I never wanted to be a half-blood.

If you've already read the story of Percy Jackson's life up until the end of the Second Giant War, I only have one thing to say: I'm sorry.

The lies of whoever you grew up with were supposed to keep you safe from our world. Unfortunately, that is only a temporary fix. Before Kronos was defeated again, half-bloods of all ages would come to the safe haven for our kind called Camp Half-Blood or Camp Jupiter (depending on if you are Greek or Roman). Many of us were killed before we could make it since our godly scent gets stronger as we age. Thankfully, now all half-bloods are found before their thirteenth birthday by Satyr's to bring them to one of the camps.

I'm sorry you have to live this life of running and fighting for your family, your life, and especially the ones you love the most. No one, no matter how old or young, should have to carry that much weight on their shoulders. Unfortunately, that's the life of a half-blood.

I learned a long time ago, that a hero's life is tragic no matter who you are or what you achieve.

I would know.

I was once called the greatest hero of all time and was looked up to by many.

My mother named me Perseus Achilles hoping I would live a life of a hero that had a happy ending.

My story is far from happy.

Perseus Achilles Jackson died, and I came from the ashes.

I could start the story of my life from when he died, but that wouldn't be true.

No.

My story starts a year after the Second Giant War with a black velvet box.