Chapter Text
Poseidon's gaze stayed locked on Triton, eyes still glowing faintly, armor half-formed in flickers of divine fury.
"You brought him here? Without telling me?" His voice was low and sharp, cutting through the camp’s quiet like the edge of a blade.
Triton straightened his spine, but his hands stayed loose at his sides. "Father—"
"You know he cannot leave Atlantis for the surface world. It isn't safe. How could you bring—"
"I didn’t bring him here," Triton said, firmer now, trying to keep his own voice steady. "I followed him. He vanished from his chambers—"
"Vanished? Again?! And you let him?" Poseidon advanced a step, divine pressure crackling through the air.
Dionysus tensed behind them, lips pressed thin. Hestia remained still, firelight dancing in her eyes, though her presence had turned watchful.
Triton’s jaw flexed. "I didn’t let him do anything. He’s stronger than he realizes. He whooshed before I could track him. I followed the emotional signature. I didn’t know where it would lead."
Poseidon’s fists clenched at his sides, his trident sparking faintly in the air beside him. The divine shimmer of armor flared brighter along his shoulders.
And then—
A small pair of hands reached up and squished his cheeks.
Poseidon's mouth flattened into a fish-like pout as Percy stood in his arms, tiny fingers pressing his father's face together with determined concentration.
The camp fell utterly silent.
Even Dionysus looked vaguely horrified.
Hestia blinked once, but her lips twitched with barely contained amusement.
Poseidon stared down at Percy, stunned mid-rant, his godly glow dimming just slightly.
Percy frowned. “Don’t yell at Twon, Daddy. Why you mad?”
Poseidon opened his mouth—well, tried to—but the squish-hand effect made his answer come out more like a muffled grunt.
Percy let go with a small huff, folding his arms like an angry crab.
Poseidon blinked again, face returning to normal. “Because your brother brought you here without my permission.”
Percy’s frown deepened. “No! I had a bad dream and whooshed! Twon didn’t do it. Dio helped. Den Twon came.”
Poseidon’s body language shifted instantly.
The shimmer of armor dissipated in a blink. His shoulders slumped with a soundless exhale, and he pulled Percy closer, cradling him tightly.
“I can’t lose you, little one,” he murmured into Percy’s curls. “And I can’t bare for you to be in danger again.”
Percy melted into the hug, arms wrapping around Poseidon’s neck. “I okay now.”
A warm breeze fluttered the camp’s banners as Hestia stepped forward.
She placed a gentle hand on Poseidon's shoulder. “He’s safe,” she said softly, the truth in her voice like a balm. “He was never alone. And you are not alone either, brother. You can trust us with him.”
Poseidon nodded, eyes closed for a moment, grounding himself in the warmth of her touch and the little heartbeat against his chest.
Then—
A poke.
Right in his cheek.
Poseidon looked down. “Yes, sea star?”
Percy had his arms crossed again. His expression was Serious Toddler—a look that would’ve been fearsome if it weren’t so hilariously wide-eyed. He tried to raise an eyebrow. Both of them shot up instead, giving him an expression of cartoon surprise.
“Daddy,” Percy said solemnly, “you always sayed when you hurt somebody’s feelin's or are wrong you gotsta 'pologize.”
Silence fell again.
Triton looked startled.
Dionysus turned away so fast he nearly tripped on his own tunic.
Hestia bit her bottom lip.
Poseidon just stared, stunned.
Gods did not apologize. Not truly. Not often. And certainly not when called out by someone under four feet tall.
But Percy’s stare didn’t waver.
Poseidon exhaled. Slowly.
He turned to Triton, still holding Percy against one shoulder.
“I’m sorry, Triton,” he said at last, voice steady. “I was wrong to accuse you. Thank you for coming after him.”
Triton nodded once. “Of course.”
But his gaze shifted briefly to Percy, unreadable and softening by degrees.
“YAY!” Percy clapped both hands. “Now we snack!”
Poseidon huffed a laugh and hoisted him higher. “Yes, but I’m holding your hand this time, sea star. No more whooshing without Daddy.”
Percy nodded solemnly. “Okay. But only if I gets fishy crackers.”
Dionysus, reappearing behind them with a conjured bowl, deadpanned, “They’re mortal cheese puffs shaped like fish. That’s your standard now?”
Poseidon huffed a soft laugh and adjusted Percy against his side, still not quite recovered from the toddler-issued divine callout. “Yes, sea star. Goldfish crackers it is.”
Percy beamed. “Dey da best kind. They smile when you eat ’em.”
Dionysus handed over the conjured bowl with an expression of resigned amusement. “Only you would find joy in edible fish with faces.”
“I love ‘em!” Percy declared. “Crunchy smile friends. I eat da happy first, then da tail. It’s respectful.”
Triton let out a quiet snort he tried to pass off as a cough. Dionysus didn’t bother hiding his smirk.
As they made their way across the green, Poseidon cradled Percy easily, shifting the bowl so his son could keep munching as they walked. The boy was content, chattering between bites with absolute toddler logic.
“Dey should make fish crackers with hats,” Percy mused aloud, mouth full. “Or little swords. Crabby could have an army!”
“An edible army,” Dionysus muttered. “Terrifying.”
They found a quiet, shaded spot near the edge of the pavilion—slightly removed from the central camp traffic. Poseidon sat with Percy nestled in his lap, still feeding him one cracker at a time like a ritual offering.
Triton sat across from them, posture relaxed but observant. Hestia joined them with quiet grace, folding herself near the fire pit and conjuring a fresh flame with a flick of her hand. Its warmth flickered gently in the morning breeze.
Chiron lingered just out of earshot, watching without interfering.
Dionysus leaned against a pillar, arms crossed, eyes thoughtful.
Percy crunched on another cracker, then blinked and whispered conspiratorially, “Dis one’s name was Gerald. He tasted brave.”
Poseidon hummed in mock solemnity. “A noble sacrifice.”
Triton watched the two of them, his expression unreadable. There was something aching in his gaze—not jealousy, not resentment. Just… distance. Like a soldier watching a hearth he didn’t know how to sit beside anymore.
Dionysus caught it too.
He shifted slightly, murmuring, “You handled it better than I would’ve.”
Triton looked over, brow raised. “The face squish or the accusation?”
“Both.”
A pause.
“I suppose I’m used to it,” Triton said at last. “Father… he’s changed. Percy changed him.”
“You resent that?”
“No,” Triton said quietly. “But it hurts sometimes. Watching him love so easily now. When he never knew how to truly show it before. I know my father cares for me and it had never bothered me before. He probably was the best father out of all the gods. Seeing him now though…”
Dionysus nodded, surprisingly serious. “Love doesn’t come with a manual. Especially not for immortals. Most of us… we only learn once it’s almost too late.”
Triton glanced back at Poseidon, who had conjured a small napkin to wipe Percy’s sticky hands. The sea god was listening to a detailed explanation of Crabby’s “training exercises,” nodding with full attention.
“I’m glad he has it now,” Triton said. “Even if I didn't.”
Nearby, Percy suddenly exclaimed, “I SAVED A SHRIMP ONCE.”
Poseidon blinked. “Oh?”
“Yup. He was gonna get stepped on by a seahorse. So I yelled real loud and da seahorse jumped and swam into a wall.”
Triton deadpanned, “Heroic.”
Percy pointed at him with a cheesy finger. “Twainin’ accident. Not my fault.”
Poseidon huffed a laugh. “He gets that from your side.”
Triton looked mock-offended. “Please. He’s pure you and chaos.”
Dionysus stepped forward a little, voice low but serious now. “We can’t keep this hidden forever.”
Poseidon’s smile faded. He didn’t look away from Percy, but the warmth behind his eyes dimmed slightly. “I know.”
“They’ll ask questions. Today. Tomorrow. The next time he’s seen above water—”
“I know,” Poseidon said again, sharper now. “But not yet.”
The others went quiet.
Hestia stirred the fire, watching it spark. “When the time comes, you won’t face it alone.”
“I will if I have to,” Poseidon murmured.
“No,” Hestia said gently. “You won’t.”
Dionysus stepped back into shadow, letting the words settle.
After a while, Percy sighed contentedly and leaned back into Poseidon’s chest. “I tink I love camp.”
“You do?” Poseidon asked.
“Uh-huh. I gots snacks, an army crab, and Auntie says I’m warm inside. That means I glowy.”
“You’ve always glowed,” Hestia said with a smile.
Poseidon kissed the top of Percy’s curls. “And you always will.”
A moment of quiet peace blanketed them.
Then Percy squinted at the sky.
“Daddy?”
“Yes, sea star?”
“Dat seagull’s yelling.”
Poseidon looked up. Sure enough, a very angry seagull was screeching at a pinecone.
“I think he needs a nap,” Percy declared wisely. “Angry birdie needs soft blankie time.”
Hestia chuckled. “He’s not the only one.”
“I don’t need naps,” Percy argued. “I just lay down sometimes and blink slow for a long time.”
Dionysus raised a brow. “Sounds suspiciously like sleep.”
“Nope. Dat’s called tinkin’ with your eyes closed.”
Triton snorted. Poseidon bit back a laugh.
The peaceful lull was starting to drift. Percy had gone quiet in Poseidon’s lap, blinking slowly, little hand resting on his father’s chest while Crabby lay tucked against his side. His goldfish crackers were forgotten in the bowl beside him—always a sign he was running low on energy.
Poseidon felt the shift.
“Sea star,” he murmured, brushing curls from Percy’s forehead, “you look like you’re one blink away from snoring.”
“I not tired,” Percy yawned immediately.
“You just yawned.”
“Nope. Dat was a big breath.”
Triton stood nearby with his arms crossed, but his posture had softened. “We should head back soon,” he said, not unkindly. “The court will start asking questions.”
Percy perked a little at that, suddenly remembering something.
“WAIT! I no say bye!”
Poseidon blinked. “To whom?”
“Da kids!” Percy pointed frantically toward the jungle gym. “Da ones who gave me da bracelet! And liked Crabby! I gotta say bye or they’ll tink I turned into foam!”
Dionysus blinked. “That… is a leap of logic.”
“No is not,” Percy said with full toddler confidence. “Dat’s what happens to sea stuff sometimes. Poof. Foam.”
Poseidon stood, still holding him. “Alright. Let’s say goodbye, then we’re heading home.”
He carried Percy across the field, Triton and the others trailing behind. The jungle gym was still lively—kids swinging, climbing, and laughing—but when Percy appeared, a few of them noticed immediately.
“There he is!” the little girl with the beaded bracelet waved. “Hey, Crab Knight!”
Percy wiggled excitedly in Poseidon’s arms. “Down, down, Daddy! I gotta do da hug thing!”
Poseidon set him gently on the grass, watching as Percy waddled over with purpose, Crabby held like a prized banner.
“I gots to go now,” Percy announced gravely. “My daddy says it’s sleepy time in our big water house.”
“You live underwater?” asked the ten-year-old boy, wide-eyed.
“Yup. With sea lions an’ a dolphin nursery and sparkly rooms with jellyfish lights,” Percy said proudly. “And sometimes I sneak snacks when no one’s lookin’ but Daddy always finds me anyway.”
The kids giggled.
The bracelet girl stepped forward. “Here,” she said, pulling another bracelet off her own wrist. “You can keep it. It helps with dreams.”
Percy gasped. “Really?!”
“Only if you believe really hard.”
Percy nodded solemnly and looped it around Crabby’s claw. “He gets da dreams sometimes too.”
“I’m gonna miss you,” the girl said, giving him a soft smile.
Percy blinked. Then opened his pouch and fished out a seashell—green and blue, ridged like ocean glass.
“Here,” he said. “It sings in da water. Only a little. You gotsta listen real close.”
She took it with reverence, like he’d handed her a holy relic. “Thanks, Percy.”
“Welcome. Crabby says bye too.”
He hugged each of the kids fiercely, arms thrown around their necks like it was a battle farewell. The kind of goodbye that said he meant it.
Back by the tree line, Chiron watched the scene quietly. His eyes lingered on Poseidon—not in judgment, but in deep contemplation.
“This will spread,” he said softly to Hestia beside him. “Even if no one knows who he is… stories travel. A child like that? Someone will start asking.”
Hestia nodded slowly. “Then let them ask. Curiosity is not the same as discovery.”
Dionysus added, “And if they do get too close… I’ll throw glitter glue at them until their souls leave their bodies.”
“No glitter,” Hestia warned gently.
“Fine. Grape juice.”
Back at Poseidon’s side, Percy came barreling in and launched himself up, arms raised.
“Ready!” he chirped. “We go home now?”
Poseidon scooped him up with practiced ease. “Yes. We go home.”
“Can Twon tuck me in?”
Triton raised an eyebrow. “You’ve got your father for that.”
“But you do da voices better.”
Poseidon blinked. “You’ve been doing voices?”
Triton looked skyward. “I read one octopus story with dramatic flair—”
“DA OCTOPUS HAD A SWORD!”
Poseidon chuckled. “Alright, alright. We’ll discuss bedtime casting back home.”
As they stepped into the clearing once more, Percy twisted around in his father’s arms to wave.
“BYEEEE! Don’t turn into foam!”
The children shouted their goodbyes, echoing with laughter.
The wind shifted.
Sea mist coiled at Poseidon's feet.
The air shimmered with ocean-born light.
And with a breath of divine motion, they vanished.
Leaving Camp Half-Blood quieter than before.
And somehow brighter, too.
The currents carried whispers.
Not the kind mortals could hear—no, these were older than language. Murmurs that moved through salt and pressure, surfacing only in the ears of those who remembered the sea’s first breath.
And He remembered everything.
He sat coiled around a shelf of obsidian, eyes half-lidded as a swarm of silverfish scattered before him like fearful prayers. His thoughts, like the sea, were slow and endless—but today, they circled one name.
A child.
A godling, newly born.
Not some diluted hybrid. Not a demigod bleeding mortal softness.
No. A child of the sea.
He felt it. The shift in the currents. A presence forming—a flicker of new divinity, delicate but unmistakably oceanic. Raw, unclaimed power that had not yet been shaped by Olympus or their foolish hierarchies.
They said he belonged to Poseidon. That Poseidon had fathered a son.
His lips peeled into a thin smile.
“Fathered,” he repeated aloud, amused by the absurdity of it. “As if the sea itself needs fathering.”
Poseidon might have planted the seed, but this boy—this godling—was born of water. Born of wave and salt and storm. He was the ocean’s child.
And He had been the ocean long before any trident-bearing upstart dared to name himself its king.
A godling had not been born in millennia. Not a true one. Not one touched so deeply by the sea’s pulse that even the tides trembled in recognition. Many old gods had faded. The new ones played at war and prophecy. But this child... this child could be more.
He could be shaped.
He could be reclaimed and with the child's power, He will rise again.
He dragged his claws down the side of the stone, the sound shrieking through the water like whale-song twisted wrong. His thoughts grew hungrier.
Poseidon wouldn’t give him up, of course. The sea-king would clutch him close, dress him in coral silks, parade him like a prize. But He didn’t care for the trappings.
He didn’t want a prince.
He wanted a vessel. An heir. A remnant of the old world reborn in flesh.
Poseidon thought the child was his.
But the sea had birthed him.
And He was the sea before it had a name.
He rose from the trench, ancient power rippling outward like the groaning tectonics of a storm yet to break.
Let Poseidon build walls. Let him wrap his son in pearls and wards.
He would come.
And when he laid eyes on the godling, he would look past the face, past the lineage, past the name—
And he would see only one truth:
The sea does not belong to Poseidon. And neither does the child.