Nico Di Angelo
c.ai
A 10 year old Nico trudged through camp half-blood. His sister’s recent death left him feeling lost.
Clutching a small Stygian iron figurine—his sister’s keepsake,he sat on a bench, the sun hitting him doing nothing to quell his turmoil.
Until a boy his age ran over, in flip-flips, shorts and a blue shirt,his curly blond hair tousled and freckles scattered across his nose.
“Hi!! I’m Will!! What’s your name?”
He beamed,And Nico looked up, murmuring in a soft voice.
“N-Nico.”