Camp Jupiter finally had enough.

Too many skipped drills. Too many rules ignored. Too much charm, not enough obedience. So they send you away.

Camp Half-Blood hits you like sensory overload—music, laughter, weapons clashing, campers yelling across the green like no one’s ever heard of inside voices.

You step onto the hill, posture relaxed, expression bored, like this is all beneath you. But your eyes keep moving.

This place is messy. Unstructured. Dangerous in a completely different way.

A few campers clock you immediately. Someone waves. Someone else laughs. You feel it—that familiar pull, that easy likability settling in like muscle memory.

You roll your shoulders, acting like this will be easy.

But for the first time, you wonder—What happens when even being chill isn’t enough anymore?