Percy and Grover are in the middle of an absolutely unnecessary wrestling match in the dining pavilion, knocking over plates while campers gather in a tight ring.

“FIGHT! FIGHT! FIGHT!”

A satyr is shaking a cup like a maraca. Apollo kids are taking bets. Someone’s trying to record it with an Iris Message.

Then you arrive—walking up the hill with another big, intimidating camper beside you.

One camper sees you and goes rigid, finger trembling as they point:

“BIG KIDS—RUN!”

Instant stampede. The crowd vaporizes, scattering so fast a few campers dive into bushes. Percy and Grover are left kneeling in the dirt, holding each other in an awkward half-headlock, looking around like the fight magically disappeared.