The Gamer of the Sea (PJO x DXD)

I ditched Grover as soon as we got to the bus terminal.

I know, I know. Rude. But Grover was acting unusual. looking at me like I was a dead man, muttering, "Why does this always happen?" and "Why does it always have to be sixth grade?"

Whenever he got upset, Grover's bladder acted up, so I wasn't surprised when, as soon as we got off the bus, he made me promise to wait for him, then bolted for the restroom. Instead of waiting, I grabbed my suitcase, slipped outside, and caught the first taxi uptown.

"East One-hundred-and-fourth and First," I told the driver.

Now, a word about my mom before you meet her.

Her name's Sally Jackson. She's the best person in the world—and the unluckiest. Life's always dumped problems on her, but she never once let it break her. She raised me on her own, worked herself half to death to keep things together, and somehow still managed to smile like the sun.

The only good break she ever got was my dad. Poseidon. Yeah, that Poseidon. God of the sea. He couldn't stay with us—gods never can—but my mom said when I was born, he looked at me like I was the greatest treasure he'd ever found. I don't remember him, but I believe her.

Anyway, that's my mom. Strongest mortal I know.

When I finally got home, I hoped she'd already be back from work.

——————————

Then I heard my mom's voice.

"Percy?"

She opened the bedroom door, and just like that, all the tension drained out of me.

My mom has this way of making everything feel safe just by being there. Her eyes sparkle like the ocean, shifting colors in the light, and her smile is warmer than sunlight on the waves. She's got a few gray streaks in her long brown hair, but I never think of her as old. When she looks at me, it's like she sees everything good about me and none of the bad.

"Oh, Percy." She hugged me so tight I thought I'd snap. "I can't believe it—you've grown since Christmas!"

Her Sweet on America uniform smelled like chocolate, licorice, and sugar—basically heaven. She always brought me "free samples" from the candy shop in Grand Central, and this time the bag was huge.

We sat on the edge of the bed, and while I tore into the blueberry sour strings, she ran her hand through my hair and made me tell her everything I hadn't put in my letters. She didn't mention getting expelled. Didn't care about that at all. What she cared about was me—was I okay? Was I holding up?

I told her she was smothering me and to back off, but honestly? I was just really, really glad to see her.

My mom is the nicest lady in the world. She should've been married to someone amazing—someone who could've given her everything. Instead, it's just been the two of us for as long as I can remember.

For her sake, I tried to sound upbeat about my last days at Yancy. I told her I wasn't too down about the expulsion. I'd lasted almost the whole year this time. I'd made some friends. I'd done pretty well in Latin. And honestly, the fights hadn't been as bad as the headmaster claimed. I liked Yancy Academy. I really did. I put such a good spin on the year, I almost convinced myself.

But then I started choking up, thinking about Grover and Mr. Brunner. Even Nancy Bobofit suddenly didn't seem so bad.

Until that trip to the museum…

"What?" my mom asked softly. Her eyes tugged at my conscience, pulling at the things I didn't want to say. "Did something scare you?"

"No, Mom."

I felt bad lying. I wanted to tell her about Mrs. Dodds and the three old ladies with the yarn, but it would sound insane.

She pursed her lips, clearly knowing I was holding back, but she didn't push me. Instead, she smiled.

"I have a surprise for you," she said. "We're going to the beach."

My eyes widened. "Montauk?"

"Three nights—same cabin."

"When?"

"As soon as I get changed."

I couldn't believe it. We hadn't been to Montauk the last two summers. The thought of being back by the ocean—the place where I always felt closest to my dad—lit something warm in my chest.

An hour later we were ready to leave.

We carried the bags down together, loading up the Camaro. It wasn't the fanciest car, but to me it always felt like freedom. The city streets fell away behind us as Mom drove east, the air growing saltier, cleaner, with every passing mile.

Our rental cabin was on the south shore, way out at the tip of Long Island. It was a little pastel box with faded curtains, half sunken into the dunes. There was always sand in the sheets and spiders in the cabinets, and most of the time the sea was too cold to swim in.

I loved the place.

We'd been going there since I was a baby. My mom had been going even longer. She never exactly said, but I knew why the beach was special to her. It was the place where she'd met Poseidon.

As we got closer to Montauk, she seemed to grow younger, years of worry and stress melting away. Her eyes took on the color of the sea, like they always did when we neared the coast.

We arrived just as the sun dipped toward the horizon. The cabin was the same as always: weathered, a little drafty, but ours. We opened the windows, let the ocean breeze roll in, and started our usual routine of sweeping sand out of corners. Then we walked the beach, tossing blue corn chips to the gulls and chewing on blue jelly beans, blue saltwater taffy, and the other treats Mom had brought home from the shop.

I guess I should explain the blue food.

It started as a joke between us—Mom once read that there was no naturally blue food, so she made it her mission to prove the world wrong. Blue birthday cakes, blueberry smoothies, blue tortilla chips… you name it, she'd find a way to make it. Somewhere along the line, it became our little tradition. Blue was our color, proof that sometimes the world's rules weren't as solid as they looked.

When night fell, we built a fire in the pit. The crackle of burning driftwood mixed with the hiss of waves, and for a little while, it was perfect. We roasted marshmallows and hot dogs. Mom told me stories from her childhood, her voice light in the glow of the flames. She talked about the books she still dreamed of writing someday, once life gave her the chance.

But no matter how good things were, I couldn't hold back the question always lurking in my chest.

"Tell me about Dad," I asked quietly.

Her eyes softened, catching the firelight. I'd asked before, but I never got tired of her answer.

"He was kind, Percy. Strong and powerful, but gentle, too. You have his hair, his sea-green eyes. When I look at you, I see him."

She fished a blue jelly bean from the bag, rolling it between her fingers. "He would be proud of you, Percy. More than you can imagine."

I stared into the fire, trying to believe her. What was so great about me? A dyslexic kid who couldn't stay in one school for more than a year. I didn't feel like someone a god could ever be proud of.

"How old was I?" I asked. "When he left?"

Her gaze went distant, misty with memory. "You were just a baby. He stayed with me for one summer, here in this cabin. Then he had to go."

The waves rolled in and out, as steady as her heartbeat, and I tried to picture him standing where I stood now—watching the same sea, holding me in his arms, before everything changed.

"Look Percy, I've tried to keep you as close to me as I could" my mom said. "They told me that was a mistake. But there's only one other option, Percy-the place your father wanted to send you. And I just ... I just can't stand to do it."

"My father wanted me to go somewhere?"

"Yes," Mom said softly. "A summer camp."

I didn't react. The fire crackled, shadows flickering across the cabin walls.

She frowned. "Percy… you're not surprised."

I shifted uncomfortably, staring into the flames. "I've… heard of it. People talk, Mom. About a place for kids like me."

Her hand froze halfway to the candy bag. "You shouldn't know about that," she whispered.

I didn't answer. I just kept watching the fire, pretending the marshmallow I was roasting was the most interesting thing in the world.

Mom reached out and squeezed my hand, her fingers trembling. "Then it's starting sooner than I hoped."

She turned toward the fire, her face softening in that way it always did when she was hiding something heavy. I caught the glimmer in her eyes and knew—if I pushed, if I asked one more question—she'd start to cry. And I couldn't do that to her. Not tonight.

We sat there in silence, the crackle of the flames filling the gap where our words should've been. The marshmallows burned to ash on their sticks. My chest felt tight, like all the questions I wanted to ask were stuck behind my ribs.

Later, Mom finally drifted off, the cabin felt too small, too quiet. Even with Mom asleep only a few feet away, I couldn't shake the restless tug gnawing at me. The sea was calling. Not in words, exactly, but in that low, endless pulse against the sand—like a heartbeat I couldn't ignore.

I slipped outside. The night air was cool against my skin, the sky heavy with stars. Each step into the sand felt like I was walking toward something inevitable.

When I reached the waterline, the waves curled around my ankles, and the system chimed:

[The One Who Birthed The Shores greets you.]

The tide pulled back, then swelled forward, rising higher, stronger, until the whole ocean seemed to lean closer.

[You are in the presence of a Primordial.]

A voice rolled through the surf, ancient and vast, as if every wave carried part of it:

'Child of mine …. why do you wander restless at the edge of my body?'

The words weren't spoken aloud. They resonated inside me, in the marrow of my bones.

"You're… the sea?" he asked, his voice trembling.

The waves surged higher, then fell again, slow and deliberate, like a nod.

[Not incorrect enough to be wrong, yet not correct enough to be right. I am she whom mortals once called Thalassa. The endless surface. The mother of tides, foam, and foam-born gods. The skin of the deep. The womb of all shores. You walk my boundary, half-claimed son, and so I speak.]

Percy swallowed. His throat was dry. "Half-claimed… You mean because of my dad?"

[The one who seeded you is me, yet less. He is a droplet from my expanse, a shard of my eternal blue. You carry his blood… but also my memory. My call.]

The surf rolled higher, licking at his toes. Percy shivered.

"Then… why talk to me now?"

For a moment the sea grew quiet, stretching out like glass beneath the moon. Then the voice surged again, vast, inevitable.

[Because the loom of fate stirs at your touch. Already you dream of yarn cut short. Already the monsters scent you. Already you walk where gods and mortals are not meant to linger. You must learn to listen, Perseus.]

Percy frowned. "Listen? To who?"

[Not who. What. The pull beneath your skin. The tide in your blood. The silence between waves. That is where truth lies. That is where you will not drown.]

The waves lapped gently now, almost soothing.

Percy found himself whispering, "Will I see you again?"

A pause. The horizon seemed to breathe.

[I am always here. Where water reaches. Where foam is born. Where the shore begins. Call, and I will hear.]

And then the tide pulled back, the world resuming its rhythm. The voice was gone, but the sea still lingered in his chest, heavy and alive.

[The One Who Birthed The Shores withdraws.]

Percy stood there for a long time, the water curling at his feet, before finally turning back to the cabin. Sleep would not come easy, but something inside him felt… steadier.

————————————————————-

That night, I slipped into a dream that felt all too real.

The beach was wild with a furious tempest, and two magnificent creatures—a greenish silver horse and a gold eagle—were locked in a deadly struggle at the water's edge. The eagle dove, talons raking the horse's face, and the horse reared, hooves swinging at the eagle's wings. The sand trembled beneath their fight, and somewhere deep below, a growling, mocking voice urged them on.

I sprinted toward them, desperate to stop the carnage, but my legs dragged through thick, invisible mud. I knew I wouldn't reach them in time. The eagle dove again, beak aimed straight for the horse's eyes, and I screamed, Stop!

I jolted awake.

Outside, the storm seemingly had followed me into reality. The wind tore through the dunes, lightning ripped across the sky, and waves smashed into the shore like crashing battering rams. There was no stallion or eagle—just the relentless sea, wild and roaring.

[Multiple Divine Beings are attempting to Observe you]

[The Cloak of The Wise One and The Mist has successfully blocked all Observation attempts]

[While the Gods have Failed to Observe you, they can still see your Effect on the World]

[The Gods know you're here due to your Mother]

[The One Who Birthed the Shores greets you]

"Thalassa?" I shouted, letting the wind whip my words. "Why is this hurricane here?"

Her 'voice' rolled out of the ocean depths. Steady. Immense. Every word seemed to ripple through the water itself.

[Zeus knows you are here. This storm is their warning. I cannot act directly—they have not yet harmed you. But their gaze is around you, and the currents writhe in response.]

I gritted my teeth. "So… what should I do?"

[Go to the place your father intended for you. There you will be shielded from both mortal and divine notice. Delay invites danger.]

The storm whipped my hair around my face, but I didn't hesitate. Every instinct I had told me exactly how to act. I raised my hands, letting the power I had honed flow through me. Water and wind obeyed, bending to my control. The hurricane's rage met my command—and I met it confidently, directing the gusts and waves.

[Summon Storm(B+) has lessened the Storms Rage]

Within moments, the chaos softened. The roaring gusts became a controlled gale; the waves shrank, though they still thumped against the shore with power. Lightning continued to flash, but now the danger felt contained, manageable.

I exhaled. The ocean itself seemed to acknowledge my control, ripples lapping against the sand in rhythm with my heartbeat. Thalassa's warning was clear, but for now, I had the upper hand.

"Camp," I muttered. "I'll go."

The storm stayed alive, a reminder that the gods were watching. But for now, I was ready.

My mother sprang out of bed in her nightgown and threw open the lock.

Grover stood in the doorway, rain pouring off him. "Searching all night," he gasped. "What were you thinking?"

"Percy," my mom shouted over the storm, "what happened at school? What didn't you tell me?"

"O Zeu kai alloi theoi!" Grover yelled. "He's right behind me! Didn't you tell her?"

Mom grabbed her purse, tossed me my rain jacket, and said, "Get to the car. Both of you. Go!"

Grover bolted for the Camaro—but he wasn't running like a human. He trotted, his shaggy hindquarters propelling him. Cloven hooves pounded the pavement, splashing rain in every direction.