روايات وقصص ضمن Percy Jackson Forgotten Warrior Fanfiction

I fought them back with everything I had. This is what it means to be a warrior. You don’t cry. You handle it. But the thought of seeing Percival again… it twisted something deep inside me. I had hoped we could talk it out, that maybe we could find some closure. Maybe I could even forgive him. But part of me wasn’t sure. What if he hadn’t changed? What if there was still another girl? The thought of facing that rejection again, of him being with someone else, made my heart clench painfully.

If Zoe was his daughter— Then the world he’d built—one of steel, control, legacy—was about to be torn open by a secret with dimples and a purple backpack. He looked back at the photo one last time. And for the first time in years, Dimitri Volkov didn’t know what the hell to do next.

Anna and Rohan sat across from each other, their eyes locked in a silent battle, like wolves circling. Rohan stood, his beige blonde hair messy, his silver eyes hard. “We’re leaving, Jarred,” he said, his voice clipped. Jarred opened his mouth, ready to argue, but sighed instead. “Fine,” he muttered, glancing at me. On the porch, under the dark sky filled with crickets’ songs, Jarred turned, his gold eyes catching mine one last time. My chest tightened with guilt as he walked off with Rohan, their boots crunching on the gravel. I stood there, torn between Roger’s love and a bond I couldn’t escape.

I thought I could rewrite my story. But the Forgotten's mental manipulation was showing me the truth. That orphan who died alone, who never mattered to anyone, who suffered in silence while the world ignored her—she was still me. Still the core of who I was beneath all the power and bonds and cosmic significance. I was still the girl nobody wanted. And now the Forgotten were erasing even the identity I had built on top of those wounds, turning me into someone who would serve them willingly. Through the memory-torture, I felt myself forgetting why I had fought. Forgetting why autonomy mattered. The pain of my past was being rewritten to justify submission—if I had always been nothing, why res

Like beating Declan to the state of unconsciousness was something he had always wanted to do. “You punch like a bitch, you always have. Since we were kids.” Those had been Percy’s words and it made me think if perhaps Percy had indeed been meaning to beat up Declan. And despite the fact that he had denied it before, it had been very obvious then that Percy absolutely hated Declan. “Why did you come back then?” I asked. Percy shifted in his seat and put his hand into the pocket of his trouser, with his eyes still closed, he brought out a gold lighter and waved it at me.

“You’re saying I’m her?” “No,” he said softly. “You are her second attempt.” The air fractured. Images struck like lightning. A child born of power too strong for the world. A soul rejected by its own prophecy. A goddess who refused her role, who tried to rewrite fate—and broke everything. “She failed,” the figure continued. “She chose love. Mercy. Mortality. And because of that… the Veil cracked. The Forgotten slipped through.” I clutched my chest, breath stolen. “She was shattered,” he said. “So we made her again. Stronger. Sharper. With no memory of weakness. We gave her your name.”

"Why show us this?" The Forgotten's smile is a crack in glass. *"Because the Veil is hers. The rot is yours. And the boy..."* She tilts her head. *"...is *mine*."* Shadows erupt, binding Eden's wrists. He snarls, thrashing, but the more he fights, the tighter they constrict. The heart roars, its power flooding my veins. *"Kill her. *Kill her*."* The Forgotten meets my gaze. *"Do it. Become what she feared."*

My voice broke slightly at the weight of uttering such words Persia stepped closer but I stopped her from coming closer and took deep breaths of courage because despite my boldness, the person is an Alpha capable of snapping my neck in a split second “She is your responsibility whether you like it or not.” I rubbed my forehead to ease the growing headache from the mere thought of what I was about to suggest “What if you re-establish the bond?” I let the words hang, heavy. Then I added, quieter but sharper, “If the bond broke her, maybe it’s the only thing that can save her.” The words barely left my lips when Percy let out a ragged groan, clutching his tattooed arm as agony twisted his face.

I gritted my teeth as I watched him fall on the ground with the sword still intact on his head. I looked up when Percy clapped slowly, more on in a teasing way. I clenched my jaw and wished that I could kill him with just my deep glares. I looked around the dead bodies and my weakening burning tears fell on my cheeks again, specially when my eyes landed at Fenris. Zack's interpretation of his vision was wrong. I didn't kill Fenris and the others, the fucking Wizard did. I gripped on my fist as I stared back at Percy, thinking of a way to bring him down. I will fucking kill him.

The scent of blood clung to the morning mist like a warning. Lyra stood on the scorched earth, the remnants of Kael’s sacrifice still fresh in her mind. She could feel the pulsing embers beneath her feet, the power of the Phoenix now burned in her bones. She was no longer just a girl without a wolf. She was a queen. A weapon. A fire reborn. Around her, warriors of ash and flame gathered. The remnants of Kael’s pack, those who had chosen to stay and rise with her. Their eyes burned with fury, pain, and loyalty.