for him. That phrase usually came right before a curse, a betrayal, or a life-altering quest.
His hand twitched toward his pocket for Riptide, though he wasn’t even sure it had come with him.
The woman continued. “It seems that you are being summoned to my world.”
His wariness spiked. He narrowed his eyes, heart pounding in his chest. Summoned? This was already sounding way too close to a quest.
“The voice you heard… the little girl summoned you with her quirk. Because I gave up my ability to directly influence the world I reside over, I cannot stop it outright. So I pulled you here first—where time does not move—to explain, so you are not sent in blind.”
Percy’s suspicion didn’t fade, but the fact that she had pulled him here, to explain first, said something. Most gods just threw him into chaos and told him to figure it out.
She was… different.
Nicer. Calmer.
Which honestly worried him more.
He was already mourning the peace he’d built—the rare sense of safety that had been blooming again in his chest. He could feel it slipping through his fingers, even as he stood still.
“The world you are being summoned to is years in the future of your own, and in a place called Japan,” she went on. “I’m giving you the ability to understand and speak any language in that world to make your transition easier.”
Great. Now he was definitely suspicious. She was too helpful. Too kind. She hadn’t even insulted him once.
“In this world, eighty percent of the population has developed superpowers—called quirks. They usually appear around age four. A structured society of heroes and villains exists around them. Quirk use is regulated by an organization called the Hero Public Safety Commission. Heroes must earn licenses to legally use their abilities.”
She paused, as if gauging his reaction. Percy blinked slowly, trying to wrap his head around it.
“The little girl you heard is using her quirk for the first time—to summon you. The authorities will likely arrive soon after you appear to deal with her abuser. Among them will be a teacher from the top hero school, U.A. His name is Shouta Aizawa. I’ve made you fifteen—the age of the students in his class.”
Percy’s mouth twitched in dry humor. Of course she adjusted my age. Can’t throw me into high school drama as a war veteran, right?
“If you tell Aizawa the girl’s quirk summoned you, he should help. There will also be a police officer, Naomasa Tsukauchi. He has a lie detection quirk. He can verify your story. You may share as much or as little about your past as you choose.”
Percy was quiet, absorbing it all like sand soaking in water.
This was… huge.
It wasn’t a mission from Olympus. It wasn’t even a war. Not yet, anyway.
But it was a cry for help.
From a kid.
One who sounded like him.
The goddess continued gently, “To keep you from feeling entirely cut off, I can establish a mental link to your father. You’ll be able to speak with him in your mind, as I do. If you have any more questions—”
Percy didn’t hear the rest.
One question burned through the fog in his brain. It clawed its way out of his throat before he could stop it.
“Will I be able to go home?”
His voice cracked a little. It was quieter than he intended, and far more vulnerable.
The goddess paused.
Her answer wasn’t immediate.
And when it came, it wasn’t what he wanted.
“I don’t know.”
That hit him harder than it should’ve.
Percy’s throat went tight. The breath he hadn’t realized he was holding escaped in a slow exhale. He dropped his gaze, hands curling into fists.
Of course.
Of course it was maybe.
Of course the peace he’d found was being ripped away, again.
But even through the grief of it, through the anger and the fear and the exhaustion—he still heard that little voice.
“Please, Hero, help.”
He couldn’t ignore that.
He never had.
…
His vision went dark again.
When he opened his eyes, it was to a hauntingly familiar scene—one that made his stomach twist and his hands curl into fists.
A small, filthy apartment.
The stench hit him first—mold, body odor, old garbage, and the bitter stinging reek of spilled beer soaked into cheap carpet. The lights flickered overhead, casting long, uneven shadows across peeling wallpaper and broken furniture.
And in the middle of it all stood a man—drunk, swaying, red-faced and furious.
Towering over a child.
She was no older than four or five, curled into herself in the corner of the room, trying to vanish into the wall. Her arms were wrapped tightly around her knees. Her face was tear-streaked and pale. One cheek was bruised.
Percy didn’t think. He moved.
Before the man even registered his presence, Percy had closed the distance and slammed the back of his fist into the guy’s temple. The man crumpled instantly, knocked cold before he could turn to shout, before he could raise a hand.
Percy stood over him for a second, breathing hard, chest tight. He had to physically stop himself from hitting him again.
But then a sound broke through the silence.
A tiny, shaking breath.
He turned toward the girl slowly, softening his expression. She was still in the corner, arms clutched around herself, staring at him with wide, terrified eyes. Her lip trembled, but she didn’t cry. Not yet.
“Hey,” Percy said gently, kneeling down to her level. He kept his distance, palms open and visible. “It’s okay. I’m not gonna hurt you. I promise.”
Her eyes flicked from him to the man on the floor and back. She didn’t move.
“I know you’re scared,” he said, voice quiet. “You did something really brave, summoning me. That… that was incredible.”
He waited. No sudden movements. No reaching. Just stayed there, letting her choose.
Slowly, trembling, she inched toward him.
And then suddenly, without warning, she threw herself into his arms.
Percy caught her reflexively, and she clung to him like he was the only solid thing left in the world. Her tiny fingers fisted in his shirt, and then the dam broke.
She sobbed. Loud, gut-wrenching, gasping sobs that shook her entire body. Percy held her tighter, one hand gently cradling the back of her head.
“You’re safe now,” he murmured. “I’ve got you. No one’s going to hurt you again. I swear it.”
Her words were muffled, barely understandable through her tears.
“Y-You came…” she whispered. “I… I wished for a hero… and you came…”
That nearly undid him.
Percy swallowed hard, tightening his arms around her.
“I heard you,” he said softly. “I heard you, and I’m not going anywhere. I promise.”
She cried harder at that, but it was the kind of crying that meant she was starting to let go of the fear. Letting it drain out.
They stayed like that for a few minutes—just a quiet, broken space where the worst was over and healing hadn’t quite begun yet.
And then—
The front door burst open.
Uniformed police swept in first, cautious but efficient. Percy shifted so he was shielding the girl without letting go of her, but one officer raised a hand.
“It’s okay,” the man said. “We got the call.”
Then came another figure—a man in a dark, tactical-style jumpsuit, with long messy black hair and tired, sharp red eyes behind yellow goggles. His whole presence was calm but coiled, like a spring always ready to snap.
The girl peeked out from Percy’s shoulder. Her breath hitched.
The man saw her, his expression tightening. He took a step forward but didn’t speak yet.
Percy looked up at him and somehow knew.
This was the man the goddess told him about.
“Are you… Shouta Aizawa?” Percy asked, voice steady but low.
Aizawa’s eyes narrowed slightly. “Who are you?”
Percy adjusted the little girl in his arms, her weight oddly grounding, and said, “It’s… a long story. But she summoned me. With her quirk.”
Aizawa didn’t reply right away. But his golden eyes scanned Percy’s face—then dropped to the girl clinging to him. She hadn’t let go.
Another man stepped forward—older, in a police uniform with a kind expression and clear, focused eyes.
“I’m Officer Naomasa Tsukauchi,” he said calmly. “Mind if I ask a few questions?”
Percy nodded slowly. “Yeah… but fair warning? You’re probably not gonna believe a word of it.”
Naomasa gave him a faint smile. “That’s why I’m here.”
And somehow, that simple answer helped.
Because for the first time since the voice had called out, Percy felt like maybe—just maybe—he wasn’t alone in this strange new world.
…
The ride to the station was mostly quiet. The little girl hadn’t let go of Percy for a second—not when the medics checked her over, not when she was gently offered a blanket, not even when Aizawa himself crouched down to speak to her.
Percy didn’t mind. She needed comfort, and he was, somehow, the only person in this world she trusted right now.
The squad car was cramped with the two of them in the backseat, but Percy didn’t shift. She had curled into his side, thumb in her mouth, eyes heavy with exhaustion but too afraid to sleep.
“I don’t even know your name,” he whispered to her during the ride.
She blinked up at him. “Emiko,” she said quietly.
Percy gave her a soft smile. “Hi, Emiko. I’m Percy.”
The station was bright and sterile and cold, but Tsukauchi made sure they were brought to a quiet, private room with a padded bench and soft lighting. There were blankets, stuffed animals, even a small snack tray. Clearly, this world had dealt with traumatized kids before.
Emiko still didn’t let go.
When Percy was led to an adjacent room to be questioned, she wailed and clung to him. The officers relented almost immediately and let her stay—curled in his lap as Percy answered questions.
Naomasa sat across from them, his notebook open. “Let’s start with what you remember. You said she summoned you with her quirk?”
Percy nodded, trying to keep his voice steady as Emiko rested her head against his chest. “I… was in my world. And I heard her voice. Just—screaming inside my head. Pleading for help. The next thing I knew, I was there. With her. And him.” He jerked his head toward the holding cells where the unconscious man had been taken.
Naomasa's lie detection quirk activated each time Percy spoke. No signs of deception.
Aizawa stood in the corner of the room, arms crossed, silent. Watching.
“You’re not from this world,” Naomasa said slowly.
“No,” Percy admitted. “But I’m not here to cause trouble. I just… I want to make sure she’s okay.”
Emiko shifted against him and whispered something. Percy bent down, listening.
“She doesn’t want me to leave,” he told them.
Aizawa finally spoke. “Then you won’t. You’re coming with me.”
Percy blinked. “Wait—what?”
“She summoned you. She trusts you. And until we figure out how or why, it makes the most sense for you to stay close. I’ll take responsibility.”
Naomasa didn’t object. In fact, he nodded. “It may be the best option. UA has the security, the monitoring, and the resources to keep them both safe.”
Aizawa exhaled heavily, rubbed the back of his neck, and then stepped out of the room.
Percy watched him go with some uncertainty. Emiko’s small hand tightened around his finger.
In the hallway, Aizawa pulled out his phone and hit speed dial.
It rang once before a chipper voice answered. “Yamada speaking!”
“I need a favor,” Aizawa said bluntly. “Two, actually. One: we’re taking in a kid and a teen tonight. Emergency situation. Child summoned the teen using a quirk we haven’t seen before.”
There was a pause, then a much more serious response. “You sure?”
“Naomasa confirmed the story. His quirk didn’t detect a single lie. The teen—Percy—he’s powerful, but he’s calm. Protective. The girl won’t leave his side.”
“…Alright. What’s the second favor?”
“I need clearance from Nezu to bring them into UA housing. Quietly. No press, no records yet. I’ll call in every favor I have if I need to.”
“I’ll talk to Nezu. I’ll meet you there.”
“Thanks.”
Aizawa hung up and returned to the room. He glanced down at Percy and Emiko.
“UA’s ready. Pack up.”
Percy nodded, and with Emiko still cradled in his arms, followed Aizawa into the night.
Whatever this world had in store, he would face it—for her.
…
Emiko finally fell asleep on the drive to UA, curled up in Percy’s lap in the backseat of Aizawa’s car. The soft rumble of the engine and the rhythmic hum of tires on pavement seemed to soothe her in a way nothing else had. Her small fingers remained fisted in the fabric of Percy’s shirt, even in sleep.
Aizawa glanced at them in the rearview mirror. His gaze lingered longer than usual, the pale illumination of passing streetlights briefly catching the hard lines of concern etched into his face.
“You’ve been through hell, kid,” he said quietly, his voice rough but not unkind.
Percy didn’t respond right away. He looked down at himself instead—at the thin, pale scars that crisscrossed his forearms, the ones he’d earned in a place too dark and ancient for words. The flickering lights from passing cars revealed the faint lines of the SPQR brand burned into his skin, the only mark from another life that still carried weight here. His shirt—a soft orange Camp Half-Blood tee—was wrinkled and stained, the hem tugged loose by Emiko’s tiny fists. His jeans were scuffed and torn at the knee.
But more than that, he noticed something else. A quiet shift in the world around him.
He could feel the water.
Not just in the city’s pipes or the air’s humidity—but everywhere. Oceans, rivers, lakes—every drop within ten miles pulsed faintly in his awareness, like waiting soldiers listening for a command. It wasn’t overwhelming, but it was constant, sharper than before. Crisper.
Then came the blood.
That realization hit harder.
He didn’t know how he knew, but he could feel it—the living heartbeat of everyone nearby. The subtle rhythm of life pulsing under skin. He sucked in a breath, suddenly nauseous.
His hand twitched.
The air in the car felt thinner.
“Hey.”
Aizawa’s voice cut through the rising panic. Steady. Grounded. He didn’t turn around, but his tone had changed—softer now. Calmer. Intentional.
“You alright back there?”
Percy blinked, forcing his breaths to even out. Emiko stirred slightly in his arms, a soft noise escaping her lips. Her head pressed more firmly against his chest, and that tiny, unconscious motion helped anchor him.
“Yeah,” Percy said eventually, voice quieter. “Just… got hit with something weird. Everything’s sharper. Louder. Like I got rewired or something.”
Aizawa didn’t respond right away, but he nodded slowly, thoughtful.
“You’re taking this pretty well,” he finally said. “Most people get summoned into an entirely different world and they don’t just… adapt. You haven’t asked about going home. Or panicked. Or even gotten angry.”
Percy gave a tired chuckle—dry and brittle. “Well,” he muttered, “at least I have my memory this time.”
That made Aizawa glance at him fully for a moment, eyes narrowing slightly, expression unreadable.
Percy waved a hand halfheartedly. “Long story. Magic amnesia. Been there, done that.”
He shifted Emiko gently, brushing a bit of hair from her face. She barely stirred.
“It’s not that I’m not freaking out,” Percy added after a moment. “It’s just… I’ve kind of gotten used to the rug being pulled out from under me. Chaos, monsters, gods, world-ending quests—you stop reacting after a while. At some point, you either laugh about it or go crazy.”
Aizawa didn’t laugh. He didn’t speak either.
He just drove.
But his eyes flicked to the rearview mirror again and lingered. This time, he didn’t hide the quiet worry behind his gaze.
Percy caught it. Didn’t comment. Didn’t blame him either. He knew what he looked like—a fifteen-year-old kid with the eyes of someone who’d lived through too many battles. Who’d survived things he never should’ve.
And somehow, after losing everything he knew, he was holding a scared little girl like she was the only thing that still made sense.
Maybe she was.
They drove on in silence, the city lights giving way to darker roads as UA’s towering campus came into view. And still, Emiko slept.
And Percy held on.
To her.
To what little calm he had left.
To whatever came next.
…
The gates of UA loomed ahead—tall, sleek, and shining faintly under the stars. Percy didn’t know what he had expected of a hero school in this world, but the building had an oddly serene feel to it. Not cold. Just quiet. Peaceful. Like a sleeping giant.
Which, considering the goddess had said the students were his age… maybe that was exactly what it was.
The car slowed as they pulled past the main campus buildings, then circled toward what Aizawa described as the staff apartments. Percy was surprised by how… normal it looked. Compact. Lived-in. The kind of place with mismatched slippers by the door and mugs someone forgot to wash.
Aizawa shut off the engine.
“She’s out,” Percy said quietly, glancing down at Emiko.
She had finally fallen asleep on the ride, curled tightly against him like she was afraid even her dreams might abandon her. Her tiny hands were still tangled in his shirt, and her little brow was furrowed in sleep.
“Come on,” Aizawa murmured. “We’ll get you both settled.”
He led the way through a side entrance, past a few softly glowing panels that flickered on at his approach. Inside, the apartment was quiet, the only sound the low hum of the fridge and the distant breeze through slightly cracked windows.
Percy followed silently, trying not to jostle Emiko as she slept. His arms ached, but he didn’t dare let her go.
Aizawa opened a door to the guest room. It was simple but clean—fresh linens, soft lighting, a folded blanket at the edge of the bed. Someone had taken the time to leave a small basket of comfort items on the dresser. Tea bags. A heat pack. A stuffed rabbit.
He stood in the doorway for a second, hesitating.
“She probably won’t let go,” Percy said.
Aizawa gave a faint grunt. “Then don’t make her.”
Percy moved slowly, carefully settling down onto the bed, keeping her nestled against his side. She shifted in her sleep but didn’t wake. Just let out a little sigh and clutched tighter.
“I’ll give you a few minutes,” Aizawa said. “But you’re not done for the night.”
Percy nodded. “Didn’t think I would be.”
Aizawa stepped out.
A few minutes later, the living room lights brightened faintly as two new figures entered.
The first was a blur of yellow and black, a bundle of energy wrapped in a hero costume and a truly astonishing amount of volume.
“Sho!” came the excited whisper. “You didn’t tell me we were getting visitors—let alone interdimensional ones!”
“Keep your voice down, Hizashi,” Aizawa said, tone bone-tired. “The kid’s asleep.”
“Oh! Right, right. Stealth mode.”
The man—Present Mic, Percy realized with a sudden flicker of recognition—was someone the goddess had briefly mentioned during his arrival, describing a loud but loyal friend of Aizawa’s. That, combined with the familiar energy and the yellow-black costume, clicked into place.
He caught Percy’s gaze and gave him a finger wave and a soft smile. “Hey there. You must be the visitor. I’m Yamada Hizashi. Sho’s husband. Welcome to UA.”
Before Percy could respond, a small, fluffy shadow padded in after him.
Principal Nezu was… not what Percy expected.
The mouse-sized creature looked up at him with bright eyes and an eerie amount of insight for something so tiny. Percy recalled the goddess mentioning a "wise and surprisingly small principal" who oversaw this place. Now, seeing Nezu’s calm demeanor and intelligent gaze, it all made sense.
“Ah. So this is the young man who was summoned. Percy Jackson, I presume?”
“Uh. Yeah.”
“Well. We’re quite glad you’re here—though I’m sorry for the circumstances. I understand it’s been a rather long night for all of you.”
Percy gave a dry smile. “Understatement of the century.”
Present Mic chuckled. “Kid’s got a sense of humor. Good sign.”
Nezu gave a thoughtful nod, then turned to Aizawa. “And Eri?”
“Already asleep,” Aizawa said. “She didn’t wake up once. The kids don’t need to know anything until morning.”
“Smart,” Nezu said. “We’ll keep it contained. I’ll work out a proper cover story for him in the meantime. Transfer paperwork, ID, the works.”
Percy blinked. “You’re… just going to let me stay?”
“We’re a hero school,” Nezu said simply. “Our job is to protect the next generation—and it seems like one of them decided she needed you. That’s enough for me.”
Hizashi smiled gently. “Besides… anyone who can make Sho bring a kid home without grumbling too much is already part of the family, you know?”
Aizawa grunted something unintelligible but didn’t argue.
“Get some rest,” Nezu said. “We’ll talk more in the morning.”
The two left soon after. Aizawa lingered by the doorway, watching Percy and Emiko for a long moment.
“She’ll probably wake up once or twice tonight,” he murmured. “Nightmares. If you need anything…”
“I’ll manage,” Percy said.
Aizawa gave a tired nod and finally slipped away.
In the dim light of the guest room, Percy lay back against the headboard. Emiko didn’t stir. Her breathing had evened out, and she was finally, truly asleep.
He glanced at the window. New stars. New sky.
At least this time, he remembered who he was.
“Progress,” he whispered to himself.
And closed his eyes.
Not to rest. Not yet.
Just to listen.
To her heartbeat. To the distant sound of running water. To the whisper of wind in a world not his own.
And to the promise he’d made.
He was still her hero.
And tomorrow… he’d find out what that really meant.
…
The light filtering through the blinds was soft and golden, brushing across Percy’s face as he blinked awake. The room was still and warm, quiet save for the steady breathing of the child curled against him. Emiko was tucked under his arm, clutching the fabric of his t-shirt even in sleep.
It was strange how quickly comfort could form out of chaos.
He moved gently, adjusting her slightly so she wouldn’t wake. When she didn’t stir, he slipped away, sat on the edge of the bed, and rubbed a hand over his face.
His senses were still screaming.
He could feel everything—the moisture in the walls, in the air, in the earth outside. He could sense condensation sliding down pipes a floor away, droplets on a leaf in the quad garden below. Even more disturbing, he could feel the pulse of blood in every person in range. Ten miles, maybe more. A vast map of motion, heartbeat, and warmth. It was too much.
He took a slow breath, centering himself. That’s when the voice came.
“It’s about time,” said a familiar rumble, one that carried salt and steel and surf.
Percy stilled. “Dad?”
“I felt the shift when you crossed over. You’re leaking power like a cracked dam, Perseus.”
Percy didn’t answer right away. The sound of his father’s voice brought a flood of emotion—comfort, confusion, grief, and the overwhelming sense of being seen after drifting alone.
“I figured the Tartarus thing screwed me up. But this?” He closed his eyes. “I’m falling apart.”
“You’re changing,” Poseidon said. “Tartarus broke the anchor holding you to mortality. Dimensional travel finished the job. You’re closer to what I am than what you were.”
“Great,” Percy muttered. “Can’t wait to start glowing.”
“You won't. But you’ll feel more. Everything. That’s your gift—and your burden. Control it, or drown in it.”
Percy leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “How do I control it?”
“Focus on what you choose to feel. Learn the shape of silence. Anchor yourself. The more you fight the current, the stronger it drags you under. Flow with it.”
Percy breathed slowly. He could feel the tide of energy and life around him, not trying to hurt him, just there. Maybe if he listened to it like the ocean instead of trying to block it out…
“I’ll try.”
“You always do.”
And then the presence faded, as quickly as it came.
…
In the kitchen, the smell of pancakes was already spreading through the air. Aizawa stood at the stove, hair tied back, wearing a plain black t-shirt and loose sweatpants. His movements were casual, but his eyes tracked Percy as he entered.
“You look like you didn’t sleep,” Aizawa said without turning.
Percy gave a tired smile. “I’m guessing you didn’t either.”
“No.” He flipped a pancake. “But I’m used to it.”
Emiko appeared a moment later, rubbing sleep from her eyes, and Percy immediately bent down to greet her. She grabbed his hand and didn’t let go—but when Eri wandered into the kitchen behind her, sleepily dragging her favorite blanket, something shifted.
The two girls locked eyes. Eri blinked once, then offered her blanket out just a little.
“Your hair’s messy,” she said softly to Emiko.
Emiko tilted her head. “So’s yours.”
And that was that. They sat next to each other, knees touching, whispering like they’d known each other forever.
Percy finally let out a breath.
Aizawa poured syrup over a growing stack of pancakes and passed a plate to each of them.
They ate in companionable quiet, the girls giggling softly at the table, trading bites and braiding messy strands of hair. Percy watched them with a faint smile, absently rotating the fork in his fingers as his eyes glazed over for a moment.
Aizawa caught it.
“You alright?” he asked, not sharply, but with the calm weight of someone used to catching unraveling threads.
Percy blinked out of the haze and looked up. “Yeah. Just… still adjusting. My head’s a little full.”
Aizawa set his coffee down. “You were tense last night too. Like you were listening to something no one else could hear.”
Percy gave a soft laugh. “That’s… more accurate than you know.”
A pause. Then, slowly, Aizawa said, “I’ve worked with students who’ve had sensory overload—quirks that picked up too much, too fast. It’s not the same, I know. But... you’re reacting like someone drowning in input.”
Percy glanced down at the surface of his water glass. Tiny ripples spiraled outward, pulsing gently with his heartbeat.
“That’s a good word for it,” Percy said. “Drowning.”
“You’re not showing it,” Aizawa noted. “But you’re carrying something—multiple somethings. It’s a lot for a kid.”
Percy exhaled, letting the glass go still. “It’s not exactly new. Just… sharper now. Like someone turned the volume up and broke the knob.”
Aizawa didn't press, but his brow furrowed faintly.
“I can’t claim to understand what you’re dealing with,” he said eventually. “But I’ve seen how pressure builds. Just… don’t try to handle it all alone.”
Percy gave a tired smile. “Thanks. That means more than you know.”
A beat of quiet. Then Aizawa stood, gathering his empty mug and plate. “We’ll head to Class 1-A soon. The kids are still passed out from training yesterday. Try not to judge them too harshly.”
“Only if I get to grade them on dramatic entrances.”
Aizawa snorted. “You might fit in better than I thought.”