Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

It began with a splash.

For anyone close enough to hear it, the sound should have been suspicious. It should have turned heads. But the fountain was grand, miraculous in the way old sacred things often were. Water surged high into the air and crashed back down in glittering sheets, loud enough to drown out one girl falling straight through it.

Perse knew everything had already gone wrong the moment she hit the old, unpolished fountain.

The water had taken her too fast. One second, she had fallen, the next it had swallowed her whole, dragging her down so hard her mind had barely managed to catch up. Child of Poseidon, she could breathe underwater. She knew that. 

But in moments of surprise, it didn’t matter. The very mortal fear of drowning came first. 

She surfaced hard, breaking through the water with a gasp she did not need, her hand flying to the stone lip of the fountain. Her palm slipped against slick rock. The cut across it stung sharp, fresh enough to bite, but Perse ignored it for later.

She shoved wet hair out of her face and sucked in another useless breath.

“I can’t drown,” she muttered to herself, voice low and flat with annoyance. “I’m done panicking about this.”

Her feet found the bottom. She pushed herself upright, water rolling from her shoulders as she rose just enough to kneel in the basin, blinking salt and water from her lashes.

Then she saw the crowd.

Her breath caught.

People packed the space beyond the fountain, gathered in a thick wall of bodies before two towering figures that stood above them all.

Gods.

Perse knew that immediately. Knew it in the way the air bent around them. Pressure pressing suddenly against her lungs. In the awful instinct that made every part of her go still.

Not monsters. Not other demigods. Gods!

Panic tightened around her already sore throat. Water slid down her skin in quiet streams, dripping from her hair, arms, and chin. The fountain still poured around her in shining curtains, and for one brief, impossible moment, no one looked.

Or maybe they just didn’t notice? The crowd’s attention stayed fixed on the gods, their eyes lifted, reverent and blind. Perse sank lower in the fountain, pulse hammering, and pulled herself back into the falling veil of water. Hidden, for now, behind the curtain of the water.

First thing was first, escape.

Perse had no idea what kind of show this was, but she knew enough to understand that interrupting it was a terrible idea. These things usually ended in a smiting or death. Very rarely did they end with a scolding.

Keeping low, she gathered the soaked hem of her dress in one fist. The stupid thing clung to her legs, heavy and dripping. Her father had made her wear it on one of his visits, insisting it was more appropriate. Perse had told him it looked like she had been wrapped in decorative fishnet and drowned in it.

Surprisingly, that hadn’t changed his mind. Now it just made moving harder. She turned carefully in the current, trying to find a way out that did not end in immediate divine attention.

The front was impossible—too many people. Mortals pressed shoulder to shoulder, all facing forward, all gathered around the Gods in a dense ring of bodies and reverence. Gods stood in front of them, and somewhere in the crowd she caught the gleam of gold and the unmistakable shape of a crown.

Greattttttt. A king, too. “Not looking too good today, Jackson.”

People crowded there too, though the heavy fall of water gave her some cover, turning the edge of the fountain into a wavering glass wall. It blurred her shape, bent the light, made her harder to see unless someone was looking directly at her.

No one was.

Yet.

Perse crouched lower. Then she heard one of them begin to speak. The voice carried easily over the crowd, distant and spoken in a familiar language Perse knew thanks to her blood.

‘Today shall mark the day the people of Athens choose a patron for this great city. A contest between the Gods. Poseidon of the Sea and Athena, Goddess of Wisdom.’

Perse went still.

That was familiar… Horribly, immediately familiar. And one hell of a bad day for a certain God. Along with centuries of resentment.

A story. Annabeth had explained to her in exacting, deeply offended detail when Perse had once asked why, exactly, Athena and Poseidon hated each other so much.

Athens.

The contest.

Athena had offered them the olive tree.

And Poseidon had made a fountain and brought forth saltwater.

Perse looked down slowly at the pool around her. At the water lapping quietly at her knees. At the stone beneath her hands.

The fountain.

She was standing in the fountain.

“Oh,” Perse whispered, staring in sudden horror. Then, much quieter, “Oh, no. Please, Gods. WHY?” before buttoning her lip before someone heard her very desperate plea.

That meant the gods standing before the crowd, towering in all their impossible grandeur, were Athena and Poseidon. They looked wrong, unfamiliar? Just odd in the way. Different ancient versions of the ones I knew. Gigantic! Far closer to the stories. And yet still the same.

Perse chanced a glance through the falling sheet of water.

Poseidon stood nearest the fountain, sea-green eyes bright as he gestured toward it like a man unveiling something sacred. He looked nothing like the washed-up fisherman she knew from the modern world.

This Poseidon looked like worship.

Sun-warm skin gleamed gold where the light touched him, less weathered sailor and more something carved to be adored. He stood taller, broader, all clean strength and impossible presence, as if the sea itself had been forced into the shape of a man and crowned for it. The waves at the city’s edge did not drag at him. They bent for him. Parted for him. Obeyed.

Maybe this was his prime.

His hair fell in long, straight currents, dark and blue as deep water, and in his hand, he held his trident with effortless certainty. He certainly looked Happy. Not just pleased. Proud in the way only gods could be, standing before mortals and expecting awe. And they gave it to him. The crowd watched the fountain with open wonder, reverent and breathless, as if they were staring at something holy. I tried to hide by pressing my body against the base. And sinking further into the water.

Perse could feel the divine power from where she crouched. It hummed through the water around her. Through the stone. Through the air itself.

This did not feel like some simple salt spring. Not just seawater dragged up through stone as the myths reduced it to. The power in it was too large for that. It weaved something strange into it. Pressing against her skin in a way that made her stomach twist.

This was not a gift meant for thirst.

It felt like something else.

Like a wound in the world… and this was the bandage.

The mortals approached.

One stepped forward, cautious and reverent, cupped both hands, and drank from the water running clear through the stone just as the story said they would. He spat it out immediately. The crowd recoiled in murmurs. And her father looked, with perfect divine offense, personally insulted.

‘A beautiful fountain,’ the mortal king said carefully, voice tight with caution. ‘It would be displayed nicely in Athens.’

Perse was offended for her father. Just pretty? The thing thrummed with enough divine force to split her skull and they were calling it decorative.

The man clearly knew better than to insult a God outright, but Perse could hear the fear tucked beneath the praise. He had chosen his words carefully, balancing them on the thin line between honesty and survival. Something nice to look at. 'Poor Poseidon, didn’t know humans can’t drink seawater.'

Athena’s gaze lingered on the fountain with something far sharper than mortal appreciation. Grey eyes filled with recognition.

Pure, cold understanding.

She was the only other person there who seemed to understand what sat before them. The real worth buried beneath mortal ignorance.

And Poseidon, arms crossed, said nothing. History settled into place with almost painful ease.

He stood there, broad and silent and already offended, with no intention of explaining himself. No longer worth telling them what they were actually looking at. They were too ungrateful and making mortals understand the scale of what he had offered them. Of course he would not. His pride would never allow it. He had given them something sacred and expected them to recognize divinity on sight.

Athena, grey-eyed and composed, looked almost amused.

Perse could see it in the faint shift of her mouth. In the glint in her expression. The Goddess looked one breath away from laughter.

Then Athena stepped forward and brought forth her gift.

An olive tree.

Perse stared.

Athena held it before them with all the poise of a woman already aware she had won.

“An olive tree,” she said, calm and measured. “Its fruit may be eaten. Its oil may be burned. Its branches may be used. Its leaves may heal. From it comes food, trade, soap and a symbol of peace.”

It was so boring compared to my Father's gift. Perse could practically hear Annabeth’s voice in her head, smug and insufferably pleased. But what would she say if I told her the true story. Would she, too, think it was funny like her mom? A shame as I did. Or be proud of her mom's quick wit to think of something like a tree.

And there it was.

The beginning of it.

The moment myth stopped being a story and became history. Where Winners got to tell the tale, and the losers were unnamed to history, or the villains of the story.

Or maybe memory..? Perhaps that was what Perse was gazing at. Perse did not know which made this worse. The air was too hot. The salt clung to the back of her throat. Water soaked her skin and dragged at her dress. Sun burned overhead. The stone bit cold beneath her hands. Dreams did not feel like this. Memories shouldn’t either.

She was in the past.

And if this was real, if this was truly happening around her and not some divine replay she had been dropped into, then there was one very easy way to find out.

Speak.

Interrupt history.

Do something!

Perse stared through the curtain of falling water, pulse thudding hard enough to hurt.

Would it change?

Would they hear her?

Did she dare risk finding out?

Chapter Text

Athena was declared the winner.

The Goddess even seemed to pity Poseidon, though there was amusement tucked beneath it. Condolence for him, maybe. Or sympathy for the stupidity of mortals. They had not asked a single question about the fountain. Not one. They had looked at something sacred, something unimaginable, and decided it could only be pretty because they could not drink from it.

Perse felt a strange wave of pity for her father of the past.

Because one day, people would tell this story like he was an idiot. Unaware, he had offered them more than useless salt water because he was too proud and too out of touch to understand what mortals needed.

As she held the water in her hands, Perse knew better.

They didn’t even know this thoughtful gesture had been made to heal wounds. She looked down at the cut on her hand. The blood was already gone. The wound had mended.

Perse’s fingers curled slowly beneath the surface.

They were undeserving of such a considerate present.

She stayed in the water and floated closer to the fountain’s edge. Even the outside of it had been designed kindly. The stone was worn smooth where hands might rest. The water fell soft enough to hide someone, loud enough to protect them. It had not been made carelessly. Hephestus' hand might have even been a part of the craft.

It had been a gift.

“Father?” Perse asked.

The word came out before she could stop it, her tongue eager to speak a language it had somehow been made to know.

He was going to find out the young demigod was there sooner or later. Better not to let his anger fester longer than it already had. The distraction might help. Turning his fury away from the mortals. Or maybe she was about to make everything worse.

Poseidon looked rightfully furious.

“You dare-” he said, voice low and terrible. He lifted his trident toward the mortal below him, and Perse’s eyes went wide behind her wet bangs. “Sully the fountain.”

Her hands began to shake. She was already lucky enough that he didn’t strike to kill. (YET)

“N-never,” Perse said quickly.

Poseidon’s gaze snapped to her.

The full force of it hit like a wave. Perse froze with the water dripping down her face, her heart choking itself against her ribs.

“I think it’s perfect,” she said, because apparently her mouth had decided it wanted to live before her brain could catch up. “Daddy... I would never destroy this.”

Daddy came out weak, pathetic, and filled with nothing but good intentions. But come on. To the guy who had a trident pointed near her neck.

Perse hoped he would feel her familiar divinity in some tiny, useful way. I hoped the salt in her blood meant something. The sea inside her answered the ocean inside him before he decided to run her through for interrupting one of the most famous divine tantrums in Greek history.

She was not above begging to live.

Not at the moment.

Perse had always expected to die… But away from family, friends, her world. In a place where no one would mourn her…

The people in their tunics, silk, and clothes of old all looked to her. Some frowned. Others stared with worry. More of them were simply curious, heads tilting, whispers crawling through the crowd like insects under stone.

‘She had called the God, Father.’

‘Brave’

‘Stupid.’

Maybe it could be called all the above. Perse swallowed hard and forced her voice to steady.

“Father, please... I’m your daughter.”

Poseidon looked at the girl standing in his fountain.

His fountain. The one meant to secure him a city. The one mortals had failed to understand. The one they had spat from their mouths as if it were something foul. Defiled by Athenians, and now vandalized by a girl.

A girl whose blood was red where it dripped down her neck, bright against wet skin, and still she dared call out to him as father.  Perse lifted a shaking hand and brushed the soaked charcoal hair from her face.

Sea-green eyes looked back at him.

Familiar eyes.

His eyes.

Poseidon went still.

As if sensing his denial before he could speak it, Perse raised her hand again.

The water obeyed.

It parted from her in a soft rush, sliding from her skin and spilling neatly back into the basin. The soaked white dress clung for only a moment before the water pulled free, leaving the thin fabric dry where it lay against her body. It was still far too revealing for her liking, all soft white and loose draping, more netting than proper dress, the sort of thing her father had insisted was graceful and Perse had called embarrassing. Against the crowd around her, layered in silk and pinned linen, she was not indecent. Just strange.

Her black hair dried only halfway, dark curls left unruly around her face and shoulders, tangled and uneven in the way sea currents never quite settled. Some of it still clung damply to her cheeks and neck, making her look younger than she wanted.

Cute, maybe.

Harmless, if someone was stupid enough to believe that.

She stood anyway.

Not tall, imposing, but straight-backed in the center of the fountain, shoulders squared despite the blood still slipping in a thin line down the side of her throat. It ran stark against her skin, too pale for a girl who belonged to the sea, untouched by the sun in a way that made her look almost delicate. Like she ought to burn beneath it.

She did not look divine.

She looked sixteen.

Young in the face, all large sea-green eyes and soft features still caught somewhere between girl and grown, with too much emotion written plainly across her expression to ever pass for godly composure. Fear sat there now, sharp and obvious, tucked beneath her attempt at steadiness.

But she held herself anyway.

Chin lifted. Hands still. Spine straight.

Worried. Bleeding. Afraid.

And still standing like she expected not to break. She did not do more. Too afraid to do more. Or perhaps that was simply the limit of her power.

Poseidon’s gaze narrowed on the blood at her neck. The color was mortal. But so were the signs of him. The water had obeyed her. The sea had answered. And the girl, trembling in the center of his rejected gift, belonged to the God.

“Your mother-” He began to ask, unsure if maybe she was around or-

“You’re my father. There is no one but you.” Perse said it sweetly. Her voice and enchanting as a siren.

Her hand pressed tighter to her neck, trying to stem the blood still slipping between her fingers. Poseidon watched it with a growing displeasure that had nothing to do with the interruption and everything to do with the sight of red.

Too much blood was bad. That much he knew.

Mortals were fragile things. Too much taken from them, and they died. Too much pain, and they broke. He had never cared enough to learn the finer details of their limits, only how quickly it ended them. That’s why, he made the fountain. The God would never understand their pain. But for a time… it could be prevented.

But this one was his.

Daughter.

The thought settled into him with startling ease. Poseidon stepped forward and dipped his hand into the fountain. He cupped the water in his palm and poured it over her throat and body. With his hand large to take half the fountain supply.

It spilled over her skin like rain.

The wound sealed in an instant.

Perse flinched as flesh pulled itself back together all at once, healing in one sharp, uncomfortable rush that made her teeth clench. Then it was gone. The blood washed clean from her neck. Her skin mended smooth and pale beneath his hand.

She smiled despite herself.

His daughter had been born from this fountain… mortal.

A goddess should have risen from it, radiant and divine, a living claim to the city they had denied him. That would have been fitting. Would have be right. Instead, the Fates had robbed him twice in a single day.

Athens had rejected his gift. And the child born from it was not a goddess. No immortal thing stood before him, glorious and untouchable.

She bled.

She trembled.

Her heart beat too fast beneath thin skin. A daughter still, but lesser in the way all mortal things were lesser. Demigod, then.

Or something close enough to it.

Still, she had risen from his fountain.

Her dark hair fell wild around her face like unsettled waves. Sea-green eyes stared up at him, bright and familiar enough to feel like theft. Her white clothes clung in soft lines, woven in shapes he recognized too well, as if pulled from memory and weaved over her by the fountain itself.

Not divine.

Not what should have been his.

But his all the same.

Hermes appeared before them like sunlight catching on a blade.

One moment the space beside the fountain stood empty. The next he was simply there, effortless and gleaming and far too pleased with himself.

Handsome in the way only Gods were allowed to be.

His helm shadowed part of his face, bright gold worked smooth and elegant, winged at the temples with white feathers that curved back from his head. Beneath it, warm brown hair curled loose at the edges, one unruly ringlet fallen forward in deliberate imperfection. His eyes were half hidden beneath the tilt of the helm, but amusement lived plainly in the shape of his mouth.

And what a mouth it was. Able to lie, cheat, and steal, even the clothes off your back. His smile looked made for trouble.

White and gold draped from his shoulders in clean lines, his tunic fine enough to catch the light with every shift of movement, all polished grace and expensive ease. Gold circled his arms and throat. Winged sandals rested against the stone as though he had not crossed half the world in a blink to be here.

The God of Messengers.

Of thieves, liars, charm.

Hermes clapped once, delighted.

“What news~ what a show!” His grin widened as he looked between them. “Father will be most delighted to hear this unexpected turn. The daughter of Poseidon, birthed here in Athens.” His gaze slid to Perse, openly entertained. “What an unfortunate girl for that. Rejected by-”

Poseidon looked entirely unimpressed.

“She has not stepped foot outside my fountain,” he said flatly. “She shall return with me and born on a land who will appreciate her.”

Hermes laughed, warm and easy.

“Athena may claim some right to her. This is her city now, after all. Surely she should have some say in what crawls out of its sacred foutain.”

Poseidon silenced the chattering god with a single look. “MY FOUNTAIN. They rejected.

Athena, remained calm. Unworried as she placed her hands against her lap. Hermes, to his credit, only smiled wider.

Before either god could decide her fate for her, Perse slapped a hand against the water and pushed herself forward. “I am my father’s child,” she said, voice firm despite the way her pulse still hammered. “I do not wish to go anywhere but with him.”

A bright man stepped into view in a wash of sunlight so sudden it nearly blinded her. The light hit first. Warm and invasive enough that Perse nearly retreated back into the safety of the fountain on instinct.

Apollo.

Looked like the sun had decided to take shape just to admire itself.

Bright gold hair was pulled neatly back, pale as wheat and tied at the nape of his neck. His chiton fell in clean white folds, fine enough to glow where the light touched it. In his hands rested a golden instrument, polished and delicate, like it had never known dust. His skin was sun-touched in the way only a God’s could be, gilded and warm and made golden by something that did not burn him for it.

Blue eyes swept over her.

Interested.

Then pleased.

“You’re as lovely as the sun I raise,” Apollo said, already smiling like he had discovered something worth keeping. “And surely a girl this pretty has a name just as beautiful.”

Poseidon plucked Apollo from Perse’s line of sight with all the ease of someone moving an inconvenience. One hand caught the younger god by the body and dragged him aside.

“And she will have one,” Poseidon said, entirely unamused, “once I bring my daughter home.”

“I do have a name,” Perse said at once.

She lifted herself a little straighter in the water, sudden and indignant. It was one of the few things she had that was hers. A gift from the mother she was pretending did not exist. A name she had always liked saying.

“Persephone.”

Silence hit first.

Then whispers.

The sound spread through the gathered mortals and gods in a sharp rush of murmurs, startled and immediate.

‘Persephone.’

‘The name of spring.

‘The name of a goddess.’

Perse froze. Then, very slowly, lowered herself in the water again.

Right.

Maybe that had been a mistake. Her name already belong to someone. A very important someone. With a very scary, do not piss off husband.

“You can call me Perse,” she offered, suddenly much less proud, sinking lower against the rippling edge of the fountain.

Poseidon looked shocked for only a moment.

Then he laughed.

The sound rolled deep and pleased through the square as one massive hand reached out, a single finger pressing against the top of her head with enough weight to make her sink lower into the water. 

“If it is good enough for the Goddess of Spring,” he said, smiling now, “it is perfect for you, my dear.”

“Perse,” she corrected quickly. “Just call me Perse. That’s fine.”

Her hands tightened against the fountain’s edge.

The last thing she needed was to offend an actual goddess over a name. Perse had no desire to spend the rest of her short, tragic life explaining to the Queen of the Underworld that she had not, in fact, tried to steal her title in front of half of Greece.

Poseidon, unfortunately, seemed delighted enough by his daughter’s sudden appearance to claim the name anyway and dare anyone to object.

Perse could only pray the gods below did not listen too closely to mortal gossip.

Her thoughts turned sharp and nervous all at once.

What now?

Did she go home?

Could she?

The fountain was the only clue she had, and clearly the father she had in this world had not planned on her arrival any more than she had. The crowd still stared openly, murmuring among themselves now that the shock had settled enough for curiosity to take over.

Not all of it was kind. She caught the looks. The whispers. The poorly hidden suspicion.

Poseidon’s child.

Another monster.

Born in their city.

The glares lingered longer than the awe had. Perse tried very hard not to look as bothered by that as she felt.

She was still standing in the fountain when Athena’s gaze met hers.

The Goddess said nothing. Only gave her a small nod, brief and unreadable, before looking away.

Chapter Text

Everyone spoke around her.

Gods, mortals, whispers, laughter, too many voices all at once pressing in until Perse could hardly catch one thought long enough to keep it.

Perse bit the inside of her lip, unsure what she was supposed to do next.

Then she saw the ripples. Her eyes dropped to the water just in time to catch the distortion of someone stepping into the fountain with her.

Too late to retreat.

The water splashed around tan ankles and bare feet as he entered her fountain, or his, or whatever this was now, while Poseidon’s attention was turned elsewhere.

Apollo, apparently deciding introductions were best done at close range and even ignore personal boundaries most learned at a young age.

“Apollo,” he said smoothly, as if announcing himself were a gift. “God of Light, Music, and Poetry.”

Perse had to pretend she did not know him. That was somehow harder than expected.

She sank lower on instinct, trying to slip deeper into the water and farther from him, but Apollo had already stepped too close. His feet blocked the easiest path away, cutting her off with the sort of casual confidence only a god would have.

Perse was at an immediate disadvantage. And the biggest she had yet was keeping her mouth shut.

Apollo was not built like Poseidon, less monstrous in scale, but he was still a full-grown god standing over her, all long limbs and warm skin and easy certainty. 

Any attempt to slip around him now meant brushing against him. Pushing past him. Touching more of him than she wanted to deal with while soaked, cornered, and trying very hard not to start a second divine incident in the same afternoon.

Perse’s mind scrambled uselessly for priorities.

Problem 1: stuck in the past.

Problem 2: Apollo.

Problem 3: finding a way home..?

Maybe those should have been in a different order.

Later problem.

Apollo bent at the waist, close enough now that Perse could feel the warmth rolling off him. Then one hand slid beneath her chin, fingers tipping her face up before she could jerk away.

Perse immediately tried to lean back.

“I could show you around,” Apollo offered, smile easy and bright in the way only beautiful men could make dangerous. “You are new to the world. I could help you enjoy all it has to offer.”

“Thanks.” Perse put a hand behind herself and crawled backward through the shallow water. “But no.”

Apollo was bad luck in every story that you remembered.

Perse knew the myths.

Nothing ended well when Apollo took interest in you.

Not for the women he chased. Not for the ones he loved. Not for the ones he merely wanted long enough to ruin. It always began lovely. Warm. Golden. A God smiling like being chosen should feel like a blessing. As short as it came. There was always a price for each fairytale’s chosen princess. Or eles how would the Prince be worth it?

For Apollo, it was far to high.

His blue eyes gleamed with something bright and amused as she retreated, and Perse could only hope that spark died before it had the chance to become fixation.

Apollo was the god of music, poetry, and prophecy. Beauty clung to him like light. Lovely things were not rare to him. He was surrounded by them. 

For him to become interested in something was one thing. For Apollo to become fixated was terrifying. Especially when that someone was standing in a fountain, stranded in ancient Greece, and stupid enough to have introduced herself as Persephone.

“Too bad,” Apollo said, clasping his hands together as if disappointed by little more than the weather. “I think I would enjoy chasing you to the ends of the earth. If only to learn more.”

Perse grimaced.

Of course, he would.

Apollo… falls is love like sunlight, through glass. It’s warm at first, then hot like fire, finally you don’t realize you are being burned alive. Perse had no intention of letting it get that far.

Unfortunately, her back hit the stone wall of the fountain.

“Apollo.” A cold-sounding voice, enough to cut straight through the warmth Apollo had built around himself. The sunlight dimming with it.

Perse felt relief first.

Then hands closed around her and pulled her neatly up from the fountain.

Her feet stayed in the water, but suddenly she was seated against the smooth edge of the stone, lifted and set there like something someone had decided Apollo was not allowed to touch.

Perse looked up.

Oh!

Mr. D!

No.

Dionysus.

He looked young.

Young in a way Perse had never seen him. No tension dragged at his mouth. No irritation sat permanent in the line of his face. No tired bitterness warred beneath his skin, pulling him between what he was and what the modern world had forced him to become.

This was no worn-down camp director.

This was a God.

A grape pressed against her lips.

Perse blinked.

Dionysus held it there with lazy amusement, one arm draped in gold, the other resting easy where it had settled her into place. His smile was soft in the way wine often was before it ruined you. Relaxed. Languid. His eyes were half-lidded, heavy with the same rich violet she knew, only here the color had not dulled with age. It sat bright beneath his lashes, lush and dangerous and still full of its charm.

This was no tired God who had long since soured.

This was Dionysus before the world had worn him down.

And he was unfairly beautiful.

Sinfully so.

Lean where Poseidon was broad, built in long lines and easy strength, all smooth muscle beneath silk and gold. There was nothing hard about him at first glance. Not in the soft curve of his mouth, not in the languid grace of him, not in the almost delicate beauty of his face. His features leaned softer than most men’s, something lovely and androgynous in the shape of him, and he wore it without shame. Dark hair curled in loose twists around his face, half-tamed and half-wild, like he had only just let someone touch it and then thought better of sitting still.

He smiled down at her.

Lazy. Amused. Possessive enough to make Apollo step back.

Perse opened her mouth to stare.

Dionysus took the chance to press the grape past her lips.

Ripe for the picking.

He was her camp counciler at some point. And he had, technically, just saved her from Apollo. So he could not be all that bad.

Probablyyyyy.

“You’re scaring her,” Dionysus said, and unlike Apollo’s easy charm, his amusement came cool and slow.

He recognized it, Perse thought. The way Gods crowded too close. The way they reached before asking. He was newly made himself, still close enough to his own mortal edges to notice discomfort where the others ignored it. The ichor in him still felt fresh. Gold and rich and newly divine. It clung to him sweet as wine, heady enough Perse was suddenly sure lesser things could get drunk on the scent of him alone.

Apollo caught Perse’s hand anyway. His grip was warm and far too familiar. For them just meeting.

“Am I?” he asked, smiling like he found the accusation charming. “Silly me.”

Dionysus shot him a look sharp enough to sour the air.

“Open up,” he told Perse instead, holding another grape to her mouth. “It’s only a grape. Have as many as you like. I would let you taste every forbidden fruit.”

The chill that ran through her at that sentence could have frozen the fountain solid. Perse leaned back at once, both hands coming up in defense as she tried to avoid the grape and the implication attached to it. Before Dionysus could press it any further, Hermes dropped into the space beside them with all the subtlety of a thrown knife.

“HEY!” Hermes said brightly. “I saw her first!”

All of them gathered around her at once, bickering like spoiled children in silk and gold.

Perse stared.

“What was this, kindergarten?”

The words slipped out under her breath in English, muttered low and dry before she remembered gods could hear a pin drop if they cared to. At least none of them would understand the insult.

Maybe?

A shadow fell over them.

Then a foot came down. With a heavy

*STOMP*

It struck the stone beside the fountain hard enough to crack it, the impact shuddering through the square in one violent tremor. Had Hermes not leapt back, Dionysus not moved, Apollo not been just far enough out of reach, Poseidon would have crushed all three beneath his heel without hesitation.

Hermes shot into the air in a startled blur of wings.

Dionysus slipped back with a smooth step, ruined grapes bursting wet beneath where Poseidon’s foot had landed.

Apollo jerked away just in time, spared mostly by the fact that Poseidon had been aiming for the other two first.

Poseidon straightened slowly.

Enraged did not begin to cover it.

The sea God stood like the opening breath of a storm, vast and terrible and one poor decision away from violence. His face had gone still in the way only gods could manage, that awful kind of stillness where anger had sharpened past expression into something colder. Meaner. The air around him felt heavier for it. Salt pressed sharp into every breath. Somewhere beyond the city, waves began to rise.

“Oh,” Poseidon said, voice low and cutting. “I missed. What a shame.”

Perse felt like she could breathe again.

She looked up at him from where she still sat in the fountain and found him already looking down at her, his expression easing the moment it landed on her.

Not softer.

Just no longer murderous.

“Come, Persephone,” he said, leaning down toward her. “Let us go home. I have wasted enough of my time letting them stare at you.” His gaze cut briefly toward the others. “With those lecherous eyes.”

Hermes rolled his eyes. Apollo pressed a hand to his chest, looking almost offended. “Me?” Dionysus only smiled, lazy and unrepentant.

One look from Perse and all three had already begun circling like she was something sweet enough to ruin themselves over.

Poseidon looked ready to drown them for it.

“Of course, Father.”

The answer seemed to please him.

Poseidon bent and lifted the fountain itself as easily as another man might lift a child. Stone and water rose in his hands without strain. He scoffed once, already disgusted by the thought of leaving either behind. The Athenians did not deserve the fountain. They certainly did not deserve what had risen from it.

Water barely sloshed as he held it, careful despite the ease of it. Perse felt the shift beneath her, her body tipping back against the smooth basin as he lifted her with the fountain still cradled in his grasp.

For all his temper, for all the violence in him, he never once forgot he was carrying something precious.

Perse was just grateful to be carried away.

No more eyes. No more staring. No more gods circling her like she was something to be tasted.

Just the sea, and the view.

“Be careful, Persephone. I would rather not have you washed away.”

Her father’s voice had softened. No longer the booming sound of a god speaking to crowds and kings. Just low now. Close. Meant for her.

“Yes, Father.” Perse shifted carefully against the fountain's smooth edge, fingers curling against the stone as the sea moved beneath them. “Where are we going?”

“Cape Sounion,” Poseidon answered easily, floating over the waves as if the ocean itself had risen just to carry him. “I would take you to Atlantis, but you are still quite small.” His eyes flicked down to her, thoughtful. “You may need time to grow into yourself first.”

Small.

Perse looked down at herself, still damp and pale in that awful white dress, knees tucked close in the basin as her father carried both her and the fountain across the open sea.

Cape Sounion.

She knew that name.

The Temple of Poseidon stood there. High cliffs over the Aegean. White stone overlooking endless blue. Sailors once looked to it for guidance, for safety, for the promise they were not yet lost.

She had seen pictures.

Ruins.

Broken pillars and old stone left to weather above the sea.

Not yet broken, then.

Not yet ruined.

The wind tugged at her curls as they crossed the water, salt cool against her face, the waves rolling dark and endless beneath them.

He was not taking her home.

Not Atlantis. Not the palace beneath the sea. Not the place a daughter should have gone if he had truly wanted her close.

A temple.

A cliff.

A place to be kept and stored away.

Perse’s stomach turned.

Was he ashamed of her?

The thought came ugly and fast.

Would he leave her there?

Alone.

All because she had bled. All because she was small. All because the daughter he should have had had risen mortal instead.

“I see...” Perse said quietly, trying not to sound as unsettled as she felt. “I, yes. I think I need a place with water and air.”

“Do not worry, little pearl.” His voice softened again, the rough edge of it smoothing into something almost warm. “I will ensure we are given everything you need for a proper birth.”

We.

Perse blinked.

“We?” she dared to ask.

“Yes.” Poseidon did not even hesitate. “I would have preferred my wife and Triton witness your first steps, but the journey to Atlantis would burden you.” His mouth tightened, displeased by the thought alone. “I will not abandon you while you are so vulnerable.”

The words settled strangely in her chest.

Too gentle. Too easy. Too unlike anything she was used to hearing from him.

“And the other gods are...” Poseidon gave a low, disgusted growl. “Sniffing about like feral cats in heat.”

Perse’s face went red.

He was staying.

Actually staying.

Not dropping her somewhere safe and leaving. Not handing her off to a temple. Not deciding she was too inconvenient to bother with.

He was going to stay.

Chapter Text

Poseidon lowered the fountain at last, setting it down with impossible care.

Perse looked up.

The temple at Cape Sounion was nothing like the broken ruins she knew. No weathered remains. No shattered marble. No lonely pillars standing against the sea. It was magnificent. White stone rose clean and bright beneath the sun, all towering columns and polished floors, grand enough to make the air feel thinner. Open arches framed the sea beyond in strips of endless blue. Gold glinted from braziers and carved walls. Salt and incense hung thick in the air.

This was no ruin.

This was a God’s temple in its prime.

Poseidon ignored his worshippers entirely as he carried the fountain inside and placed it in the center of his temple.

A fountain.

Indoors.

Perse stared at it.

Right in the middle of polished stone and sacred marble like this was the most obvious thing in the world. Like some absurdly expensive indoor shopping mall feature.

Actually, no. This was probably the first one. People stopped and stared in open awe as the fountain settled into place. Perse immediately sank lower in the water.

“Everyone leave,” Poseidon ordered.

His voice cracked through the temple like thunder.

“And shield your eyes. Do not dare look upon my daughter.”

The command rang through the hall. Mortals scattered at once. Perse, red-faced and half-submerged, stared in horror. That was, without question, the most embarrassing thing her father had ever done.

Was this what all fathers were like? She had no idea. Still... Perse sank a little deeper into the water and tried not to smile.

He had meant well. She thought.

Perse looked around at the temple again. At the open sea beyond the pillars. At the white stone, the salt air, the fountain now sitting in the center of something sacred and enormous.

Her new home.

Hopefully not for long.

Still, she crossed her fingers beneath the water and hoped that while it was hers, it might at least be kind.

No throne would have fit Poseidon. He was almost as big as the temple roof. Even seated against the polished stone floor of his temple, he looked too large for anything made by mortal hands. Still, he lowered himself there with the ease of something that had never needed furniture to be obeyed, and held out his hand toward her.

Perse blinked.

His hand stayed there. Open. Waiting. For her to leave the water.

Perse stared at it for one strange, quiet second before climbing from the fountain.

The water slipped from her skin almost instantly, drying her as she stepped carefully into his palm. Small, pale feet against the broad span of a God’s hand. Perse moved with care, half expecting to be dropped, half expecting this to be some test she had not been warned about.

Poseidon only smiled.

Proudly.

As if walking into his hand was something worth pride. Perse did not know what to do with that.

In her own time she had fought Kronos and earned little more than a slap to the back and a rough congratulations. Here, simply standing seemed enough to earn his approval.

It made her chest ache, in warm way she wished she had sooner. He lifted her easily, bringing her level with his face.

“How do you feel, Persephone?” he asked, studying her with a focus she was still not used to. “Are you in distress? Is your mortal body in pain?”

“I’m fine.” Perse waved both hands quickly, smiling on instinct. “Really.”

Besides being trapped in the past, experience whiplash from the ride there. Not to mention being bombarded with Gods she could never stand up to. And being far more cared for by the past than the young demigod was ever in the future.

What was there to be upset about? 

Apparently, all of it. Because whatever she failed to say had still made it onto her face. Poseidon’s expression shifted, only slightly, but enough for her to notice.

Genuine concern.

And Perse did not know what to do with that either.

How could this be the same god?

The one from her time had always felt distant. Cold. Vast in the way deep water was vast, too far below her to ever truly reach. He had loved her, maybe, in the abstract way gods loved things they claimed. But he had always felt far away. Like the cold dark waters beneath ice, too deep to touch and too still to answer.

This version was warm.

Not gentle. Not soft.

But warm in the way tropical waters were warm, all bright surface and dangerous comfort.

“Rest assured,” Poseidon said, voice low again, meant only for her. “No one here will harm you. God, mortal, anyone. For as long as you remain in my temple, they will serve you.”

“Serve me?” Perse said too quickly. “I’m not a Goddess. I’m not divine.”

The correction left her in a rush, immediate and instinctive. She felt she would never be enough.

Poseidon waved a hand, dismissing the thought entirely as he lowered her back to the floor beside the fountain. “Do not trouble yourself with that.” His voice was easy, certain. “You are my daughter.”

He paused.

“My first daughter…” he said with a calm realization. 

Something unreadable crossed his face as he pressed one finger lightly to the top of her head. Then he seemed to remember the inconvenience of his size. A breath later, Poseidon shrank.

He pulled her into a hug.

Perse was still so much smaller, even now that he had shrunk himself down to something closer to human. She barely fit against him as he pulled her in, pressed her to his chest, and held her with the kind of easy certainty she had always watched him give to others.

It felt like love.

What she always, always wanted. The kind she had watched from a distance and quietly envied. The only thing she was never brave enough to asked for out loud. Only prayed for in silence.

It was everything she had wanted. And it was built on a lie.

Perse still leaned into it.

Her head pressed against his chest. His hand spread warm against her back, keeping the demigod there. Poseidon lowered his head and pressed a kiss to her forehead as if she had always been there.

“You are still a gosling,” he murmured. “You will stay in the fountain until you are ready to leave it.”

Perse swallowed.

Then stepped back into the water when he let her go.

He followed a moment later, sinking down into the fountain beside her. The fountain made to hold them both. He settled easily against the curve of the stone, relaxed against his creation, and lifted one arm in quiet invitation.

Perse blinked at him.

Then, slowly, moved closer.

She had never slept in water before.

She knew she would not drown. Still, the thought sat strange in her chest as she lowered herself down beside him, careful and unsure.

Poseidon only reached for her and pulled her in.

His arms wrapped around her, solid and warm, settling her against him as though there had never been any question that was where she belonged.

Perse went still in his hold.

“You're staying...?” she asked, small and careful.

“Leave and risk your safety?” He sounded almost offended by the thought. “No. You will grow used to me at your side, Persephone. You will need to feed from my divine energy. There is still a chance you may become a Goddess if I remain near.”

Perse hugged him tighter.

“Right,” she murmured, pressing closer like she had not already taken enough from him. A blush on her cheeks as she whispered with a selfishness, that wanted this. And guilt that continued to feed her thoughts. “I can do that.”

The God of the Sea pulled his youngest as close as she could be held.

Guilt sat ugly in Poseidon’s chest.

His first daughter. His only daughter. Small and soft in his arms, burdened with a fate that should have been kinder. He could not decide if this cruelty belonged to the Fates or to himself.

Perhaps both.

Either way, she had been handed to him bleeding and mortal, and Poseidon found he hated the sight of either on her.

He would spoil the child for it.

Anything she wanted would be hers. Anything he could place in her hands, he would. With all the power he possessed, there would be little his daughter could ask for and be denied.

He only hoped she would not ask for distance.

Not from him.

Perse fell asleep against his chest before the thought could sour him further, her breathing evening out in his arms. Poseidon settled more carefully around her, one hand at her back, the other resting against the water.

And kept watch.

Poseidon ensured the temple was closed, so little would disturb the godling while she explored one of her many places of worship.

Perse wandered the halls in quiet awe.

The temple was magnificent. Not quite like his palace beneath the sea, but still grand enough to leave her staring every few steps. White stone gleamed beneath the sunlight pouring through open archways. Gold lined the carvings of waves and horses along the walls. The air smelled of salt and incense, and every sound seemed softer here beneath the watch of the sea god.

Perse always found herself holding her breath whenever Poseidon spoke.

She stayed close to him as they walked, likely so her body could soak in as much divine energy as possible. Clinging to him eagerly, making certain she got all she could.

Certainly not because Perse was starved for any scrap of her father’s attention.

“This color is perfect, Father,” Perse said, pointing toward a blue tapestry hanging along the wall.

Her voice held genuine fondness as she leaned against him, both hands wrapped around the sea god’s arm while they walked. Poseidon looked down at her, one hand coming up to pat her curls gently.

“You seem quite fond of blue.”

“It’s my favorite color,” she announced proudly. “Always has been and...” She paused suddenly, lips pressing together as she cut herself off.

Too close.

Perse had always been loose-lipped. Words slipped from her so easily, like she was constantly standing on the edge of saying something she should not. She squeezed his arm tighter instead, redirecting herself before she accidentally mentioned things no one here was supposed to know.

Poseidon noticed anyway.

“Dyes are not common,” he told her. “But for you, Persephone, I will ensure blue fabrics are brought to you.”

Perse blinked. “They aren’t?”

“Quite rare.” His voice carried quiet amusement. “But you deserve all the treasures of the world.”

He leaned down then, pressing his forehead lightly against hers.

Perse looked away at once, trying to hide her smile by staring at the marble floor.

This was not part of the mission. None of this was supposed to matter. But could she really be blamed for enjoying it?

For once, Poseidon looked at her like she was precious. Like she was wanted. Perse only wanted to know what that felt like for a little while longer. It would end the moment she got home anyway.

So why not enjoy it while she could? It was certainly better than being stepped over in favor of a barnacle.

But as the days passed, maybe Perse was beginning to miss being ignored. Just a tiny bit!

Only because every single time she tried sneaking away to search for clues on how to return home, Poseidon insisted on joining her. The one time she did not want her father’s attention, and suddenly he was always there.

Not to mention he asked so many questions.

“Persephone,” Poseidon said as they walked the temple halls together. “It is not often a god names themselves. Why this name?”

Perse stiffened. She could not exactly tell him her mother had named her.

“I just...” Perse forced a smile and shrugged one shoulder. “It felt like me, you know?”

Poseidon looked down at her quietly. His eyes reflected her own so perfectly it made lying feel worse somehow. Perse looked away first, pretending sudden interest in the carvings along the temple walls.

“Father,” she said quickly, changing the subject before guilt swallowed her whole. “What’s Atlantis like?”

At once, his expression softened.

“My kingdom shall welcome you warmly, Persephone.” Pride slipped easily into his voice whenever he spoke of it. “Once you are ready, everyone will bask beneath you.”

“Including you?”

The question slipped out before Perse could stop it. Her hand flew to her mouth instantly.

Stupid!

Why would she say that?

Poseidon went quiet, and Perse felt panic crawl up her spine all at once. Gods did not like foolish questions. She knew that. Everything had been going well and now she had ruined it because she could never keep her mouth shut.

Why did she say things like that? Poseidon suddenly grew in size. Perse barely had time to yelp before he lifted her easily into his palm.

“My precious daughter,” he said, voice low and serious enough to make her stomach twist. “I already do.”

Perse blinked up at him.

“The moment you become a goddess,” Poseidon continued, bringing her closer to his face, “the world itself will look upon you with envy.”

The certainty in his voice made her cheeks burn.

Perse hugged his thumb automatically, half from embarrassment and half because some traitorous part of her desperately wanted to believe him.

“Thanks, Father,” she mumbled shyly.

Perse spoke from the fountain, water dripping softly around her as she crossed her arms against the edge of the basin and leaned her chin there.

“I just think it’s very rude,” she muttered. “The people of Athens didn’t even ask you more about the fountain.”

The annoyance in her voice was genuine.

Not even a single question. They had looked at something miraculous and dismissed it because it was not immediately useful to them. Healing wounds like this should have been impossible. Yet Perse had felt stronger from the moment she began resting in the water. Every ache in her body faded faster. Her thoughts felt clearer. Even her limbs felt lighter after sleeping submerged within it.

And they had called it pretty.

“A bunch of hungry little fools,” Poseidon scoffed from where he rested beside the fountain. “A fitting match for Athena.”

“But this fountain can...”

Poseidon made a soft hush noise before she could continue.

Night had already settled around the temple, moonlight spilling silver across the marble floors and reflecting gently through the water. He shrank back down to sit beside her more comfortably, one arm resting along the edge of the basin.

“It matters not,” he said quietly. “Not anymore.”

Perse looked toward him.

His expression had softened again, all the earlier anger worn down into something calmer.

“I would rather not have had you born among them,” Poseidon admitted. “The price was not worth handing over my precious girl to people so moronic.”

Perse giggled before she could stop herself.

Poseidon immediately looked pleased by the sound.

His hand came up to pat her head gently, fingers brushing through her dark curls before sliding down to cup her cheek for a moment in a soft, careful moment. All because she existed.

Chapter Text

Poseidon watched as his child slept, how her chest rose and fell with every breath. Once, he had pitied such human things. Mortals and their fragile little bodies, always breathing, always tiring, always needing.

Now it only made Persephone look small. Pretty in the way young things often were before the world got its hands on them.

He rose from the water slowly, careful not to disturb her as he plucked Persephone from her resting place. She barely stirred, simply curling slightly against his hand as he held her there.

There was still so little he knew about the child.

Her situation.

Her mother, she apparently didn’t have.

What power of the fountain had created her?

At some point, Poseidon knew he would have to travel beyond the clouds and speak with Zeus. The thought alone made his brows furrow with annoyance. His brother would undoubtedly insist on meeting the girl, and Poseidon knew quite well how his brother had never once learned how to keep his hands to himself around beautiful things, and Persephone was lovely enough to attract attention without trying.

The last thing Poseidon wanted was for his daughter to feel uncomfortable.

Already, he felt he had failed her.

Allowing the other gods to flirt so openly with the young girl while she stood trapped in his fountain. He should have stopped the others sooner. Apollo circling her with pretty words. Hermes grinning too knowingly. Dionysus feeding her fruit like she belonged draped beside him already.

Gods grew possessive quickly.

Worse, they lost interest just as fast.

Persephone, thankfully, seemed clever enough not to fall for their lies. Still, the thought of one of them daring to ask for her hand made Poseidon’s mouth tighten.

Gods were not known for keeping their affections long.

If Persephone asked him for permission one day… And it was so soon after her birth. If she looked up at him with those sea-green eyes and begged to follow some god who swore devotion...

Poseidon did not know how he would refuse her.

Not when he was already wrapped so tightly around her tiny, delicate fingers.

A mortal entered with his back turned. A ridiculous way to speak to a god. Oh right. Poseidon had ordered that no one lay eyes upon his child.

‘My Lord Poseidon,’ the priest spoke carefully, head lowered despite already facing away. ‘We are so blessed to have you here, for however long you please. The other priests only wished to know how long we shall have the honor of your stay. And if your daughter requires lodging…’ He swallowed nervously. ‘We have several rooms she may choose from.’

A room.

Poseidon looked down at Persephone resting in his palm. Of course, she should have one. Only the finest.

“One facing the ocean,” Poseidon ordered immediately. “And see that suitable things are delivered there.”

“Perfect, Lord Poseidon,” the priest praised quickly, excitement bleeding through his careful tone. Even with his back turned, the man practically vibrated with awe over the thought of housing the young supposed godling within the temple walls.

Poseidon’s gaze drifted back to Persephone. If she did not become a goddess...

Would this become her home?

The thought sat bitterly in him.

Left within a temple. A palace not truly hers. Surrounded by worshippers and luxury, yet always missing something greater. Mortals would care for her. Priests would kneel. The Lord of the Sea himself would visit when he could.

But gods did not stay still forever. Journeys would call him away eventually.

It was his first daughter.

His first mortal daughter. Or half mortal. Or whatever strange thing the Fates had shaped from his sacred fountain.

Demigod did not feel right.

Not for Persephone.

Not when she had risen from a piece of him.

Poseidon’s fingers curled slightly around her sleeping form.

Cursed Athens.

Because of them, his daughter was like this… a mortal.  All because foolish Athenians had looked upon his sacred gift and turned away from it. If they had accepted his gift, she might be a Goddess now. Poseidon’s anger returned fresh at the thought.

“Let it be known,” his voice echoed through the temple walls, deep enough the marble itself seemed to hum with it.

“Perse is the child of Poseidon.”

The priest visibly trembled.

“And should anything harm her, I will return with vengeance and take their families, their cities, and every person they have ever spoken to along with them.”

‘My l-lord…’ the man stuttered, fear choking the words from him.

“Perse is to see this place, and all places under my domain, as her home.” Poseidon’s eyes narrowed. “She is to feel welcomed. Not stared at or gawked upon.”

The ocean outside crashed violently against the cliffs.

“And if anyone offends her, I shall pluck the eyes from their skull myself.”

The priest looked moments from fainting. Poseidon hardly noticed. His thoughts lingered too heavily on Persephone.

What would happen when she cried? The thought alone made his jaw tighten. Gods could not stop every cruelty. Not even him. One day, something would hurt her, and Poseidon already knew it would feel unbearable to witness.

Still, he could keep her safe for now. 100 years was nothing for him

“And the punishment for making my daughter cry,” Poseidon continued darkly, “is a trip to the Underworld with Hades’ full attention upon them for eternity.”

The priest nearly collapsed before a sweet voice broke through the threats.

“Father?”

Poseidon turned instantly.

Persephone floated upward from the fountain, lifted gently by the water itself. It curled around her waist and legs in soft currents, carrying her toward him without effort. Her curls were damp from sleep, sea-green eyes still heavy with it as she blinked at him.

Poseidon smiled immediately.

Proud.

“Persephone,” he said warmly. “Did you sleep well?”

“Yes, great!” Persephone said brightly, like a little beam of sunlight despite being born from the sea.

Poseidon found himself distracted instantly. It was embarrassingly easy.

“Perse,” he said, smiling as the water lowered her neatly into his waiting hand instead of allowing her to continue climbing him like some sort of mountain. “That was impressive, daughter.” He compliments her gentle control over the sea.

“Oh, that’s simple,” she replied easily, smiling with far too much confidence for someone so small.

Poseidon looked down at her with open curiosity.

“You should show me what else you can do.”

He asked it genuinely.

Persephone fascinated him. She might not possess power equal to his own, but the fact she held any command over water at all impressed him greatly. Most of his demigod children, the ones born from mortals instead of sacred fountains, barely inherited enough of him to speak with horses or breathe beneath the sea.

Persephone floated through water like she belonged to it. He wanted to know what else rested inside her. Perse paused thoughtfully, finger pressed against her chin.

“Do you have a drachma?”

Poseidon gestured for one immediately. The mortal priest hurried forward, head still lowered, and carefully placed the coin into the sea god’s palm beside Persephone.

Perse brightened. She thought it would be funny. Just a simple little trick. The kind of cheap magic she had seen be done a 100 times before. She took the drachma, closed her fingers around it dramatically, then opened her empty hand. The coin had vanished.

Poseidon blinked.

Perse grinned proudly before reaching up toward his face, fingers slipping behind his ear.

“And there it is,” she announced, pulling the drachma free.

Poseidon stared. In stunned silence. “You made the coin vanish,” he said slowly.

Perse’s grin faltered slightly.

“Uh... yea?”

“Not even I possess such a power, child.”

Okay, now she definitely could not reveal it was just a trick.

Perse laughed nervously, rubbing the back of her neck.

“Well, it only works on coins so... less useful really!” she hurried to say, trying desperately to distract him with her actual powers instead.

“I just have water control, speak to sea animals, control hurricanes, and sometimes perform earthquakes...” Perse shrugged lightly. “But only in dire moments, I’m sure.”

It got quiet again.

“...All that?”

“Not much,” Perse said softly.

Then suddenly his hands were around her waist, lifting her straight into the air. Perse yelped.

“I am impressed!” Poseidon declared proudly, holding her up with ease while she kicked slightly in surprise. “With training, and Triton’s guidance, you will make a fine goddess.”

Perse went red instantly.

Shy all at once, she covered half her face with one hand while trying to hide the smile breaking across it. Her curls bounced around her cheeks as she ducked her head, nodding quickly.

A compliment.

An actual compliment. Not a half-hearted “good job.” Not distracted praise thrown at her while someone looked elsewhere.

“Thanks daddy...” Perse slapped both hands over her mouth.

Poseidon blinked at her. “Daddy?” he repeated slowly, the unfamiliar word sounding strange in his voice. “What is that?”

Perse’s face burned.

“It just means father,” she mumbled quickly from behind her hands. “Sorry. I won’t do it again.”

Poseidon immediately pulled her closer against his chest. “You may call me anything you wish, child,” he said, sounding almost offended she thought otherwise. “You are a gift from the Fates.”

Perse looked up at him.

“A gift?”

“My precious little pearl.” he placed a hand on the back of her head as the god hugged her close. The words hit far harder than they should have.

Perse hugged him back tightly, burying her face against him before he could see the way her eyes stung. She held the tears in anyway, fingers curling into his clothes as she tried not to cry over something so simple.

Her father wanted her, that alone was… al she ever dreamed of.