Percy Jackson: A Different Percy

Chapter 4: One Years Old

Percy was no longer just a small bundle of innocence wrapped in a blanket. Well, that's an overstatement. He is still an infant but a far cry different from his previous self.

He had grown, not only in size but in skill and power, Spending his year silently sharpening his abilities beneath the veil of normalcy. 

His body, while still infantile, was stronger than it appeared. His blue eyes gleamed with intelligence far beyond his years, and though he could not yet speak, his silence concealed a mind always at work.

The past ten months have been crucial. Percy had trained with a discipline and precision that no mere toddler should possess, though his mother was none the wiser. 

To Sally Jackson, he was still her precious little boy—happy, healthy, and full of life. To the world, he was just another baby learning to walk, testing his first few words. But beneath the surface, Percy was a force waiting to be unleashed.

His control over water had grown exponentially. What had once been simple droplets now turned into waves that bent to his will. He no longer needed to wait for rain to practice; he could extract water from the very air around him. 

The dampness in the atmosphere, the dew on leaves, the condensation on windows—all were tools in his hands. With a flick of his wrist, moisture would gather and bend to his desires, swirling in elegant shapes before being released with force.

And that was just the beginning.

As his body matured, so too did his endurance. In the early months, a single act of willpower had left him exhausted, his small body unable to keep up with the energy demands of his divine powers.

But now, Percy could maintain focus for much longer. His recovery had improved too, taking mere minutes to recover from tasks that would have previously left him unconscious for hours.

Each day was a quiet routine of growth. By outward appearances, he was learning to crawl, then walk, stumbling across the small apartment, arms outstretched as Sally's laughter echoed behind him. 

But those steps were deliberate. He was learning balance, coordination, the subtle art of control over his own body—a prerequisite training to master the more complicated swordsmanship he had planned for the future.

Even his physical strength had developed far beyond normal. At six months, he had found he could lift objects with ease that should have been too heavy for a child. 

He practiced in secret, moving toys around his crib, building small towers of blocks and knocking them down with calculated precision. 

By his first birthday, his grip was like steel—strong enough that he had to actively suppress his strength in front of Sally to avoid suspicion.

Mentally, Percy's objectives were clear. His first goal was to master his divine abilities, ensuring that he would be prepared for whatever the future held. 

He had felt the power within him from the moment he became aware of this world, and he knew that it was only a matter of time before monsters came searching.

But they are not much trouble for him.

In fact he will welcome them with open arms. They will fuel his growth and by the time he reaches his coming of age he will ensure that the corpse of the monster he slays will form a hill.

His mornings were for observation. He studied the world around him, noting every change in the environment—how the sun affected the plants, how the air felt different before it rained, how shadows danced across the walls as the day progressed. It was all data, feeding his understanding of how he could manipulate the elements around him.

Afternoons were for training. Whenever Sally was occupied with chores or errands, Percy would retreat to a quiet corner of the apartment, summoning water from the air and practicing control. At first, it was simple shapes—spheres, lines, gentle streams. 

Then he advanced to more complex forms: sharp needles, flowing whips, and condensed blasts of water that could knock small objects off the table. 

The dents in the walls and furniture were growing harder to explain away, but Sally, ever patient, chalked it up to the clumsiness of a young child.

But Percy knew better. He was refining his technique, pushing himself harder each day. He couldn't afford to grow complacent. Not with the threats he knew were coming.

By night, as the moonlight filtered into his room, Percy would lie in his crib, replaying the events of the day in his mind. 

What had worked? What hadn't? Where had he exerted too much energy, and where could he push harder? 

His analytical nature drove him to constantly improve, to test the limits of his powers, both mental and physical. 

He imagined the monsters that would one day come for him, and with every mental simulation his will grew stronger as well as his strength.

Sally, for her part, remained blissfully unaware. She saw only the child in front of her—the boy who clapped his hands at bedtime stories, who giggled when she made funny faces, who took his first steps with excitement.

She didn't see the quiet determination behind his wide eyes, the future he was already planning. For now, Percy was content to let her believe that he was simply a child. There was no rush. He still had time.

Time to grow. Time to prepare.

As Percy lay in his crib on the night of his first birthday, the familiar sound of rain began to patter against the window. 

He smiled, lifting his hand toward the glass, feeling the moisture gathering in the air. A soft pulse of energy rippled through his fingertips, and outside, the droplets began to slow, hovering in place for a brief moment until the shape became more complex. 

It turned into a trident but in just seconds of its creation it crumbled.

Not yet, he thought. But soon.

He had come far in one year. But there was still so much further to go.

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