"Amphitrite," Amphitrite repeated as she lead me through Santa Monica.
"Amphrite," I said again.
Amphitrite groaned in annoyance, "no. Am-fi-try-tea."
"Am-fry-tea." I told her, getting another groan out of her.
"How do you know four hundred and fifty different languages but can't say my name properly." Amphitrite grumbled, paying for a pier burger.
I shrugged, not sure myself. "I don't know, I grew up learning your roman names."
Amphitrite sighed, "that explains why it took you so long to guess who I was."
"No that was probably the mist you mentioned, speaking of, why doesn't it affect me anymore?" I asked, staring at a centaur as it chugged a thirteen gallon keg.
Amphitrite pulled me away leading me further down the pier, "don't stare, Centaurs are freaks when drunk."
I cringed as the keg crinkled from the vacuum caused by the centaur's chugging, "I'll take your word for it."
She handed me the pier burger—wrapped in greasy paper and smelling like heaven—and took a vicious bite of her own, the meat disappearing between her teeth like she hadn't eaten since Atlantis sank. I followed her further down the boardwalk, dodging spilled ketchup and crying seagulls while a flying bird woman chased a raccoon in broad daylight. No one noticed. No one screamed. Just... Tuesday in Santa Monica, I guess.
"So?" I asked after a while, chewing slowly, "The Mist doesn't work on me anymore. Why?"
Amphitrite didn't answer right away. Her sea-green eyes narrowed, reflecting the sunlight like polished glass. "Because you're starting to remember," she said finally.
I blinked. "Remember what?"
"Not everything you see is new to you," she said. "Some of it, you've seen before. Your eyes just weren't ready to see it clearly." She flicked a chunk of tomato off her burger and fed it to a passing hippocampus disguised as a pelican. "The Mist clouds mortals. Sometimes even demigods. It twists things, gives your brain something it can swallow without choking. But the older you get, the more you start choking on the lies."
"Okay," I said slowly, "but I've been seeing weird things since I was six. What makes now different?"
Amphitrite looked at me sidelong. "Something changed. Something inside you woke up. Maybe it was seeing your brother again. Maybe it was that golden stick you yanked out of the casino wall like some bargain bin King Arthur. Or maybe it's just your time."
I stopped walking. "So I'm a demigod? That's what you called Percy, right?"
She didn't answer. Instead, she walked to the edge of the pier and leaned over the railing, her fingers curling into the air like the tide itself was listening. Her hair—long and dark, absorbing light as if it came from the bottom of the sea— caught the breeze but didn't move like normal hair. It shimmered, whispering secrets I couldn't hear.
"That... is difficult to answer." She finally said.
"Why?" I asked, taking another bite of my burger.
Amphitrite sighed, turning to face me, "because not all 'demigods', are demigods. They can be the children of Nymph's, legacies, and others."
I raised a brow, "others?"
Amphitrite, "not something you'd have to worry about. You might just be a mortal like Heracles's brother."
"Hercules had a brother?" I asked, eating my burger.
Amphitrite nodded, eating her fries. "He was a valiant warrior."
"... what was his name?" I asked, sitting down next to her.
"Iphacles," she said. "the maternal half-twin brother of Heracles."
"Huh, just like Percy and I."
"No, no, nothing like you two." Amphitrite adamantly declared.
I paused mid-chew. "What's that supposed to mean?"
Amphitrite took her time with the next fry, biting it clean in two like it owed her something. She didn't look at me when she spoke, only out over the ocean. The waves caught the sunlight and glimmered back, like the sea was waiting for something.
"Iphicles was... mortal," she said. "Almost full. The only divine blood he had was from his... great grandfather? Zeus. His father was a man—Amphitryon. He shared a womb with Heracles, who was born of Zeus, but that's where the similarity ends."
I watched a couple of mortals walk past us, giggling like they were in some beachy rom-com, oblivious to the fact that a goddess was sitting five feet away scarfing down fries. "And?"
"And people forgot him." Her voice tightened. "History made him a footnote. Heracles fought monsters. Iphicles buried the bodies of me . Heracles got the legends. Iphicles got the scars."
I let that sink in. "That's kind of messed up."
Amphitrite finally looked at me again. "It is."
The ocean air hit different after that. The salt felt sharper. Colder. Like the tide knew we were talking about something ancient and ugly.
"You think that's what's gonna happen to me?" I asked, trying to keep my tone light. "I'm Iphicles 2.0?"
She scoffed. "You'd be lucky if you were that simple."
That made me frown. "You're really bad at comforting people, you know that?"
"I'm not here to comfort you," she snapped. "I'm here because he wasn't."
"Who? Gabe?" I asked, half-joking, half-hoping I'd hit the wrong nerve.
She shot me a glare sharp enough to gut a shark. "No. Not that slug of a man. Him." She pointed one fry out to sea—east, maybe—where the sky met the water in a seamless curtain of blue.
I followed her gesture but saw nothing except waves and horizon. Still, my skin crawled like something did see me back.
"...Poseidon?"
She didn't say anything. Not directly. But her silence was volcanic.
"Percy's dad," I muttered.
Amphitrite gave a nod so slight it might've been a twitch. Then she leaned back against the railing, arms folded.
"He claimed Percy. Maybe out of guilt, maybe out of pride. But he saw him. Recognized him. I've seen boys like him before. The boy's only twelve-years-old and I can already tell that the world is going to remember his name." Her voice went distant, clipped. "But there's always another child. Another twin. Another boy who held the same mother's hand and watched the same ceiling crack when the house flooded."
Her gaze swung to me like a compass needle snapping north.
"That boy doesn't always get remembered."
I didn't say anything. Because what could I say? It was the first time anyone other than Mr. Augustine had said it out loud—that I might not be seen. Not the same way Percy was. Maybe not even by whatever god had sired me.
For crying out loud I'm twelve years old, same age as Percy. He knows his dad so why can't I know mine?
Amphitrite stood and brushed salt and bread crumbs from her skirt. "I'm not saying you'll be forgotten."
"You're just saying it happens."
She looked down at me for a long second. "I'm saying it shouldn't." Then her tone shifted—cooler, like she regretted giving away that sliver of warmth. "But I wouldn't count on anyone to fix that for you. Not the gods. Not your brother. Not even your mother."
She turned and started walking again, her bare feet silent on the sun-warmed wood.
I followed, the burger half-forgotten in my hand. The seagulls were quieter now. The air heavier. The Mist didn't blur the world around me anymore—but maybe ignorance was easier.
"Do you know who my dad is?" I asked before I could stop myself.
Amphitrite's shoulders tensed. She didn't slow.
"No," she said.
It wasn't a lie. But it wasn't the truth, either.
So I didn't push it. I just walked beside her, two shadows on the pier—one ancient, one unwanted. A goddess and a maybe-nobody.
But I wasn't going to be Iphicles.
I'd burn down Olympus before I let them forget my name.
"So, if you don't know my dad, can you tell me about Percy's?" I asked, trying to learn more about my brother's new life.
Amphitrite didn't answer right away. She stopped at a coin-operated binocular stand, leaned against it like it was her personal throne, and stared out toward the horizon with a look that seemed to hold centuries of unspoken silence.
"Poseidon," she said eventually, her voice dull like wet stone. "Earthshaker. Stormbringer. One of the Big Three."
I leaned against the rail beside her, arms crossed, watching waves roll in like they had somewhere to be. "Big Three? Is that some fancy way to refer to Zeus, Poseidon, and Hade— wait do I still say his fake name if I now know he's real?"
Amphitrite chuckled at that, "yeah. I mean name's do have power, like your brother Perseus's. But saying Hades won't get you damned to Tartarus."
"Gee, real comforting." I said, giving her a deadpanned expression as my heart beat in my chest.
Amphitrite smirked at that, the barest flicker of teeth, and for a second I thought she was going to say something snide. Instead, she glanced at me sidelong, the kind of look someone gives when they're wondering if you're worth the truth.
"But what's Poseidon like? All you said were his titles, and anyone can have those."
Amphitrite didn't answer at first. She just let the wind play in her hair and the sea mist roll over her skin like it belonged there more than the air itself. She looked ancient then—not just old, but tired in a way that had nothing to do with age. Like she'd been waiting too long for a question like that.
When she did speak, her voice came out low and even. Not cold. Just... leveled. Like she was keeping something tightly leashed.
"He's loud," she said finally. "But not always in the way you think. Everyone remembers the earthquakes, the crashing waves, the tsunamis—but he's loud when he's still too. You walk into a room and he's already filled it. Not because he's talking, but because he's there. He doesn't have to try. He just is."
I chewed the inside of my cheek, watching the same stretch of ocean she was. "So, arrogant."
She snorted. "Gods are arrogant. It's in the job description."
"Right, but what kind of arrogant?" I pressed. "Like, Narcissus-level, or more like... locker-room Poseidon yelling about how great he is?"
She gave me a sharp glance. "He's the kind that won't ask for forgiveness because he assumes he's earned it. The kind that'll flood a kingdom to save a fisherman, and then sink a thousand ships for being disrespected. Poseidon is not predictable. He's not gentle. And he's not cruel in the way Zeus can be, but he's... careless."
Careless.
The word landed hard. Not because it was new, but because I'd seen that kind of carelessness before. In Gabe. In school officials who shrugged when kids disappeared. In people who looked at me and Percy like we were problems instead of children.
"He doesn't sound like a good dad."
Amphitrite laughed then—not loud, not cruel. Just dry. Bitter. "No. He isn't."
The waves broke harder below us. Somewhere distant, a gull shrieked like it had been insulted.
"You hate him," I said, not accusing. Just saying it out loud.
"No," Amphitrite said quietly. "Hate is for mortals. I remember him. That's worse."
She pushed off from the binocular stand and walked a few steps, like she couldn't stand still while talking about him. "He can be brave. Noble, when he tries. He fought in the Titanomachy. Stood shoulder to shoulder with Hades and Zeus when the sky and sea burned. He helped shape the world. His fury carved continents. His storms ended empires."
"Yeah, I get it, he's powerful." I said, folding my arms tighter. "But what about Percy? What did he see in him?"
Amphitrite paused again, a long breath caught somewhere between frustration and something I couldn't name.
"He saw himself," she said finally. "And that scared him."
That answer caught me off guard. "What do you mean?"
"Your brother's stubborn. Defiant. Soft in all the ways Poseidon was before Olympus made him hard." Her eyes narrowed, focused on something I couldn't see. "There's a part of him—of Percy—that still believes in protecting what's his. Even if it kills him. He literally sent the head of Medousa to Olympus."
"And Poseidon?"
She let out a slow breath, like the question hurt more than it should. "He gave up protecting things a long time ago. He rules now. And ruling... means choosing who gets to drown."
We stood in silence for a while. I thought about Percy—how he'd thrown himself into danger back at the casino, how he'd pulled out that pen sword, ready to fight Amphitrite before and after he learned who she was, how his whole face changed when he saw I was there and not in Indianapolis, or in the underworld like mom.
He hadn't looked like someone who'd drown you. He looked like someone who'd fight to keep you breathing.
But what scared me, really, was this: what if the god in him eats the boy I know?
"Do you ever miss him?" I asked, not sure if I meant Poseidon or who he used to be.
Amphitrite gave a small, tight smile. "Sometimes. But I miss who he could've been more."
I sat on the nearest bench. The burger in my hand had gone cold. I tossed the last bite to the sea. Something caught it mid-air with a splash and a hiss.
"So if Poseidon's one of the Big Three, what does that mean for Percy? Is he some kind of chosen one or something?"
Her lips thinned. "Children of the Big Three aren't chosen. They're cursed."
My stomach flipped. "Cursed?"
"Power attracts power," she said simply. "And destruction. Monsters smell him. Fate stalks him. Olympus watches. And if he ever rises too far—" She snapped her fingers. "They'll remind him he's still mortal."
I stared out at the ocean. It didn't look blue anymore. It looked deep. Too deep.
"And what about me?" I asked. "If I'm not like Percy... if I'm not even a demigod... what am I?"
She didn't answer. Not right away.
Then, in a voice so soft it almost drowned under the wind, she said, "That's for you to find out."
I turned to look at her. "And if I don't?"
Amphitrite didn't flinch.
"Then you'll be forgotten."
I clenched my jaw, heat rising in my chest, a pressure like something buried beneath skin that didn't want to stay buried anymore.
I would not be Iphicles.
I would not be buried in someone else's shadow.
"I won't let that happen."
Amphitrite met my eyes—finally, fully. And for a moment, I thought I saw something proud in her face. But it vanished just as quickly, replaced by her usual sharpness.
"Good," she said, adjusting her coat. "Now hurry up. You smell like seagull and fries and I'm not carrying you if a harpy tries to snatch you up."
"I could take a harpy."
"Not with mortal steel you couldn't."
So we walked on. The waves behind us. The sun slipping lower. And for once, I didn't ask if I was going the right way.
I'd find out who I was.
Or I'd drag the truth up from the bottom of the sea myself.
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DGW: Hello everyone, thank you for reading. I hope you enjoyed— and if you have any complaints feel free to share.
Word Count: 2594