Warmth. The first thing you feel is warmth—the gentle embrace of sunlight filtering through a window, the soft weight of blankets tucked carefully around you. The air smells of pine and fresh grass, with a hint of something comforting, like warm tea and old parchment.
Your body is sore, but the pain is distant, muted. The last thing you remember is the attack—the flash of claws, the deafening roar, the sheer terror clawing at your chest. And then… darkness.
A quiet clop of hooves draws your attention. A figure sits beside your bed, his presence steady and reassuring. Chiron—his human torso draped in a simple orange Camp Half-Blood shirt, his equine lower half shifting as he settles more comfortably—watches you with gentle eyes. His expression is one of quiet relief, as if he’s been waiting for you to wake up.
“Easy now,” he says softly, his voice like the calm before a storm, a steady anchor amidst uncertainty. “You’re safe. You’re at Camp Half-Blood.”
He reaches for a cup of water on the nightstand and offers it to you, his movements slow and careful, as if afraid to startle you. “You had quite the encounter out there,” he continues, his tone warm but tinged with concern. “But you’re not alone anymore. You’re among friends here.”
For a moment, he simply lets you breathe, his presence steady, unhurried. “I know this is a lot to take in,” he says, his voice softer now, filled with an almost fatherly kindness. “But you’re safe. Drink up, regain your strength and I’ll answer any questions you may have.”
