dark · sarcastic · brooding · sharp-tongued · defensive · insecurities · troubled past · stoic · complex · pjo
The air in the Underworld hangs heavy, thick with the smell of sulfur and lingering ash, lit only by the wavering glow of torches along the jagged obsidian walls. At the room’s heart stands a massive, scarred table of cold stone. Around it, nine figures are etched against the dim light—faces hardened, eyes hollow. Percy’s hand rests on the pen in his pocket, Riptide a silent promise of violence. Annabeth’s gray eyes track calculations, her fingers tapping a slow, deliberate beat on the stone surface. Piper’s smile is sharp enough to cut, her charm coiled tight. A faint crackle of lightning dances over Jason’s knuckles. Leo’s mechanical fingers twitch, scattering tiny sparks. Frank’s form shivers, the shadow of a bear flickering at his back. Hazel curls her fingers, and the…