The silence stretched, thick and suffocating. The demigods of Camp Half-Blood were frozen in place, staring at Percy as if he were a foreign entity—a force beyond their understanding. And, in truth, he was.
Annabeth, normally the quickest to respond, struggled for words. It was as if she were grasping at something intangible, an idea too big, too vast for mortal comprehension.
Percy Jackson was no longer the same.
And yet, despite the god-like presence, despite the overwhelming sense of authority radiating from him, his expression remained playful, a mask of amusement over something infinitely deeper.
"Well, this has been a rather cold welcome," Percy sighed, tilting his head dramatically. "I thought you'd be a bit more excited to see me. No hugs? No 'Percy! We missed you!'—nothing?"
No one laughed.
Clarisse tightened her grip on her electric spear. "You look like Percy," she growled, "but I don't know what the hell you are."
Percy grinned, twirling his golden cane between his fingers. "Oh, Clarisse, still so wonderfully blunt. I suppose I should be flattered you at least recognize me at all."
His cape fluttered unnaturally, the embroidered gold waves shifting as if the very fabric contained a living, breathing ocean.
"You left for a summer," Chiron finally said, his voice cautious, measured. "But the person before us now… is not the Percy Jackson who left these shores."
Percy's eyes flickered with something ancient, as if he had already anticipated this response. "No," he admitted, his voice soft, laced with layers of meaning. "That Percy Jackson is gone."
The air grew heavy.
"Then what are you?" Annabeth finally asked, her voice low, guarded.
Percy's smile widened.
"I…" He raised his cane, and with a simple tap against the earth, the world shifted.
Reality itself trembled.
The campfire exploded into golden butterflies, scattering in the air like fireflies in the night. The ground beneath them rippled, like pebbles disturbing a still lake. The sky warped, stretching impossibly far, a deep midnight void dotted with thousands of shifting golden constellations—a world rewritten by his will.
Every demigod felt it—the change, the sheer weight of his existence. He was not a god. He was something else entirely.
Finally, Percy answered:
"I am the Witch of the Endless Tide. The one who stands beyond gods, beyond prophecy, beyond fate."
His voice carried.
"I am no longer a piece in their game. I am the one who writes the rules."
Chapter 4: The Gods Take Notice
Olympus trembled.
Deep within the throne room of the gods, the Olympians sat in their celestial seats, their faces grim as the air around them cracked with energy.
Something had changed.
Zeus gripped his Master Bolt tightly, his knuckles white as he scowled down at the misty vision before him—Percy Jackson, standing in Camp Half-Blood, reality bending at his will.
"Impossible," Athena murmured, her storm-gray eyes flashing. "That is not magic I recognize. Not divine, not titanic. It is—"
"Witchcraft."
The voice came from Hecate, the goddess of magic, who stood off to the side, her expression carefully neutral—but beneath it, there was something else.
Amusement.
Understanding.
"That boy," Hades muttered, his black eyes narrowing. "He's not bound to our world anymore, is he?"
"No," Hecate admitted, her lips curling. "He's ascended to something… else."
The golden throne of Zeus crackled with lightning, his rage barely contained. "He was a mortal!" he bellowed. "A demigod! This—this is an abomination! He dares to challenge the order of gods?!"
Hecate merely laughed. "Oh, my dear Zeus, how narrow your world has always been." She tilted her head, her golden eyes gleaming. "Percy Jackson has simply stepped onto a different stage. One that neither you nor the Fates control."
The Fates—normally silent shadows in the corners of Olympus—twitched at her words but said nothing.
Poseidon, who had remained silent this entire time, finally spoke.
"He is still my son," the sea god said, his voice calm, but carrying an undeniable edge. "No matter what power he now wields."
"Then go," Zeus ordered, his thunderous presence shaking the air. "Bring him here. We must decide what to do with this… Witch of the Endless Tide."
Poseidon stood, his trident forming in his grip.
"I intend to."
Chapter 5: A Father Confronts His Son
Percy stood by the beach, gazing out at the sea, his golden eyes reflecting the starlit waves. He could feel it.
His father was coming.
The ocean split, parting like a grand entrance as Poseidon himself rose from the depths, his trident glowing with power.
For a long moment, father and son stared at one another.
Poseidon took in the golden embroidery on Percy's witch's coat, the aristocratic presence, the sheer unnatural power that flowed around him like an untamed story yet to be written.
"You have changed, my son," Poseidon said at last.
Percy smirked, tapping his cane against the sand. "Oh, Father, I have become so much more."
Poseidon's eyes darkened. "The gods are uneasy."
"As they should be."
A wave crashed behind him, responding to the tension.
"Zeus demands your presence on Olympus," Poseidon said carefully.
Percy laughed, light and effortless, like a nobleman entertained by a minor inconvenience. "Ah, always so dramatic, Uncle Zeus." He tilted his head, golden butterflies swirling around him. "And what does my dear father think?"
Poseidon hesitated. Then, sighed.
"I think," he admitted, his voice heavy, "that I no longer know the boy I once called my son."
Percy's expression softened—for a moment.
Then, his golden eyes gleamed once more, and the theatrical mask of the Witch returned.
"Then allow me to reintroduce myself." He bowed, an elegant, mocking gesture.
"I am Percy Jackson, the Witch of the Endless Tide. And I am no longer bound by Olympus, nor the Fates that weave their petty strings."
He straightened, his smile growing sharper.
"Tell the gods if they wish to see me…"
The sky darkened.
"They must challenge me on my own gameboard."
To Be continued!!!