ocean eyes || Percy Jackson (HoO)

PROLOGUE

Percy Jackson—it would be an understatement to say he was famous.

Above ground, at Camp Half-Blood, everyone knew him. Annabeth had told him stories of how much of a riot camp was when he'd disappeared for eight months. They saw him as their leader; some even went as far as to call him a hero. In addition to Camp Half-Blood, there's Camp Jupiter—who, until just recently because of a demon-possessed Leo, had made him praetor and praised him for saving New Rome. He was the one who got recognised, but if he hadn't had help, he'd be dead a thousand times over.

In his earlier years, he'd always had Annabeth and Grover. Then Thalia, Tyson and the Hunters of Artemis came along, and they fought side by side against the Titan Atlas. Rachel had helped in her own unique way, before turning into the Oracle. Then, all of Camp Half-Blood had battled with him during the "final war" (what a joke), against the Giants and the Titans, in an attempt to save Olympus. Then, Hera stepped her big, ugly foot in and sent him to Camp Jupiter, completely brainwashed. There, he'd recruited Hazel and Frank. They saved New Rome together, but guess who got all the recognition? Percy did. Maybe it was because he was the Son of Poseidon, but still; the one thing he'd asked of the gods of Olympus was for equality among the gods and goddesses. It's what Luke had died for.

Then, once his memories had been returned and he was reunited with Annabeth, he'd met Jason, Piper and Leo. Apparently, they'd saved Camp Half-Blood in the year Percy wasn't there, and he was eternally gratefully. Stuff happened—bad stuff mostly; lots of monsters and concussions and drowning—and he and Annabeth had been dumped.

Right into Tartarus.

Which was just, you know, perfect considering that Percy Jackson was very, very famous. Especially among the tonnes of monsters he'd killed. And, what better place for a dead monster to hang out than the Greek version of hell? It was just his and Annabeth's luck, to end up in this place. The had to drink literal fire to stay alive. If that wasn't ridiculously bad in itself, then he didn't know what was.

Actually, that's a lie. He knew what worse was. Worse was being cursed a bunch of times too many, and nearly dying from all the ways he'd killed. Talk about karma. Worse was turning into smoky corpses and fighting some ghoul who likes to call herself Night or Nyx or something like that; to be honest, he'd been so focused on keeping Annabeth and himself alive that he hadn't really paid much attention. Worse again was being captured by said scary dark lady, and taken to her evil lair that is literally guarded by the same evil spirits that had cursed him earlier. Worse, was being strapped down to a stone table that reminded him eerily of a sacrificial altar, while Annabeth thrashed her fists against the metal bars of her cell.

At this point, he wasn't sure if there could be a worse anymore, but he wasn't gonna waste a penny on it, because this is Tartarus. Land of the dead. It was incredible he and Annabeth weren't one of those "dead" yet, though he had a sneaky feeling that they would be soon.

Percy could feel the liquid-fire he'd drunk, burning in his stomach, like it was shrivelling up his insides. He tried to bend his neck at an angle that sent spasms of pain down his spine, so he could shoot Annabeth a comforting half-smile. She was breathing heavily, frantically trying to rip the bars apart (Percy appreciated the effort, but Annabeth would only tire herself out) but as soon as she caught his eyes, she stopped struggling. Her eyes were wide with terror, her cheeks not skeletal but still gaunt. She didn't smile back—Percy knew she probably couldn't, judging by how chapped her lips were, and he was sure he looked pretty similar—but the crease in her eyebrows made Percy's heart shatter. The more he looked at her, the more he felt like he couldn't tear his eyes away. He could see how her eyes glistened with unshed tears, and Percy could feel them in his own eyes.

He worked open his mouth, stiffness and a dull ache having wired it shut. It was a slow process, but he managed to croak out a throaty whisper of; "It's okay".

"We're together," Annabeth replied, in the same, harsh voice. Somehow (seriously, this girl never ceased to amaze him), she managed a smile so genuine it made Percy's skin tingle. His chest burnt with, well, terror, but mostly his love for his girlfriend.

Years ago now, Annabeth has told him about how, with everything that had happened with Beckendorf, it really put things into perspective. Like, for instance, who she loved and who she lost. Percy remembered how his heart had done weird things in his chest at that, but he'd managed to play it off with an off-handed comment about her family. He'd understood how she felt then, but he got it even more, now. If he lost Annabeth...well, it was pretty safe to say the world would lose Percy Jackson too.

No one had ever mattered to him like Annabeth Chase did. Sure, he loved his mom and Grover and all the friends he'd made, but Annabeth was different. It was a romantic love, that was easy to say, but it was more than that, too. She was his best friend. They'd (literally) been through hell together. She's been with him every step of the way, even when he had amnesia. She was the one thing he'd remembered, and she'd be the last thing he'd remember.

He loved her, with more love than he ever thought possible, but he never said it enough. He'd learn to regret that, soon.