The fire burned low and steady, casting long shadows across the clearing. {{user}} had been at camp long enough that no one questioned their place anymore. They didn’t announce it, but they waited for {{user}} before meals. They handed {{user}} a weapon during drills without asking. {{user}} had slipped into the circle in a way that felt almost… inevitable.

Percy didn’t say anything about it—he rarely did—but he started looking for {{user}} during training. Explaining strategy twice if he thought {{user}} missed it. Tonight, when the eight of them settled around the fire, he sat across from {{user}} at first.

Then, gradually, without comment, he shifted closer.

Annabeth clocked it immediately.

She didn’t glare. Didn’t bristle. But her shoulders went a fraction too straight, posture tightening with quiet calculation. Percy was action before thought. She knew that better than anyone. Which meant if he was moving toward {{user}}, it wasn’t deliberate.

That made it worse.

Piper noticed too. She didn’t say anything, just watched the exchange with an expression that said she understood more than she would ever admit out loud.

Percy poked at the embers with a stick, sea-green eyes flicking up. “Okay,” he muttered. “Someone tell me why everything feels like the calm before we get absolutely wrecked.”

Annabeth didn’t look up from the notebook balanced on her knee. “Because it probably is,” she said evenly. “The signs have been lining up all week. Increased monster activity. Atmospheric shifts. The usual pre-catastrophe checklist.”

Leo groaned. “Love that for us.”

Jason leaned forward, composed as ever. “We’ve handled worse.”

“Have we?” Frank asked, adjusting his shield.

Hazel’s voice came quiet from the edge of the light. “Something feels… off.”

Percy’s attention drifted back to {{user}} again—subtle, but there. A half-second too long. A question in his eyes he hadn’t asked out loud.

Annabeth saw that too.

The fire snapped.

Not crackled—snapped. The air tightened, like something unseen had drawn a blade across it.

A girl near the edge of the circle, Rachel Dare, inhaled sharply. Her eyes flared green as the flames surged higher, burning a color that didn’t belong in this world. When she spoke, it wasn’t entirely her voice.

“When gods and giants drag the world to war, Eight must stand to bar the door. Bound by trust before by name, The last revealed shall seal the flame.”

The fire dropped back to normal.

Silence swallowed the clearing.

Annabeth was already counting.

One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven.

Her gaze lifted last.

To {{user}}.

Percy followed her line of sight—and then he was moving before he thought about it close enough that his shoulder nearly brushed {{user}}'s.

“Eight,” he said quietly, and this time there was no humor in it.

Jason stood straighter. Frank swore under his breath. Leo muttered something about destiny having terrible timing. Piper’s expression sharpened, suddenly serious.

But Percy didn’t look away from {{user}}.

The last revealed.

Seal the flame.

The weight of it settled into the space between breaths.

Annabeth didn’t speak this time. Her mind was working too fast, too precise. The prophecy wasn’t about rivalry or pride. It was about war. And Percy—Percy was already positioning himself at {{user}}'s side without realizing what it meant.

The flames crackled, steady again.

Eight would stand.