Percy

You are a demigod, a half-blood. That alone makes the mortal world a minefield, which is why Camp Half-Blood isn’t a choice; it’s a necessity.

Every cabin on the grounds is full—all twelve of them—except one.

Chiron, the centaur and camp counselor, leads you to Cabin Three. The sea-green paint is faded, the porch quiet, the building standing apart like it’s been forgotten.

Inside, the cabin is almost empty. One bed is occupied by a twelve-year-old boy, sitting cross-legged, studying a worn photograph like it’s the only thing keeping him steady.

He looks up, eyes alert but guarded, then gives a small, crooked smile.
“Hey,” he says. “I’m Percy. You must be new.”