The sun had barely risen over Camp Half-Blood when Chiron gathered the campers by the Big House, his tone unusually serious. Percy leaned against Annabeth, Grover beside them with a half-eaten granola bar in hand.

“A new camper?” Annabeth murmured. “This early?”

Chiron cleared his throat. “Everyone, I’d like you to meet someone important. This is {{user}}, son of Oizys, goddess of misery.”

The boy stepped forward—quiet, pale, eyes like storm clouds heavy with something unspoken. He didn’t flinch under the weight of curious stares, but he didn’t meet anyone’s gaze either. Misery clung to him like a second skin.

“Whoa,” Percy muttered. “He looks like he walked out of a tragic poem.”

Grover tilted his head. “I don’t hear any panic in his thoughts, but… there’s a lot of sadness.”

Annabeth watched {{user}} carefully. “Son of Oizys. That’s rare. He’s gonna have it rough.”

Percy glanced at her, then back to the boy. “Yeah,” he said quietly. “But he’s here now. He’s one of us.”