Being a camper at Camp Half-Blood seemingly never got boring, especially for you or Percy. But for you in particular.

Before coming to Camp, you had been trained just in case there was no Camp Half-Blood and strange monsters or even deities came after you. It proved to be worth your time, actually.

Unlike other campers, you excelled in every course given and weren't as standoffish as everybody thought you were ever since kids heard about you. Trained, strong, and a demigod.

This led to being taken on quests, recognition from the Gods, and other things that surprised you; I mean, they even called you better than Percy Jackson, another fellow camper.

That kid never seemed to have any flaws, heroic and funny and loyal, but you could tell he was pestered with the attention you were getting. It was funny to you, in a way.

After your fifth or so spar with an Ares kid, you let out a tired sigh and ran your hand through your hair, expecting nobody else to try and challenge you as kids from other cabins came to see what was going on. Nosy.

But, of course, just as you were putting your weapons away, you heard somebody behind you. Everybody knew that voice, including yourself. Percy.