Chapter Text
Persephone Jackson always knew she was different. When she was four, she had her first dream. Not the dreams her classmates would talk about, the ones where they would be riding giant puppies across rainbows and other ridiculous stuff like that, but dreams of the past. It started when Gabe had hit her hard enough to leave a bruise, and she wished that her real dad would come and whisk her away from him, and the nightmare that her life was becoming.
That night, she dreamt of a teenage girl who got separated from her loving family and accosted by a monster wearing a man’s skin, as his friends laughed and jeered at her. Eventually, they moved on, and left her for dead, broken in body and spirit. As soon as the monster was gone, a man, no, not a man, a god, appeared. He was powerful, feeling like the waves towering over ships, the winds screaming with rage, the earth shattering beneath his fury. Not with the girl, never with the girl, now scarred for life and almost certain to be mocked by those above her, but with his son, the monster who hurt her that way, who was powerful and influential enough to silence her, and countless others who he thought he could hurt. Scared and angry, the girl lashes out, only to be met with silence, not bitter, nor scornful, but sorrowful, mourning the loss of her innocence.
He let her get it out of her system, before taking her to a temple. Not the temple that many believe, but one that screams of protection, maidenhood, avenging anger. He explains to her what he can do, and the seer bears witness to a lost piece of history, of a girl becoming a goddess, an avenger of those hurt by men, of those unable to defend themselves. She watches as the newly born goddess, named Medusa gynaikōn prostatēs, transforms her sisters into beings capable of defending themselves, knowing the monster will come after them once he knows she is not dead. The watcher awakens then, gasping for breath at the sheer power she felt flowing through her veins, and she knows that what she just saw was the truth, that Medusa was not a cursed monster, but a blessed goddess. She also knows that she cannot tell anyone what she just saw. Persephone Jackson takes a deep breath as she settles back into her skin, and then she starts to cry. Not because it was an awful dream, but because she wishes she could be saved from the monster in her life.
Percy’s mom used to be around, but then she and the monster got into a screaming match. She packed her bags and left. Left behind her makeup, her fancy shoes, her nice dresses, and her daughter. That night was the worst the monster was. He got in her bed. Percy had the vision about Medusa again when she fell asleep, bruised and filthy. She was five.
Some of the visions she had most often were of the pantheon. She dreamt of lighting crackling across skin and justice being served, of shadows boiling and the final rest, of waves lapping against the shore and the tremors of the earth, of metal clanging and lava burning, of the weight of responsibility and the duty of a wife, of the acrid taste of wine and the madness of the mind, of the cooing of doves and the armor of a warrior, of the talons of an owl and a spearhead against the sternum, of quick flighty laughter and worn down sandals, of a sword raised for a cause and bloodshed with honor, of grain in the fields and the giggling of a child, of moonlight and rage and protection, and the one that scared her the most, because he always knew when she arrived, sunshine and archery and the whispers of the future and hands over a broken body, healing it with all his might, rage and fury for those who would dare touch the ones under his protection. As she grew older, and her visions started increasing in intensity and frequency, he started getting more and more desperate, begging her to please just let me help you and call and I’ll come and why can’t I find you.
Now, she’s six. She’s started dreaming of current events, of a bitter, angry boy, and a charmed, cursed girl. She watches as they accidentally destroy a small, well-fed child’s first architectural masterpiece, and watches as she flies into a rage, calling them monsters and attacking them with a hammer. She watches on with bitterness as the small girl says her family doesn’t want her. The watcher knows that’s a lie, she knows what it’s like to be unwanted, to be left behind with the makeup and the dresses and the shoes. The watcher knows that the cursed girl knows that’s not the entire truth either, knows that the cursed girl also had a monster in her life, and watches with envy, knowing that the cursed girl got away from her monster, while she was stuck with hers. The watcher watches, always watching, as the angry boy is taken in by the fighting spirit of the spoiled girl, and charms the cursed child into going against her beliefs, into joining another family, and the seer knows that the charmed girl has found a new monster, and mourns for her, for her fate has been set. She will not reach safety, not for six years.
She wakes up then, because her monster has started yelling at the building manager who has come about rent being due, and Percy knows to sneak out the fire escape, otherwise the monster will hurt her when he’s done. Sure enough, phantom pains covering her arms, legs, and lower back disappear as soon as she makes it to the street. She knows that she has to make it to the park, and then she’ll be safe. If well meaning neighbours see her, then they’ll send her back, and it’ll be worse than if she’d just stayed.
She knows that the park is safe, because one of the Sea Prince’s Royal Cyclops’ is posted there. She doesn’t know why, but she does know that she’ll be safe there. Whenever the monster starts noticing that there isn’t as much food as there should be, and she has to stay in the park for a few days, there’s always a new, unopened box of her favorite protein bars at her usual bench. She noticed that there was also another girl who is at the park a lot more than she should be, and something about her feels like speardrumshieldmarchingofftowar, and the two had formed a tentative alliance. She shares the protein bars whenever her ally looks hungry, and her ally will defend her from the boys who try to pick on her and steal her food. She knows that her notafriendnotyet also has trouble at home, but it’s not until today that she knows how bad it is. Her friend will die if she doesn’t do something, her mom will forget that she’s home, and safe, and that her daughter is not the enemy, and will grab the gun that is permanently housed in its holster on her hip, and oneshottwothreegonedeadwhywhyWHY, and will be so horrified when she comes back, that the last three bullets will find their home in her soon. She is so scared for Clarisse that she tells her that she should tell her teacher what’s going on at home, that her mom is really sick, and that the adults can help her feel better.
It isn’t until art at her school that she realizes her cord will be cut if she does not act, because her hands have moved on their own and drawn her first vision, and the teacher has seen the goddess in her most recognized form, and thinks that she recognizes the temple, but it’s thewrongtemplethewrongmanthewrongstory and now she’s calling home and Persephone Jackson is going to die at the hands of the monster. Gabe comes to pick her up, and she knows he doesn’t know the details, knows he doesn’t care, knows that she is at a crossroads and that she must choose.
The walk home is silent, his grip on her hand bruising, and quietly she asks if she can go to the park before he hurts her, but that was the wrong thing to say because his eyes flash with rage and his grip tightens impossibly and something in her hand shifts and cracks and its broken and ithurtsohgodsithurtssobadsomebodyhelp. The only outward acknowledgement she gives to the pain is a clenched jaw, an invisible wince, a silent whimper. He notices, which should have been impossible, but he does, and then that’s when she knows, she knows that he is planning on killing her, that if it is completely up to him, she will not leave the apartment alive. Something in his eyes change, they almost appear to be softer, and he grunts that she can have five minutes. She doesn’t know why the monster has granted her this bit of kindness, but she will not question it. As soon as they get to the park and he lets go, she goes to the Royal Cyclops that has been there for as long as she can remember, and she says six words.
“He is going to kill me.”
Immediately, the Cyclops’ full attention is on her, his single unblinking eye staring right into her own.
“I need the protection of the sea. I request asylum.” Persephone Jackson is terrified, terrified that she miscalculated, that this Cyclops will not be able to help her, terrified that her secret will be revealed, but mostly she is terrified of going back to the apartment and her certain demise. “Please.”
The monster has noticed that she is not where she is supposed to be, and he is coming, full of rage and anger and fear. The Cyclops has noticed him by now, his eye narrowing with anger and disgust, before he looks at Persephone and gives her a single nod, and speaks to her for the first time.
“The Sea grants your request for asylum. The First Prince will momentarily ensure your safe arrival to Atlantis.”
As soon as he finishes speaking, she feels the distant call of a conch horn, the cool feel of ocean mist, and the grief of a mourning father, all wrapped up into a cold, unyielding shield keeping everything out. A moment later, she is gone, having been transported to the throne room of Atlantis.
———
Poseidon is furious. How dare that mortal treat his only demigod daughter that way? Damn the non-interference rules; his daughter was being abused and raped in her own home, and if that scum thought that he could get away with it, he was in for a fucking suprise. Damn his little brother for his trigger happy policies. If he had even shown the slightest interest in his daughter, then she wouldn’t have lived for another minute. Most of all, Damn the fates for forcing his daughter to be born to that lowlife woman! Sally Jackson wasn’t worth a moment of his time, but it was him or Zeus, and if Zeus met her, they would have had another Beryl Grace on their hands, and by the fates! No way would he subject another child to that situation! But he tried to reign himself in. His daughter that he could not acknowledge had just requested asylum to a kingdom she should not have known existed, and was kneeling in front of him, appearing half her age due to malnutrition.
“Rise, dear child. You have no reason to be afraid. You have been granted asylum in my kingdom, I shall not strike you down.”
As he watches her slowly rise, something inside him rages, seeing her sunken, dead eyes, appearing like that of a war refugee, and not in the slightest what a six year old should look like, full of joy and laughter and light. No, she appears like she came from the Fields of Punishment in his brother's realm, and he knows, in a way, she has. She has survived what would shatter many others, and she has not broken.
“I’m sorry for requesting asylum out of nowhere, King Poseidon." His heart breaks a little. He assumed that she knew who she was, and that was why she came to him, but it appears she doesn’t, and she was just desperate to find a way to escape.
“I would never turn away a child from my domain, especially one that needed intervention in such a dire situation.”
Her eyes widen, and he realizes that she didn’t know that he knew the full extent of her home life. He rises from his throne, and approaches her, clearly broadcasting his intentions. He reaches her, and finally, for the first time in their lives, he hugs his daughter.
“I am sorry that you had to go through such awful treatment. Why must the fates do this to the best of our children?”
The confusion on her face was immediate.
“What? I can’t be a demigod. I’m not a hero.”
Poseidon decides, right there, right then, that his daughter will not go any longer without knowing her true parentage.
“Persephone Jackson, you are a demigod. You are my daughter.” As he finishes his sentence, a glowing trident appears over her head, the traditional claiming symbol that he figured she might recognize, considering that she was knowledgeable in things used long ago, fates know how.