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The sun dipped low over Camp Half-Blood, bathing everything in golden light. The lake shimmered in the distance, the scent of strawberries filled the air, and for once, things were peaceful.
Near the cabins, a battle was underway—though not the kind Camp Half-Blood was used to.
Percy Jackson was sprawled on the grass, dramatically groaning in defeat as two kids pinned him down, their laughter ringing through the evening air. One had his sea-green eyes and unruly black hair; the other had Annabeth’s stormy gray eyes and calculating smirk.
Annabeth stood nearby, arms crossed, watching her family with an exasperated kind of fondness. “Percy, you were supposed to catch them.”
Percy, still half-pinned by his offspring, let out a deep sigh. “You trained them too well! Who let them spend so much time with the Hermes cabin?”
His daughter grinned, completely unrepentant. “You said to always be prepared.”
Percy sighed before flipping both kids over in a surprise move, scooping them up into a relentless tickle attack. They shrieked with laughter, squirming in his grip, as Annabeth shook her head with a barely concealed smile.
From the porch of the Big House, Mr. D watched in silence.
It was rare for him to be quiet for this long, but something about them—Percy, Annabeth, their children, this small family built from war and chaos—made his chest feel tight.
He didn’t do sentimentality. He didn’t care about these ridiculous heroes and their foolish attempts at happy endings.
And yet…
Chiron’s presence beside him was expected. The old centaur had a habit of noticing things no one else did.
“You’re staring,” Chiron said lightly.
Mr. D clicked his tongue. “I’m a god. I stare at plenty of things.”
Chiron hummed. “That’s not the same, and you know it.”
Mr. D didn’t answer. Instead, he kept his eyes on the Jackson-Chase family, the warmth of sunset illuminating their features.
They shouldn’t exist.
Not like this.
Mortals — especially heroes— weren’t supposed to get happy endings.
And yet, despite everything, Percy and Annabeth had fought for this life.
He remembered them as kids. The scrappy son of Poseidon, always on the brink of death, the girl with stormy gray eyes who carried the weight of the world—literally. He remembered the scars they bore, the sacrifices they made.
He knew exactly what it had taken for them to get here.
Percy had spent his teenage years fighting wars, losing friends, barely surviving. He had faced gods and Titans and Tartarus itself— a place no mortal should have been able to walk out of.
Annabeth had been raised for battle, taught to expect betrayal, to never let her guard down. She had built herself into a warrior, a strategist, someone who could stand in the face of monsters and not flinch.
Together, they had been forged in fire, tempered in loss.
And yet, somehow, against all odds, they had made it here.
Mr. D took a slow sip of his Diet Coke.
“Hmph,” he muttered. “It’s nauseating.”
Chiron chuckled. “It’s rare.”
Mr. D’s grip tightened on his can.
Because it was rare. And seeing it—seeing them—made something old and bitter stir inside him.
“Let me guess,” Chiron said, studying him. “You’re wondering what would’ve happened if you had made a different choice.”
Mr. D scoffed. “It wouldn’t have mattered.”
Chiron didn’t push. He simply watched Percy and Annabeth for a moment before saying, “You don’t know that.”
Mr. D exhaled sharply, shaking his head. “It’s just… strange. Seeing them. Seeing this.” He waved a hand at the scene before them. Percy and Annabeth, two people who should have never survived, standing in the middle of camp with their children. A future that shouldn’t have been possible.
“But it is possible,” Chiron said. “They made it possible.”
Mr. D didn’t answer.
Because the truth was— he envied them.
He, too, had once been a demigod. A boy with potential, with a life ahead of him. But he had chosen immortality. He had chosen a throne, a title, a curse disguised as a blessing.
Had he made the right choice?
Would he have been capable of love like that? Of finding someone to share his life with? Of having a family, a home, something worth fighting for?
Would he have been happy?
“I will say this,” Chiron said after a moment. “Percy and Annabeth have fought harder than anyone for this life. They’ve earned it.”
Mr. D made a face. “Hmph. That’s a matter of opinion.”
“Perhaps,” Chiron said. “But you and I both know how rare it is for heroes to survive their own stories. And yet, here they are.”
Mr. D looked down at them again.
Percy was now on the ground again, his children victorious. Annabeth sat beside him, laughing as their daughter declared herself the undisputed champion of Camp Half-Blood. Percy pulled Annabeth closer, pressing a kiss to her temple, while their kids continued their victory dance.
It was a scene that shouldn’t have existed.
But it did.
And for the first time in a long time, Mr. D let himself wonder—just for a moment—if it could have been him.
If he had made a different choice.
If he had chosen love over eternity.
If he had been brave enough to want something more.
But of course, it was too late for that.
And so, with a final sip of his Diet Coke, Mr. D looked away.