Chapter 1: A Mysterious Heritage

Percy Jackson had always felt like an outsider at Yancy Academy. Most days, it was a quiet disdain he held for the place, a stark contrast to the loud and frequent trouble he found himself causing. Unlike the Percy from the original tale, he wasn't just stumbling into bad luck; every slip, every mistake was noted, calculated, filed away in the recesses of his mind. These thoughts simmered beneath the surface as he watched his classmates shuffle past the dull, gray hallways.

Today was a little different, though. They were on a field trip to the Metropolitan Museum of Art. "A cultural experience," Mr. Brunner had called it, waving his arm in that animated way of his as he had herded them onto the bus. As they entered the grand halls of the museum, Percy felt the weight of eyes on him—not his classmates, but something else, something more primal, almost familiar. He felt it, and for the first time, it was like it wasn't just trouble coming for him; it was watching him, judging him.

He caught Grover's eye as the group spread out, guided by Mr. Brunner's explanations about Greek statues and myths. Grover was staring at him, his usual nervous fidgeting more intense than usual. Percy squinted, wondering why he was getting that look, like Grover was waiting for him to explode or worse.

"Percy!" Grover finally hissed, sidling up beside him. His whisper was shaky, his eyes darting around as if they might get caught just for speaking. "You're—you're feeling okay, right?"

"Just peachy," Percy replied with a smirk, feeling that familiar thrill when he saw Grover gulp. It was fun sometimes, watching Grover squirm. He didn't know why he enjoyed it, but the tension fed something hidden inside of him, some craving for control, like he could bend situations to his will if he simply looked hard enough.

But this time, something in Grover's eyes struck a chord. Fear. Percy noticed it and decided, for now, to ease off. He raised a brow, giving him a look of mild irritation. "You sure you're okay?"

Grover nodded too quickly. "Yeah, yeah, just…making sure."

The two rejoined the group as Mr. Brunner's voice grew more animated. The older man seemed so absorbed in the myth he was recounting that Percy's mind drifted. He tuned out the lecture on Zeus and his many conquests, his mind occupied by the strange sensations he'd been feeling all morning.

Percy's gaze wandered over the statues lining the gallery, ancient gods and heroes frozen in stone. He found himself drawn to one statue in particular—a towering figure of Kronos. Unlike the others, it didn't exude the same noble, heroic aura. Kronos's face was twisted, both powerful and cruel, a strange mix that seemed almost alive.

There was something about it. A whisper in the back of Percy's mind, a strange pull that made his heartbeat quicken. He could almost feel the weight of the figure's eyes on him, as though Kronos were gazing directly at him, through centuries and stone. He didn't know why, but the statue stirred something dark within him. The feeling was foreign and thrilling. And, for just a moment, he allowed himself to stand there, wondering what it would feel like to have that kind of power, to be looked at not with pity or disdain, but with fear and respect.

"Percy!" Mr. Brunner's voice snapped him back to reality. His teacher was standing a few feet away, watching him with that unnervingly perceptive gaze of his.

"Do you recognize this figure?" Mr. Brunner asked, motioning to the statue.

Percy swallowed, his eyes narrowing as he forced himself to look casual. "Uh…Kronos, right? The Titan who swallowed his kids?"

Brunner's eyes flickered with something Percy couldn't quite decipher. Approval, maybe? Or perhaps curiosity. "Very good," he replied, his voice almost too soft. "Yes, Kronos was the Titan of time, ruthless and cunning. Power like his can become a curse… or a weapon. Remember that, Percy."

Percy felt a flicker of something—curiosity? Fear? He wasn't sure. But he nodded, the shadow of a smirk playing on his lips as he watched Mr. Brunner move on to another statue.

The rest of the tour passed in a blur. Percy's mind kept drifting back to that statue, and Mr. Brunner's words echoed in his mind. What was he trying to tell him? Why would a teacher encourage him to understand power as a "weapon"? A part of him found it amusing, the idea that someone might actually believe in all this godly nonsense. But another part, deeper and more hidden, thrilled at the thought.

As the group moved through the galleries, they entered a dimly lit hall where Greek pottery lined the walls, each piece adorned with images of battles, heroes, and monsters. Percy found himself drawn to one pot in particular, its surface painted with a gruesome depiction of a group of demigods battling a Hydra. For some reason, he felt almost envious of those figures—bold, powerful, fighting their way through impossible odds.

"Mr. Jackson," a cold voice snapped him out of his thoughts.

Percy turned and saw Mrs. Dodds, the math teacher with the piercing eyes and the unnerving tendency to appear when he least wanted her around. Her sharp gaze bore into him, a cold smile stretching across her face.

"Follow me," she said, her voice edged with something darker than the usual disapproval.

Percy glanced around, catching a fleeting look of worry on Grover's face. But Grover didn't move to stop him. With a shrug, Percy followed her into a small, isolated gallery room lined with ancient weapons and armor. The shadows seemed thicker here, the air heavy and quiet.

Mrs. Dodds spun around to face him, her expression twisted and fierce. "You think you're special, don't you?"

Percy raised an eyebrow, folding his arms. "Depends who's asking."

Her lips twisted into a snarl. "You've been causing a lot of trouble, Jackson. Too much trouble. You think you can defy the rules? You think you can evade justice?"

Percy's smirk widened. "Justice? Really? I didn't know not paying attention in math was a crime."

Her eyes gleamed with something almost hungry. "We know who you really are, Percy Jackson. And we cannot allow you to continue."

And then, before his eyes, Mrs. Dodds transformed. Her face contorted, her skin stretching as dark wings unfurled from her back. Her eyes burned with a ferocious light, and her hands extended into wicked, talon-like claws.

Percy's heart raced, but his shock quickly gave way to something else—a rush of adrenaline, a fierce excitement that stirred deep within him. This wasn't fear. It was… exhilaration. His mind sharpened, the thrill of a real challenge igniting his senses.

But before Mrs. Dodds could strike, he heard the sound of wheels clattering on the marble floor. Mr. Brunner entered the gallery, his face calm but intense, holding a pen in his hand.

"What ho,Percy!" Mr. Brunner shouted, tossing the pen to him. Percy caught it, and in his hand, it transformed into a bronze sword, gleaming and deadly.

Instinctively, he raised the sword as Mrs. Dodds lunged at him, her claws slicing through the air.

Mrs. Dodds's claws came within inches of Percy's face, but he sidestepped, feeling the sword hum in his grip. It felt right, like an extension of his arm, natural and deadly. He slashed instinctively, catching Mrs. Dodds's wing. She shrieked, staggering back as ichor—the golden blood of the gods—trickled from her wound.

She glared at him, her eyes blazing. "You don't know what you're dealing with, boy," she hissed, her voice echoing with something inhuman. "You're more dangerous than you realize."

Percy smirked, feeling a dark thrill in his chest. "I guess you'll have to find out the hard way."

Mrs. Dodds lunged again, and Percy sidestepped once more, driving the blade forward. His movements were fluid, like he'd done this before—even though he knew he hadn't. But something inside him, some hidden instinct, took over, guiding his hand.

With one final slash, he struck Mrs. Dodds across the chest. She dissolved into golden dust, her scream fading as she vanished. Silence filled the gallery, and Percy stood there, breathing hard, the sword in his hand slowly turning back into a pen. He stared at it, the reality of what had just happened sinking in.

Mr. Brunner approached him, a hint of a smile on his face. "Well done, Percy. Very well done."

Percy looked up, his eyes narrowing. "What was that? What was she?"

Mr. Brunner's gaze was steady. "That, my boy, was a Fury—a servant of Hades. They pursue those who have defied the ancient laws of the gods."

Percy's mind raced. None of this made sense. Monsters, gods, ancient laws? He wanted to laugh it off, to shrug and pretend it was some weird joke. But the memory of Mrs. Dodds's transformation, of her claws, her eyes—those things were too real.

"Why would a Fury come after me?" Percy demanded, his voice sharp.

"That's… complicated," Mr. Brunner replied, his face thoughtful. "But suffice it to say, there are mysteries in your heritage, Percy. Things you may not understand yet. But in time, you will."

Percy frowned, his mind a whirlwind of questions, but Mr. Brunner's expression told him he wouldn't get answers here.

"Come," Mr. Brunner said, gesturing for him to follow. "It's time you learned more about who you truly are."

Percy followed Mr. Brunner back through the museum, still gripping the pen tightly, as though it might transform back into a weapon at any moment. His mind spun with questions, but he pushed them down. He'd get answers soon enough. For now, he'd play along, keep his cool.

They emerged into the sunlight, where Grover was waiting, his face pale and eyes wide. He glanced between Percy and Mr. Brunner, clearly anxious. Percy raised an eyebrow. Grover always seemed to know more than he let on, and Percy was starting to think this was no exception.

"Grover," Mr. Brunner began, "we're going to need a head start back to camp."

Grover nodded, looking at Percy with worry. "Percy… there's something you need to understand. Things… things are different for you."

Percy crossed his arms, his gaze steady. "Different how?"

Grover shifted uncomfortably, glancing at Mr. Brunner, who gave him a slight nod. "Percy, you're not… normal. You're a demigod. A half-blood. And… well, there's something unique about you, even more than the others."

Percy raised an eyebrow. "Unique how?"

Mr. Brunner's expression turned serious. "Percy, you'll find out soon enough. But understand this: your life is about to change in ways you can't imagine. For now, we need to get you somewhere safe."

Safe. The word felt hollow, and yet… something about it stirred something in him. Percy didn't trust these secrets, this strange feeling of a hidden destiny looming over him. But as he looked between Mr. Brunner and Grover, he realized something else. Whatever was happening, he was ready. Or at least, he was willing to face it.

They didn't stop once they reached the school parking lot. Grover drove, his hands white-knuckled on the wheel, while Mr. Brunner explained as much as he could, though he kept a lot vague. Percy pressed him for more details, but all he could gather was that Camp Half-Blood was some kind of refuge, a place for demigods like him.

As they drove, Grover kept glancing at Percy, as if he expected him to sprout wings or horns or something. Percy just stared out the window, the adrenaline from the fight with Mrs. Dodds fading, replaced by a simmering anticipation.

The landscape changed from bustling city streets to winding, forested roads. After what felt like hours, they finally pulled into a long gravel driveway lined with tall, looming trees. At the end of the drive, a rustic wooden sign read Welcome to Camp Half-Blood.

Percy stepped out, looking around. The air was different here—sharper, charged with something he couldn't name. The camp looked like a peaceful, ordinary place, with cabins, fields, and kids scattered around. But there was an undercurrent, a hidden energy buzzing just beneath the surface.

Mr. Brunner, now using a cane instead of his wheelchair, placed a hand on Percy's shoulder. "Welcome to Camp Half-Blood, Percy. This is where you'll start to understand what you're truly capable of."

Percy felt a chill run down his spine.

Percy looked around, trying to take it all in. Campers of every age, dressed in orange shirts with a stylized pegasus, bustled about, some carrying weapons, others carrying supplies, and a few tending to the lush greenery around the cabins. He noticed that each cabin seemed unique in style and decoration, almost like each was built with a different personality in mind.

As they walked, Percy could feel eyes turning in his direction. Whispers drifted through the air, and he picked up phrases like "new kid" and "another one." Some of the older campers eyed him with open curiosity; others with a wary kind of suspicion.

"Why is everyone staring?" Percy muttered.

"News travels fast around here," Grover said, looking a little nervous himself. "A new demigod is always a big deal, especially… well, when they're someone as unusual as you."

Percy's eyes narrowed. "Unusual how? What aren't you telling me?"

Grover and Mr. Brunner exchanged a quick glance. Mr. Brunner cleared his throat. "There will be time for explanations later. For now, you need rest. Tonight, you'll meet Chiron and Mr. D properly. They'll explain things more clearly."

They approached a large, open pavilion where campers were eating and chatting, their voices creating a low, constant hum. Percy's stomach growled as the scent of food hit him, and he realized he hadn't eaten since the museum.

"Go ahead and grab something to eat," Mr. Brunner said, giving Percy a reassuring pat on the shoulder. "This is your first meal here—make the most of it. Grover will introduce you around."

Percy glanced back, but Mr. Brunner had already turned and was speaking to an older camper, deep in conversation. Grover gestured for Percy to follow, leading him through the pavilion to a long table lined with food trays.

"Welcome to the mess hall," Grover said, managing a weak smile. "You, uh, might want to get used to it."

Percy grabbed a plate, filling it with roast beef, mashed potatoes, and a generous portion of mac and cheese. He had questions, but the gnawing in his stomach overruled his curiosity, at least for now. He followed Grover to a nearby table, glancing around at the other campers.

"So," Percy said after a few bites, "what's the deal with this place? You called it a camp for demigods. What exactly does that mean?"

Grover hesitated, looking around as if checking who might be listening. "Well, basically… it's a place where kids like you—kids with one mortal parent and one godly parent—train, learn, and, uh, try to stay alive."

"Stay alive?" Percy repeated, lowering his fork.

"Yeah," Grover said quietly, glancing at Percy's wrist where his pen-turned-sword was tucked into his pocket. "You saw what Mrs. Dodds really was. There are… more like her out there. This camp keeps you safe from monsters and helps you learn to defend yourself when they come for you."

Percy let that sink in. A camp that trained kids like him to fight monsters. A place where he could figure out what was different about himself. And yet, there was something in Grover's tone, a hesitation that told Percy there was more to it than he was letting on.

"Who's my godly parent?" Percy asked. He tried to keep his tone casual, but the question hung heavy in the air.

Grover looked down, his face shadowed. "No one's sure yet. That's… that's something you'll find out here, eventually."

Percy didn't like the uncertainty in Grover's answer, but he didn't push. Instead, he glanced around the pavilion again, noting the various groups of campers clustered by cabin. Some cabins had more campers than others, and a few had only one or two. One cabin, at the far end of the row, stood empty, its doors shut tightly.

"What's with that one?" Percy asked, nodding toward it.

Grover followed his gaze and sighed. "That's the Hermes cabin. It's usually… well, it's the default cabin for kids who haven't been claimed yet. It's where you'll stay for now."

Percy frowned. "Claimed?"

Grover nodded. "When a god recognizes you as their child, they'll 'claim' you. Most kids here already know who their godly parent is, but some of us…" He looked down again, looking both sheepish and sympathetic. "Some of them have to wait."

The idea of being "claimed" felt strange to Percy. Part of him liked the sound of it—it meant belonging, being part of something bigger. But another part, a sharper, more cautious part, wondered what it would mean for him if he were claimed.

Percy nodded slowly, his mind turning over what Grover had told him. Being "claimed" sounded like a badge of honor, something that marked you as special—or maybe it marked you as a target. Either way, it was clear that life at Camp Half-Blood was going to be anything but ordinary.

They finished eating, and Grover led Percy back to the cabins, stopping in front of a modest cabin with the number "11" engraved above the door. Kids of all ages crowded the steps and porch, and a few looked up as Percy approached.

"This is the Hermes cabin," Grover said, giving Percy a nudge forward. "Hermes is the god of travelers, so he's got a soft spot for us unclaimed kids. Everyone who hasn't been claimed yet stays here."

As Percy stepped forward, he could feel the eyes of the other campers on him. Some were curious, others indifferent, and a few… well, he couldn't quite read their expressions, but he felt an odd tension in the air. Was it wariness? Competition?

One of the older campers, a guy with a sly grin and messy brown hair, stepped up and clapped Percy on the shoulder. "Hey, new guy! Welcome to the Hermes cabin. I'm Luke Castellan."

"Percy," he replied, shaking Luke's hand.

"Luke's the cabin counselor," Grover added. "He'll show you around."

Luke grinned, looking Percy up and down. "First time here?"

"Yeah," Percy said. "Still figuring things out."

Luke laughed. "Aren't we all? Don't worry. Stick around, and soon enough you'll be an old hand at all of this. Now, let me show you where you'll be crashing."

He led Percy into the cabin, which was… crowded, to say the least. Bunks were stacked three high, bags and gear littered the floor, and it looked like every spare inch was being used. But there was a warm, welcoming feel to the place, despite the clutter.

"Sorry for the mess," Luke said with a shrug. "Not much room, but we make it work."

Percy dropped his backpack on an empty sleeping bag, feeling the weight of the day settle over him. Between the attack at the museum, the journey here, and everything Grover and Mr. Brunner had told him, he felt like his head was spinning.

Luke noticed and gave him a sympathetic smile. "It's a lot to take in, I know. Rest up for now. Tonight, there's a campfire, and you'll meet everyone. And don't worry," he added with a wink. "You'll get used to the weird stuff eventually."

Percy managed a tired smile. "Thanks, Luke. I think."

Luke left him to settle in, and Percy lay back on the bunk, staring up at the ceiling. Thoughts whirled through his mind, too fast for him to fully grasp onto any one of them. The idea of being a demigod… of fighting monsters… of gods and Titans… it all felt surreal. And yet, in a strange way, it also felt right. Like he was finally where he was meant to be, even if he didn't fully understand it yet.

That night, the entire camp gathered around a huge bonfire. Percy watched as kids from each cabin took turns performing skits, telling stories, and singing songs that seemed to go back centuries. He saw faces light up with laughter, voices raised in excitement, and for the first time in a long while, he felt a sense of belonging—like he was part of something bigger, something powerful and ancient.

As the night wore on, Mr. Brunner—now formally introduced as Chiron, the legendary centaur—stood and addressed the camp. He spoke of honor, of bravery, and of the challenges that lay ahead. And though he didn't mention Percy by name, Percy felt the centaur's gaze settle on him, as if to say, "You, too, have a part to play in this story."

When the meeting ended, Percy made his way back to the Hermes cabin, the night's events replaying in his mind. As he lay down to sleep, he felt a strange sensation, a thrumming energy in his veins. It was like an itch he couldn't quite scratch, a hint of something just out of reach.

But he pushed it aside. He was exhausted, and whatever answers lay ahead, they could wait until morning.

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End of Chapter 1

Author's Note: This is a different and new kind of Percy Jackson story I am writing. I am going to be changing some interactions here and there as I don't want to copy sentences from the book completely. Riptide stays with Percy from the beginning. Thoughts?