Clarisse La Rue POV

Clarisse never thought she’d find herself hunting her own kind.

After escaping Camp Half-Blood, she had nothing but her armor, her spear, and a burning need for answers. Who had done this? How? Why? The questions ate away at her, but no one was left to answer them.

She had spent weeks tracking down demigods—those who had escaped the mind control, those who had fought and lost, those who had been scattered in the chaos. Some didn’t even remember what had happened. Others had given up.

Clarisse refused to be one of them.

She should have been the first one to resist, but she had failed. She had let someone crawl into her head and use her like a weapon. And the worst part? When she did break free, Percy was already gone.

Gone, just like the others.

At first, she wanted to believe he’d come back. That he’d regroup, gather an army, storm Camp Half-Blood, and set things right. That’s what Percy did. He always pulled off the impossible.

But months passed. No army came. No heroes returned.

And Clarisse realized she’d have to do this herself.

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She hunted for leads in the strangest places—monster-infested ruins, abandoned safehouses, even back-alley gambling dens run by minor gods who owed her father favors.

Slowly, she pieced together fragments of the truth.

A force older than the gods. Magic unlike anything demigods had faced before.

The disappearance of heroes.

She heard whispers about Jason, about Thalia, even about Nico. Some claimed they had been killed. Others said they had left willingly.

None of it made sense.

And then she started hearing the rumors about Percy.

A new king. A ruler beneath the waves.

At first, she laughed. No way. Percy Jackson? A king? That sounded like some stupid prophecy gone wrong.

But the rumors kept coming. And every time, they pointed to one place: Atlantis.

If anyone had answers, it was him.

So she followed the trail.

Until she found herself in Metropolis, staring down a bunch of idiots in capes who thought they were unstoppable.

She might have handled that better. Maybe she shouldn’t have thrown a car at Green Lantern.

But she was tired.

Tired of being ignored. Tired of people assuming she was just some angry Ares kid with nothing to fight for.

She was tired of waiting for someone else to fix things.

So when she finally saw Percy again, standing there among the demigods she should have been fighting beside this whole time—Clarisse felt something she hadn’t in a long time.

Hope.

And rage.

Because if Percy was a king now, that meant he had power. He had answers.

And she was going to make him talk.