AN: Sorry, I felt the need to specify it was a Male self-insert because there way to fukin many female ones.

Anyway. Do enjoy.

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"What happened…" My friend groaned.

"Lord Thunder-Butt farted on us I assume." It was gladdening to know I can manage the droll tone even in such dire situations like this.

There was another booming crack of thunder.

Percy flinched, I just rolled my eyes.

"C'mon, let's get yer Ma and Grover out."

Cause there may be a minor chance of a Minotaur squishing and shitting on our corpse in the near future.

I would rather not be corpsified… or defiled for that matter.

Leave that for the wedding night no?

There was distinct "moo" echoing the next lightning flash.

Better hurry.

"C'mon Perce."

'Seriously. Fuck you dad.'

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Being born was traumatising.

There's no other way of putting it.

To think there are multiple babies being born this very minute… it brings a tear to the eye.

Truly, sufferance connects us all.

Oh I'm sure it was pretty painful for the mother too, but I find the child to be the real victim here. They didn't ask for this shit.

I didn't ask for this shit.

All because some asshats couldn't keep it in their pants,

'Honestly.'

Fortunately (from one point of view) my consciousness during the early days was sparse.

As a result my parents still experienced all the joys of normal babies.

Or, parent actually. Singular.

Yes, daddy dear buggered off shortly after the incident (birth), only sticking around to hear my name.

Arayan Ishraq.

Not cool man. Not cool at all.

I resurfaced somewhat more permanently on the night of my third birthday.

I came realise some things.

I Love my Mother more than life.

Mother was my world.

Mother was crying in her sleep whilst clutching me.

'Mother needs me.'

My dad was a fool.

Abruptly, the world didn't seem so humorous.

The sun was harsh on those with no shade.

.

.

I didn't hold back.

I made no attempt to make it gradual, or soften the blow as it were.

I did not hide.

I just changed.

Yesterday I was a two-year-old.

Today I am me.

And I will keep mother safe.

Dawn was bright that morning.

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Mum is largely Atheist. She sometimes prays, or at least goes through the motions, because it reminds her of home and calms her down, but it's mostly habit.

That doesn't change the fact she come from a Muslim heritage.

That doesn't change the fact we live in America.

It's 2001.

Life got tough.

Mothers hands became rough.

I am six.

Mother's smiles became small.

We are alone.

Mother's eyes became tired.

I can't protect mummy.

So I sang her lullabies.

The light of the setting sun seemed softer when I sing.

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We are rather poor.

Of course we are.

Mum is a single woman burdened with a useless seven-year-old.

She tries her best.

She provides.

But she also looks decades older than she should.

My heart bleeds.

Mother is my world.

Mother should be happy, mother should be beautiful, mother should be safe..

So I stole.

Successfully.

We had our first argument in memory when she realised I was slipping extra money into her wallet.

We both lost.

She couldn't stop me. I made mother cry.

My heart bleeds.

I deserve it.

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Mother lost her job. She was fired.

She worked as a maid.

There are many summer houses, cabins and caravan parks here.

Mum is hired to clean them when their owners or renters were away.

There are a lot here on the long island, so the pay should be decent.

It wasn't.

Mummy started working on multiple jobs.

I started cooking for the both of us.

Mummy's getting grey hairs.

She's only just turned thirty.

My heart bleeds.

At the age of eight I started managing our finances.

Mother was too tired.

I must earn money.

Today was overcast.

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We moved from Montauk to New York.

I'm not aware of the specifics, but basically Mum made a friend.

We had been hopping around apartments for a while, never being able to stay too long in one place… for whatever reason.

It's not like all our problems come back to it, not at all, but in the end we are brown people in a white country. This is a disadvantage.

I don't tend to form strong connections, but I have been friends with people of all race and culture.

However others are not so accepting.

We really are an easy target for racists,

And target us they have. Many times.

But we may have finally found a ray of light.

Mum's friend has offered steady employment in her sweet store.

Except it's in New York.

Mum was hesitant.

So was I, at first. But then I felt something.

A warmth in my chest, it felt nice. It felt like Reassurance. I had a premonition.

"Everything will be fine." I said to my mother.

I surprised myself with the certainty.

Mother looked surprised, but them smiled and stroked my head.

There were mixed emotions on her weathered face.

I could see a myriad of thoughts troubled her.

Her eyes couldn't decide whether to water or not as she looked at me.

In the end she just looked at me with love.

She agreed to the offer.

Later that day I learnt that the friend who offered to employ her was actually alerted my another friend of Mum.

One of the Boss Friend's employed actually.

A woman who bonded with Mum over their similarities.

Same aged kids, lonely, hard worked, early greys, absent sperm donors…

Mum cried happy tears over the phone as she thanked her other friend for recommending her.

For the second time that day I felt an abnormal stirring in my chest.

For I seem to recognise the name 'Sally Jackson'.

It was faint though.

Then I heard them talk about blue sweets.

It clicked.

'... Fuck you dad.'

The sun was annoyingly bright.

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Perseus Jackson.

It was a (literal) lifetime away, but I recall the books.

Didn't like the movie yet I remember that too.

Perseus Jackson was the protagonist, a Greek Demigod, the Son of the Sea, saviour of Olympus (twice over I think) and the guy to do Greek stuff with the Romans.

The books were really entertaining, I had a brief obsession with them halfway through secondary school (high school).

'It was also fictional.'

Staring into the vivid sea green eyes of the child before me I felt the urge to laugh at the sheer absurdity.

'Key word being was.'

Then I felt my heart sink.

Ever since I heard the name "Sally Jackson" I'd only been thinking of myself. Running circles in my head, having an existential crisis, contemplating my sanity, contemplating the truth of the universe…

But now my fears (hopes?) were confirmed, I finally started thinking of the consequences.

This time not only for myself.

I almost gulped.

The woman I loved more than both lives combined stood behind me.

A tired mother suffering to protect her son stood nearby.

I was looking into the eyes of an innocent child.

They were all in terrible danger.

However this also presented a great opportunity.

My palms felt clammy, by throat dry and my eyes itchy.

But I smiled.

The boy before me flinched.

"Hello Perseus..."

Later he said I sounded like Voldemort.

I did not.

Honest.

It was more akin to Hannibal Lecter really.

But that's above his age range I suppose.

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Suddenly my light brown eyes were gold.

Or perhaps they were always gold.

Probably.

When the mythological interacted with the mundane "Mist" is created.

Mist confounds the senses, rationalises things. Warps perception to fit our petty minds and tiny rules of science.

This separates the mortal from… well my world, I suppose.

I suspect this won't be the first time my eyes are opened, then opened again.

My eyes were pretty much exactly the same as mother's. I was happy about that. Very happy.

But it seems mine eyes come from my father's side.

Shifting shades of gold, not metalic in any way, but somehow heavy.

They were steady, stately and sombre.

Eyes of someone used to looking over great and majestic scenery. Somewhat intimidating and sometimes indifferent but also warm and soft to those I deem worthy.

Combined with my dusky skin and black hair I look like a foreign prince.

Eyes of a prince...

I blink and frown at my reflection.

According to Percy anyway.

'What foolishness.'

I can't view my eyes when I'm using them to look at shit can I?

Perhaps I can imagine them being indifferent, but intimidating?

To me they remind be of dusk.

Sinking and surrounded by hues of red and orange, the final hazy golden light of the sun before it recedes behind the horizon.

I always thought it to be a rather lazy light.

The moment marking when creatures of the day begin to doze and denizens of the night start to rouse.

A moment of inaction, comfortable lull...

I snort.

Eyes of a slob.

Sombre? Weak. Stately? Blank. Steady? Dumb. Useless eyes befitting a useless boy.

I would prefer they really do match Percy's description, but I just can't see it.

I'm only me, I'm pathetic... not whatever he sees. Heh, Percy can be pretty dumb at times.

I would prefer bright eyes. Sharp eyes, eyes of a leader, eyes that promote change. Eyes of a protector… and of a predator.

Eyes of power. Eyes belonging to someone worthwhile.

Not these.

My throat felt tight as I glared at my reflection.

Eyes of someone who could protect mother.

I grit my teeth as a sudden pain assaults me,

Not these.

I scrunch up my eyes, gripping the sink hard.

Not these.

I let loose a tired breath.

Not these…

No, these aren't the eyes of a prince.

I look up at my reflection, still dripping of water slightly.

That isn't the face of a prince.

I just look tired, and somewhat defeated.

These eyes of mine aren't bright.

"Tch."

To me they look rather dim.

"Heh." I let out a single wry chuckle.

'Gods be damned, I'm a depressive nine-year-old.'

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Despite the occasional (read: rather often) bouts of pessimism, depression and wanton angst, life had improved from that of two year ago.

Mum has a much more stable income, friends, social life and housing.

"Sweet on America." A shit name if you ask me, but I was British, what do I know.

SoA was actually an all female staffed shop. Though there was only a total of seven employees anyway.

The Boss lady, Ma's employer, a stern looking woman in her forties is pretty big big on female rights movements and similar notions.

I've met her and her husband a few times and it's pretty obvious who wore the pants in that relationship. Add in the fact the couple are childless even after two decades of marriage, and the looks some of the staff send her on surprise inspections…

Well.

Who knows what goes on behind closed doors.

Though it would seem Ma is fortunately not interested.

Now don't get me wrong, I don't mind same sex relations at all, that is no problem with me. I even dated a guy back in college for a while.

And I'm rather grateful to Boss lady for going out of her way (all the way to Montauk) to employ Mum. But I don't think I would approve of that relationship.

I would be the first to admit I put my mother on a pedestal.

My mother is my world. I realised this when I was three and not much has changed.

The idea of Ma doing… things, with a suspected dominatrix like Boss lady… just rubs me the wrong way.

Of course if Ma was the one doing the dominating, that's a whole 'nother story.

But I should probably stop going down that train of thought.

My stomach is threatening war.

I wave the white flag.

I huff.

Naturally should Ma want to earnestly pursue a relationship with either gender, I would not stop her.

If it makes her happy, I would never stop her.

These are merely private thoughts, ones I will never voice aloud.

Never.

Ma is free, should be free.

That means she should be free of me too.

But I am selfish.

She'd probably slap me for thinking so, but I can't help it.

I did say I would be the first to admit I put mother on a pedestal didn't I?

I would also be the first to admit I've damn near deified her too.

Though I would kill you a moment later so you can't tell Ma.

From this is born my inferiority complex. Part of it anyway.

I am mildly self-aware y'know.

I huff.

But that talk is neither here nor there.

I should move on.

Gotta congratulate Percy on his impending expulsion.

I chuckle. Some passing pedestrians shuffle away from me.

To think he managed to make another teacher quit… and this one wasn't even a monster.

"Tut, tut."

'I'll be sure to award him backhanded praise later' I nod.

Of course that's only after beating him down in sword practise and verbally abusing the little sea-spawn to my heart's content.

I nod again.

As is right.

I sigh as I think of how lucky Percy is to have me.

The barbed whip of love may hurt now but you will learn to love it young apprentice.

Though it pains me so, I will toughen my heart and whip you as much as required. It is inevitable! Accept my Love!

'Hur hur.'

The fresh meat (new teacher) should be arriving today as well.

The school got this one on rather short notice so I can't help but wonder if it's a monster.

I contemplate a bit as I walk before shrugging.

'Eh, if it is, it is. So be it.'

Same circus, different clowns.

Looking up to the sky, I smirk.

"Arayan!" Ah, there's my sea-spawn.

"Coming."

Father's chariot looks positively wonderful through the polluted smog today.

Please note the sarcasm.

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A while back, I was still wondering who my dad was, and if they were actually from the Greek Pantheon.

To my vague and faint memory, I recall there were three pantheons in America. The Greek, Romans and Egyptians.

I don't remember the details though.

Honestly Egyption would have made more sense given Ma's heritage, but I think I recall their "demigods" were more divine possession or something.

It was further ruled out when I realised Hieroglyphs meant as much to me as the next (non-godly) guy.

So that left me with (as far as I know) Greek or Roman.

There was also the chance I was a "legacy". The son of a mortal and demigod (or further watered godly blood) and not of "direct" lineage.

In which case my sperm donor really did bugger of because he was a dick and not "ancient law".

However that was tentatively ruled out with how easy I took to Ancient Greek and, worryingly enough, Latin.

I surmised only relatively strong god-blood would provide such ease. That lowered the chances of me being a legacy, I didn't completely rule it out but it was on the back-burner for now.

I hit a slight conundrum, but chose to believe there was a valid reason for this and I was not some bullshit Gary Stu son of Rome and Greece destined to unite them... or similar crap like such,

So I rationalised the quick learning speed of Latin is probably due to the two years of tutelage I had in my old life.

I still remember the basic formatting (I, you [singular], he/she/it, we, you [plural], they) so much of it was just reassigning what I learnt to a higher standard.

However Ancient Greek was something I've never touched before. Something I wouldn't even have touched with the fucking Master Bolt back then, damnable GCSE's…

Yet I picked that up just as quick as Latin.

So, in the public library I was at, reading up on the ancient languages, I eventually came the assumption I was at least a bit Greek.

Thus I was left to ponder exactly which Greek was my divine sire (or ancestor).

I really only had two probabilities.

I considered Hermes, with how successful my pick-pocketing is and my athletic ability, but my skill with thievery is mainly due to my past life experience and my athletics is mainly due to me training since a young age.

I'm not especially talented in any sport, nor do I feel drawn to it in any way. Stealing is a necessity, there are times I feel some thrill but it does not bring me happiness. I feel far too guilty at disobeying mother's wishes to enjoy the adrenaline rush.

There is still the option of me being a Hermes legacy, making my thieving inclination less than a demigod, and Hermes being the god of travels also lends credence to daddy-dear going bye-bye when Ma poped me out.

But I was far to draw to the second option to really consider that. It just felt right.

Apollo, god of music, poetry, arts, oracles, archery, herds and flocks, diseases, healing, light, sun, knowledge and protection of young. That makes far more sense to me.

Number one was the "premonition" I had about going to NY. Apollo being god of oracles and prophecy might explain it. I recall the feeling I had at the time was warm, like the sun and so incredibly certain. I just knew.

Number two was art. I was an art student in my other life, I assumed the talent I showed in this life was simply a carry over, and the rapid improvements I made in the subject was due to a child's learning adaptability.

And perhaps much of it was.

However creating a damn near perfect copy of the Mona Lisa and selling it on the streets for nearly one-thousand dollars at the age of eight… is going a bit far no?

Number three was poetry and music. I didn't do singing. I still don't. However I can do it. I could lull mother to sleep in seconds with my singing since the age of four. I've never sung for anyone else, but I know I can. I can also pick out the individual instruments, missed beats and perfect notes of a hundred person plus classical orchestra. It's instinctive.

I liked classical in the other life but this was on another level.

Number four was archery. I was already fairly sure at this point but I wanted to confirm. There was no way I was going to waste money buying a bow or signing up for any classes, so I bought a plastic toy bow and arrow set. I could shoot the suction tipped arrows twice as far as I should be able and hit a target I had no business in hitting.

For a pre-teen touching a bow for the first time in either lives, it was pretty much confirmed.

However the nail in the coffin came from mother.

The number of times I've asked Ma about my sperm donor could be counted on one hand, thus she was understandably surprised when I asked how they met.

"I was at an art gallery. He said he liked my name."

Ishraq.

It is an Arabic name meaning "sunrise", "daybreak" and more metaphorically; "illumination", "emergence" and "vividness".

My father is Apollo.

As I stared directly at the sun, I noticed I didn't get flouters nor did the light hurt my eyes.

I could view it as easily as I would have the moon.

I made a face.

'That would be my aunt then?'

I hummed.

'This is weird'

The sun was bright that day.

Naturally, I gave it the double middle finger.

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AN: That's it for now. Just trying to get into the groove. Not sure when the next chapter will come.