gently in the cold, dark earth
Percy Jackson was born reeking of power and divinity, so surely of the Sea that any could tell with barely a glance. Yet his eyes, betraying the otherwise perfect replica of his father, weren't the sea green they might have been in another universe.
Rather, they were the windows to a soul long buried. A heart long lost, and a tree long borne.
His eyes were the perfect, leathery green of the leaves of a laurel.
And really - Apollo’s left in the throes of that same obsessive devotion, wondering how anyone could have missed this.