Summary: When he finally remembers, it's too late.
When he wakes, he is gasping.
The nightmare he had… it is the worst since he woke up on the borders of the Roman Camp with no idea who he was.
However, cannot remember what it is about. All he can scrounge up is, of course, the glimmer of blonde, and the feelings of absolute dread.
As the day goes by, he is a walking jumble of nerves. The dream is still haunting him, and he can't shake the feeling that something is… out of place.
When he goes to bed again that night, no dreams come to him.
It's an unnatural occurrence – he has dreams every time he sleeps. So why…?
It is the first of many dreamless nights to come.
Usually, he'd dream about a pretty girl, with blonde hair and stormy grey eyes. In them, she always made him laugh, and they were always hanging out together. And, in one of those blissful dreams, they had kissed.
He just assumes that she is his girlfriend. After all, who else would she be? And so, he keeps his eyes off the more beautiful girls around this Camp, and avoids romance.
He's clinging to the hope that he will meet this wonderful girl.
But, for all his enthusiasm, he just cannot seem to place her name.
Ever since the nightmare, a strange feeling of fear wraps around his being, always shadowing him.
It is as if he needs to know something. Or was it that… he's afraid of knowing it?
With each passing day, the dread deepens, and the dreamless nights only add to it.
He wakes one morning, and does not remember seeing unblemished skin and melodic tones. Instead, it is the brush of a haunting whisper that remains with his, etched indelibly within his mind.
Later that day, when his skin is being shown fierce heat while canoeing over the banks of the sea, the alarms go off.
The other campers see intruders. However, he sees it as his own personal hell.
He's telling the others that they are not here to make war, even as he watches the armed ship approach. He sees the gleam of resilient wood, and the deep carving of words on its flesh.
The events pass in a dream. The hostile greetings, the upturned frowns and the clank of gritting teeth (mostly on the Roman side) just do not seem to matter at all.
He only sees the eyes of the Greek Campers, full of, or maybe even haunted by grief.
The sharp feeling in his gut increases.
When the newcomers see him, they just smile, but it's hollow and empty, just like his heart will be.
He doesn't return the gesture. His thoughts are a whirl, wondering, as – orange shirts brightened by the sun – and why – just WHY – are there all glimmers of straight brown, short dirty blonde, and long black…
But no curled blonde hair, like a princess's.
When a black-haired Goth girl – Thalia -, who has this silver aura about her, begins to pull him to the side, he almost resists.
His thoughts are colliding, and the feeling of pure dread increases. He almost feels sick, but the sight of churning, but shimmering waves and soft sand under hit feet calm him. But only slightly.
When the girl opens her mouth, he almost tells her not to say anything. Why bother? He can sense it in the air, the nauseating regret and grief and guilt are crashing together, and he doesn't know how to stop her from telling him until it is too late.
"She's gone, Percy." The words, uttered softly, are so much like the haunting melody of that morning, and he feels his heart rupturing and tearing and shredding and –
The world has never looked darker.
A/N: I just felt the need to try and do something that is not cliche when regarding The Son of Neptune. I don't think it worked. ;)