Percy Jackson: The Son of Kronos

Chapter 7: Shadows Beneath the Stars

The forest was quiet as the three of them set up camp for the night. After a long day of trekking through uneven terrain, avoiding monsters, and arguing over directions, Percy decided they needed to rest. Grover had quickly volunteered to scout for any lurking threats, leaving Percy and Annabeth to finish pitching the tent and arranging their sleeping bags.

As the night deepened and the forest grew quieter, Grover returned, munching on what appeared to be a tin can he had scavenged. He reported no immediate dangers nearby, which earned a relieved nod from Percy and a thoughtful hum from Annabeth. Grover soon curled up near the fire, drifting into light snores that punctuated the stillness of the woods.

Percy sat cross-legged by the fire, his sword balanced across his lap, while Annabeth busied herself with her notebook. She scribbled furiously, her face illuminated by the soft golden light of the flames. The lines of concentration on her forehead were subtle but telling.

"What are you working on?" Percy asked, his voice low so as not to disturb Grover.

Annabeth glanced up briefly before returning to her notes. "Plans. Mapping out the best route to reach our destination without running into any major threats."

"That's smart," Percy said. He leaned back slightly, keeping his tone casual. "You're always thinking ahead, huh?"

"Someone has to," she replied, her tone teasing but laced with a hint of pride.

Percy watched her for a moment, choosing his words carefully. "Is it hard? Always having to be the one with the plan?"

Annabeth paused briefly before shrugging. "It's just how it is," she said, her voice steady.

"I guess that makes sense." Percy let his gaze drift to the fire, the flickering flames dancing in his eyes. "I just figured… it might be nice to know you don't have to do it all by yourself."

Annabeth looked up at him, her expression unreadable. "What are you getting at?"

Percy met her eyes, keeping his tone light. "Nothing, really. Just saying we're a team. If you ever need someone to bounce ideas off, I'm here."

She hesitated, her fingers curling slightly around her notebook. "I'm used to figuring things out on my own," she admitted. "It's easier that way."

"Maybe," Percy said, his voice soft. "But sometimes it's easier with help."

Annabeth didn't respond immediately, and Percy didn't press her. Instead, he let the silence settle, knowing she'd either open up or keep her walls intact. He wasn't in a rush. Building trust took time, and Percy had learned that patience often yielded the best results.

Eventually, Annabeth set her notebook aside, her expression thoughtful. "You're different than I expected," she said, her voice quieter than usual.

"How so?" Percy asked, genuinely curious.

She tilted her head slightly, studying him. "You're… adaptable. Most people would have crumbled under everything that's happened so far, but you've handled it."

"Is that your way of saying I'm doing okay?" Percy teased, a small smile tugging at his lips.

Annabeth rolled her eyes, but there was a faint trace of amusement in her expression. "Don't let it go to your head."

Percy chuckled softly, leaning back on his hands. "Wouldn't dream of it."

The fire's last embers glowed faintly as the conversation drifted into more mundane topics—plans for the next day, theories about the quest, and bits of Annabeth's extensive knowledge of Greek mythology. Percy let her take the lead, chiming in occasionally to ask a question or offer a thoughtful comment.

It wasn't manipulation, not exactly. Percy genuinely enjoyed talking to her, but he couldn't ignore the opportunity to deepen their connection. Annabeth was sharp, determined, and fiercely independent, but even she needed someone to rely on. Percy intended to be that person.

As the fire dwindled, Percy shifted his gaze to the starless sky. "We should probably get some sleep," he said, his tone light. "Big day tomorrow, right?"

Annabeth nodded, though she still seemed lost in thought. "Yeah. Big day."

Percy settled into his sleeping bag, letting his body relax even as his mind stayed alert. Tonight had gone well—better than he'd expected. Annabeth might not fully trust him yet, but she was starting to let him in. And that was enough for now.

The forest around them grew quiet, the fire reduced to faintly glowing embers. In the stillness, Percy let his mind drift—not to sleep, but to planning. Every move, every word, every choice—it was all part of a larger game. And Percy intended to win.

The woods were eerily silent as Percy sat cross-legged on a damp blanket, eyes scanning the clearing. The air was heavy with the stench of trash and muck, a stark contrast to the faint sound of crickets and rustling leaves. Percy glanced over at Annabeth, who had fallen asleep almost immediately, her golden hair glinting faintly in the moonlight. Grover perched above them on a low-hanging tree branch, his flying shoes still as he stared into the sky.

"Go ahead and sleep," Percy said quietly, his voice steady. "I'll wake you if anything happens."

Grover hesitated but nodded, though his gaze remained on the orange haze blotting out the stars. After a long moment, he spoke, his voice tinged with melancholy. "It makes me sad, Percy."

Percy turned, his expression guarded. "What does?"

"This. All of it." Grover gestured to the scattered garbage around them. "The sky, the land. Everything's polluted. It's a terrible time to be a satyr."

Percy didn't respond immediately, his thoughts shifting to their precarious situation. "The gods probably don't make it any easier for you," he said finally, a measured observation rather than an attempt at comfort.

Grover sighed. "It's not just the gods. It's humans, too." His gaze turned distant. "They've been destroying everything for centuries. And without Pan…" His voice faltered.

"Pan?" Percy's brow furrowed, his curiosity piqued despite himself. "The god of wild places? I thought he was dead."

Grover's face hardened. "Humans might believe that, but satyrs don't. We've been searching for him for two thousand years. He's not dead—just lost."

Percy studied Grover carefully, noting the determination in the satyr's expression. There was something admirable about his unwavering belief, even if Percy thought it futile. Still, he didn't dismiss Grover's words outright. "So, you're hoping to find him?" he asked, his tone neutral.

"I will find him," Grover said firmly. "It's my life's dream. It has to be. Otherwise, what's the point?"

Percy didn't press further. He understood the need to cling to a purpose, even if he wouldn't admit it aloud. Instead, his thoughts wandered to the quest ahead and the many unanswered questions swirling around it.

Hours passed before Percy finally allowed himself to rest. His sleep was restless, haunted by strange visions. He stood in a dark cavern, the air thick with mist. Shadows of the dead swirled around him, their whispers clawing at his ears. In the distance, a bottomless chasm yawned open, its darkness alive with a malevolent presence.

From the void, a voice echoed, ancient and cold but one which also felt familiar. "The little hero. Too weak, too young. But perhaps… you will do."

Percy's jaw clenched, his instincts screaming to retreat, but he stood firm. Images of his mother appeared above the chasm, her face frozen in agony, her eyes pleading. The voice grew hungrier, wrapping around him like chains. "Help me rise, boy. Bring me the bolt. Strike a blow against the treacherous gods."

A wave of dread washed over Percy as he realized the truth: the voice wasn't pulling him in—it was using him to pull itself out.

Percy woke with a start, his body tense and his mind racing. The weight of the dream lingered, each detail vivid and unsettling. Annabeth knelt nearby, offering him a bag of chips. "Well, the zombie lives," she said dryly.

Ignoring her tone, Percy forced himself to sit up, his senses still on high alert. "How long was I out?"

"Long enough for me to make breakfast," Annabeth replied, her expression unreadable. "Grover went exploring. And… he found a friend."

Percy turned to see Grover sitting cross-legged with a pink poodle in his lap. He blinked, half-convinced he was still dreaming. "Please tell me this is a joke."

Grover grinned. "Meet Gladiola. Gladiola, Percy."

Annabeth nodded solemnly. "The poodle has a plan to get us west."

Despite himself, Percy let out a humorless laugh. "A poodle has a plan. Great. Just what we needed."

Annabeth's eyes narrowed. "This 'poodle' could be the difference between us making it to Los Angeles or not. Show some gratitude."

Percy sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Fine. What's the plan?"

Grover explained that Gladiola had run away from a wealthy family offering a $200 reward for his return. The poodle was willing to go back if it meant helping them reach the West.

It was a ridiculous solution, but Percy couldn't deny its practicality. "And then what? Another bus ride?"

Annabeth shook her head, pointing toward the horizon. "No. There's a train station about half a mile that way. According to Gladiola, we can catch an Amtrak heading west at noon."

Percy stared at her for a moment, his expression unreadable. The dream was still fresh in his mind, its implications gnawing at him. But for now, he pushed it aside. "Fine," he said finally. "Let's get moving."

He stood, his gaze sweeping over the clearing one last time. The garbage, the polluted sky, the uneasy quiet—all of it reminded him how far they still had to go. But unlike before, Percy wasn't content to rely on luck or blind faith. Every step he took from here would be calculated, every decision deliberate.

The gods might think they could use him, but Percy wasn't going to let them. Not without a fight.

—

End of chapter 7

Author's Note: Not much has really happened in this chapter but I saw a chance for Percy to manipulate Annabeth and get to know her better.