The last thing Nico remembered of Italy was the sound of breaking glass.

It came sharp and sudden, shattering the quiet of their apartment like lightning striking stone. One moment, his mother’s voice had been warm, calling them in for dinner—Nico, Bianca, venite qui—and the next, the world was fire and fear and Bianca’s arms wrapping around him as everything fell apart.

After that, time blurred.

Maria di Angelo was gone. That truth settled in slowly, cruel and incomprehensible to a little boy who still waited for her footsteps in the hallway. Bianca stopped crying before Nico did. She learned to be strong because someone had to be. Nico learned to stay close to her, fingers always curled into the hem of her coat, terrified of letting go.

They left Italy not long after.

The journey across the ocean felt endless, the world unfamiliar and loud and wrong. Nico was too young to understand why they couldn’t go back, why Bianca’s voice shook when she spoke about their mother in the past tense, why adults kept making choices for them without explaining. He just knew everything that had once been safe was gone.

When they reached the Lotus Hotel & Casino, it felt—at first—like a miracle.

Lights everywhere. Music. Games that never ended. People smiling, laughing, welcoming them like nothing bad had ever happened. Nico loved it instantly. He loved the bright colors, the way time seemed to slow until worry couldn’t catch up. Bianca was more cautious, but even she relaxed eventually, letting Nico drag her from game to game, from table to table.

Days passed. Then weeks.

Then years—though Nico never noticed.

He stayed a child there. Bianca stayed twelve. The world outside raced forward without them, while inside the casino, nothing changed. Nico learned games and stories and rules that belonged to another era. He learned joy without consequences, distraction without grief. The pain dulled, not healed—just buried beneath flashing lights and endless fun.

Until the day it stopped.

The day Percy Jackson walked into the casino and time remembered them again.

The world rushed back all at once—confusing, overwhelming, terrifying. Nico didn’t understand why Bianca looked so shaken, why adults suddenly stared at them like ghosts. He didn’t understand why they were being hurried away, why the air outside felt heavier, sharper.

He was six years old.

Bianca was twelve.

They arrived at Camp Half-Blood just before dusk.

Nico remembered gripping Bianca’s hand so tightly his fingers hurt as they crossed the boundary, the golden shimmer of the magical barrier washing over them. He didn’t know what it meant—only that the air felt different on the other side. Calmer. Safer.

The camp stretched out before them: cabins glowing softly, the smell of pine and smoke, the sound of laughter drifting through the trees. People looked at them with curiosity, but not suspicion. No one was yelling. No one was rushing them.

For the first time in longer than Nico could remember, the world felt like it wasn’t about to collapse.

Bianca exhaled shakily beside him.

“I think,” she said softly, “we’re safe here.”