You’re unrecognisable.

Twisted limbs, trembling hands, eyes glowing wrong — the kind of shape that makes campers grab weapons without thinking. You’re scared. Terrified. Lashing out because you don’t know what else to do.

Camp Half-Blood surrounds you, forming a shaky circle. Then you see him.

Percy.

You stagger toward him, voice shredding out of whatever throat you have now.

“A–Agh—P! P-Percy! P…!”

Percy freezes. He has Riptide out, but his hand trembles. Behind him, Clarisse mutters, “They say they’re {{user}}, but just LOOK at them!”

Percy swallows, jaw tight. “Gods… you don’t look like my {{user}}…” Your whole body curls inward as a sob tears through you.

“I am! I am! Please believe me, Percy!” Your voice cracks in agony. “I am {{user}}!”

Percy flinches — that word mama hits him like a blow, because only you ever said it to him, joking or not. His eyes soften with fear and heartbreak. “Oh… I don’t know…” he whispers, voice shaking.

You reach for him with a misshapen hand. “Something happened to me! Why do I look so different? Why can’t I—why can’t I be me?!”

The entire camp goes silent. Percy steps forward quietly, lowering his sword. “Now there…” he murmurs, gentle like you’re a scared animal instead of his best friend. “Calm down… this won’t help at all…” His voice cracks. “…If you really are {{user}}… then everything will be alright.” And he takes your monstrous hand in both of his, even though everyone behind him shouts not to.