Percy Jackson: An Endless of Dreams (BL)

The morning sun broke through the mist like a gentle hymn, casting long golden beams over the island that had cradled Orpheus's voice for centuries. Along with the Potter family's home.

The temple sat quiet beneath olive trees, white marble steps worn smooth by devotion and time. The priests moved with reverent hush, preparing their sacred guest—cleaning the alabaster pedestal, adorning the chamber with wildflowers, and burning soft incense that smelled faintly of honey and myrrh.

He had returned. The immortal head of Orpheus, Son of Apollo and Dream of the Endless, crowned with laurels and set upon fine silk, rested in the sanctum where he once sang to the stars. Though he had no body, he looked content—his closed eyes fluttering as he rested.

The Potter family had been notified the moment he arrived and returned to his rightful place. They were already on the island, of course. The House of Potter had never truly left Orpheus, and they lived alongside him for centuries. The current Potter family had visited Orpheus often as old friends, and as family for they decsendd from his son Eirenaious. But today was different.

It was different because the long-awaited return of Orpheus had come.

It has been five years ever sense he was stolen. 

The courtyard echoed with quiet footsteps as Apollion Potter, Lord of the House, approached with his wife, Lady Thessalia. They held hands, dressed simply, somberly, but the light in their eyes burned with affection.

A voice echoed from the inner chamber—melodic, haunting, and alive.

"He's awake," Apollion whispered.

Thessalia nodded, her eyes welling up.

"Apollian," came Orpheus's voice, tired but teasing. "Have you finally come to challenge me in poetry again?" Apollian, when he was younger, would come to see Orpheus's and have poetry battles..

"Still think you're clever," Apollian said as he stepped inside. "Even with just a mouth," He joked.

Orpheus's laughter rang through the room like a bell.

"I missed you," said Thessalia softly, brushing a curl of hair from his forehead.

"And I you. Both of you." His eyes blinked open, soft and blue like his father's once were. "Where is he?"

They both knew who he meant.

The door creaked. Sand shifted under boots. A shadow fell across the chamber.

Orpheus Hardwin Potter stood in the doorway.

No longer a boy.

Eighteen now. Broad-shouldered, tall, and proud. His raven-dark, messy curls, his wand tucked into a sheath by his side. A deep blue cloak draped over his noble robes, and a silver brooch shaped like a harp pinned it in place.

His eyes—green like fresh spring leaves—locked onto the head of his namesake.

Orpheus's breath caught. For a moment, the chamber held its breath too.

"...You've grown," the head whispered.

Orpheus Hardwin Potter stepped forward slowly, as if through water. His lips trembled.

"I didn't know if I'd ever see you again," he said, voice cracking. The young heir was very close to Orpheus when he was young.

"And yet here you are," Orpheus said gently. "A man now."

"I should've come sooner." His voice was thick.

"I know. But you're here. That's enough," said the elder Orpheus.

Silence stretched between them like silk. And then—

"Do you remember," Orpheus said, "when you used to sing to me? When you were six? You'd bring me figs and honey and tell me stories about riding on your Leukos."

Orpheus Hardwin gave a choked laugh. "Yes, those were my favorite memories."

A massive shadow bounded in from the garden beyond—Leukos, the immortal direwolf, given to Eirenaious to protect the Potter Family by Apollo. Leukos towered in through the open doorway. His silvery-white fur shimmered like moonlight, his eyes deep pools of ancient memory.

He padded softly toward the altar, whining in joy.

"There's my boy," Orpheus whispered.

Leukos gently placed his snout against the marble, nuzzling the side of Orpheus's face with a care that defied his size. The wolf's breath came in quiet huffs, tail swaying like a banner in slow motion.

"You still remember me," Orpheus said.

"He waited for you every day," Thessalia whispered. "How could he forget?"

The younger Orpheus knelt beside the altar. He pulled from his satchel a harp of silver and ash wood—the one he had crafted himself in secret from his parents and with the elder Orpheus's help, when he was thirteen. He had never played it for anyone ever since his many times great-grandfather's disappearance.

"You remember when I made this," he said.

"Yes. May I hear you play?" said the elder Orpheus. "Let me hear what my namesake has become."

And so he did.

With trembling fingers, Orpheus Hardwin Potter strummed the harp. A single note rang out, pure and aching. And then more—a melody slow and deep, filled with longing, sorrow, and hope. The song of a boy who had buried his grief in silence. The song of a man who remembered.

The harp's music echoed across the island. The priests knelt in awe. Even the olive trees seemed to lean closer.

And Orpheus—his head alone—closed his eyes and wept.

Not from pain.

From love.

From memory.

From the knowledge that, though his body was lost to time and cruelty, he still lived on, along with the family that kept his name alive.

When the song ended, the two Orpheuses looked at each other, separated by centuries but bound by blood and spirit.

"You are the best part of me," said the elder."No," said the younger. "You are the part I strive to become."

And for the first time in decades, Orpheus—the eternal singer—smiled, not from behind walls of pain or loss, but with joy.

A family, reunited.

And in that chamber, for the first time since his death...

Orpheus sang again.