The forest was humming around them — vines whispering, branches bowing, the air warmer with Pan’s presence. Grover kept glancing proudly at his ‘father’, overwhelmed that Pan himself was walking him through Camp Half-Blood.

But then Pan froze. His ears tilted forward. His shoulders stiffened.

Grover followed his gaze to you, standing where the forest met the fields — half in shadow, half in sunlight, wind spiraling at your feet like it recognized you.

Grover whispered, “Who… who is that?”

Pan’s voice dropped into something ancient. Something older than gods. “The wind bows to them,” Pan said. “And the Fates trail behind them like shadows.”

Grover stared. “Is that… good?”

Pan didn’t answer. He only watched you — with reverence, and with fear.