Percy Jackson: An Endless of All

The moment the sand settled beneath our feet, we were home again.

In the quiet halls of my obsidian palace, stars spun overhead in the vaulted ceilings, casting gentle light across the room. Orpheus, still so small, nestled in my arms with sleepy eyes.

I sat in my grand chair — no longer a throne now, but simply a seat of comfort, and pressed him gently to my chest.

He fed slowly, then pulled away, his tiny lips forming a soft, milk-drunk smile. I lifted him to my shoulder and rubbed his back, whispering lullabies woven from constellations and moonlight.

"You are safe now, little one. Here, no storm may find you. Here, no god may break you. Here, only love and dreams dwell."

He burped once, let out a small sigh, and went on to curl close to me.

I conjured a crib of woven memory and laid him down, brushing his soft hair back. And I stood there long after his breathing steadied into a dream.

Just watching. Listening.Loving him in silence.

Days and years pass us by, in the eternal dusk of the Dreaming, Orpheus grew like any healthy boy.

From a toddling boy stumbling after dream butterflies…To a curious child who asked questions even the stars couldn't answer…To a graceful pre-teen with elegance and thoughtfulness far beyond his years.

He was radiant. Not with raw divine power, but with good looks he acquired from his parents, presence, and a stillness that felt like the lull between heartbeats.

As he grew up, I taught him how to read and write in every language that ever existed and some that had yet to be born. He devoured scrolls of lore, myths, and dreams.

I showed him magic — not the chaotic, explosive kind the Olympians used—but wandless and wand magic that the mortals use. I taught him the art of shaping ideas. Mending hearts. Weaving illusion and meaning together. As well as exploring every facet of his magic could do.

When we have our quiet times, visiting the waking world, or even have a picnic in an endless flower field that a dreamer dreamt up. He'd sing to the stars at night, and they would shimmer closer, as if listening. He will sing for me to see a smile on my face. His beautiful, majestic singing voice can bring the gods to tears; that's how powerful and beautiful my son's voice is.

Once, while singing, a single tear slipped down my cheek.He saw it and smiled.

"You're not crying because you're sad," he said.

"No," I replied. "It's because you're becoming you," I said with a huge smile on my face. I am so proud of him and love him so much that he can hardly phantom it. So, this is how mothers and fathers should feel for their children.

From time to time, Apollo visited Orpheus — never in person, but through dreams. Like every demigod, they may or may not see their parents through demigod dreams. It was the one place I allowed him entry, carefully woven like a demi-god's sleeping vision.

All the Greek Gods may think those dreams are private, but they are not because I see it all because it is a part of my realm they are visiting without them noticing it.

Apollo and Orpheus would sit beside a golden river, or under a laurel tree, or in a field of blooming suns.

Apollo would teach him songs of old. Talk to him of the Waking World. Show him stars and legends and stories of his other half. Even went as far as mentioning his half-brother and sisters. 

They grew close. Not quite father and son. Not quite strangers either.

And I allowed it.

Because I knew a boy deserves to know his origins — the whole of them — and because, for all his vanity, Apollo loved him and all his children.

By the time Orpheus turned thirteen, his form was that of a young mortal: tall for his age, slender with strong shoulders, soft golden curls inherited from Apollo, and those silver-touched twilight eyes that were purely mine. He was and is the best of both of us.

And then the request came from Apollo it which I knew one day would come.

"Camp Half-Blood," Apollo had said in a dream."We created it — a place for our children. To learn. To grow. To fight. Let him see the world. Let him be with others like him."

I was surprised that they created this far back in time. However, thinking about it was for the best they because of the high mority rate of being a demigod.

I said no at first.I said no for days.But Orpheus… wanted to go.

"I love the Dreaming," he told me gently, "but I want to see what the world is like, too. Just for a while." I couldn't say no to that sound reason and his puppy dog eyes. 

In the end, I agreed.With conditions, of course.

He can go, but he has to learn all he can and be safe as best he can.

Listening and absorbing all Chiron had to teach.

And I would be watching… always.

Then came the day that we had to part for a while.

We stood on the threshold of the Dreaming — the swirling border between real and unreal.

His bag was light, his bow slung over his shoulder, and his eyes shimmered with a strange, new excitement.

I knelt before him, brushing a curl from his forehead.

"The world is loud, my son. It can be cruel. But don't forget the quiet we built here. The peace inside you."

He nodded, then hugged me, arms tight, small fingers clutching my robe.

"I'll come back," he promised.

"You'd better," I whispered.

And as he stepped into the waking world, toward Camp Half-Blood, a part of me broke. It is like watching a baby chick fly off its nest.

Because I had kept him close for thirteen years.Watched every step.Held every dream.And now… he was walking toward a world that could break him.

But I let him go.Because love is not a cage.It is a gift.