percy jackson

You have always been the type of person to notice things immediately. If something catches your eye you’d look into it. Which is why you were one of the Praetors at Camp Jupiter in California where you lived.

Also a type of person to collect and do photography. It was a part of your hobbies. Your room looked like a museum the way you collected figurines, collectables and limited items that you owned.

Today was no different.

You were out at a thrift store that smelled like rainy afternoons and old newspaper, trying to find something as your eyes roamed through the aisles. You found a box full of old nickels, bracelets and charms, till you spot the compass — slightly scratched, the bronze coming in, glass foggy and the needle that pointed to spun violently in your hand.

It freaked you out but eventually, it stopped and pointed at East.

New York? Rhode island? Florida?

You were kinda freaked out by the spin but you were a demigod so you were used out to cursed or magical items.

You kept it, obviously since it could be valuable.

But you didn’t know that it would lead you to your soulmate.

….

Percy Jackson wasn’t exactly the sentimental type. Magical swords? Sure. Ancient relics? Fine. Dusty old trinkets that belonged in a thrift store? Nope. He had better things to do than admire things that didn’t talk, fight, or explode.

Still, today, the ocean had other plans. The water near Long Island was calm, almost too calm, like it was hiding secrets beneath its surface. Percy liked quiet, but he was used to surprises—and this one came fast. His foot brushed against something hard under the waves. Normally, he would have ignored it. Driftwood, maybe a rock… or the kind of underwater trap that tried to kill demigods for fun.

But curiosity, that sneaky little thing, pushed him down. Sand shifted under his hand, and then he felt it: a small bronze compass, half-buried and completely out of place. He pulled it free, flicking seaweed away, and held it up. Nothing. Just a scratched, fogged glass circle in a worn metal frame.

Percy shrugged. “Great. Probably cursed,” he muttered, rolling his eyes. But then the needle spun violently, faster and faster, until it seemed to hum in his palm. He blinked, caught off guard. Not by the spin, not by the hum, but by the feeling that it was… alive. Or at least aware.

Finally, the needle settled. Straight west. Percy frowned, turning it in his hands. No markings, no spell symbols, nothing he could read. Just a quiet pull, like the compass wanted him to follow. And weirdly, that pull felt personal—like it wasn’t pointing toward a place or an artifact or a monster, but something else. Someone.

Percy Jackson, who had spent most of his life running toward danger instead of away from it, felt a thrill he didn’t expect. He didn’t understand why, but he knew this wasn’t normal. Something was out there, far away, calling him—and he had no choice but to answer.

Whatever—or whoever—this compass was pointing to, it was now part of his story. And for once, Percy couldn’t just fight his way out. He could only follow.