Disclaimer: I don't own Percy Jackson or any of the characters.

Summary:

Rhea Jackson was born into this world, memory fuzzy and body weak; her life connected to one being miles beneath the surface of the ocean. Poseidon is a selfish god with the world at his fingertips and an ocean of blood beneath his feet. Yet, one look into his daughters eyes mirroring his own, and he's irrevocably lost.

Previous chapter:

Resolution formed, Poseidon lifted his daughter with infinite gentleness – cradling her like he wanted to shield her from the whole world, a pleased thrum leaving his throat when Rhea immediately relaxed in his hold, a contended sigh muffled against the conjunction between his shoulder and neck.

Concern winning over his selfish needs, the god simply watched – knowing that from tonight on, things would change.

The warnings he received from the Fates whenever he contemplated interacting with his daughter in her dreams was gone – and now that he had chosen to walk down this path there was no going back.

Rhea was his - and going back to the emptiness before was no longer an option.

Chapter 3 - Color

There were smudges of color on her hands.

Rhea eyed them seemingly in a trance.

It was a lush green, akin to freshly grown leaves in spring that covered her thumb. Her palm was painted a bright sky blue.

Some parts were mixed together, forming turquoise pictures on her skin.

The wax colors were bright and beautiful – and all wrong.

His eyes were different. They were more vibrant than those streaks of color on the white paper before her. They had more depth, hadn't they?

Rhea was sure they did. Her father's eyes had been like the sea, beautiful beyond compare. She remembered that fact. Yet, when she tried to recall the exact contours of her father's face, she was failing. As if the knowledge had quietly slipped through her fingers with the passing of the years.

It had been fine until last week when she woke up from her deep sleep with her cold half gone, feeling as if the whole world had suddenly lost much of its brightness. Rhea could almost swear she had heard her father's voice in her dreams, the sound low and soothing.

She wanted to sleep in order to keep dreaming. She never wanted to sleep again in order to spare her the inevitable disappointment when she woke up, Poseidon as absent as before.

It hurt. It ached, a constant pain that never left her alone, causing tears to spill whenever she was alone.

"What are you attempting to draw, sweetie?" A voice shook Rhea out of her trance, and she looked up at her art teacher. Rhea was of the opinion that in primary school, the word art was vaguely misplaced – but it was still the favorite time in school where she could quietly grab supplies and try to force her limbs into obeying her well enough for the whole picture to not end in abject disaster.

It was diffcult for Rhea - who often felt so much older - to attend primary school.

Ms. Jennings was still young and full of motivation and energy, not having reached the point where she was already tired of the same year repeating itself over and over again. Rhea liked her enthusiasm – mostly.

"My…." my father's eyes, she wanted to scream. My father's eyes, my father's… "…eyes."

Rhea wanted to scream as Ms. Jennings smiled at her encouragingly, the voice unbearably loud in her ears.

''Should I grab you a mirror, sweetie?"

Rhea didn't want a mirror. She wanted her father.

So she shook her head and smiled even when she wanted nothing more than to cry and never stop.

Dad, where are you?

I want to see you.

The water beneath the surface was tranquil as Triton moved through the liquid effortlessly, his tails morphing into legs a second before his feet touched the pristine looking smooth stone serving as the ground of most buildings in Atlantis.

The minor god wasn't born yet when most of the palaces were built miles beneath the surface, but he had witnessed enough renovations to know that every wall and arch took years to carve by the most accomplished craftsmen of the sea dwellers.

Atlantis truly was the seat of one of the most powerful beings on this planet, and the thought always filled Triton with abject pride.

The hall was nearly absent of any life, only a few small fishes brave or not intelligent enough to avoid their lord's mood. It was not the first time, nor would it be the last. But Triton freely admitted that in the last few years – ever since his father sired a daughter – it had become almost common for his father to switch between one extreme to the next as if unable to help himself.

Only Triton was secure enough to present himself before his lord father during such a time.

Resisting the urge to commit such a mundane action as taking a deep fortifying breath – humans and their ideas, no matter how tempting – Triton willed the door at the end of the doorway to open.

With nary a sound, the stone doors opened slowly, the carvings on them as imposing as always.

A low clang echoed as the doors stopped shortly before falling onto the wall, Triton stepping into the large hall, hundreds of shelves full of paper from parchment to books greeting him silently; several shorter columns with Greek fire blazing on top them surrounding his father's personal library.

Knowing that his father only came here when wishing to remain undisturbed, Triton without delay turned towards the left side – seeing his father sprawled on a comfortable looking armchair, gaze directed towards the surface.

Triton did not need the gift of sight to know what his lord father was observing. It was surprisingly easy to not feel any resentment towards his… little sister. He was a grown god with responsibilities and duties, old enough to have fathered his own children during his long existence. He was not a child anymore – and while he may have wished for his father's love when he was still a young godling, this time was long past now.

He was a prince and warrior of Atlantis, trusted and valued by his sire, secure in his life and position as his father's heir – and it was enough. The emotion he witnessed whenever Poseidon spoke about his little sister, the love that would he suspected only ever be for that child – was enough to drown entire worlds.

It was not something he hoped to have directed at him, too used to his freedom to accept such a stifling emotion.

''Father.'' He greeted Poseidon, instead of getting lost in his thoughts.

Poseidon hummed in greeting, looking contemplative instead of annoyed or furious or anything even less pleasant. A good sign.

Not waiting for another sign of acknowledgement, Triton seated himself on anther armchair – his nerves making themselves known with vengeance.

''I have come to ask you for a favor, father.''

Triton felt more then saw the way Poseidon's attention was now focused on him. Calling upon his centuries of existence, Triton tried to find the courage for his mouth to spit out his request.

Just when he had finally managed to scrap together enough of his dignity, Poseidon interrupted his frantic thought process.

''A few nights ago, in her dream I held my daughter in my arms.''

Triton blinked at the admission. He was privy to his father's thoughts on the meddling of the Fates, and to disregard his intuition was not something Poseidon would do. Normally at least. But could this situation even be termed as such?

As if reading his thoughts – and Triton did not think this train of thought as far-fetched – his father raised an eyebrow at him, and the minor god promptly emptied his mind of his disrespectful thoughts.

''She was sick, barely conscious and probably more than a little confused – but she called me. Remembered me.''

Poseidon's tone more than showed how affected he was by this encounter. Triton could not recall his father being so conflicted about anything.

''But even though apparently I am being allowed…'' Poseidon nearly snarled the last word, and Triton stopped breathing lest he set Poseidon off. He liked existing, thank you very much. ''…to contact my daughter in her dreams now, I still feel my instincts warning me from meeting her in reality.''

''…I hope she's doing better now.'' Triton managed to say very quietly, observing the way his father's eyes bled an angry abyss black.

Poseidon hummed noncommittally in response. His precious daughter had already healed from her sickness, what mortals named the cold not a match for the concentrated healing powers of a much beloved demigod, especially one that was encouraged by an elder god. The god had already procured a few more books on the topic from the surface, before he destroyed an island or two in his worry.

It was impossible for him to miss the drastic change in her behavior, the times when she would seemingly stare at nothing with such pain in her eyes, or when the tears would fall from her eyes and not stop.

How he wanted to enclose her in his arms, and shield her from the world.

It was not to be though. The Fates would not be denied. Poseidon knew he had to be patient. The Fates had already indirectly consented to allowing him to interact with his daughter in her dreams. It would have to be enough – for now.

Her suffering gave him hope as he had scarcely allowed himself to feel before.

If she was so pained, she had to consciously remember him, didn't she?

Now he only had to plan their first semi-conscious meeting and hope that his little daughter wouldn't crush his hope beneath her fragile feet.

"She will be better soon enough." Poseidon eventually answered, sight still concentrated on the small figure miles and miles away from him.

Watching the color spreading over her hands, the Stormbringer smiled. Full of teeth, and possessiveness and wild anticipation.

Not one word more was said during the day, as both gods directed their sight towards the continent, both distracted with different thoughts.

Rhea woke up with a start.

Completely awake from one moment to the next, heart pounding loudly in her small chest - her cheeks wet with tears.

Focusing on her ceiling, Rhea concentrated on breathing. It was still dark outside, the sun not having risen yet and Rhea already wanted this day to be over with. She thought it was ludicrous that she was already suffering from depression when she was not even in her teens, but she couldn't help herself.

Without conscious thought, Rhea slid down from her bed onto the cold ground, feet pattering over the surface towards the old door. It was practically ancient, the hinges slightly rusty - but she was familiar enough with it to open it silently. Her mother's small room was opposite hers and her hand was already stretched out, fingers curling around the doorhandle, when she suddenly stopped.

What was the point on continuing this action?

She knew that what she truly wanted wasn't behind this door. There was no second body sleeping beside her mother. The being whom she sought, he wasn't there, so what was the point?

The woman sleeping behind the door, Sally Jackson, was her sweet mother who worked tirelessly to afford this little apartment for the both of them. The person who would praise her achievements, and scold her when she did something wrong - and who had taken her as the center of her world. The mother who loved her unconditionally.

And Rhea was being horribly, terribly selfish - but she wanted her father.

Not her mother who still seemed so young, nervous and stressed so often - in mind even younger than Rhea herself was. Because while the memories had faded over the years, like a well-read book that was familiar, but where the details and feelings blurred into nothingness - she still felt older most of the time.

It had caused Rhea much grief over the last days, because she loved Sally Jackson. Her body folded into her mothers neatly when she hugged her, her heart steady and calm when she smelled her scent and...

Why was it not enough? Since when was this small world, consisting of both of them, not enough for her?

Perhaps, she considered bitterly, it had been the moment her father's arms wrapped around her for the first time, his presence protective and absolute, the millenia in his eyes as he rocked her back and forth.

Her arm dropped down powerlessly to her side - the guilt bitter and choking. Silently Rhea turned around - her own door closing behind her.

It was better this way. There was no need to worry her mother even further. Sally Jackson already had enough to deal with.

Grabbing her blanket, Rhea curled it around herself, before climbing onto the old frail rocking chair. She remembered how her father had often sat on it, the rocking chair wipping back and forth.

Back and forth. Back and forth. Back and...

Rocking just like the ocean's waves.

Her body was still so very small. Fragile, her limbs frail and so easily breakable.

Those weren't a thoughts a good father was supposed to have. But despite the mistakes many - especially demigods - tended to make, gods were not men.

Poseidon did not consider himself to be a kind being. He delighted in the suffering of others, even more when it was him who graciously delivered said suffering. He had slaughtered and drowned more mortals than all serial killers put together mostly out of sheer boredom - and when it was not enough...

Well, it sufficed to say that Poseidon was what humans would call a monster, a beast cleverly disguised as man; a human looking shell conceiling what lay beneath.

Tilting his head to the side, his eyes still firmly staring at the small form in front of him, the god reminded himself to breathe. It wasn't because his body required any oxygen. There was no need to pull air into his artificially made lungs.

But there was, because there was an unfamiliar feeling weighing down his heart - and since when did feelings hurt so much? - making his fingers twitch with the urge to...

Destroy? Sow destruction? Break any and everthing to pieces?

Poseidon despised denial. It never solved anything, and running away was never quite his forte.

He was already far too attached. Dangerously attached to this little demigod slumbering peacefully before him in the sand, a blanket curled around her. He wanted to grab this child and never let go. He desired this warmth that would lighten his tainted soul. And he hadn't even talked to her yet. How much further would this obsession go? What would he be willing to do, what would he willing to be in a few years?

He didn't know.

He should have kept his distance when she was still a baby after he held her for the first time. When this obsession was still more easily ignored. He should have.

But he hadn't. He hadn't wanted to turn back on this small being who made him feel warm.

Now, only moments before she first laid eyes on him, before he first talked to her - he could feel the weight of his decision.

He could still turn back. He should have destroyed this dreamscape and never see this child again. She already had too much control over his actions, his thoughts, him.

He could feel the shift in his Fate, practically see the two diverging paths he could tread.

His rationality was screaming at him to choose the first path. To avoid the path that could easily destroy all he had done in the last millenia.

It was tempting. So very tempting, because gods were not supposed to be controlled by anything.

But he didn't want to.

The first path hadn't made him happy. Hadn't made him content. It had made him painfully empty.

The second path...

(Had there ever been a choice - truly - in the first place?)

He took a step forward, and stretched out his hand.

AN: Well, been quite a while, huh? I wasn't planning on taking such a long break, but suddenly months passed and... well... sorry?

I am officially back! I don't know when I'll update my other stories, but at the very least I'll start writing again.

I hope you liked the newest chapter. I wanted to show a bit more of the characters, before we continue with the story.

C'ya soon,

AriesOrion