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Chapter Text

Chapter 1: Washing Up On Strange Shores

Percy woke to the sharp taste of salt in his mouth and the sting of sand in his eyes. The sun was already high enough to make the wet sand glint like a mirror, but low enough to cast long shadows from the cliffs to his left. His chest heaved as he pushed himself up, each movement sending aching tremors through muscles that had spent the night flailing in storm-tossed waters. He spat out a mouthful of brine and grit, gagging slightly.

The waves whispered against the shore, curling over themselves, leaving lacey foam on the sand. Percy squinted at the treeline to his right. Something moved there. Just at the edge of the forest, where shadows mingled with the sunlight, a figure shifted. Not a bird. Not a deer. His senses screamed, telling him this was deliberate, a watcher. He flexed his fingers, instinctively touching the pen in his pocket.

Riptide clicked into existence, stretching into the familiar short sword he could hold comfortably, and with a snap of his wrist, the shield unfolded from his watch. He balanced the weight, testing its feel, and scanned the treeline again.

A spear shot from the forest, clanging against the sand at his feet. Percy rolled instinctively, kicking up a spray of wet sand, and tapped it aside with the flat of his blade. Another figure lunged from the shadows. Steel met his shield with a sharp, resonating clang. He pivoted, twisting under the attacker's swing, and flicked the wrist, sending the sword spinning into her hands, only for him to catch it again.

He grinned faintly, teeth flashing. "Alright… this is more interesting than swimming through a hurricane."

Three more figures appeared, moving in coordinated circles, weapons held with precision. Percy's eyes tracked every subtle flex, every twitch of their shoulders, the set of their jawlines. He noted the balance shifts, the minor adjustments—they were skilled. Too skilled to just be random survivors of a forest.

They attacked in waves. Spears jabbed, short swords slashed. Percy ducked, rolled, tapped one wrist, flicked the sword, and deflected a spear into the surf. Another lunged from the side—he pivoted, nudged the water under her boots, just enough to make her stumble, then flipped backward, landing lightly on sand that shifted with his weight. He rolled to his knees and swung Riptide again, tapping another weapon from her hands.

The first strike of combat was chaotic but instinctive, almost like dancing. Percy noted the rhythm, the tiny micro-adjustments of muscles before each strike. It was ADHD instincts in overdrive, every pulse of motion analyzed and countered without thought, purely reaction.

The leader of the group—a taller, broader figure—stepped out, signalling subtly to the others. Percy met her gaze, sensing not arrogance but precision, calm calculation. He tilted his head, curious. Not bad. Coordinated. Strong. But predictable.

Another spear came from above. Percy rolled beneath it, using the momentum to spin and tap the attacker's wrist, sending the weapon flying harmlessly into shallow water. He twisted, bringing the shield around just in time to block a sword strike from the right, sand spraying as metal met metal. Another attacker charged—he flicked Riptide, tapping her wrist with a sharp, precise motion. The weapon clattered away, and she fell, coughing, scrambling back.

Percy's grin widened. "You guys practice this together, or…?"

No response. Only wary glances, sharp movements, coordinated yet tense. They circled, trying to flank him. He ducked under a swing, pivoted, shifted a small amount of water under the nearest attacker's feet, just enough to unbalance her. Spears spun into the surf, swords clattered, but none were seriously injured.

The leader circled, adjusting to his movements. Percy mirrored, pivoting, rolling, flicking, dodging. Steel met steel in a blur. He tapped her elbow subtly, redirecting momentum without full contact. Another lunged from behind. Percy twisted midair, spinning low, using the sand and the surf as minor tactical advantages.

He laughed softly, adrenaline sharp in his chest. Not bad at all. But you're still slow.

Minutes passed in what felt like an eternity of flashes: blades clashing, sand spraying, the hiss of water, the low thrum of muscle tension. Each attacker tried to anticipate him. He let them. Every twitch, every slight flex, every micro-movement told him where their next swing, thrust, or lunge would come from. He was everywhere at once, the storm of motion around him sharpening his focus.

Another spear arced toward his head from the treeline. He flipped backward over it, landing lightly behind the thrower. His wrist tapped again. Her weapon clattered into the surf. A short sword swung from the side—he ducked, rolled, flicked Riptide at her wrist, and tapped her hand into the sand. She scrambled, coughing, glaring.

He adjusted his footing, letting the water underfoot shift subtly, just enough to throw off their rhythm without causing real harm. Spears spun uselessly, swords clattered, sand exploded underfoot. He let out a soft chuckle. "Honestly… try harder."

The taller leader lunged again, meeting Percy head-on. They clashed, the metal ringing against metal. Percy twisted under a swing, rolled through the sand, tapped her wrist, flipped backward, and spun to redirect another attack. Water hissed at his boots, sand shifted, weapons flew. Another attacker dove from above—he pivoted midair, tapped her wrist, and sent her stumbling into shallow surf.

Breath heaving, chest pounding, Percy surveyed the chaos. They were skilled, coordinated, dangerous—but not enough. Not for him. Not here. Not now.

He sheathed Riptide, collapsing the shield back onto his wrist, and stepped back, letting the adrenaline simmer. The Amazons paused, waiting, wary, breathing hard, eyes wide. Percy grinned faintly, flexing his fingers. "Okay… who wants to go again?"

No one moved. Not yet. And for the first time since he washed up here, Percy felt the strange thrill of being completely, utterly, untouchable.

The sun glinted off the surf, cliffs rose silently beside him, and the forest whispered secrets he didn't yet understand. Percy Jackson was alive, powerful, and fully aware of it. And this… this was just the beginning.

Percy had barely taken a step back when the forest seemed to erupt. More figures emerged, moving with precise coordination this time. Spears held high, short swords angled for the kill, every stance deliberate, every movement practiced. His chest tightened with anticipation, but there was no fear—only that familiar rush of adrenaline.

He flexed his fingers and let the shield expand silently, feeling the weight balance naturally on his wrist. Riptide followed, snapping into existence as if eager for the chaos. Percy's eyes flicked across the attackers. Five. No, seven. Maybe more hidden. He counted them instinctively, noting the smallest hints: flex of a calf, tilt of a shoulder, micro-shift of weight.

One of them charged first—a blur of steel and muscle. Percy ducked low, rolling through the sand, and flicked Riptide at her wrist. The sword spun out of her grip, but she didn't stop; she lunged again with her free hand. He twisted midair, planting the shield against her thrust and shifting a small wave under her feet. She slipped, barely keeping balance, and stumbled into the surf.

Another came from the treeline, spear aimed for his chest. Percy sidestepped, letting the weapon pierce empty air. He flicked his wrist, and the spear spun into the sand harmlessly. The surf hissed beneath his boots as he pivoted, using a trick of momentum and water to destabilize her further. Two more attacked simultaneously from opposite sides. He ducked, rolled, flicked, spun, and tapped their wrists in quick succession, sending weapons clattering.

The taller leader moved in closer, circling him. Percy noted her adjustments, anticipating her next swing, the micro-lean in her shoulders, the twist of her hips. He rolled low, catching a spear under his shield, twisting the tip just enough to glance off harmlessly. He flicked Riptide at her side, forcing her to step back. Another attack came from behind. He pivoted mid-spin, flicking his wrist, and redirected the weapon into the surf.

Percy's mind raced. Seven against one? Fine. Let's make it interesting. He shifted the sand beneath the attackers, subtly tilting footing here, nudging momentum there. Tiny jets of water shot from the surf, spraying near boots, tripping them just enough to break rhythm. A small spray of blood marred one of the attacker's arms—he had grazed her in passing. He redirected that minuscule connection subtly, and the muscle tensed unpredictably, throwing her off balance mid-lunge.

Steel met steel in rapid succession: swords clanging, spears rattling. Percy ducked, rolled, tapped, flicked, pivoted, and twisted, keeping several opponents simultaneously off-guard. He moved like water—flowing, shifting, adjusting. One spear spun into the surf, another sword clattered into the sand, a third attacker stumbled back from the subtle manipulation of the environment.

He spun, flipping over a low swing from the leader, landing behind her and flicking his wrist. Riptide tapped her elbow, making her overextend, stumble. He pivoted, sliding on slick sand created by a subtle wave shift, and redirected a third attack into the surf. Another lunged from the side; he ducked, rolled, tapped the wrist, and sent her stumbling into shallow water.

Percy grinned faintly. Not bad, but predictable.

The leader adjusted again, more aggressively. Spears were angled to trap him, swords positioned to corner him. Percy met each attack with precise counters. He twisted under a swing, blocked with the shield, redirected momentum, and subtly nudged a wave under one attacker's boots. She slipped, weapons scattering, sand exploding as she hit the ground.

A new figure joined from the treeline, dual swords flashing. Percy pivoted mid-roll, tapping the wrists in succession, sending both weapons spinning. He shifted water under her feet, throwing her off rhythm as she lunged again. The forest seemed alive with motion, attackers advancing, retreating, circling. He rolled, twisted, flipped, using every ounce of instinct and skill.

Minutes passed like seconds, a blur of sand, water, steel, and sweat. Spears spun, swords clattered, sand sprayed, surf hissed. Percy's chest heaved, adrenaline thrumming, but his movements were seamless, almost effortless. One after another, attackers overextended, stumbled, lost weapons, or were subtly unbalanced by the environment.

The taller leader circled again, signaling the remaining attackers to regroup. Percy smiled faintly, sheathing Riptide and collapsing the shield back onto his wrist. His chest heaved, muscles screaming, but his eyes sparkled with amusement. He was untouchable, and they were starting to realize it.

From the treeline, one attacker tried to flank him with a thrown spear. Percy twisted mid-step, ducking under the throw, flicking Riptide at her wrist as she landed. The weapon clattered into the surf. He pivoted, catching another attacker's sword with the shield, deflecting it into shallow water.

A sharp laugh escaped him. "Seriously… is that the best you've got?"

The leader's eyes narrowed, lips tight, signaling the rest to hold back. They stood tense, poised, watching, clearly aware that this one stranger was unlike anyone they'd encountered. Percy's grin widened. He flexed his fingers, feeling the surge of energy beneath his skin, the thrill of being completely, utterly in control.

The forest, the cliffs, the surf, even the smallest details—the shift of sand beneath feet, the spray of water in motion, the glint of sunlight on steel—were all tools he could use. Every attacker who dared step forward was already at a disadvantage they didn't understand.

Percy sheathed Riptide, collapsing the shield back onto his wrist. He stepped forward slightly, surveying the warriors around him. Spears held high, swords ready, muscles tensed—but every one of them had already lost. The adrenaline buzzed in his veins, sharpening senses, heightening awareness.

He grinned faintly, more to himself than them. "This is… gonna be fun."

And with that, the forest shifted again. Percy's senses told him more were coming. More attackers, more challenges—but he was ready. Completely ready.

The forest fell quiet for a heartbeat, but Percy didn't relax. His chest heaved, sand and surf sticking to his damp skin, sweat running down his spine, fingers twitching with anticipation. The taller figure—the one who had circled him, signaling the others—stepped fully into view. Her stance was solid, controlled, and every motion radiated confidence. She wasn't arrogant, not exactly, but she moved like someone trained to anticipate the world in ways others couldn't.

Percy grinned faintly, twirling Riptide in one hand. "Finally… the big show."

The leader's eyes narrowed. No words came, only a subtle nod, and the remaining people seemed to freeze, watching him carefully, muscles tense. Percy noted it instantly—this one commanded respect. Or at least expected it. That didn't faze him.

She lunged first, sword flashing. Percy pivoted, letting the weapon swipe harmlessly past. His wrist flicked, and Riptide tapped her elbow mid-lunge, sending her off balance. Sand sprayed beneath their feet as he rolled low, pivoting to redirect a second strike from another Amazon into the shallow surf. He moved like liquid, flowing from one threat to the next without pause.

The taller leader twisted, adjusting stance mid-air, and struck again. Percy blocked with the shield, felt the metal jolt against his forearm, and used the rebound to spin away. A flick of his wrist redirected her momentum slightly—she stumbled but recovered, eyes wide with a mix of surprise and irritation.

Another one of them tried a flanking move, dual swords flashing. Percy sidestepped, ducking under a lunge, and flicked Riptide at her wrists in one seamless motion. Weapons flew. Sand sprayed. She cursed, scrambling backward, but he was already moving toward the taller leader again.

His grin widened. "Not bad… but predictable."

The leader's eyes flicked to the forest. A small group of women crouched among the trees, poised to strike. Percy caught the subtle shift in their shoulders, the micro-twitch of their muscles, the way their hands hovered over weapons. He adjusted without thought—leaning slightly, twisting a small jet of water beneath the nearest attacker's boots. She slipped just enough to throw off timing.

Steel clanged. Sand exploded. Riptide spun in a blur, tapping wrists, redirecting momentum. Percy rolled low, flipped over a swing, twisted midair, and redirected a third strike into the surf. Each motion was seamless, precise, instinctive. He was everywhere at once, and the Amazons' coordination faltered under his overwhelming speed.

The leader pressed forward, attacking with a combination of sword strikes and calculated jabs. Percy met each one, parried, pivoted, and tapped her elbows, wrists, and knees in rapid succession—enough to throw off balance without causing lasting harm. A small spray of water from the surf rose around his boots, subtly tripping another girl as she lunged.

Percy's eyes glittered with amusement. They're good, I'll give them that. Coordinated. Trained. But they don't know me. They have no idea.

The taller leader, realizing direct strikes weren't working, tried to anticipate his patterns. Percy noticed the faint twitch in her shoulder, the tiny shift of weight, the subtle lean before each attack. He rolled low, pivoted behind her, flicked Riptide, and tapped the back of her knee. She stumbled forward, barely catching herself on the sand.

Another attack came from above—he ducked, flipped backward, and redirected the weapon into the shallow water with a flick of his wrist. Spears clattered. Swords spun. The forest echoed with the sounds of metal meeting metal, sand spraying, and faint curses.

Percy flexed his fingers, letting the rush of adrenaline sharpen every sense. The sun glinted off wet steel, surf hissed, and the forest seemed alive with motion. He was calm in the chaos, fluid and untouchable.

The leader recovered, circling him slowly, assessing, calculating. Percy mirrored, twisting, pivoting, redirecting, tapping, flipping. Every strike, every feint, every subtle manipulation of sand, water, and momentum was instinctive. The females moved with precision, but he was faster, smarter, more unpredictable.

A spear flew from the treeline, aimed for his chest. Percy ducked, rolled, flicked Riptide, sending the weapon spinning. He twisted, kicked sand into another attacker's face, and used a subtle wave under her boots to destabilize her footing. Another lunged from behind; he pivoted, flicked, tapped her wrist, and sent her stumbling into shallow surf.

Minutes passed in a blur. Steel clanged, sand exploded, surf hissed. Percy's chest heaved, but he was calm, laughing softly. Come on, more. This is fun.

The leader lunged again, meeting him head-on. They clashed—metal ringing against metal. Percy twisted under a swing, rolled through the sand, tapped her wrist, and spun to redirect another attack. Water hissed at his boots, sand shifted, weapons flew.

He grinned faintly. "Seriously… is that all you've got?"

They froze, tense, wary, breathing hard, eyes wide. Percy sheathed Riptide, collapsing the shield back onto his wrist. He surveyed them calmly, chest heaving, muscles buzzing with energy. They're cautious now. They know I'm not just another mortal.

The taller leader's eyes narrowed. No words, just a subtle nod, signaling the rest to hold back. Percy's grin widened. He flexed his fingers. The forest, the cliffs, the surf, even the tiniest details—the shift of sand, the spray of water, the glint of sunlight on steel—were all under his control. Every attack they dared make had already failed before it even started.

Percy laughed softly, chest rising and falling, and stepped back slightly, letting the adrenaline simmer. "Okay… I think we're done here for now."

And with that, the forest quieted. Percy Jackson stood alone on the sand, victorious, surveying the battlefield. Spears, swords, and sand scattered around him. The Amazons watched him carefully, wary, calculating, unsure of what they had just witnessed.

Percy flexed his fingers, feeling the surge of power and control thrumming through him. This… is going to be an interesting place.

Percy's grin widened as the taller leader signaled again. This time, there was no hesitation, no subtle probing—they were going to try to take him down all at once. He flexed his fingers, feeling the surge of power in every muscle, every nerve. The air seemed to hum around him, charged with the rhythm of the ocean, the sand, the surf.

The first one lunged with a short sword. Percy didn't dodge—he let the weapon come at him, spinning Riptide out of the sheath in a blur. He slammed the sword against her forearm mid-swing, and with a small surge of water beneath her boots, she was lifted and sent sprawling backward, crashing into another attacker. Sand sprayed like fireworks.

Two more rushed from either side, spears aimed for his chest and head. Percy slammed his palm into the surf nearby, sending a shockwave of water tearing forward. Both Amazons were lifted off their feet, stumbling as water surged up to knock them sideways, and Riptide spun through the air to tap their wrists, sending weapons scattering into the sand.

The leader moved faster, closing distance with a fierce swing. Percy sidestepped, letting a thin wall of water rise from the surf behind him, slamming into her mid-spin. She stumbled but recovered immediately. He laughed softly and twisted, flinging a thin, whip-like stream of water that wrapped around one attacker's spear, yanking it from her hands and sending her sprawling.

Another one tried to attack from behind. Percy ducked, and the ground beneath her boots erupted into a wave of sand and water, toppling her like a domino. He spun, flicking Riptide to deflect a spear aimed at his head, sending it skittering across the sand. Each move was fluid, natural, unstoppable.

The taller leader's eyes widened slightly now—this wasn't a mere fighter. He was controlling the environment, the battlefield itself. Percy pivoted, raising both arms briefly, and the surf surged dramatically, forming crashing waves that hit the attacking females with full force, knocking three more off balance. Riptide leapt in his hand, slicing one attacker's spear in half midair.

Percy moved like water incarnate—fast, fluid, unstoppable. He sent a torrent of water across the sand in a sweeping arc, creating a slippery trap. Two Amazons slipped, tumbling to the ground, while he spun and redirected a spear with the shield, catching it on the edge of his wrist before sending it flying into the treeline.

One of them tried a sneak attack, plunging a dagger toward his chest. Percy caught her wrist with one hand, twisting her elbow, and the other hand flicked water across her forearm like molten steel, forcing her to recoil in pain. Another attack from the leader came at him full force. He sidestepped, letting a thin jet of water lash out like a whip, catching her in the side and sending her sliding across wet sand.

Percy's grin widened. This is getting fun.

He slashed Riptide in a wide arc, sending water lances shooting from the surf like javelins, pinning two of them against trees. The forest erupted with chaos—sand, water, steel, and motion. Spears and swords flew. Waves crashed. Percy twisted, flipping over a lunge, and the water beneath him hardened briefly into a shield-like construct that deflected a spear aimed at his side.

One of the attackers screamed as the sand beneath her boots erupted violently, lifting her off her feet. Percy flicked a thin, precise wave at her midair, sending her tumbling into shallow surf. Another Amazon lunged with dual swords; he tapped her wrists, redirected her momentum with a surge of water, and sent her crashing into a nearby rock formation.

The leader stepped back, circling him, wariness growing. Percy's chest heaved, but his movements didn't falter. He flexed subtly, and the water around him surged like a living thing. Tiny rivulets whipped toward attackers, forming spikes, nets, and barriers in the blink of an eye. Spears and swords were knocked aside. Each step, each flick of his wrist, each breath he took seemed to bend the battlefield entirely to his will.

A faint crimson shimmer caught his eye—one warrior's blood was drawn from a grazing cut. Percy didn't hesitate. With a subtle push of will, it surged in a thin, controlled stream to spin her off balance. She landed on the sand, momentarily stunned, and Percy's grin widened. They're fast. They're coordinated. But they're not me.

The taller leader lunged again, but this time Percy moved pre-emptively. He created a sudden wave beneath her boots, lifting her slightly and throwing off timing, then swung Riptide in a controlled arc, knocking her sword aside. Another whip of water lashed out at her shoulders, forcing her back several paces.

Percy's movements were a blur, each action precise and fluid. Spears were deflected, swords redirected, attackers lifted, knocked down, or sent sprawling. Waves of water surged, then hardened into shields, then flung into attackers like battering rams. Sand sprayed into eyes, surf hissed under boots, and the forest echoed with chaos.

Finally, he paused briefly, chest heaving, sweat dripping, Riptide spinning lazily in his hand. The taller leader froze, eyes wide, breathing heavy. The remaining warriors stared at him warily, weapons lowered slightly. Percy smiled faintly, flexing his fingers. "Okay… now we can talk."

The last ripple of water settled, leaving sand scattered, surf foaming at the edges, and weapons lying in disarray. Percy straightened, Riptide spinning lazily in his hand, the wrist shield gleaming in the afternoon sun. His chest rose and fell, but his movements were calm, deliberate, utterly controlled. The forest echoed with the faint groans of sand-shuffled boots and heavy breathing.

The taller leader, kneeling slightly, eyes locked on him, didn't move. The others spread out cautiously, forming a loose circle around him, weapons lowered just enough to signal they weren't attacking… yet. Every muscle in their bodies screamed tension, every instinct screaming that this was a fight they couldn't win if he actually wanted to.

Percy's grin was faint, not arrogant, just aware. "Relax," he said softly, voice carrying over the surf and sand. "I'm not here to hurt you. I'm… not exactly from around here."

That earned a hiss from one of them near the treeline, a subtle warning that words didn't automatically grant safety. Percy tilted his head. Not surprising. They don't know me. They shouldn't.

The taller leader rose slowly, cautiously, never taking her eyes off him. There was a faint nod to the others. Percy noticed it instantly—coordinated, calculated, a silent communication. They were trying to regroup, to assess him, to decide if he was a threat they could handle.

He flexed his fingers. Let them. They need to see just how… different I am.

"I can step back," Percy said, twirling Riptide once, "but I'd like to understand where I am, who you all are."

The leader's eyes flicked to the surf, then to the trees. The forest seemed to hold its breath. Slowly, she gestured to two of the women, who moved to either side of Percy, not touching him, but guiding him backward, away from the scattered weapons and trampled sand. It was cautious, deliberate, like handling something volatile.

Percy didn't resist. He walked slowly, taking in the details—the cliffs rising behind the forest, the water glinting in the sun, the way every Amazon moved with perfect posture and trained reflexes. They were warriors, yes, but they weren't gods. They weren't invincible. Not to him.

Yet, there was a wariness in their eyes he hadn't seen in ages. He knew respect when he saw it. Not the kind Annabeth or Chiron gave him, but something different—caution bordering on reverence, tempered with suspicion.

As they walked, Percy allowed his eyes to flick to the taller leader. She didn't speak, but he noted the subtle tension in her shoulders, the way her gaze never left him. Leader material. Solid instincts. Good. This is going to be… interesting.

The forest opened into a clearing. Beyond it, a structure loomed—stone walls, banners fluttering faintly, symbols carved into the marble. Percy slowed, scanning, noting defensive positions, exits, and tactical advantages. Even without knowing the place, he could read it like a battlefield.

The people halted. Percy stopped, Riptide now sheathed. The taller leader stepped forward, just enough to place herself between him and the rest of her warriors. She inclined her head slightly, signaling that she would lead. Percy inclined his own head in return.

"You'll… speak with the queen," she said finally, voice measured, cautious. Percy didn't catch the name yet, but the tone told him she was not pleased at having to escort him. Every word, every movement, screamed wariness.

Percy's grin was faint. "Lead the way."

As they moved toward the stone structure, the remaining women fell into formation behind him, weapons still ready, eyes constantly flicking to his movements. He noticed the small shifts in their stances, the way their leader communicated silently, the subtle adjustments they made for defense. It was instinctive, precise—but he was already several steps ahead.

Percy's mind ran through the possibilities, calculating, anticipating. I don't belong here. Not exactly. Different rules, different people. But this… this I can handle.

And as the stone walls loomed closer, the taller leader's eyes never left him, wary, alert, cautious. Percy felt the faintest thrill at that—the first real acknowledgment that this world didn't quite know what it was dealing with.

For the first time since he'd washed up, the ocean at his back, the sand beneath his boots, Percy allowed himself a small, amused smile. This is going to be fun.

Alright, so this is the first chapter of my new fic. Please share your thoughts and comments, but no hating please. I'll try to post chapter 2 in 1-3 days.

Chapter Text

Chapter 2: First Impressions

Percy Jackson stepped forward, feeling the sand shift beneath his boots as he began the long walk toward the distant palace. The cliffs to his left rose like jagged sentinels, streaked with dark stone that caught the sunlight in glints and flashes, while to his right the sea stretched endlessly, rolling waves in shades of green and blue that crashed rhythmically against the shore. The surf whispered and hissed, each wave a quiet, persistent drumbeat, marking time as he moved. The scent of salt and wet stone hung in the air, sharp, invigorating, reminding him that the world beyond this place had slipped away the moment he'd arrived.

Diana flanked him silently, her presence a quiet, constant measure of discipline. On the other side, the taller Amazon leader—whose name he still didn't know—walked with precise, fluid movements, each step deliberate. Neither spoke, yet their glances, subtle shifts in stance, and occasional nods conveyed volumes. Percy didn't need words; their assessment of him, measuring, testing, was already clear. Who are you? What are you capable of? they asked without asking. He let himself enjoy the silent scrutiny, the subtle dance of respect and intimidation.

His eyes scanned the terrain, cataloging potential threats, opportunities, and tactical advantages with an almost obsessive instinct. Sand dunes and ridges, shallow pools left by the tide, scattered rocks—they weren't obstacles to him; they were information. His gaze flicked to the waves, noting the way the sunlight fractured across their crests, the rhythm of the water pulling in and out, a pulse he could almost feel in his chest. A ridge to his left might hide an ambush; a shallow depression to his right could serve as cover. He didn't expect danger, not yet—but he planned for it anyway.

"You move differently from our kind," Diana said suddenly, her voice low, deliberate, almost a murmur to herself. Percy glanced at her, raising an eyebrow.

"Our kind?" he asked, a faint smirk tugging at his lips.

"The Amazons," she replied, eyes scanning the cliffs briefly before returning to him. She was analyzing his posture, the confidence in his step, the calm awareness in his gaze. There was something about him—a quiet, contained force—that demanded acknowledgment. She felt it, a tingle of caution threading through her nerves, but she did not betray it outwardly.

Percy let the silence stretch, letting the subtle power of his presence settle around them like a shadow. They were cautious, yes, but they were also curious. That was enough.

The taller Amazon leader adjusted her stride slightly, gesturing toward the palace ahead, a silent signal for Percy to follow. He obeyed, falling in line without haste, observing how she communicated with the others through small movements: a tilt of the head, a subtle shift in weight, a glance that seemed almost imperceptible. Their coordination was precise, practiced, a single organism moving as one. Percy watched with detached fascination, noting their discipline, their alertness, and the way they moved in perfect harmony.

As they approached the palace, its form gradually became clearer. Massive stone walls rose from the sand, towers reaching high and casting long shadows over the courtyard. Banners flapped gently in the breeze, emblazoned with symbols of authority and history, fluttering in colors that shimmered like molten metal. Percy's eyes swept the structure methodically, cataloging defensive features, guard placements, and the subtle hints that suggested this was a fortress not just of strength, but of calculation.

Diana's eyes flicked toward him again, sharp and measuring. He met her gaze, holding it for just a heartbeat, a silent exchange of awareness. I see you watching me, I know you're judging, his expression seemed to say, and I don't care. Her pupils narrowed slightly, registering surprise at his calm, at his confidence—but she did not shift her posture. She was still the careful observer.

The path to the palace wasn't simple. Shifting sand softened by surf, ridges of stone, and small pools left by the tide required constant awareness. Each step demanded balance and thought. Percy navigated them effortlessly, almost enjoying the rhythm, mentally noting every detail: the angle of the stones, how water pooled in depressions, how sand hardened under sunlight, where he could find leverage, where he might stumble. Each footfall was a measure, a calculation, a data point for later use.

The palace doors drew closer, massive slabs of polished stone engraved with intricate patterns and emblems of power. Guards stationed at the entrance shifted slightly as they noted his approach. Instinctively, Percy adjusted the grip on Riptide, though he expected no immediate danger—still, habit ran deep. The taller Amazon leader signaled subtly, a quiet warning to maintain focus, and Percy complied, a faint grin touching his lips.

Inside the courtyard, the grandeur of the palace became fully visible. Statues of warriors lined the sides, frozen mid-battle, eyes wide with intensity, as though the stone itself held the memory of their movements. Banners swayed above, catching the sunlight and flickering with hints of gold and crimson. Percy's gaze roamed over every detail: potential vantage points, weak spots in the architecture, ways to move unseen if he needed to. Awareness was instinct; control over it was power.

Diana's movements remained close and deliberate, every subtle adjustment of her stance speaking of constant vigilance. Percy noticed it all: the calculated tilt of her head, the way her fingers hovered near her weapon, the precise timing of her steps. She was a guardian, yes, but also a measure of restraint and observation. His smirk deepened faintly, amused by the tension and respect his presence elicited.

The taller leader moved with similar precision, her gaze sweeping between Percy and the palace, assessing the environment and his response simultaneously. Leadership, experience, and tactical intelligence intertwined seamlessly in her movements. Percy recognized it immediately, cataloging the subtleties: how authority could manifest without words, how control could radiate through posture and motion alone.

As they reached the palace doors, Percy felt a thrill of anticipation stir in him. No gods, no demigods, no Hunters—just a society of Amazons with their own rules and strength. How much could he bend to his will without conflict? He didn't know yet, but he intended to find out. The massive doors loomed ahead, carved in intricate detail, symbolic patterns etched deep into the stone. Guards adjusted slightly, tracking his steps, but none moved to intervene. Percy's stride remained confident, Riptide twirling lazily at his side, his mind already mapping potential strategies, exits, and contingencies.

Diana's voice broke the silence softly. "He carries himself… like predator and prey at the same time." Percy caught the words, a quiet acknowledgment in his chest. Predator and prey. Fitting, he thought, though in this place, he was neither… yet.

The final steps brought him to the threshold, the polished stone reflecting his movements, banners and statues surrounding him like silent witnesses. The taller Amazon leader signaled him forward, a subtle gesture acknowledging his approach to the queen's presence. Percy inclined his head slightly, a faint smirk playing across his lips, as if saying, Let's see what this world has in store.

And with that, Percy Jackson crossed the threshold to the palace, the sand crunching faintly behind him, the surf still whispering along the shore, and his mind already racing with possibilities. Ahead lay the audience with Hippolyta, a meeting that would test his confidence, his cunning, and his ability to read a world that had never known him.

Percy stepped into the grand hall, the polished stone echoing faintly beneath his boots. His gaze swept over every detail, cataloging: banners fluttering with an almost imperceptible rhythm, statues frozen mid-battle, guards stationed at precise intervals, and the faint glint of weapons catching the ambient light. The air smelled faintly of bronze and oil, a sharp contrast to the salty breeze outside. Diana walked just a step behind, her eyes never leaving him, calculating, assessing.

At the far end, the dais rose three steps above the main floor, and seated upon it was Hippolyta. Even from this distance, her presence radiated authority. Every line of her posture, every tilt of her head, spoke of a lifetime of discipline and command. Her gaze swept over Percy with quiet intensity, sharp, assessing, and unyielding. She noted his posture immediately—shoulders relaxed, yet confident; eyes alert, yet teasing.

"Stranger," she said, her voice carrying across the hall with quiet power, "you have walked uninvited into the heart of my domain. Explain yourself."

Percy inclined his head slightly, lips tugging into a faint smirk. "I'm Percy Jackson. I washed up on your shores. Thought I'd see what all the fuss was about." His tone was casual, bordering on teasing, and it was deliberate. He wanted to see how she would respond. He wanted to measure her patience, her fire, and her subtle judgments.

Hippolyta's eyes narrowed. Casual… cocky… unnervingly calm. Dangerous, perhaps, but untested. I must discern if he is skill or folly.

"You do not understand protocol," she said slowly, voice even but edged with steel. "Yet you tread my halls as if you own them. Tell me, boy… what do you know of discipline, of respect, of strategy?"

Percy tilted his head, smirk not fading. "Protocol's great and all, but I prefer… results."

Diana's eyes flicked to him sharply, catching the faintest trace of amusement—and irritation. This one tests the boundaries of patience. He does not realize the cost of arrogance here.

Hippolyta leaned forward slightly, her hands resting on the arms of her chair. So… he does not bend. He calculates. He gauges. But is it wisdom or ignorance?

"Do you understand the consequences of rash words and hasty movements?" Hippolyta asked. Her eyes burned into him.

"I'm aware," Percy replied lightly. "I just… don't let it slow me down."

A pause. The hall felt smaller, the tension thickening as every guard, every attendant, every Amazon within earshot registered the subtle challenge in his tone. Hippolyta noticed the faint smirk lingering at the corner of his lips, the glint of curiosity and audacity in his eyes. Impatience, arrogance… yet controlled. There is power here, I can sense it. But can he endure the walls he does not yet understand?

Diana's gaze softened fractionally, concern flickering. He carries himself like a warrior, yes—but reckless? Perhaps. This is not just about skill. It's about judgment. And arrogance can be fatal.

Percy let the silence stretch, letting Hippolyta's scrutiny hang in the air. He observed her in return: the subtle shifts of weight, the controlled flicker of her eyes, the microgestures that revealed a mind always calculating, always prepared. He cataloged them silently. She was formidable—but predictable to someone who watched closely.

"You speak as if these halls, these warriors, are… beneath you," Hippolyta said, her voice sharper now, cutting through the space like a blade. "Do you test me, or yourself?"

Percy shrugged with mock innocence. "Maybe a little of both."

Her lips pressed into a thin line. Test me… insolent boy. But yes, I see it now. He is measuring. Evaluating. Calculating whether he can bend the storm—or survive it.

Diana's fingers brushed against the hilt of her weapon unconsciously. He is skilled. Too skilled. Yet his audacity will draw fire. It always does. I must guide, observe, and restrain… but how much can one hold back?

Hippolyta's gaze sharpened further, as though piercing through every layer of his stance, his expression, his tone. Patience is a virtue unknown to him. Yet I must teach him its consequences. Actions have weight. Words even more.

Percy let the moment linger, letting tension stretch. He knew the hall's layout already, the spacing of guards, the angles of potential attacks, the reach of each Amazon within sight. He let his smirk grow imperceptibly. They watch. They assess. I'll let them stew a little longer.

Hippolyta rose smoothly from her chair, the movement controlled, deliberate, commanding attention. "You will not leave here untested, boy. One misstep… and your arrogance will be your undoing."

Percy's smirk deepened, almost imperceptibly cocky. "Sounds fair. I do like tests."

The hall seemed to shift with anticipation. The Amazons moved subtly, like coiled springs, each a silent measure of tension ready to snap. Diana's stance was poised, yet restrained. Percy observed them all with detached curiosity, cataloging strength, speed, awareness.

"You will be watched," Hippolyta said. "Every move, every word. The Gauntlet awaits. Do not mistake your confidence for invincibility."

Percy tilted his head, grin faint but unwavering. "I never do."

Diana's eyes flickered briefly, sharp, calculating. He believes he can ride any storm… but storms do not forgive carelessness. One wrong wave, and even skill fails.

Hippolyta studied him for a long beat, weighing the audacity, the power, the potential folly. The Gauntlet will strip him bare, test every layer. Will he endure, or will the consequences of impatience claim him?

A subtle hush fell over the hall, as if even the air were holding its breath. Percy twirled Riptide lightly, the weapon whispering across his palm. Let's see what you've got, world. I'm ready.

Percy's smirk lingered as Hippolyta's words echoed in the hall. "The Gauntlet awaits. Do not mistake your confidence for invincibility." He twirled Riptide idly, the metal glinting under the soft light, enjoying the tension crackling through the air.

Confidence… arrogance… let's see who acts first, he thought, letting his gaze sweep over the Amazons gathered around. Their stance was disciplined, coordinated, but he noted tiny tells: a finger twitching too quickly, eyes flickering toward an opening, subtle shifts of weight. Every small detail cataloged.

Diana's eyes never left him. Do not provoke them, Percy, her thoughts warned. One careless word and even your skill may not save you. This hall does not forgive.

But Percy's curiosity outweighed caution. "So, all these guards… all these Amazons," he said lightly, voice carrying through the hall, "and none of you seems willing to step forward. Afraid I might ruin the furniture?" His grin was lazy, teasing, meant to bait.

Hippolyta's eyes narrowed imperceptibly. Impatience. Provocation. Foolishness—but clever too. He tests discipline with words. How will they respond?

One of the Amazons at the edge of the hall—a lithe, fiery figure with sharp eyes and tightly braided hair—shifted in place. She had clearly been watching him, tension coiling through her muscles like a drawn bowstring. This insolence… it cannot go unchallenged, she thought. Arrogance in these halls demands correction.

Her hand went to the hilt of her sword, and before anyone could react, she stepped forward, voice sharp and commanding. "Boy! You presume too much! Insolence will not be tolerated here!"

Percy's eyes flicked to her, eyebrows raised, smirk unfading. Finally… a challenge. Let's see how hot-headed you really are.

He did not move aggressively, not yet, but the subtle shift of his stance, the casual twirl of Riptide, the faint curve of his lips conveyed readiness. The Amazon advanced, anger radiating off her in waves, ignoring Hippolyta's glance, ignoring protocol.

Hippolyta's mind raced. Patience… he cannot know yet. Observe, judge, let the moment unfold. One wrong step, one reckless action, and the lesson is learned. Or unlearned.

Diana's muscles tensed, fingers brushing against her weapon instinctively. He knows. He senses her. But she is reckless. I must watch. Intervene if necessary.

The Amazon lunged, sword swinging in a wide arc, her fury giving the attack terrifying speed and precision. Percy barely shifted, sidestepping fluidly. The tip of her blade sliced through the air, narrowly missing him. The hall seemed to compress around the motion, the echo of the swing bouncing off polished stone.

Quick, precise, fueled by anger, Percy thought. Not bad. But predictable.

He flicked his wrist; Riptide shimmered into existence. The bronze blade hummed, catching light as it met the hall's air. With a single, smooth motion, he deflected her swing, redirecting the sword harmlessly to the side. The Amazon stumbled slightly, momentum carrying her forward.

Too aggressive, too single-minded, Percy noted, adjusting his stance, eyes scanning the environment for advantage. Perfect opportunity.

He touched the hilt of Riptide again, subtle energy pulsing outward from his fingers. A faint, crimson mist began to curl around the Amazon's arms, seeping into her skin like a living shadow. Her eyes widened, a sharp inhale escaping her lips. The energy did not harm her directly—yet—but it bent her movements subtly, controlling the tension in her muscles, redirecting her strikes with invisible hands.

The hall froze, everyone registering the unnatural display. Guards shifted uneasily. Diana's eyes widened, but she did not intervene. He's… controlling her… somehow. Subtle, precise, terrifying.

Percy's grin deepened faintly. No need to be cruel. Just… corrective.

The Amazon realized she was losing control, her strength twisting against her own will. She attempted another swing, more desperate this time, and Percy guided her movement, redirecting it harmlessly toward the stone floor. She slammed down with a grunt, sliding across the polished surface, a streak of crimson—her own blood—staining her armor slightly. It wasn't lethal, but the display was brutal enough to silence the hall.

Hippolyta's gaze sharpened, calculating every microsecond. Impatience… arrogance… consequences manifest swiftly. He has power, yes. But discipline—true mastery—is more than this. Observe closely.

Diana's pulse raced. Brutal… precise… controlled. He could kill if he wanted. The restraint is what makes him terrifying. Yet arrogance still glints in his expression. One misjudgment…

Percy straightened, Riptide twirling lazily in his hand, the Amazon frozen on the floor in both awe and fear. His smirk widened faintly, eyes scanning Hippolyta's reaction. "Relax. She had a… problem with patience," he said lightly, voice carrying an air of humor, though not mocking.

The hall remained silent, the tension thick and almost tangible. Hippolyta's mind raced, weighing reactions, noting every detail: the precision of his movements, the faint aura of control over his opponent, the subtle taunting in his words. Control and arrogance… both in full force. The Gauntlet will be the true measure. Patience will be demanded, or blood will pay the price.

The defeated Amazon rose shakily to her knees, still unnerved by the invisible restraint she had felt, sweat glistening on her brow. Other Amazons took involuntary steps back, reassessing him in light of that single, horrifying display.

Percy allowed his smirk to fade slightly, observing silently. Respect. Fear. Caution. Exactly what I intended.

Hippolyta's voice cut through the heavy air, calm but steel-edged. "Enough." Her gaze swept the hall, taking measure of every Amazon and Percy alike. "This demonstration was… necessary. It proves both skill and recklessness. You, boy, have power—but the Gauntlet will not allow you to impose it without understanding its structure, its rules, or its consequences."

Percy tilted his head, curious, his grin returning faintly. "The Gauntlet? Already? I like the sound of that."

Hippolyta's eyes narrowed, assessing not just him, but Diana and the guards as well. Observe and prepare. The Gauntlet is no mere test of strength. It is endurance, cunning, and adaptability. Even he, with skill and talent beyond measure, must bend to it—or be broken.

Diana exhaled quietly, almost imperceptibly. He will relish the challenge, yes… but arrogance is a vulnerability. I must ensure it does not blind him completely. One slip in that trial…

Percy's eyes flicked from Hippolyta to Diana, then back to the subdued Amazon. Patience, skill, control. I've got all of it. And if this Gauntlet is what she says… let's see who breaks first.

Hippolyta's voice softened, almost contemplative, though still laced with authority. "The Gauntlet is designed to strip away presumption. It will test your mind, your strength, your endurance, and your ability to adapt. Fail to respect it, and it will show you consequences far harsher than a single opponent."

Percy let that sink in, turning it over in his mind. Adapt, endure… respect. Interesting. I've fought monsters, Titans… this sounds different. More subtle. I like subtle.

Diana's eyes lingered on him, the faintest mixture of admiration and concern. He understands strategy instinctively… yet arrogance colors every action. I must watch, guide… intervene if necessary.

Hippolyta's gaze softened fractionally, betraying a hint of her calculations and hopes. If he endures the Gauntlet, he will be a valuable ally. But if he falters… the halls will demand respect be earned in blood or humility.

Percy's smirk returned, a quiet grin of anticipation. Bring it on. I've survived worse storms than this. The Gauntlet? A puzzle and a battlefield rolled into one. I'm ready.

The hall seemed to hum subtly with unspoken tension, the polished stone reflecting every movement, every shift in stance. Percy felt the pulse of the place, the subtle energy lingering in the air. Every microsecond, every reaction was data. Every glance, every twitch, every pause was an opportunity.

Hippolyta straightened fully, voice cutting cleanly through the quiet. "You have seen what impatience yields. The Gauntlet will demand far more than a single misstep can teach. Do not enter it unprepared, boy, for its consequences are not forgiving."

Percy's eyes gleamed, anticipation humming through him. "I wouldn't have it any other way."

Diana exhaled, tension still present. May the boy's cunning match his arrogance. The Gauntlet is not just a trial of skill—it is a test of character, and his… is unpredictable.

Percy glanced once more at the fallen Amazon, noting the silent, wide-eyed reactions of the others, their respect mingled with fear. Exactly the lesson I wanted them to learn. Respect earns survival. Now… the real challenge begins.

The echoes of the skirmish still lingered in the hall, the metallic scent of blood faint but unmistakable. Percy's pulse had slowed, but the thrill hadn't left him. Around him, the Amazons were frozen, some gripping their weapons tighter, others staring at the fallen warrior with a mixture of shock and caution. Diana's hand hovered near her own weapon, calm but ready, while Hippolyta's gaze had sharpened, her lips pressed into a thin line as she regarded Percy with a careful appraisal.

"You handle yourself well," Hippolyta finally said, her voice steady, almost detached, though the underlying authority made it clear that she was still weighing every nuance of his skill and demeanor. "But know this: strength alone does not earn you respect here. Discipline, patience, and judgment do. What you just displayed—recklessness, though effective—is not a lesson I overlook lightly."

Percy inclined his head, twirling Riptide lazily. "Not reckless. Efficient. Fast is better than polite, sometimes." His grin tugged faintly, cocky but not arrogant, at least not to him. The hall remained silent, the Amazons unwilling to challenge him further, though tension radiated from the flanks. Diana's eyes flicked to him briefly, measuring, warning. Watch your tone, Percy. You've earned their attention—don't squander it.

Hippolyta's gaze swept over the fallen Amazon, then back to Percy, a careful calculation in her eyes. Impressive control… yet the audacity, the lack of caution—one misstep in the Gauntlet, and he may not walk away so easily. I must temper him without breaking him. And yet… he may be exactly what we need.

She gestured toward a corridor that led deeper into the palace, her movement graceful but commanding. "Come. You will see what is expected of you. You will understand the trial you are about to face."

Percy followed, the faint scrape of his boots against the stone echoing in the stillness of the hall. He glanced briefly at Diana, who matched his pace but kept her posture taut, silent vigilance evident. The Gauntlet… what exactly are we walking into? he wondered, curiosity lighting his eyes.

The corridor opened into a circular chamber. Its walls were carved with intricate scenes: warriors in motion, challenges overcome, traps sprung and avoided, all etched with a precision that suggested purpose beyond mere decoration. In the center, a raised platform bore a set of symbols, each glowing faintly, as though they were waiting for something—or someone.

Hippolyta's voice cut the silence. "This is the Gauntlet. It is a test of skill, strategy, endurance, and adaptability. No two trials are alike, and no advantage is permanent. You may encounter obstacles you cannot anticipate, opponents you cannot predict, situations where every decision matters. Fail, and you will be removed—either by your own mistakes or by design. Survive, and you earn your place, and the respect of all within these walls."

Percy's grin widened faintly, excitement threading through his veins. Finally, a proper challenge, he thought. No hand-holding, no rules written for comfort. I like it. He stepped forward slightly, studying the glowing symbols and carvings, imagining the potential traps and ambushes, the timing of opponents, the way terrain might be used to advantage—or against him.

Diana's eyes didn't leave him. He's thinking too fast, planning too much. That confidence… it's palpable, but it could blind him to real danger. I will watch. I will guide—but only when necessary.

Hippolyta's gaze lingered on Percy, assessing every micro-expression, every subtle movement, every twitch of muscle. He knows power. He tests boundaries. Patience is foreign to him—but he may learn. Or he may break. The Gauntlet will tell.

Percy ran his fingers along the hilt of Riptide, feeling the familiar weight, the reassuring presence of the weapon. Alright… step one: assess. Step two: adapt. Step three: survive. Step four: exploit opportunity. No shortcuts. No luck. Everything counts. He imagined the flow of the trial, the rhythm of combat and strategy intertwined, the mental focus required to anticipate and respond simultaneously.

He could feel the energy of the room itself—a subtle hum beneath the stone, as if the chamber were alive and observing him. Good. Let it watch. Let it judge. I like being measured against impossible odds. He flexed his fingers, readying himself, not because he feared failure, but because he relished the test.

Hippolyta's voice, calm but with the steel of command, cut through his thoughts. "Know this: every choice matters. The Gauntlet does not forgive arrogance, nor does it reward it. Every action you take will be recorded, remembered, and weighed. You may think you are clever, but the trial is cleverer. Adaptation is your greatest weapon—and your patience, your shield."

Percy's eyes glimmered with anticipation. Patience, huh? I can work with that… or test it. He could feel the challenge tightening around him, the pressure of unknown trials pressing against the edge of his confidence. Let's see what you've got, Gauntlet. Show me the rules. Show me the limits. I'll break the ones that are meant to confine.

Diana's gaze held a warning. You are skilled. But do not mistake arrogance for foresight. Control, observation, patience… these are the weapons that will keep you alive. Not just skill.

Percy's smirk softened into a determined grin. Observation first, strike later. Endure first, exploit after. And above all… survive. He traced the symbols with his eyes, imagining their meanings, anticipating patterns, calculating consequences.

Hippolyta's mind continued to circle him, analyzing every subtle motion. He thrives on challenge. Yet impatience could undo him. He must learn the cost of arrogance. But if he survives, he may become something greater than we anticipated—perhaps the key to what the Amazons need.

Percy shifted slightly, testing his stance, the weight of Riptide in his hand, the rhythm of the chamber beneath his boots. Mental, physical, strategic… this is more than just a fight. It's a puzzle. And I like puzzles. He allowed a momentary thrill, not of fear, but of anticipation, coursing through him.

Hippolyta finally inclined her head slightly. "Learn, observe, endure. The Gauntlet will take nothing for granted. And you… Percy Jackson, will find that the consequences of your choices are absolute."

Percy's grin returned, faint, confident, fearless. Absolute consequences. I like those. Makes things… interesting. He exhaled slowly, letting his body relax while his mind sharpened. Every instinct, every lesson, every trick learned from a lifetime of survival—everything would be called upon.

Diana matched his exhale with her own, a subtle alignment, a silent acknowledgment that she would watch, guide, and intervene only when necessary. He is capable. He is reckless. He is… intriguing.

The chamber seemed to pulse with expectation, the carved warriors and glowing symbols lending the space a sense of sentience. Percy's eyes flicked over every surface, every shadow, every possible vantage point. The Gauntlet waits. Let's see if it's ready for me.

A brief silence fell, punctuated only by the faint hum beneath the stone. Percy Jackson's mind raced with anticipation, excitement, and calculated curiosity. The challenge was ahead. The test was real. And he was ready.

I survive. I adapt. I master. I win.

Chapter Text

Chapter 3: The Gauntlet

The morning air was sharp, heavy with tension and salt from the sea. The Amazons gathered in the coliseum carved of white stone and sun, their bronze armor gleaming like molten gold. From the terraces above, Hippolyta watched with that same unreadable calm. Beside her, Diana stood, arms crossed, gaze locked on the lone figure walking into the arena.

Percy Jackson.

He walked like he owned the place. No armor, no shield, no sword drawn. Just Riptide clipped to his pocket in its pen form, glinting faintly in the light. His hair was still damp from the sea, his expression unreadable except for the faintest smirk tugging at his lips.

A thousand eyes followed him, judgmental, skeptical, waiting for him to falter. He didn't.

The gates closed behind him with a metallic thud that echoed across the stone. The silence that followed was thick enough to taste.

Percy exhaled, squinting up toward the sun. "Why is it always arenas?" he muttered. "Can't we ever settle things over, I don't know—coffee?"

His voice carried, and a few Amazons frowned. Humor wasn't part of their ceremonies.

Across the arena, Hippolyta rose to her feet. Her presence commanded instant silence.
"Perseus Jackson," she said, voice strong and clear. "You stand before the Amazons as an unknown, unproven warrior. Your power is unlike anything we've seen — dangerous, undisciplined. To remain here, you must earn the right. You will face the Gauntlet."

Percy tilted his head. "You've got a dramatic way of saying, 'prove you're not a threat.'"

Diana's expression didn't change, but there was the smallest flicker of a smile.

Hippolyta ignored the comment. "The Gauntlet is an ancient trial. It will test your strength, your endurance, and your will. Fail — and you leave our shores. Succeed — and we will speak again."

Percy's smirk deepened. "Sounds fun. Do I get a medal after?"

A few Amazons shifted uncomfortably at his tone. Arrogance was not tolerated here.

But Hippolyta only inclined her head slightly, eyes narrowing. "You may keep your weapon. You will need it."

Percy's gaze flicked toward the ranks of waiting Amazons — dozens of them, armed and ready. His grip brushed the pen in his pocket, but he didn't draw it.

"Fine," he said. "Let's get this over with."

The arena floor vibrated as the gates on the far end creaked open. The first wave of warriors stepped out, shields raised, spears glinting. Their movements were flawless, synchronized, like a single living weapon.

Percy rolled his shoulders once.
"Alright," he said under his breath. "Showtime."

The sound of armor filled the air — the scrape of bronze, the whisper of sandals across stone. The Amazons spread out in a circle around Percy, their formation flawless, shields locking in a gleaming wall. Spears angled toward him like a ring of silver teeth.

High above, the Queen lifted her hand. The coliseum went utterly still.

"Begin when ready," Hippolyta said.

Percy didn't move. He just stood there, rolling his neck until it cracked. A soft sea breeze swept through the arena, tugging at his hair. The water in the air bent toward him, subtle, invisible to most — but Diana noticed. She always did.

Her mother's gaze flicked toward her, questioning. Diana said nothing. She wanted to see what he'd do.

Percy's hand finally moved — slow, almost lazy — pulling Riptide from his pocket. He clicked the pen. In an instant, bronze light flared, and Anaklusmos came alive in his grip. The nearest Amazons flinched instinctively at the sudden burst of power.

He twirled the sword once, testing the weight, and sighed.
"You sure you don't want to make this best out of three?"

No one laughed.

The first Amazon lunged — fast, precise, her spear cutting through the air like lightning. Percy slipped aside with barely a step, the spearhead slicing through empty air where he'd been a heartbeat ago. He flicked his sword once, and her weapon snapped clean in two.

He didn't follow up. Just looked at her — calm, unreadable — then turned to the rest.

"You've got great form," he said conversationally. "Little predictable, though."

Another came at him. Then another. The circle began to move, testing his reactions, trying to box him in. Percy shifted between them like water itself — flowing, sliding, ducking beneath blades that should've drawn blood but never did.

Hippolyta's expression stayed steady, but her knuckles tightened on the railing. Diana leaned forward slightly. This wasn't brute strength. It was grace. Control.

And something else — that same quiet pressure that rolled off him whenever he moved near the sea. The faint hum of power that felt ancient, older than Olympus itself.

Percy exhaled, sword held low, eyes sharp and amused.
"Alright," he said softly. "Your turn."

The Amazons surged forward in unison — and the Gauntlet began.

Dozen Amazons, moving like a single, fluid entity, charged across the sand. Spears thrust, blades swung, and even the faintest tremor of their armor seemed synchronized, a prelude to the storm of movement they were about to unleash. Percy's chest rose and fell evenly, hair plastered to his forehead with sweat, sand clinging to his boots and armor. His fingers brushed the hilt of Riptide lazily, twirling it in a way that seemed casual, almost bored, while his mind cataloged every angle, every possible trajectory, every rhythm in the charge.

The first Amazon lunged, a blur of bronze and steel. Percy sidestepped, the motion flowing naturally from instinct rather than thought. As she overcommitted, he flicked the tip of Riptide outward, redirecting her momentum harmlessly. The blade spun in his hand, glinting in the sun, as her body slid through the sand, halting only inches from another warrior. He didn't pause.

A spear arced toward him. Percy dipped, water rising faintly from the moisture in the sand, twisting into a thin whip that snapped the weapon aside with a hiss of displaced energy. He could feel the subtle pull of the sea beneath his feet, a constant hum, and he let it guide his movements, nudging sand and moisture in precise ways. Not flashy—barely visible—but enough to turn the spear off course.

Another Amazon struck from the side, sword flashing. Percy pivoted, Riptide slicing clean through the attacker's momentum, brushing the edge of her armor without breaking the metal. He pushed, just enough, to throw her off balance. Sand flew in a miniature cyclone around his boots, and she stumbled, just barely catching herself on the sand, glaring with a mixture of shock and grudging respect.

"They train well," he thought, voice silent inside his head, "shame they're trying to kill me."

He moved again before they could regroup. Another pair of warriors came at him simultaneously, spears angled low and high. Percy's smirk was faint, almost amused, as he leapt into the air, flipping over one, landing in a crouch that absorbed the momentum of the other. A splash of sand and water sprayed from the ground, coating his boots and making his landing silent and light. He barely felt the strain, chest calm, lungs easy.

Riptide twirled in his palm, a blur of bronze catching the sunlight. He stabbed forward, not to harm, but to redirect—elbows and shoulders caught in precise points of leverage, forcing armored bodies to spin past him. One Amazon lunged too far; he grabbed her wrist mid-strike, twisting it just enough to throw her off balance and send her sliding, uninjured, across the sand. The motion was elegant, almost dance-like, a combination of prediction, muscle memory, and raw power.

The crowd of Amazons tried to adjust. Spears jabbed, axes swung, and a few attempted to flank him from behind. Percy's eyes flicked to the subtle hints in their postures: shoulders tensing before a strike, weight shifting toward the planted foot, fingers gripping hilts a fraction too tightly. He moved preemptively, sweeping through the sand, water arcs nudging blades aside, Riptide spinning and redirecting attacks in an invisible ballet of force and control.

A sword came at him from above, descending with lethal intent. Percy ducked, feeling the breeze of the blade, and pushed off the sand, kicking back hard enough to send the attacker stumbling forward. The impact was controlled—no bone broken, no unnecessary damage—but her momentum carried her across the arena like a ragdoll. Another Amazon lunged at that instant, only to find her path blocked by a shallow crest of sand Percy had subtly shifted in place.

He landed softly, boots crunching on wet grains, sand clinging to sweat-slick armor. His hair was plastered across his face, yet his eyes were calm, scanning the next wave. Another spear arced toward him. Percy let the water rise again, curling around the weapon as if alive, snapping it aside before it could reach him. The warrior stumbled backward, startled, unsure how a mere mortal—so small, so human—could bend the elements so easily.

Every movement was deliberate, each redirection precise. A pair of Amazons came from the flanks. Percy spun Riptide, slicing a line in the air that caught their weapons, sending them careening off to the side. Then, just as subtly, he flicked a hand toward the sand, lifting a small wave that tripped one and sent her sliding into another. Not deadly, not cruel—efficient. Controlled. Calculated.

He barely breathed hard. His chest rose and fell in even, measured intervals. Sweat dripped from his hair, mixing with sand and dust, but it didn't slow him. His eyes never left the oncoming warriors; he was always one step ahead, predicting their attacks, guiding their energy, redirecting it. He moved like water: graceful, relentless, impossible to pin down. Each strike, each push, each small manipulation of environment or element seemed effortless—though he knew the cost of effort, and he paced himself like a predator stalking prey.

"They fight with honor," he thought, silently acknowledging their discipline. "And it'll get them nowhere."

A spear snapped as it struck a minor sand barricade Percy had nudged into place, another whirring off as Riptide caught it mid-flight. Another Amazon charged blindly, and he stepped aside, letting her stumble over her companion's discarded weapon. He leaned down, just a flick of his wrist, and water arced from the sand, knocking her sword loose before she could regain balance.

Hippolyta's eyes narrowed, Diana's jaw tightened, subtle flickers of surprise passing over their faces as Percy continued his lethal dance. Each maneuver, each precise manipulation of both weapon and environment, drew barely audible gasps from the ranks. Yet he moved with calm, calculated precision, a predator who relished the hunt yet never overextended.

And still, his chest barely rose. He barely huffed. His muscles flexed under controlled power, his eyes scanned, predicted, redirected, and flowed with the incoming tide. By the time the first wave staggered back, disarmed, tripped, or redirected into the sand, Percy stood in the center, Riptide spinning lazily, his smirk faint but unmistakable.

"Not bad," he muttered under his breath, more to himself than anyone else. "But predictable."

The sand settled around him, clinging to sweat-slick armor, boots coated in grains of shattered earth. The first wave was done, and Percy barely broke a sweat. His chest rose evenly, heart calm, mind already running ahead to the next challenge.

The Amazons froze, eyes wide, reassessing. Even Hippolyta's regal gaze flickered with a trace of disbelief, and Diana's hand lingered near her weapon, calculating. Percy tilted his head, smirk faint.

"Round two," he said softly, almost amused. "Let's see who's next."

The sand still trembled faintly from the retreat of the first wave. Percy's boots left shallow impressions as he pivoted, scanning the arena. Spears, swords, axes—more of them this time. The second wave wasn't just about numbers; it was about tools. Range. Reach. Deadly precision.

He caught the glint of a sword lifted high, the flash of a spearhead catching sunlight, and the faint hiss of a bowstring twanging in the distance. His fingers brushed Riptide's hilt, and for the first time, he let the water around him rise slightly—not a tidal surge, just subtle, twisting arcs curling along the sand like living shadows. A spear that might have skewered him instead sailed off course, nudged by currents invisible to anyone but him.

Percy smirked faintly, amused. "Trying harder I see… But not hard enough, not enough to beat me"

A sword slammed down at an angle meant to split armor. He pivoted, barely bending his knees, spinning Riptide lazily in hand, deflecting the strike with a soft metallic clang. The attacker stumbled, losing balance, while Percy's hand flicked upward, a thin ribbon of water wrapping around the spear nearby and twisting it harmlessly aside.

Another Amazon rushed him, axe overhead. Percy caught her momentum, letting her own force fling her forward while he guided her path with a subtle nudge of water underfoot. She collided with another warrior, who grunted in surprise, weapons clashing harmlessly against sand and armor.

Arrows hissed through the air. Percy's gaze flicked upward, water pulsing faintly from the moisture in the sand to form translucent shields. They bent the arrows' path, sending them to harmless arcs in the distance. A warrior lunged with a spear from behind, expecting an opening. Percy shifted his weight, nudging the sand with precise pressure, sending her foot sliding at the exact moment she tried to plant it. Momentum betrayed her; the spear clattered to the ground.

A group of Amazons came together, hoping to corner him. Percy tilted his head, smirk tugging faintly. "Ever heard of Plan B? Because this one's already failing."

He ran forward, moving almost too fast to track. Riptide spun in his hand, catching light, cutting a narrow line of displacement in the sand. Spears jabbed toward him, axes swung, swords slashed. He blocked one, twisted another aside, and with the faintest flick of his wrist, lifted a thin ribbon of water to trip an incoming charge. He was everywhere and nowhere—fluid, relentless, and terrifyingly precise.

A spear came at his side. Percy pivoted, let his shoulder absorb the minor graze, then, almost lazily, nudged a shard of sand toward the Amazon holding it. She stumbled, her balance gone, her attack misfiring. Another arrow flew; a subtle twist of the wind carried it harmlessly away. Each motion was instinctive, precise—effortless. His chest barely rose, hair matted with sweat, boots coated in damp sand.

"Amateurs with style," he muttered quietly, almost under his breath. "I respect the effort, though."

Two Amazons approached from opposite sides, weapons flashing. Percy twirled Riptide, stepping into the first's path, letting her strike slide along the blade harmlessly. He pushed off her armor, guiding her momentum back toward her companion. The other swung a spear; Percy ducked, pivoted, and let the tip dig into the sand just enough to pin it temporarily, sending the wielder stumbling past him.

He moved with the kind of rhythm that seemed choreographed, though it was entirely improvised. Water arcs, subtle currents beneath the sand, wind nudges—all blended seamlessly with brute strength and sword mastery. He could see the strikes before they happened, hear the tension in muscles, the microsecond shifts that telegraphed attacks.

"You really should've thought this through," he said softly, voice carrying just enough for the nearest warriors to hear. "But hey, at least you're consistent."

Another spear whistled past his ear. Percy didn't flinch. He let it fly into the ground, then flicked a ribbon of water to trip a charging warrior. The subtle control of elements, combined with raw skill, left the Amazons off-balance, frustrated, and in awe.

A sword came at him in a high arc. Percy ducked, rolled, and brought Riptide up in a graceful, spinning motion to deflect it, the bronze blade catching the sun. His landing was silent, controlled; sand sprayed around his boots, kicked up by a subtle lift of water beneath them. No wasted motion. No overexertion. Just pure, flowing dominance.

The wave faltered, Amazons staggering, trying to regroup. Percy's smirk deepened faintly. "Impressive effort, but predictable."

He twirled Riptide casually, water curling and twisting around the sand as if it had its own mind. He scanned the arena, noting their postures, where their weight shifted too far forward, where their eyes flickered in tiny tells. Not just a battle of weapons, but of observation, adaptation, and timing.

By the time the second wave had fallen back, Percy's chest rose evenly, his breathing calm, almost lazy. Sweat and sand coated him, hair clinging to his forehead, yet he looked barely ruffled, as if he'd simply walked through a morning stroll. The ground was littered with displaced weapons and toppled armor, but no one lay seriously harmed. Precision, control, power—visible and undeniable.

Hippolyta's gaze sharpened, lips pressed into a thin line. Diana's fingers hovered near her weapon, calculating, impressed, cautious. Percy's smirk met their eyes.

The sand still trembled faintly from the retreat of the first wave. Percy's boots left shallow impressions as he pivoted, scanning the arena. Spears, swords, axes—more of them this time. The second wave wasn't just about numbers; it was about tools. Range. Reach. Deadly precision.

He caught the glint of a sword lifted high, the flash of a spearhead catching sunlight, and the faint hiss of a bowstring twanging in the distance. His fingers brushed Riptide's hilt, and for the first time, he let the water around him rise slightly—not a tidal surge, just subtle, twisting arcs curling along the sand like living shadows. A spear that might have skewered him instead sailed off course, nudged by currents invisible to anyone but him.

Percy smirked faintly, amused. "Plan B, huh? Don't worry. I always carry my own."

A sword slammed down at an angle meant to split armor. He pivoted, barely bending his knees, spinning Riptide lazily in hand, deflecting the strike with a soft metallic clang. The attacker stumbled, losing balance, while Percy's hand flicked upward, a thin ribbon of water wrapping around the spear nearby and twisting it harmlessly aside.

Another Amazon rushed him, axe overhead. Percy caught her momentum, letting her own force fling her forward while he guided her path with a subtle nudge of water underfoot. She collided with another warrior, who grunted in surprise, weapons clashing harmlessly against sand and armor. Not lethal, just… inconvenient, he thought, almost smiling. "They really train well, shame they're aiming at me."

Arrows hissed through the air. Percy's gaze flicked upward, water pulsing faintly from the moisture in the sand to form translucent shields. They bent the arrows' path, sending them to harmless arcs in the distance. A warrior lunged with a spear from behind, expecting an opening. Percy shifted his weight, nudging the sand with precise pressure, sending her foot sliding at the exact moment she tried to plant it. Momentum betrayed her; the spear clattered to the ground.

A group of Amazons came together, hoping to corner him. Percy tilted his head, smirk tugging faintly. "Ever heard of Plan B? Because this one's already failing."

He ran forward, moving almost too fast to track. Riptide spun in his hand, catching light, cutting a narrow line of displacement in the sand. Spears jabbed toward him, axes swung, swords slashed. He blocked one, twisted another aside, and with the faintest flick of his wrist, lifted a thin ribbon of water to trip an incoming charge. He was everywhere and nowhere—fluid, relentless, and terrifyingly precise.

A spear came at his side. Percy pivoted, let his shoulder absorb the minor graze, then, almost lazily, nudged a shard of sand toward the Amazon holding it. She stumbled, her balance gone, her attack misfiring. Another arrow flew; a subtle twist of the wind carried it harmlessly away. Each motion was instinctive, precise—effortless. His chest barely rose, hair matted with sweat, boots coated in damp sand.

"Amateurs with style," he muttered quietly, almost under his breath. "I respect the effort, though."

Two Amazons approached from opposite sides, weapons flashing. Percy twirled Riptide, stepping into the first's path, letting her strike slide along the blade harmlessly. He pushed off her armor, guiding her momentum back toward her companion. The other swung a spear; Percy ducked, pivoted, and let the tip dig into the sand just enough to pin it temporarily, sending the wielder stumbling past him.

He moved with the kind of rhythm that seemed choreographed, though it was entirely improvised. Water arcs, subtle currents beneath the sand, wind nudges—all blended seamlessly with brute strength and sword mastery. He could see the strikes before they happened, hear the tension in muscles, the microsecond shifts that telegraphed attacks.

"You really should've thought this through," he said softly, voice carrying just enough for the nearest warriors to hear. "But hey, at least you're consistent."

Another spear whistled past his ear. Percy didn't flinch. He let it fly into the ground, then flicked a ribbon of water to trip a charging warrior. The subtle control of elements, combined with raw skill, left the Amazons off-balance, frustrated, and in awe.

A sword came at him in a high arc. Percy ducked, rolled, and brought Riptide up in a graceful, spinning motion to deflect it, the bronze blade catching the sun. His landing was silent, controlled; sand sprayed around his boots, kicked up by a subtle lift of water beneath them. No wasted motion. No overexertion. Just pure, flowing dominance.

The wave faltered, Amazons staggering, trying to regroup. Percy's smirk deepened faintly. "Round two… well, part of it. Impressive effort, but predictable."

He twirled Riptide casually, water curling and twisting around the sand as if it had its own mind. He scanned the arena, noting their postures, where their weight shifted too far forward, where their eyes flickered in tiny tells. Not just a battle of weapons, but of observation, adaptation, and timing.

By the time the second wave had fallen back, Percy's chest rose evenly, his breathing calm, almost lazy. Sweat and sand coated him, hair clinging to his forehead, yet he looked barely ruffled, as if he'd simply walked through a morning stroll. The ground was littered with displaced weapons and toppled armor, but no one lay seriously harmed. Precision, control, power—visible and undeniable.

Hippolyta's gaze sharpened, lips pressed into a thin line. Diana's fingers hovered near her weapon, calculating, impressed, cautious. Percy's smirk met their eyes.

"Next wave's looking more interesting," he said softly, almost to himself, twirling Riptide. "I hope you're ready."

The arena shifted. The sand seemed sharper, the light harsher. No water stirred, no wind whispered in Percy's favor. The Gauntlet's final challenge wasn't about numbers or weapons—it was about raw skill, control, and sheer cunning.

He stepped forward, boots pressing into the sand, hair plastered to his forehead, armor clinging to sweat-slick skin. His chest rose evenly; his breathing calm. The Amazons watched silently, weapons poised, faces unreadable. Hippolyta's gaze was cold, calculating, Diana's eyes flicked with a mix of curiosity and skepticism.

"No powers," a voice rang out, the decree clear. Percy raised an eyebrow, smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.

"Noted," he said softly, tone casual. "If you really think that'll stop me, you're very mistaken."

A dozen Amazons advanced immediately, moving as one, each strike measured and coordinated. Percy barely shifted his stance, yet he could feel the slightest tension in their movements, the microsecond hesitation before a lunge, the subtle tilt of their weight predicting their attacks. His instincts, honed over years of battle, kicked in.

The first spear jabbed. Percy sidestepped, pivoting with precision, letting the momentum of the strike carry his opponent forward. A swift sweep of his boot sent her sliding across the sand, armor clattering. Another lunged with a sword, and he ducked low, twisting under the blade with a grace that made the movement look effortless. His hands moved fast, deflecting the weapon with a push and pull, redirecting force, never meeting it head-on.

The Amazons adapted quickly, trying to coordinate attacks from multiple angles. Percy's eyes flicked, noting patterns, reading intent. He pivoted and struck simultaneously, catching a wrist here, a shoulder there, forcing attackers off balance. Every motion was measured, economical—no wasted energy, no reckless swings.

He ducked a spear aimed at his chest, rolled through the impact of another, and flipped over a crouching opponent. Landing lightly, barely bending his knees, he used the slightest leverage to trip the next attacker. A blur of bronze and steel flashed as his hands grabbed hilts, deflected weapons, and redirected them, each opponent thrown slightly off-guard, unable to coordinate fully against him.

"You know," he said softly, voice almost amused, "I could do this all day."

A pair of Amazons charged simultaneously, attempting to flank him. Percy pivoted, caught one by the arm mid-strike, spun her away, and let the momentum carry her harmlessly into the sand. The other came at him with a sword. Percy ducked, rolled, and caught the tip under his arm, using it as leverage to flip her over. She landed with a grunt, scrambling to regain footing.

He moved like a shadow, every step precise, every motion efficient. No powers, no shortcuts, yet he was a storm contained in a calm frame. His eyes flicked to the subtle clues in their posture—the tension in muscles, the tilt of the head, the shift of weight—and he anticipated each strike before it fully committed.

A spear thrust toward him from behind. Percy twisted his body, feeling the spear graze the edge of his armor but continuing his motion seamlessly. He grabbed the wrist of its wielder mid-lunge, twisting it gently but firmly, and sent her tumbling. Another sword came down from above; he ducked, rolled, and kicked up sand to obscure the next attack.

Despite the flurry, his chest barely rose. His breathing was calm, controlled, almost lazy. Sweat dripped down his face, mixing with the sand, but he moved as if the chaos were nothing more than a slow, practiced dance.

"You're good," he said quietly, almost as if to himself, "but not good enough."

The Amazons' rhythm faltered. Their coordinated attacks slowed just enough for him to exploit. A subtle shift in stance, a flick of a wrist, a pivot of the hips—each move calculated, each counter efficient. One by one, the final wave faltered, tripping over weapons, stumbling through sand, their coordinated assault crumbling under his precise, instinctive defense.

Hippolyta's eyes narrowed. "No mortal should be able to do this," she admitted, voice low, almost reverent. Diana's hand hovered near her weapon, gaze sharp but betraying a flicker of curiosity.

Percy straightened, Riptide twirling lightly in his hand despite not relying on powers. Sand and sweat coated him, hair clinging to his face, chest even, breathing steady. He glanced at the Amazons, then back at the regal figures.

"Good thing I'm not just mortal," he said evenly, voice calm, not boastful—just the truth.

He didn't elaborate at first. He only let the weight of his performance speak. The arena was silent except for the settling dust, the labored breaths of his opponents, and the distant rustle of banners. Then he added softly, "I'm a demigod—from another dimension. Powers help, but skill and instinct… that's universal."

Diana's eyes widened slightly, a flicker of surprise and fascination crossing her features. Hippolyta's jaw tightened, but even she couldn't hide the trace of reluctant acknowledgment. Percy's calm, measured presence had done more than survive the Gauntlet; it had commanded respect, forced reconsideration.

He stepped back, allowing the Amazons space to recover, breathing steady, barely disturbed by the intense battle. The final challenge was over, yet the weight of it lingered, as if the arena itself had absorbed every movement, every calculation, every flicker of power denied but countered with sheer mastery.

Percy tilted his head slightly, smirk faint but controlled. "So… that's that. What's next?"

Diana's gaze lingered on him, a complex mix of shock, interest, and something unspoken. Hippolyta's eyes remained cold, but the edge of calculation in them was sharper than before. Percy felt it—the respect, the intrigue, the undeniable acknowledgment that he had passed the Gauntlet in a way none of them had expected.

Alright... so the secret of who percy is, is out. The interactions between percy and the amazons is gonna be a lot more... interesting now. Now that all the 'trial' stuff is done, i'll start building on the PercyxDiana relationship.