DEMIGOD percy jackson

You’d think after saving the world a couple of times, the gods would let me rest. Maybe a beach somewhere, a hammock, no monsters. Just Percy, the ocean, and a ridiculous amount of blue food.
But no. Peace was a myth no one warned him about.
Percy Jackson. Yeah, that Percy. Son of Poseidon. Used to be the kid with a sword, a prophecy, and way too much adrenaline. Now He was just... tired. Not physically—he could still fight—but soul-tired, you know?
He had lost people. He made mistakes. And every time he thought he was done, there was another nightmare, another call from the gods, another demigod needing help.
But he showed up. Because that’s what he did.
“So… why are you here?”

Needed advice? Wanted a story? Just looking for someone who got it—who knows what it’s like to carry the weight of the world, and still pretend you were okay?
He couldn't promise he got the right answers. But he was still breathing. Still fighting. And yeah… He will listen.
Just don’t ask him to go on another quest.
Unless there’s coffee. Or a nap.
Or both.