𝐚𝐳𝐚𝐞𝐥𝐚; percy jackson

𝟐𝟐 | mourning shadows

On the walk to the diner, Meara's thoughts churned, restless and unsettled. Somehow, Ares knew who she was and she couldn't figure out why or how.

Her memories, freshly resurfaced, were too fragmented to make sense of. Every time she tried to piece them together, they slipped away, leaving only frustration in their place.

Even as she focused, flashes of the last moments with her mother pushed to the forefront of her mind.

She could still feel the sting of the detection—how everything had been revealed, how cruelly they stripped her memories away.

Now, it was like the wound had been reopened, the years in between her loss and this moment erased. She was grieving all over again, the ache fresh and raw.

A dull frustration simmered beneath her skin, clouding her thoughts. She wanted to talk to someone, to let it out, but the words stayed lodged in her throat.

Ahead of her, Annabeth, Percy, and Grover were walking together, their quiet conversation blending with the soft sounds of nature.

The thought of opening up to them—letting them into her chaotic mind felt too risky.

Grover had only recently come back into her life, after spending so long as Percy's protector at Yancy Academy.

Annabeth was cautious and slow to trust—any wrong move could ruin the tentative bond they were slowly building.

And then there was Percy.

Percy, who drove her crazy with his stubbornness and recklessness.

Percy, who somehow managed to worm his way into her mind no matter how much she tried to shut him out. She barely knew him, yet earlier, she'd let herself melt into his arms like it was the most natural thing in the world.

It left her unsteady, unsure of herself. His presence was impossible to ignore, and that terrified her.

Her thoughts successfully shifted to Camp Half-Blood and to Aire and Isla, the two people who had known her better than anyone. They'd seen her at her worst and never pulled away. She missed the quiet understanding they shared, the way their unspoken bond had always made her feel less alone.

The realization hit her like a wave—she hadn't thought about them in days. Their faces, their voices, their friendship had been buried beneath the chaos of the quest. Guilt followed quickly, sharp and merciless.

Forgetting them felt like a betrayal, like she was losing pieces of herself that mattered most.

Meara swallowed hard, trying to shake off the ache in her chest. She was the daughter of Zeus—the daughter from the prophecy. She was supposed to be strong, unshakable. But no amount of strength could quiet the hollow ache that had settled deep inside her.

"Hey, you okay?" Grover's voice broke through her thoughts. He had fallen behind the two to walk beside her, his concern soft but steady.

"Yeah," she said after a moment of hesitation. "I was just thinking. I feel like I've completely pushed Aire and Isla out of my mind during all this."

Grover nodded, his expression understanding. "That's not your fault. This whole quest? It's like there's always something happening, always something keeping your mind occupied. It's hard to hold onto anything else when you're trying to survive."

Meara gave him a faint smile, grateful for his words. "Oh, please. Like I can't handle surviving," she joked, her voice lighter, though the weight in her chest remained.

"That's the Meara I know," Grover said with an encouraging grin.

But that was the problem—that was the Meara he knew. The version of herself she allowed him to see.