110 years the Oracles first spoke of the great prophecy. A warning. A promise. A call to arms.

115 years ago a baby boy with swirling ocean eyes was born to the god of the sea and a warm mortal woman.

100 years ago he disappeared at the cusp of the prophecy.

Now the newest generation of half-bloods are waging war against Kronos, lead by Ian Steele the prophesized son of Poseidon. The war effort is bleak and Camp Half Blood's numbers are decreasing by the day, but the gods' hope is restored when a new camper stumbles across the boarder.

The gods celebrate him and the ocean roars his name, but who is he?

The answer to the question Annabeth Chase and her friends are dying to know lies in deep pools of onyx and the whispers of the moon.

But the final battle is dawning, the tides are shifting and all fingers point to this new, mysterious camper. Perseus Jackson.

"How was camp, sweetie?" Sally Jackson asked her 15 year old son, her blue eyes twinkling with pride and affection. She set a plate full of food on the table in front of him. Percy looked up at his mother, his skin tanned from a summer of sword fighting and monster slaying, his ocean eyes glowing and a mischievous smile quirked at his lips.

"The absolute best, as always." There are secrets giggling between his words, like the Swallows that flitter between the peach trees out by Swallow's Creek. A new scar graces the bridge of his nose, thin and pale, but a very real testament of the life her son is forced to lead and all the horrors and pain that come with it—regardless of how fun summer at Camp Half Blood is.

Sally Jackson is no fool; she knows that they are preparing for war and that her baby is at the heart of it. She knows he may not make it passed his 16th birthday and when she's alone in her bed at night she weeps for her son's lost childhood and the future he may never get. But when she watches the way those expressive eyes mirror the ocean on a summers day and the whites of his teeth peek out from behind that shit-eating grin, she knows that this is how she'll always remember him:

Tanned and excited and so so very strong and those spidery long lashes (with just a dash of trouble on the side).

Sally spends the rest of the evening with her trouble-making son, listening to him regale the stories of Camp Half Blood, laughing at the funny bits, gasping at the near death experiences he faced, scolding him, but smiling anyways when he tells her of the trouble he and his best friends got up too.

"Poor Chiron." She mumbles much to Percy's amusement. "The gods know how he puts up the lot of you."

But, as much as Percy doesn't want to talk about it, as much as Sally doesn't want to talk about it, he tells her about the preparations they're making for war, about the training and the weapons and the battle strategy. It all sounds very political and there's a lack of warmth in the air, but they talk anyways because Sally Jackson is no fool and her baby is going off to war.

And there's nothing a mother can do, but smile and kiss him goodnight on the crown of his head.

There's nothing a mother can do but go to bed and pray and pray and pray, sticky tears staining her flesh like the blood that will stain her son's.

There's nothing Sally Jackson can do for her precious son but hope.

Some humans, and non humans, can sense a bad day, they wake up on the wrong side of the bed, they forget to grab their final project for class and the rest of the day is sour. For others, there's a shifting in the wind, a disturbance in the dreamscape of their minds, shadows grow longer, the air clings to their skin and they just know.

Something is coming.

But for most humans, most non humans, half humans, most days are just days, whether they start out right or not, it doesn't matter for it still doesn't prepare them for life's cruel joke.

But let's be honest, dear readers, no amount of sensing or knowing makes disaster any less painful.

Percy loves days like these, the warm summer air carries the taste of fall, but the heat of the earth stretches up from the dirt and the grass, seeping into his mortal flesh and the overripe blueberries stain his lips purple. He loves Camp Half Blood, truly, but there's something else to be said for the peaceful companionship he shares with his mother on this dying summer day. Something he wouldn't trade for all the summers at Camp.

They are deep in the New York woods, tucked away from the ever-growing concrete city Percy and his mother call home. The dappled sunlight dances between the leaves and leaves wispy kisses on their skin.

His mother loves to talk about his father, the sea god Poseidon, and the short time they spent together on the grey beaches of Montauk. Percy loves his dad, really, but he doesn't ask about their time together to learn about his father, he asks because his mother sheds years when she talks about that summer. The worries and burdens she carries over being the mother to a half blood destined to die at the young age of 16, fall away and her eyes sparkle with so much love and joy.

Sometimes Percy feels like it's the only way he can ease her burdens and make her happy. The only thing worse than being destined to die at 16, is being the mother to a kid who's destined to die at 16.

His mom is about to launch into his personal favorite part of the story, the time where she, a mere mortal, totally showed up the Greek God of the Sea at surfing when something shifts.

Percy stiffens, his hand flying to his pocket and pulling out a pen, his eyes darting around the suddenly too quiet forest. Clouds slink out over the sun, casting an eerie silvery light in the forest. Sally, pauses, her own sixth sense flaring up, and she stands, clutching her hands to her chest. Percy follows quickly, his eyes darting back and forth, his muscles bunched and ready for action.

The Jackson family stand still for a small eternity, waiting for the other shoe to drop. But the clouds float away and bathe the forest in honey and a few birds meekly begin to sing. Percy scans the tree line surround them, before his eyes slide over to his mother. Her eyebrows are bunched and she looks just as confused and relieved as he feels when a twig snaps.

The pair jump and Percy uncaps Riptide, allowing the sword to burst forth, ready to slay when a small rabbit hops forward. Percy cracks a smile at his mom and opens his mouth to speak, in hopes to relieve the tension.

"How ironic would it be for me to die of a heart attack via bunny instead of the Minotaur?" His mother just shakes her head, her lips twitching but her eyes do not leave the small rodent.

The son of Poseidon relaxes his shoulders just a fraction—just in time for a large wolf to spring from the foliage of the forest, starling the rabbit away and it's large paws to strike his mother and force her to the ground.

There's no time to act, adrenaline flooding his veins, the blood roaring in his ears and Percy swings his blade at the beast. Blood sprays and the wolf snarls, turning away from Percy's bleeding and fighting mother. With another arch, the golden blade slides like butter through the face of the soulless eyed monster. Enraged and blinded, there's no time to do more damage before the wolf is on him, it's fangs deep in his shoulder. The pain is unbearable and Percy can't see past the red haze of agony as the rabid animal continues to tear into his flesh, Riptide useless on ground several feet away from him.

Faintly Percy can hear his mother's scream of rage, the snarls of the wolf—and then there's a sickening snap and thud as something heavy hits the ground. The demigod scrambles blindly towards his sword, fingers brushing the hilt, desperate as the sounds of tearing flesh becomes louder and louder until its all Percy can hear, and will continue to hear for many years after in his nightmares.

His shoulder screams in protest and everything is sticky and there's the crunching of bones, oh god bones, and with one final swing, led by the hands of his father, the wolf makes a startled gurgling sound as the cursed blade cleaves the head clean off. The body hits the ground, shaking the earth beneath Percy's feet, bringing him to his knees. A moment and then the head strikes the earth bringing down the last of Percy's world.

The dying demigod lays in the muddy blood on the forest floor, the blood of the wolf, his own, and the blood of his dearest mother. With a strangled cry, Percy's eyes shut, succumbing to the pain and the icy wave of darkness.

Here it is! The start of my Whispering Secrets rewrite! Sorry if it's a little awkward at times, I'm really trying to get back into the groove of writing fiction, so it may take me a few chapters for it to start flowing better.

I am looking for a beta, and I'm not going to continue this past, like chapter 2, or any of my stories until I have a beta—this is the only solution I can come up with to get my butt back in gear.

The qualifications are on my profile to apply for the beta position, I'm too lazy to type them out here.

BUT LOOK GUYS I'M ACTUALLY DOING STUFF AND LET'S HOPE THAT THIS IS THE START OF MY TRIUMPHANT RETURN TO THE WORLD OF FANFICTION *fingers crossed*

Thanks for ya'lls patience and support through out the years,

-E