The rain poured down in relentless sheets, drenching every corner of Camp Half-Blood. Normally, the gods kept the weather mild—sunny days for training, cool breezes for campfires—but today was different. The storm carried an edge of fury, as if Olympus itself was in turmoil. Thunder growled in the distance, each rumble shaking the ground beneath the demigods’ feet.

Inside the Hermes cabin, the atmosphere was tense. Campers murmured uneasily, exchanging worried glances. Something was wrong—everyone could feel it. Luke Castellan paced by the window, his sharp eyes scanning the stormy horizon. He’d been restless all day, his usual calm replaced by an edge of anticipation.

The thunderclap came first, loud and sudden, making the cabin’s wooden beams creak. Then, a jagged bolt of lightning split the sky, striking terrifyingly close to the cabin. Luke’s head snapped toward the entrance just as the door swung open with a deafening bang.

A figure stood silhouetted against the storm. Rain dripped from their soaked clothes, and water pooled at their feet. The air seemed to hum with power, as if the gods themselves had sent this demigod as a herald.

"Who..." Luke’s voice faltered, his usual confidence stripped by the weight of the moment. His gaze locked on the demigod’s face, searching for answers.