Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

It began with a prick to the finger and a drop of blood on sterile glass.

Percy didn’t even flinch. He was eleven—old enough to know the world was watching for one thing and one thing only: the gene.
His mother flinched for him.

Sally Jackson was a beta, born and bred in a system that had long ago decided what her worth was. Betas could not have omegas. That was known. That was science. That was law.

And yet, when the nurse’s scanner blinked red—soft and traitorous—something in Sally's chest caved in.

“No,” she whispered, her voice a ghost, fingers tightening around the strap of her purse. “There must be a mistake.”

The nurse didn’t answer. They never did when the result was that. She turned and left the room like Percy had already stopped being her patient and started being government property.

Later, when the papers came, stamped and sealed and unreadable beneath government code, Sally didn’t cry. She didn’t rage. She just moved.

Because omegas—unclaimed, unprotected, American omegas—did not get to stay with their families.

They were taken.

By the time the van arrived at their apartment complex two days later, Percy was already gone.

He was on a ship—The Golden Morning—masked as a passenger for a high-profile relocation route for international citizens. Sally had pulled in every favor, cracked every underground code, begged and bribed the right resistance cell with everything she had. Percy would be processed as the adopted child of a wealthy omega couple fleeing the crumbling “sanctuary laws” in Texas.

The ship’s route was safe. Belgium was safe. Europe would be safe. And from there, if he needed to, Percy could disappear further. Anywhere but here.

Sally watched the ship from the rocky shore of the hidden port as it pulled out into the Atlantic mist. She never waved. She just pressed her hand over her heart and whispered a prayer to whatever god would still listen to a beta.

“Please… let the sea protect him.”

The sea… was listening.

But it was not kind.

Percy was asleep when the storm came.

His cabin was warm and dim and smelled like fresh linen and salt. The hum of the engine beneath him was a lullaby. He didn’t know they’d drifted off course. He didn’t hear the screaming from the upper decks or the unnatural roar that rose above the wind.

He only woke when the water touched his cheek.

Eyes fluttered open.

Dark.

Silent.

Wrong.

The ship groaned around him like something alive and wounded.

Percy sat up, disoriented. Water sloshed past his knees. His breath caught.

He should’ve screamed. Should’ve panicked. But he didn’t. Something inside him—something older—held him still.

A swirl of bubbles danced in front of him.

Then—eyes. Dozens of them. Bright and curious. A school of fish floated just outside the broken cabin window, watching him.

Not afraid. Not swimming away. Just... there.

Percy’s lips parted. “Hi,” he whispered.

One of them flicked its tail, and he swore it nodded.

He wasn’t breathing.

He should be drowning.

But he wasn’t.

Percy Jackson, eleven years old, omega, rare and endangered and alone—sat cross-legged on the bunk of a sunken ship, the sea all around him, and felt the water cradle him like something that had been waiting its whole life to find him.

The fish blinked once.

The sea sighed.

And Percy stayed.

Alive.

Underwater.

Home.

Chapter Text

The sea held him for days.

Sometimes there was light—ghost-pale shafts of moon through dark water. Sometimes there was only black. Always, the pressure throbbed like a heartbeat around him. And beneath it, something watched.

The ship had long since sunk, the hull cracked open like a wounded beast on the ocean floor. Algae bloomed across the golden trim. Bubbles leaked like breath. The bodies had settled—limp and drifting—hair and silk sleeves trailing like jellyfish tendrils in the current.

Percy tried not to look.

But the smell hit first.

Even underwater, it clung—death and blood and brokenness—and when he saw the limp hand of the couple who’d claimed him for the records, fingers still entwined as they floated in a ruined ballroom, Percy vomited.

His scream bubbled in his throat.

The grief, the salt, the hunger, the terror—too much.

The sea tilted.

The water shivered.

Then—something moved.

The Kraken had been watching.

It had claimed this stretch of seafloor long before the ship above had been born. Old magic, deeper than the gods, ran in its ink-dark veins. It knew what humans were—noisy, dirty things. It knew to avoid them.

But the ship had sunk into its bed. And this pup, this small body curled in metal and moonlight, reeked of something… different.

Omega.

Sacred. Vulnerable. Forgotten.

The Kraken had not taken in a pup since the last sea-touched creature birthed her spawn and died in its arms, centuries ago.

But this boy…

He glowed faintly in the deep. His body didn’t bloat like the others. The salt clung to him like kin. And when he passed out—limp, sick, small—the Kraken moved.

Tentacles wrapped around the cabin. Glass cracked. Air fled.

Percy Jackson did not drown.

The sea would not allow it.

He woke in a cradle of seaweed and soft silt, kelp knotted into curves like a nest. Coral, soft and pink, glimmered faintly above him like stars. The walls of the den were warm with phosphorescence, and the water no longer pressed against his chest like a threat—it soothed.

Percy blinked blearily.

His head throbbed. His stomach was empty. His heart ached in a way he didn’t have words for.

Then—movement.

From the shadows came the Kraken.

He should have been afraid.

The thing was massive—ancient muscle, curling limbs, a face that did not belong in any living world. Eyes like storm-washed pearls blinked down at him. But there was no threat. No hunger.

Just… recognition.

The Kraken dropped something beside him—fresh fish, slick and silver, and a bundle of weeds knotted into a soft ball.

Percy looked at it. Then at the creature.

His lip trembled. “Why me?”

The Kraken made no sound.

But its eyes pulsed softly. Warm. Protective.

And slowly, slowly, Percy reached for the food.

Days passed—or weeks. Time twisted in the deep.

He ate raw fish until it no longer made him gag. Learned to chew the soft seaweed that dulled the hunger in his belly and kept his head from spinning. He cried sometimes. Curled up in the Kraken’s nest, trying not to remember the surface. He talked to the fish that swam by and named them after old teachers or characters from books.

The Kraken never left him long.

Sometimes it returned with trinkets: a shell, a polished coin, a stone smoothed into a perfect spiral. Sometimes it brought larger prey, and Percy watched it tear apart a shark like paper.

And slowly, Percy changed.

He could see in the dark now, faint outlines of fish and rock even when there was no light. His lungs no longer screamed for air. His fingers grew stronger, nails harder, bones less delicate.

When he moved, the water obeyed.

He didn’t know it yet—but he was becoming.

Becoming something no omega had ever been allowed to become.

Not prey.
Not claimed.
Not even god-born.

He was wild.

And the sea had claimed him as her own.

The sea had become his sky.

Percy no longer dreamed of sunlight. It was a story he only half-remembered—like a bedtime tale his mother used to tell. Sometimes he whispered her name into the currents, soft as a bubble: Sally. He missed the feel of her arms, her laugh. But those things felt smaller now. Distant. The ocean was louder.

And she—the Kraken—was always near.

He didn’t know if she had a name. If she did, it wasn’t one humans could pronounce. Her presence wrapped around the den like a tide, warm and constant. She brought him fish when he forgot to eat. She wrapped him in kelp when he shivered. Sometimes she sang—low vibrations that echoed through the trench and made Percy’s chest ache with a feeling too big to name.

She was terrifying. Immense.

And Percy loved her.

Like a mother.

A monstrous, ancient, godless mother.

His body was changing.

Not in the way it would for a typical omega—no scent glands swelling, no heat cycles yet. But deeply, beneath the skin. Muscles hardened. His bones stopped aching in the cold. His lungs could stretch longer and deeper with every dive.

He learned to kick his legs in strong, slow strokes. To tuck his arms close to his body. The water no longer resisted him—it flowed with him, like he was a piece of it, shaped by it.

Still, the changes came slowly.

He bruised easily. His skin peeled sometimes. He cried when he remembered birthdays and shorelines and chocolate chip pancakes.

He wasn’t a mer.
Not a god.
Not human anymore either.

Just Percy. Half-grown. Half-drowned. Half-changed.

He watched the merfolk from a distance.

They weren’t like the stories. Their faces were too sharp. Their tails shimmered like knives. They rarely came close to the trench, but when they did, Percy hid behind rocks, eyes wide with curiosity. He watched them comb their hair with coral-pinned fingers, braid sea glass into long strands, and rub kelp oil along their scalps to keep the water from knotting it.

He mimicked them.

His own hair had grown past his shoulders—dark waves drifting in the current. It tangled easily, so he learned to use smooth stones and bits of shell to ease it loose. He braided it back in warrior knots like the mer males did, tied with seaweed bands.

The Kraken watched him silently when he worked on his hair. She never spoke—couldn’t—but Percy felt her hum in approval through the ground.

She was aging.

At first, Percy didn’t notice. But her movements slowed. She slept longer. Her eyes dimmed.

She still protected him. Still brought him gifts. But the depths of the ocean had begun to weigh heavier on her massive form. Ancient beasts did not live forever, not even here.

Percy felt the change like a crack in the seafloor.

He curled into her massive side one night, tears stinging the edges of his vision. “Don’t leave me.”

The Kraken wrapped a tentacle around him, gently, and let her song echo through the trench once more.

It was a lullaby. Old. Worn. Holy.

He cried into her scales.

Then he got up.

The first time he hunted, it was sloppy.

A school of silverfin darted past, and Percy launched himself after them with more enthusiasm than skill. They scattered like mist, and he choked on a mouthful of silt.

The Kraken didn’t laugh. But her eyes sparkled.

He tried again. And again.

By the seventh attempt, he caught one—sleek and wriggling, its body warm in his hands. He felt the crack of its neck as he twisted it, just like she had taught him.

When he brought it back to the nest, she took it in her great arms like an offering.

Something shifted then.

Not just in her.

In him.

He was no longer a helpless pup in the deep. No longer prey.

He was a hunter. The sea answered to him a little more with every breath.

And the Kraken… the Kraken watched with the knowing sorrow of a mother who had raised something strong enough to survive without her.

He didn’t notice the distant pulse in the current—the warning ripples of gods watching—because down here, in the dark, the old ways held stronger sway.

But soon…
Others would feel him.

And soon, the surface would remember his name.

Chapter Text

It started with stillness.

Not silence—there was never silence in the sea. Even in the deep trench, where sunlight never reached and the water grew thick with pressure, there was always sound. The murmurs of distant whales. The whisper of a current. The groan of tectonic plates shifting ever so slightly.

But this… this stillness was wrong.

Percy woke to it. His gills fluttered (a new addition, faint and translucent under his jaw). He sat up in the nest, his fingers curling into sea moss and kelp. The den was quiet. Still. Too still.

And the Kraken was not moving.

Her massive body—usually pulsing with slow, tidal breath—was coiled in the nest like a protective crescent. But her glow was gone. Her song had ended.

Percy crawled closer, tentative.

"Momma…?"

Nothing.

No hum. No gentle wave of her eye. No nudge of a tentacle.

She had passed.

Peacefully. Quietly. Alone, with her child beside her.

Percy pressed his forehead to her scaled skin and let the tears flow freely, his whole body shivering. He didn’t sob. Not loudly. The ocean didn’t allow for loud grief. But his pain was a riptide—silent and strong, dragging his chest into crushing depths.

He stayed there for hours, curled against her.

Until the sea began to shake.

The trench split.

A groan deeper than anything Percy had ever heard echoed through the water—like the world’s bones snapping. The ground beneath him trembled. Chunks of coral dislodged. The den’s roof—a weave of shell and volcanic stone—cracked.

Percy looked up in time to see the sea above him collapse.

He didn’t scream. There was no time.

He shoved himself forward, around the Kraken’s still form, whispering, “I’m sorry—I’m sorry I can’t stay—please—please forgive me—”

The entrance caved in behind him just as he escaped.

When he turned around, the den was gone.

His mother was buried.

And he was alone.

He swam for hours. Days. He wasn’t sure. The pressure was different now—lighter, sharper, more hostile.

He moved closer to the merfolk territory.

He didn’t want to. They weren’t kind. They chased him away when they saw him. But they had what he needed: tools. Coral blades. Shell combs. Kelp ropes. Sand-smoothed stones. The things he had once watched from afar and mimicked.

Now he stole them.

He slipped into their abandoned weaving dens, into their half-sunken shrines and scavenger markets. He took what he needed and fled before they returned.

He made himself a new nest in a distant reef cave. Weaker than the Kraken’s. Smaller. But his.

His body was no longer warm.

Where once he had shivered in the chill of the deep, now his blood cooled with the currents. His skin had hardened—scaled lightly in places, especially around his spine and shoulders. His lungs adjusted; he needed to surface less and less. He stopped noticing the cold.

He stopped caring.

But they noticed him.

One day, he stole too close to a living den—braiding hooks of coral to replace the fishing lines he’d lost.

A group of merfolk saw him.

They didn’t speak.

They lunged.

Percy snarled.

Not a cry. Not a word. Just instinct—sharp and savage.

He darted between them like a dagger, fast and mean. When one tried to grab his hair, he bit their wrist and tore. Another tried to net him; he ripped the line and used it to slice through a tail-fin. His eyes glowed faintly now—sea-glass green, alight with something unnatural.

They didn’t follow.

He left them bleeding in the reef and vanished into the trench’s shadows.

The reef den was quiet.

Percy crouched low, panting, kelp-wrapped blade still clenched in one hand. Blood—not his—swirled in gentle clouds around him, dissipating in the current. He didn’t regret hurting them. He didn’t regret anything. The deep took what it wanted. He’d learned that lesson from the Kraken, from the ship, from the silence that followed love.

But someone else had been watching.

Far above, near the kelp-canopied border of the merfolk city, a young scout darted through the reef like a silver dart.

Saphros was the fastest messenger in the southern shoals, and while his scales shimmered a neutral beta-blue, he’d always had an unusually sharp sense for scent trails. Especially omega trails. Sacred trails. Trails that pulsed with something older.

He hadn’t dared approach the thief directly. No. Not when the scent hit him.

That wasn’t just an omega.

That was royal blood.

And not just any royal blood—it sang with the sea. It smelled like crushed pearls and salt lightning, like thunder trapped in a conch shell. It smelled like Poseidon.

Saphros didn’t stop to question it.

He turned, shot through the tide, and headed for the capital reef.

Citadel of Tides — Capital of Atlantis

The tide-walls of the palace pulsed with divine energy. Coral the color of moonlight curled into sharp spirals and fluid domes. Bioluminescent eels lit the archways in soft pulses. At the center throne, Poseidon sat half-lounged, barefoot, trident leaning casually against one arm.

He knew before Saphros even entered.

He felt it.

The bond.

A tremor in the vast ocean of his power. A heartbeat where there should be none. A spark that had nearly gone out a decade ago had flickered—flickered—back into light.

His son. His omega son.

Alive.

His jaw clenched. “You may speak, Saphros.”

The scout didn’t hesitate.

He bowed once, fins fluttering, and spoke fast.

“There was a thief along the reef-line. He wounded two of our weavers, evaded capture—clearly trained in the trench wilds. But…” His gills flared. “The scent. It wasn’t just omega. It was royal. It matched the sea.”

Murmurs broke through the guards and attendants lining the room.

Poseidon stood.

Not in anger. Not in show. But in stillness—his divine presence tightening around the chamber like a current dragged too taut.

“How far?”

“Three trenches east. Near the Kraken graveyard. He was hiding in one of the cave systems.”

“The Kraken?” Poseidon’s brows furrowed.

“They believe it adopted him. The scent… it lingered on him like a guardian’s mark. But it’s fading. Which means she’s likely—”

“Gone,” Poseidon finished, eyes dimming.

For a moment, the King of the Sea simply breathed. Slow. Ancient. Then:

“Send the scouts. All of them.” His voice dropped low. “Get me my son back.”

A hand touched his shoulder.

Triton.

“I’ll go with them.”

Poseidon turned, studying his eldest son.

Triton—Alpha to the core, sharp-boned and coral-armored—was rarely gentle. But his face now… it softened.

“You might need someone who speaks feral,” he said with a ghost of a grin.

Poseidon considered. Nodded.

“Go. Bring him home.”

Far below, in the darkened cave, Percy curled tighter into his stolen kelp-nest.

Something thrummed in his bones.

Like a storm rising.

Or a hand reaching.

And for the first time in years, he didn’t feel completely alone.

Chapter Text

The reef shimmered with light, refracted through a thousand coral ridges and darting fish.

Percy moved like a shadow beneath it all, bare-chested and silent, his hair tangled with small white shells he hadn’t meant to keep but now found comforting. His fingers worked quickly over the delicate nets and strings along the open market caves — snatching a handful of polished pearl bangles and a glittering spiral shell necklace meant for ceremonial betrothals. He didn’t care.

He just wanted to feel pretty.

To remember what it felt like to be human in the softest ways. Not prey. Not predator. Not a creature stitched together by grief.

His chest hurt.

Something burned in his stomach — something thick and low, dragging through his spine like molten kelp.

It had started earlier that day — a strange flush in his skin, his heartbeat fluttering in fits and bursts, like a distant song trying to rise through the deep.

He didn’t know what it was.

Not yet.

But something was coming.

Triton swam like a lance through the sea.

He bore no crown, only a thin breastplate of volcanic shell and a dagger made from Leviathan tooth strapped to his thigh. His scouts followed behind — silent, well-trained, alert. But the moment they reached the reef border, the trail splintered.

“Too many currents,” one muttered.

“Too many scents,” said another. “This is a trade corridor. He could’ve gone anywhere.”

Triton growled low in his throat. “He wouldn’t go far. If he was raised in trench wilds, he’ll stay close to what he knows.”

He lowered himself toward the sand, running his hand across the fine silt. Closed his eyes.

Nothing but passing fins and the sting of the current.

But deep beneath that…

A whisper.

A tug.

Something not scent, but instinct.

“He’s still close,” Triton said, eyes flashing. “We wait.”

The den had been rebuilt with stolen netting, seashells, and bones from old prey. Nest-like, but somehow more sacred now. Percy didn’t understand why he needed to curl into it, or why the pearls around his wrist suddenly felt like they belonged there.

His body ached.

His throat was dry, even underwater.

Then came the pulse.

It ripped through him like a tidal wave.

Percy gasped — back arching as his body burned. Every muscle tensed, every instinct snapped alive as the world shifted inside his skin.

His lungs dragged in water and it felt like air.

Scales burst from his skin — not ugly, not rough, but shimmering, smooth, dense and deep green-blue, laced with lines of silver and black like kelp at midnight.

His legs melted, bones restructuring in violent crackles, his scream swallowed by the sea.

A tail.

He had a tail.

Long, elegant, flexible, wide-finned and sharp-edged at the tip. His spine extended with a trailing fin line, his fingers webbed, and his eyes—his eyes—glowed with ancient light.

The change didn’t end there.

Deep inside, the second change struck.

His scent exploded — soft and sweet, spiked with sea salt and lightning, crushed pearl and storm.

He presented.

Omega. Fully. Completely.

And every sea creature near the reef paused.

The sea listened.

Triton jerked upright.

The bond between sea and scent pulsed like a beacon — then vanished.

“He’s close,” he growled. “But he’s hiding his scent. Too well.”

His sharp teeth bared. “Smart little pup.”

He turned to the scouts. “Spread out. Slowly. No aggression. No chasing. If he’s just presented, he’ll be panicked.”

A scout frowned. “Should we report back to the King?”

Triton hesitated, then shook his head.

“Not until I see him myself.”

His gaze turned to the reef.

Somewhere in that glittering maze… a son of the sea was learning what it meant to be himself.

The ocean shimmered like a living mirror, casting fractured glints of light onto the walls of the den.

Percy lay curled in the middle of his rebuilt nest — kelp wrapped around his hips, his fingers trembling as his breath slowed. The pain had dulled into pressure, and the pressure now melted into something else entirely.

Something new.

When he finally pushed himself upright, the water parted over skin that no longer felt quite like his own.

He blinked.

The world was clearer.

Sharper.

The reef outside glowed in hues he’d never noticed before — soft reds where veins of heated current passed, violet where predator trails lingered, and gold, so much gold, trailing behind the fish that spun lazy circles nearby.

He looked down—

And froze.

Where once legs had been, there now stretched a tail — long, powerful, and heavy with muscle still unused. The scales shimmered pearl-white at the core, catching every flicker of light, and shifting with his movement like living opal. Down the sides of his hips, down the thick sweep of his tail, were delicate royal blue markings — thin curling shapes that looked almost etched into his flesh.

Unmistakable.

Royal.

Sacred.

Each flick of his tail caused the wide fin to ripple. It was shaped like a crescent moon — broad and elegant, edged in translucent veining that flickered faintly with bioluminescence.

But that wasn’t all.

Gills flared gently at the base of his ribcage — four fine slits edged with pale red that fluttered with each breath, filtering the sea like a second pair of lungs.

His hands had changed too.

His fingers were webbed, the skin between them delicate and transparent. Small curved claws now tipped each one — not meant for violence, perhaps, but useful all the same. Little hooks of defense.

Floating behind his upper arms were two fin appendages — ghost-like and elegant, moving independently with the water’s pull. Another pair bloomed from his forearms, slick and thin like trailing ribbon fins — useful for steering, he sensed, or for display.

He reached up and touched his mouth.

Small, almost imperceptible fangs had emerged. Not large enough for killing… but enough for scenting. For claiming. For marking.

Percy flinched and curled inward, covering himself instinctively.

He had no name for what he had become.

Only that he was not what he was before.

Percy crept from the den on silent fins, limbs held close to his body, keeping to the shadows of the reef.

Hunger bit at his stomach.

He needed to hunt.

He followed a school of slender reef-fish, weaving between coral spires, still unused to the drag of his tail. It caught on rock. It bumped against the sand. It moved with a mind of its own — beautiful but untrained.

He lunged.

Missed.

He tried again — caught one this time. Tore into it with desperate, messy grace.

He didn't see the scouts until it was too late.

“Confirmed,” whispered one scout, hidden in a rock outcropping above. “Omega. Royal markings. Newly presented.”

“He doesn’t know how to fight.”

“He doesn’t need to,” another said darkly. “Not now. Knock him out. Fast.”

A spear was drawn — thin, barbed, tipped in something sharp and glinting. A tranquilizer derived from jellyfish venom, mild enough not to kill, strong enough to sedate even a lesser god.

He saw movement.

Too late.

He turned, his tail slamming against the reef, sending up a storm of sand and fractured coral. His eyes wide, feral, panic overtaking instinct.

He fled, tail lashing wildly.

The water burned past him as he darted between rock pillars, his back fins helping him twist just in time to avoid a net. A second dart flew past him, missing his shoulder by inches.

They were fast.

But he was desperate.

A wall of coral loomed—he dove beneath it—

Too slow.

A shadow surged from above.

A shark hybrid slammed into him — tall, thick-limbed, tail broad and dark gray, teeth slightly exposed in a mouth built for biting. His spear slammed into Percy’s side, the barb barely piercing scale, but the venom inside acted immediately.

Percy’s vision blurred.

His arms flailed weakly.

“No—no—” his voice slurred, the last word little more than bubbles.

The last thing he saw was the shark's jagged grin, and a murmur of—

“He’s just a pup.”

Then nothing.

Darkness.

The journey home was slow.

Even carried on the back of a current-woven chariot, pulled by sea-stallions born of coral and foam, Triton never let go of the boy.

He sat with Percy curled in his arms, tail limp, gills fluttering in sleep.

The tranquilizer still clouded his little brother’s mind, but Triton could feel the pulse of life — fast and frantic beneath soft scales, his body still humming with raw, untrained power.

It was not the power that disturbed Triton.

It was the familiarity.

The boy smelled of stormwinds and raw sea — but beneath that, faint and ghost-thin, was the delicate scent of sacred omega royalty. Divine. Young. Untouched.

And Pallas.

Triton stared down at Percy, brushing a few strands of sea-slick hair from his brow.

The face that looked back at him — too young, too wild — reminded him achingly of another.

Pallas, daughter of Triton, raised as Athena's sister and sparring partner. Killed by accident. Mourned in silence. The golden shield of the aegis forged in her memory.

Triton hadn’t loved her less for being an omega.

He had taught her to fight with a trident at five tides old.

He had taught her to roar.

Percy, unconscious and sea-worn, was a different kind of fierce — but something in him was the same.

A light the sea could not drown.

The waters parted as the gates of Atlantis opened before them.

Carved from volcanic stone and mother-of-pearl, the capital shimmered beneath the sea — its towers grown of coral and silver, weaving upward like kelp towards the faint sunlight above. Guard barracks, temples, and sanctuaries spiraled inwards like a nautilus shell, with the palace resting at its heart.

The guards bowed as Triton passed.

But their eyes lingered.

Not on him — on the boy cradled to his chest. On the faint blue markings of the royal line. On the delicate curve of the fin at his hip. On the faint omega scent that curled through the water behind them.

Triton said nothing.

But his arms curled tighter.

Percy was placed in the inner palace, within a chamber usually reserved for omegas in their first confinement period — a time of seclusion, healing, and bonding between body and sea, when the presenting omega was at their most vulnerable.

The room had been refitted hastily.

Though the walls still shimmered in calming colors and the bioluminescent stones glowed in soft pulse rhythms, much had been altered.

No bind-chains. No womb-weights. No old tools of suppression.

Instead, kelp-stitched bedding shaped to a nest rather than a berth.

Silkweed drapes to filter the sensory overwhelm.

A shallow current basin to ease his breathing and regulate his salt balance.

A guardian shell placed at the entrance, one used only for sacred spaces.

Triton entered alone.

He sat beside Percy’s nest and just... watched.

The boy murmured once in his sleep, shifting against the soft folds of kelp. His tail twitched — slow and instinctive. His gills fluttered with deeper breaths.

He looked peaceful now.

But Triton had seen the bite marks on his hands — raw and self-inflicted from fear.

He had seen the coral scraped into the bones of his forearms, where he'd tried to dig shelter in the broken reef.

He had seen the way the scouts had stared at him — not with reverence, but with claiming hunger.

That would not be permitted again.

Not while Triton lived.

Outside the chamber, the palace hummed.

Courtiers whispered. High priests sent omens to Poseidon. The sacred scent of a god-borne royal omega, long lost, now reclaimed — it would shake Atlantis for years.

Triton didn’t care about the court.

Not yet.

He looked down at Percy again and rested his hand against the boy’s crown, brushing sea-slick curls from his brow.

"You have salt in your blood," he whispered, voice low and ragged. "And war in your eyes. No one will cage you, little brother."

Not the court.

Not the gods.

Not fate itself.

Chapter Text

The chamber was quiet but not still.

The currents whispered against the pearl-veined walls, shifting ever so slightly as they responded to the energy that pulsed from the center of the room — where Percy lay in the nest, limbs tangled in soft kelp, tail curled protectively beneath him.

His gills fluttered.

His fingers twitched.

The air tasted faintly of lightning and salt.

Something divine was beginning to wake.

But not yet.

The great throne hall of Poseidon loomed tall and brutal — carved from storm-forged stone and the bones of ancient leviathans. Sea serpents circled its pillars, and sharks swam in the open trenches beneath the glass floor.

At the center sat Poseidon, king of the sea.

Wild, regal, and utterly still.

Beside him, her robes fluid as seagrass, sat Amphitrite, queen of the tides — silent, silver-eyed, and watching her son approach with a ripple of old worry in her gaze.

Triton knelt before them, crown of coral in hand, expression grim.

"It is him," he said simply. "The omega child... the one lost to the surface."

Poseidon’s fingers curled on the arm of his throne.

"And?"

"He is your son," Triton said softly. "And he’s powerful. Half-feral. Sacred. He carries the scent of lightning. He survived the Kraken, adapted to the Deep, and built a den alone. He has royal markings in his tail. He—"

Poseidon stood before Triton finished.

He didn’t run — the sea parted for him.

Amphitrite rose more slowly, gaze shadowed with unreadable emotion. "You are certain?"

"I carried him in my arms," Triton said. "He looks like Pallas. But his scent… it's yours. And he’s still unconscious. He doesn’t know what he is. Who he is."

Poseidon was already gone.

The omega chamber was dim when Poseidon entered — dim and warm and silent, the walls thrumming with soft ocean pulses designed to soothe distressed omegas.

Triton did not follow him in.

Poseidon didn’t speak.

He simply stepped forward and looked down at the boy curled in the nest of seaweed and silkweed, nestled in coral and pearls like a child laid in the sea’s cradle.

The sight struck him like a trident to the chest.

So small. So sacred. So his.

There, beneath the loose hair, glowing faintly even in rest — the blue royal markings shimmered like ink across his pale, scaled tail. Gills pulsed open and shut like fragile shells. Baby fangs barely peeked out from parted lips.

And that scent.

That omega scent.

Still faint. Still juvenile.

But it clawed at Poseidon's instincts like a storm wind rising beneath the waves.

Mine, the Alpha inside him snarled.

His omega child. His blood. His son.

He sank slowly to his knees beside the nest, reached out with a hand that trembled once — and brushed his fingers through Percy’s long hair, gently untangling a knot near the crown.

"Little tide," Poseidon murmured. His voice cracked like stone under pressure.

Percy didn’t stir.

Poseidon bent and pressed a kiss to his forehead, just below where the sea-markings touched his brow.

"You’re home now."

Amphitrite stood at the doorway.

She did not interrupt. But her presence calmed the storm Poseidon's Alpha threatened to become.

"He’s not ready," she said softly, her voice echoing like a song pulled from the deep. "He still sleeps. His scent isn’t fully settled. You’re overwhelming him."

Poseidon exhaled once, sharp and low, pulling himself back.

The Alpha in him wanted to curl around the nest, guard it, snarl at anyone who approached — even Amphitrite.

But the father in him simply cradled Percy’s hand in his own.

"I will wait," he said.

"You must. His presenting has just finished. His instincts aren’t ready to be touched too closely by other alphas. Not even you."

Poseidon didn’t let go, but he softened his grip.

"Then I’ll wait here."

In the hall beyond the chamber, Triton stood guard.

He did not look toward the door.

He watched the sea.

And he smiled, just slightly.

The storm-born omega was no longer alone.

The tide had claimed him.

And so had they.

Warm currents.

Kelp and silk beneath him. The water was too clean, too still. Not the reef. Not the den. Not the trench.

Percy blinked awake—slow, sluggish.

The ceiling above shimmered with soft light. Coral veins, pearls embedded in the walls. Strange flowers drifted on the current, and the floor beneath him pulsed faintly like a heartbeat.

Where am I?

He sat up too quickly.

Pain shot down his spine—his tail, his new skin dragging against silk and softness he didn’t trust. Gills flared open on instinct, trying to filter faster.

His heart thundered.

Panic hit him like a crashing wave.

The last thing he remembered was being hunted.

Cornered.

Speared.

The moment that memory surfaced, so did the fury.

And something else too—something low and animal, curled inside him like a coiled spring.

The doors opened.

Two figures entered — one a tall guard, his shoulders thick and his eyes cold, flanked by a smaller servant carrying a tray of sea-harvested fruits, steamed algae, and raw fish.

The omega nest glowed faintly in response to Percy’s alarm, but neither man paused.

Too late.

Percy was already moving.

He lunged from the nest — the coils of his pearlescent white-and-blue tail cracking the water. His body moved before his mind could catch up, pure instinct dragging him forward.

He bit the guard first.

His fangs sank into the man’s forearm — not deep, not venomous, but fast and deliberate. The guard roared, jerking back, but Percy had already shoved the servant against the wall, food tray tumbling into the current.

"Don’t touch me!" Percy hissed, voice raw and hoarse.

The omega scent that exploded from his body was no longer calm or sacred.

It was sharp. Wild. Borderline feral.

The guard recovered first. “He’s unstable—seal the—”

Too late.

Percy shot out of the room, tail dragging behind him, knocking the door wide open as his webbed hands clawed across the soft pearl-coral walls

He had no idea where he was going.

The palace corridor spun around him — walls too tall, floors too smooth, water too warm.

It wasn’t the reef.

It wasn’t home.

He slammed into a healer in soft robes, sending the man spinning into a decorative column. Another soldier appeared, tried to restrain him from behind — Percy flipped, bit into the side of his neck, and twisted free with a snarl.

Blood rose in clouds behind him.

"Stop him!"

"He’s confused—don’t hurt him—!"

More hands. More voices. Too many.

Percy screamed, twisting in the water, tail thrashing. A decorative vase shattered as his tail whipped sideways. A healer tried to calm him with open palms — Percy bit her on the wrist and spun away.

A net was tossed.

He tore through it.

Someone grabbed his hair.

He slammed his head backward into their jaw and escaped again, darting like a hurricane in a temple.

Too bright. Too many alphas. Too many people.

His scent was wild now — no longer subdued, no longer resting. Omega, yes—but dangerous.

Cornered.

Sacred and savage.

The alarms had not yet been raised.

But every soul in the inner palace felt the spike of sacred omega panic.

Poseidon stood in the sanctum with Amphitrite when the echo of the scream hit him.

He didn’t hesitate.

"Triton," he said, voice like thunder. "He's awake."

Blood drifted like ink in the water.

Guards lay in heaps along the coralstone hall — bruised, bitten, tangled in kelp tapestries and overturned ceremonial vessels. The sacred corridor had become a battlefield.

And at the center of it all, Percy snarled.

His tail lashed in wide arcs, stirring dangerous currents. His gills flared wide, and his delicate fangs glinted under the torchlight pearls lining the ceiling.

His scent flooded the palace now — not only omega, but newly-formed, unclaimed, raw and divine, drenched in fear and fury and pain.

He didn’t recognize the palace.

He didn’t recognize the people.

He didn’t even recognize himself.

Poseidon didn’t shout.

He didn’t command.

He simply moved — fast.

One second, Percy had lunged toward the next group of approaching guards — and the next, Poseidon was behind him, one strong hand sliding against the boy’s back.

And the other—

Flat against the back of his neck.

Firm.

Warm.

Unshaking.

A submission hold.

Not painful. Not cruel. But absolute.

Percy froze.

Every muscle in his body went rigid, his tail half-curled beneath him.

The feeling was instantaneous: his heart pounded; his lungs expanded. He could’ve fought. His instincts wanted him to.

But the Alpha weight behind Poseidon’s touch was divine.

It didn’t feel like ownership.

It felt like gravity.

Percy’s head dipped forward, his breath catching. He made a high sound in the back of his throat — confused, aching, almost a whimper — but he didn’t thrash again.

"Shh," Poseidon murmured, lowering them both gently, slowly, until they hovered inches above the palace floor. "You’re safe. No one will harm you again."

Poseidon kept his hand where it was — firm on Percy’s neck, fingers spread gently into the water where his scent coiled. The moment Percy tried to twist, he met the subtle pressure of Poseidon's palm and instinctively stilled again.

They passed rows of stunned staff, Triton waiting at the end of the corridor with a dark look in his eyes and not a single question on his tongue.

The door to the omega chamber opened with a thought.

Poseidon guided Percy back in with him, slowly, carefully — like coaxing a storm back into the sea.

Percy hissed when the nest came into view. His eyes flicked toward the door. Toward the window. Toward Poseidon's hand, still resting on the back of his neck.

"You’re not a prisoner," Poseidon said softly. “You’re my son. You’re home.”

Percy gave a low, defensive growl.

"Your scent says otherwise," he spat. “You’re trying to make me submit.”

Poseidon didn’t flinch. "Your instincts are fighting me because you’re alone. Unbonded. Raw. I’m keeping you from hurting yourself, or others."

He withdrew his hand slowly — but stayed within arm’s reach.

Percy floated just above the nest, breathing shallow, gills twitching.

"You’re lying," he muttered. “You want something.”

"Yes," Poseidon said quietly. “I want to protect what is mine.”

Percy’s eyes narrowed, but he didn’t run again.

"I’m Poseidon," the god said gently. "Sea-lord. Earthshaker. Your father."

Percy laughed—hoarse and bitter. “Right.”

"I didn’t know you were born. Sally… she kept you hidden. The Fates didn’t let me interfere until now. But I felt it the moment you touched saltwater. I felt the bond before I even knew your name.”

He reached out.

Percy bared his fangs.

Poseidon stopped — but not out of fear.

“You’re sacred,” he said instead. “Born of the sea. A royal omega. My blood runs in your tail, in your throat, in your heart.”

“And that gives you the right to—what? Cage me? Touch me?” Percy snapped.

“No,” Poseidon said softly, eyes dark and wild like a storm before it breaks. “But it gives me the duty to guard you.”

Percy blinked, startled.

"I will never bind you. Never claim you. Not unless you ask me to. But no one in this ocean will take you without my wrath."

He stepped back at last, lowering his head in deference — an Alpha bowing to an omega child.

It shouldn’t have meant anything.

But it shook something loose in Percy’s chest.

Outside the chamber, the guards did not speak of what they saw.

But they would remember the way the Sea God knelt in his son’s den, and the way the storm-born omega didn’t bite again.

He only stared — confused, wary.

But still.

And Poseidon's scent, though alpha-rich and deep, no longer pressed.

It hovered.

Waiting.

Not as a cage.

But as a shield.

Chapter Text

It began with a whisper.

No one saw the message carried. No nymph delivered it. No god watched the scroll unfurl.

But still, the Olympians knew.

Somewhere in the coral-pale halls of Atlantis, a wild child with Poseidon's scent and a pulse of royal power had been found alive.

The meeting chamber of Olympus shimmered in hollow, god-made twilight.

Around the grand bronze table sat the Twelve — thrones glistening with domain-specific glory. Thunder cracked in the high vaults above Zeus’s seat, and Hera sat beside him like the eye of a brewing storm.

Across from them, Poseidon's throne sat empty.

Again.

“He defies us.” Zeus’s voice echoed like a stormcloud over water. “He didn’t inform the Council. He didn’t seek judgment. He’s hiding him.”

“Not hiding,” Athena said coolly, scanning the celestial records scroll now floating before her. “Protecting. From us, clearly.”

“Is the boy even viable?” Ares scoffed, twirling his spear and tapping it against the marble. “You said he was raised by a kraken like some ocean-bastard wildling.”

A heavy silence.

Then Artemis murmured, “A feral omega blessed by the sea and cradled by its most ancient monster... Sounds viable enough.”

Hera’s jaw tightened.

“It’s not about viability,” Zeus snapped. “It’s about principle. I lost power. For Thalia. For Jason. And Poseidon gets to smuggle another abomination into the deep and play house? No. He knew the Laws.”

“You lost power,” Hestia said gently, “because you were greedy. You hid your children in our domains and demanded they be recognized as heirs.”

Zeus growled.

“Poseidon’s child wasn’t even meant to survive. And now that he has—the boy must be judged.”

“Judged?” Demeter’s eyes narrowed. “You’d judge a child born under the oldest blood oaths of the sea? An omega no less? You would try to overturn the Fates?”

Zeus stood.

And the chamber fell still.

“I want Poseidon summoned. He will bring the child to Olympus.”

They never entered the room.

They didn’t need to.

The moment Zeus spoke, a thread snapped in the air above his throne.

It glowed gold, then withered black.

And the chamber darkened.

A wind — old and bone-deep — circled the table.

And then, in a voice that did not come from any one place, three women spoke as one:

“He is ours.
Not yours to name, nor claim, nor judge.
The sea cradled what Olympus would have drowned.
And the threads you would pull—will unravel the sky.”

The gods flinched.

Even Ares.

Even Athena.

Zeus didn’t sit. But he didn’t speak either.

Back beneath the ocean, Poseidon stood beside Percy’s sleeping form — eyes closed, a hand gently stroking the boy’s back.

When the Fates intervened, a wave of power surged through him.

Not rage. Not wrath.

Sanction.

And in that moment, Olympus could not touch him.

Zeus arrived in a storm.

Waves split for his descent, clouds coiling over the sea like coiled beasts. The waters churned as the King of Olympus and his entourage pierced Atlantis’s wards with sheer divine will.

Guards and nobles scrambled from the halls of coral and pearl, sensing the weight of Olympus in fury.

Poseidon was waiting for them in the throne hall, barefoot in the surf that lapped at the palace floor, trident glinting but lowered. He hadn’t summoned them — and yet here they were.

Uninvited.

"Where is he?" Zeus demanded, stepping down the polished onyx stairs like the sea should part for him. "I will see the omega. It is my right as king."

"You have no claim over him," Poseidon replied, voice deep and even. "He is my son. Born under sea oath. Guarded by the Fates."

"He is Olympian," Zeus snarled. "That makes him mine."

"That makes him under the protection of the Laws you broke."

Amphitrite stood beside her husband, expression unreadable. Triton flanked them, jaw tight, hand on the hilt of his ceremonial blade. But it was clear from the set of his shoulders that if Zeus touched Percy — there would be blood in the water.

Still, they could not refuse the demand. Not fully.

So they brought him.

Percy had fallen asleep again in the confinement room, curled in a corner beside a cluster of white pearls. He looked peaceful.

Almost soft.

But the moment the strangers entered — something changed.

He didn’t wake.

He sensed.

And his gills flared open like slits of warning.

The moment Zeus reached out — rough and possessive — Percy woke like a spear.

His baby fangs sank into the God-King’s hand with a wet crunch.

There was a horrible beat of silence.

Then Zeus howled, golden ichor streaming down his wrist. Percy let go only to bare his teeth wider — gills pulsing, claws raised. He hissed, a guttural sound like grinding coral.

He did not flinch.

He did not yield.

Athena stepped forward, cool and calculated, lips parted to speak — but Percy had already turned to her, body arched, snapping his jaws in the water like a warning.

She blinked.

Not in fear.

But in computation.

This one would not be reasoned with.

Not yet.

Not while his omega instincts smelled gods he did not trust.

“Do not berate him,” Poseidon said lowly. “He’s no pawn to be leashed.”

“He bit the King of the Gods,” Hera muttered.

“No,” Amphitrite said sharply. “He warned him.”

Triton moved quickly, slipping between Percy and the gods before Percy could leap again.

Zeus stood rigid, golden ichor crystallizing in the water, jaw twitching.

“You’d raise him like a beast?” he spat at Poseidon.

“I’d raise him safe.”

The air thickened. Pressure built.

Then, again, a whisper of thread in the water.

The Fates did not speak this time.

But their silence hung like a blade.

The ichor hadn’t stopped dripping.

Even now, seated on his marble throne beneath Olympus’s glowing canopy, Zeus still felt the sting.

Not of the bite — but of defiance.

That boy. That thing.

A feral omega. Born in the sea. Blood of the gods in his veins and nothing but seaweed, salt, and teeth to show for it.

He’d looked at Zeus like a beast would. Like a cornered animal.

And worse — like a sovereign.

Not prey. Not mortal.
Royal. Untamed. Dangerous.

Zeus stood. Lightning curled along his fingers like vines.

“He is mine,” he growled. “Born of Olympus blood. The sea has no right to hide him. The Fates intervene only when their threads are threatened.”

“He is under the sea’s protection,” Hera said, voice silky but sharp. “But he is still of our kind.”

“Of my kind,” Zeus snapped. “Poseidon hides him away like a treasured egg — like a pet.”

“Can you blame him?” murmured Aphrodite, lounging across a silk-strewn seat, eyes glinting. “Have you seen the boy? Young and wild and half-feral, yes — but sacred. You could scent the omega’s heat beginning to rise, even underwater.”

That made Hermes shift in discomfort. Dionysus raised a brow.

Even Athena looked thoughtful.

He wasn’t just a demigod.

He was an omega born of god-blood.

“If Poseidon will not yield,” Zeus finally said, “then we will call on law.”

He paced in front of the thrones, arms clasped behind his back like a general before war.

“All demigods — regardless of status — are required to spend time at Camp Half-Blood. That is the rule. He has broken it.”

“You want him sent to camp?” Apollo asked, curious. “What for? You really think Percy Jackson — wild as he is — will sit around the amphitheater eating grapes and playing Capture the Flag?”

Zeus’s lip curled.

“I want him contained. Controlled. Observed. Tamed.”

Within the day, a message was sent to Chiron and the Camp Council.

A formal demand: that a delegation be sent to Atlantis, invoking the Old Oaths.

That they insist on the boy’s legal obligation to train at the Camp — and to present himself before the gods for formal recognition and judgment.

“Refusal,” the message ended, “will be seen as treason.”

Chiron read it aloud to the stunned demigods, horned brow furrowed.

Clarisse muttered, “Wait—Poseidon had another kid?”

Annabeth said nothing.

But in the crowd of stunned campers, Nico di Angelo narrowed his eyes.

Because something about the way the gods were scrambling — something about how they spoke of a sacred omega with sea-blood and teeth—

It felt like doom was stirring.

Chapter Text

The camp was silent.
Too silent.

Every camper had gathered in the amphitheater, the firelight flickering across anxious faces. No one laughed. No one whispered. They all knew what the assembly meant.

At the front stood Chiron, shoulders heavy with a burden he did not want. In his hands was a deep bronze bowl, empty but gleaming as though it knew what names it would soon hold.

“The council of Olympus has decreed,” Chiron said, voice rough, “that three of you will go as a delegation to Atlantis. You will deliver Zeus’s demand to Lord Poseidon himself.”

Gasps rippled through the crowd. Some campers paled. Some looked almost eager. All knew the risk — walking into the domain of the sea god, carrying the will of Zeus.

Chiron’s tail lashed, restless. “I will not choose favorites. Nor will I send only those I trust. This burden belongs to all of you. Therefore…”

He held up the bronze bowl. “Each camper’s name will be written, placed inside, and drawn at random. Three names. No exceptions.”

Campers exchanged uneasy glances. Even the older ones shifted nervously. It wasn’t training. It wasn’t a quest. This was Olympus politics — more dangerous than any monster.

One by one, names were written on strips of parchment and tossed into the bowl. The pile grew until it was nearly brimming.

Chiron stirred the slips with a solemn expression. His hands trembled slightly — not from fear for himself, but for whoever would be chosen.

Finally, he drew the first slip. His brow furrowed, then he read aloud:

“Annabeth Chase.”

A murmur went up. Annabeth sat straighter, jaw clenched, as if she had expected nothing less. Athena’s child, chosen first.

Chiron drew again.

“Clarisse La Rue.”

A different murmur this time. Ares’s daughter smirked, rolling her shoulders. “Figures.”

The final slip was pulled. The air was so tense it might have snapped.

Chiron read the name and went still. His eyes softened, almost pained. Then he lifted his voice.

“Luke Castellan.”

Annabeth’s eyes widened. Clarisse barked a laugh. Luke only gave a thin, ironic smile.

Three very different demigods. Three very different loyalties.

Chiron set the bowl aside. “The choice has been made. You leave at dawn. May the gods have mercy on you.”

Silence pressed heavy on the amphitheater.

And far beneath the waves, Atlantis stirred.

The descent was unlike anything the three demigods had ever experienced.

Annabeth pressed her hand against the enchanted bubble that kept them breathing as the sea pressed darker and darker around them. Clarisse gripped her spear, glaring into the abyss as though daring any sea monster to come close. Luke kept his posture calm, but his jaw clenched whenever shadows moved in the water.

The ocean did not welcome them. It swallowed them whole.

And then, abruptly, the currents shifted—sweeping them forward, not violently but inexorably, as though a hand far larger than theirs was dragging them where it pleased.

A shimmer of pale light appeared below. The sea opened into a massive dome of crystal and coral, towers glowing with bioluminescent life. Atlantis.

They were guided into its heart by guards in polished shell-armor, tridents gleaming like lightning under water. None spoke. None smiled.

At the gates of the central palace, the guards forced them down on one knee—not cruelly, but with authority. The sea itself demanded their submission.

They were led through halls of marble and pearl until at last the doors swung open.

There he was: Poseidon, Lord of the Sea, seated on his throne of coral and storm. Power rolled off him in waves. His eyes—storm green, fathomless—were fixed on them.

But the demigods’ gazes didn’t stop at the god.

Beside the throne, half-reclined on a dais of woven kelp and silken seaweed, were two figures twined together.

Triton, his hard composure softened, one arm curled protectively around the smaller form pressed against him. His tail shimmered faintly as it wrapped around another—slimmer, darker, edged in scars.

And in Triton’s hold was Percy.

Curled, wary, yet somehow safe. His hair floated like seaweed around his face, eyes half-lidded until the strangers entered.

The moment Percy noticed them, everything changed.

His pupils narrowed, his lips peeled back, and a hiss tore from his throat. Sharp teeth glinted as he bared them like a predator cornered in its den.

Annabeth froze. Clarisse’s hand twitched toward her spear. Luke’s eyes flickered with calculation.

Percy’s tail lashed violently against the marble. His whole body vibrated with mistrust.

But Triton only tightened his arms around him, lowering his head to Percy’s hair. “Shh. Little brother. They cannot harm you.”

He pressed Percy’s head gently against his chest, forcing the omega’s gaze away from the intruders, shielding him with the breadth of his own body. His voice was low, soothing—a lullaby of the tides.

Percy resisted for a moment, teeth still bared, before finally yielding to Triton’s steady heartbeat. His tail coiled tighter around his brother’s, trembling but anchored.

And from the throne, Poseidon’s eyes narrowed at the delegation.

“State your purpose,” the sea god rumbled, “and pray you choose your words wisely.”

The chamber seemed to shrink as the three demigods shifted uneasily under Poseidon’s gaze. The silence weighed on them like the sea itself.

Annabeth swallowed, forcing her voice steady.
“My lord Poseidon… we were sent here on orders of Lord Zeus. He demands that your son, Perseus, be brought to Camp Half-Blood. To live among demigods as is… tradition.”

Clarisse crossed her arms, adding bluntly, “The gods want him judged. To see if he even deserves to exist.”

Luke, ever smoother, tried to temper it. “The King of Olympus claims it is his right. He insists your son cannot remain hidden in the depths forever.”

The words struck Percy like a harpoon.

His head jerked up from Triton’s chest, eyes blazing green fire. His gills flared wide, tail lashing against the marble with a crack that echoed through the hall.

“They want to judge me?” His voice was half-snarl, half-scream, distorted by the water around him. “They want me to crawl on land, like some broken pet, so they can look me over and decide if I get to breathe another day?”

His teeth flashed sharp as daggers. His fins flared wide, predator-bright. The scent rolling off him was wild, furious—omega-heat twisted with rage. The air itself seemed to tremble.

Guards shifted uneasily. Healers at the edge of the room began to retreat. Even Annabeth and Clarisse instinctively backed a step.

Poseidon did not move. His eyes flickered, ancient and knowing. He had seen this before. Many times. Too many.

The tragedies of history where an omega, pushed past their limit, lost control—ripping through armies, cities, empires. They were rare, but when they came, they left nothing but ruins behind.

Percy’s rage threatened to wake that old story again.

“Percy.” Triton’s voice was soft, but it cut through the rising storm.

His body shifted, wrapping fully around his younger brother. And then—he let it loose.

A heavy wave of alpha pheromones surged into the water, thick and commanding. Power, dominance, safety, all crashing down at once like an ocean current.

Percy’s whole body shuddered. His hiss turned into a low, broken growl. He fought it—fought against Triton’s command—but his omega instincts betrayed him. His body wanted to submit, to be soothed, to yield to the presence of a strong alpha protecting him.

Triton held him tighter, pressing Percy’s face into his shoulder, murmuring steady reassurances as he sent pulse after pulse of calming scent into the water.

“Easy, little brother. Easy. They cannot touch you. They will not take you. Breathe with me. Breathe.”

Slowly, the raging omega storm cracked. Percy trembled, teeth still bared weakly, until at last his fight drained enough for his brother’s strength to anchor him. His tail loosened from its violent thrashing and coiled once more around Triton’s.

The throne room was deadly still.

Poseidon’s gaze swept over the three intruders, his voice colder than the abyss.

“You dare carry such demands into my hall,” he said, every word cutting like a blade, “when you see with your own eyes what their ignorance awakens?”

His trident gleamed in the dim light, the sea answering to his fury.

“Return to Olympus. Tell Zeus this: my son does not belong to him. He belongs to the sea. And if he pushes further—he will answer not only to me, but to the Fates themselves.”

The demigods could only bow their heads, the weight of both gods and monsters pressing down on them.

And in Triton’s arms, Percy trembled—not from fear, but from fury barely leashed.

Chapter Text

For days after the delegation’s departure, Atlantis was restless. Whispers ran through the palace like ripples through still water.

Percy stayed curled in his chamber, glaring at everyone who entered. He refused food unless Triton personally brought it. He refused to speak to Amphitrite unless she ignored his snarls.

And then Poseidon told him the news.

“It is not my choice, Perseus.” Poseidon’s voice was heavy, patient, but firm. “Every demigod—unless sworn directly to a god’s house or patronage—must spend three months at Camp Half-Blood. It has been so since the First Compact. Even I cannot overrule it.”

Percy’s eyes widened, then narrowed into furious slits.

“So what—you’re just handing me over?” His voice was raw, sharp, his gills flaring wide. “Like I’m some bargaining chip for Olympus to play with?”

“No,” Poseidon said sharply, power rumbling in his chest. “You are my son. But you are also a demigod. And the Law is the Law.”

Percy’s fury exploded.

He lashed out, tail smacking against the marble with a thunderous crack. His fins flared wide, glowing faintly with the blue markings of his bloodline.

“I won’t go! I won’t! You can’t make me!”

He hissed, snarled, even snapped his baby fangs at Triton when he tried to calm him down. Guards at the door flinched; healers whispered hurried prayers to the Fates.

It wasn’t just anger. It was omega-rage—a storm as old as myth, dangerous in its rawness, unpredictable in its force. And Percy had no control over it yet.

Triton made the mistake of reaching for him too soon.

Percy twisted violently, thrashing with all the power of his new tail. In the chaos, one of his delicate fin-appendages caught against the carved coral of the wall and tore—down to the base of his tail.

The water filled with the sharp tang of blood.

Percy’s scream tore through the chamber, feral fury collapsing into pure pain.

Within moments, healers swarmed, binding the torn fin with strips of enchanted kelp and salve that shimmered faint gold. Poseidon’s face was carved from stone, Amphitrite’s lips pressed tight, and Triton looked like he’d just watched his brother shatter.

The verdict was unanimous: bed rest.

Percy was confined once more to the omega chamber, his tail swaddled in soft wrappings, his body anchored against further strain. His protests weakened into sulky huffs, then to bitter silence.

For the first time in weeks, the feral blaze in his eyes dulled—not from peace, but exhaustion.

He lay curled on the bed of seaweed and pearl-sheets, arms tucked under his head, glaring at the walls.

He was still furious, still bristling with the indignity of being told what to do. But beneath the anger, one truth hummed steady in his blood:

He was a teenager, newly shifted, still learning how to exist in his own skin. And no amount of royal blood or omega sanctity could change that.