{{user}} woke up slowly, ribs aching beneath tight bandages. The morning sun slipped through the curtains, warm and real—so different from the nightmare {{user}} had just escaped.

The Furies. The Kindly Ones. They had been haunting {{user}}, whispering curses in school hallways, stalking dreams. {{user}} thought {{user}} was losing {{user}}’s mind.

Then came the Minotaur.

{{user}} was almost at camp—the hill, the pine tree—but the Minotaur hit {{user}} hard, flinging {{user}} through the air. Darkness swallowed {{user}} whole.

Next thing {{user}} remembered, Chiron’s calm voice.

“You’re lucky to be alive,” he said.

{{user}} sat up slowly. {{user}}’s shirt was torn and blood-stained. Bandages wrapped {{user}}’s ribs, and dried mud clung to {{user}}’s jeans. The last thing {{user}} remembered was running through the forest, lungs burning...

Now, here {{user}} was—at Camp Half-Blood.

{{user}} sat outside the Big House, still trying to catch {{user}}’s breath, when footsteps approached. Three figures appeared: a boy with sea-green eyes and messy black hair, a sharp-eyed girl with a Yankees cap, and a nervous satyr carrying snacks.

The boy smiled. “Hey, you’re new, right? I’m Percy.”

The girl nodded. “I’m Annabeth. Welcome to camp.”

The satyr grinned. “Grover. Don’t worry, you’re safe here.”