Percy Jackson Image Mga Nobela at Kwento

"Fix it, please. Oh shit, please Dane, fix it." Understanding the urgency and my rising panic at seeing it, Dane grabbed hold of me as the environment shifted dramatically. He replaced the terrifying imagery with a memory plucked from Percy's mind. We were suddenly in the middle of a vibrant scene at the orphanage where Percy had lived, surrounded by a group of children laughing and playing. Here, Percy was a caretaker, a protector, immersed in a moment that brought him genuine joy and fulfillment instead of pain. This swift change in the dreamscape was Dane's way of recalibrating Percy's subconscious, steering him away from the trauma.

Then, he pulled his shirt over his head and tossed it over the back of my desk chair. I froze. I wasn’t prepared for that. I should have been. I’d seen pack-raised boys go shirtless in training a hundred times. It meant nothing. But Percy was not those boys. And this wasn’t training. Seeing him sitting on my bed, completely at ease, broad shoulders, abs, all muscle - it short-circuited several parts of my brain at once. He was perfect. I stared. I knew I was staring. I couldn’t stop. “You could take a picture,” Percy said, without looking up from the laptop. “It would last longer.”

I’m tempted to pick it up and finish the work, but I don’t know whose it is, and that holds me back. There are many paintings. One shows the boy sitting on the edge of a mountain, laughing freely, an orange butterfly resting delicately on his nose. The painter’s style is incredibly realistic, capturing the lightness of that moment. The largest painting hangs above the lit fireplace in the center of the room. In it, Perseus is older, maybe thirteen, hair tied back in a bun. He’s sitting against a tree, deeply absorbed in a book.

This wasn’t supposed to be real… except it was. Percy’s tattoo glowed faintly, burning against his skin. Proof. He felt it too. But his face wasn’t joy. It was stone. His jaw clenched, eyes hard, as if the bond was a curse instead of fate. I staggered, knees buckling, the fire searing me alive. My scream echoed, silencing the whispers. And Percy… he didn’t move. He just stood there, cold, unreadable. Darkness clawed at my vision. The last thing I saw was his expression, not wonder, not relief, but resistance.

The silence of paws replaced by the soft sound of boots on soil. My men fall into formation behind me. We’ve covered the miles between my pack and Soren’s swift and silent. There’s no point in wasting energy now. My Beta Percy appears beside me, his silver-threaded cloak resting over one shoulder. He resembles some prince from a fairytale. Perfectly groomed and neat as a pin. “You look like you swallowed a whole porcupine,” he says, stretching like a cat. “Just thinking,” I grunt. “That usually means something dangerous is about to happen.”

Jessica stuttered. Yuri smirked at Jessica’s stunned expression. “Who do you even fucking think Persephone is?” Jessica’s eyes widened at the codename of the informant who had given her the information on the Phantom XIII of Hati. “Persephone is the name of the companion of the Goddess of Witchcraft, Hekate, in Greek mythology.” Yuri smirked at Jessica’s stunned expression. “That’s right. I am Persephone. You really should have done your research properly. I allowed you to get that information on purpose.”

"Do you—" He halted immediately as he caught a glimpse of the picture in my hand. I turned over to face him, only to find his eyes cold and the curve of his lips faded. He reached out, trying to pluck the photo from my hand, but failed. I hid the picture behind my back, preventing him from snatching it away. “Where did you get this photo? It's Perseus, isn't it? Where is he?” I demanded in a cold voice, trying not to get excited.

Percy is seated on the floor beside the shelves, reading something on his tablet. His hair is packed up into a bun, and he’s dressed like he’s walking a runway. That’s just the Percy look if I’m being honest. I had a girl dump me because someone said Percy was interested in dating... he wasn’t. Even I could tell that rumor was fake but she didn’t want him to know she was associated with me, in case it was true.

Valentine and Chloe’s departure leave a lingering tension in the air, but their presence is quickly overshadowed by the resurgence of memories long buried beneath centuries of blood and ash. His hands tremble slightly as he holds an old, worn dagger—its hilt adorned with runes of protection, a relic from a life he once led as a mortal. The blade, stained with the blood of countless foes, still gleams with a dark, almost malevolent sheen. Percy’s eyes, once human, now shine with a cold, otherworldly light—a testament to the centuries he has lived, the battles he has fought, and the horrors he has witnessed. He closes his eyes, letting the memories wash over him like a tide of crimson. He sees

“You must really like seeing me fall then.” I chuckled. Fun was the least of it. I couldn't handle seeing him fall or get hurt...but he didn't need to know that. “You should ask yourself why you do that often.” I regretted it the moment the words came out. Bitting my lips and watching him, he didn't quite seem bothered. To the contrary, he laughed. “Probably one of the spells you have on me, Medusa.” I lifted a brow at him. “What’s that?” “A witch from Percy Jackson, ” he said with his lips curled up.