The claiming was supposed to be a moment of triumph — the long-awaited revelation of your godly parent. But when the golden fire erupted above your head, the camp fell into a silence so sharp it seemed even the cicadas outside stopped chirping.

It wasn’t a familiar cabin symbol. Not a trident, not an owl, not a caduceus. Instead, it was a burning hourglass, shattering in midair, its falling grains of sand glowing like molten embers. Around it, gears turned and cracked, their golden teeth grinding against each other in a sound like bones snapping. A voice echoed through the camp — deep, slow, resonant, as if time itself had spoken:

“Mine.”

Kronos. The Lord of Time. The Titan King.

His half blood son.

The reaction was instant. Clarisse had her spear leveled at your chest before the sigil even flickered out. A few campers screamed. Others backed away, forming a protective circle around the younger half-bloods. Chiron’s expression was unreadable, but the tremor in his hand as he gripped his bow betrayed him.

They didn’t ask you if you wanted this. They didn’t ask if you had known. You were surrounded, disarmed, and dragged toward the Big House before you could make sense of anything. By the time you were thrown into the underground cells beneath the armory — a place most campers didn’t know existed — the whispers had already spread like wildfire.

The cell was cold, carved into the foundation stone itself. Celestial Bronze shackles bit into your wrists, glowing faintly as if mocking you. Cuffs etched with runes bound your forearms, each inscribed with the mark of Hephaestus — his handiwork ensured no power of yours could slip through. Whenever you so much as reached for the threads of time, they tightened, sending an electric bite into your skin until your veins felt aflame.

From the shadows outside your cell, voices carried. They weren’t just campers. You could feel it — the air was too heavy, too divine.

Athena’s voice came first, sharp as a knife’s edge. “Unthinkable. A Titan laying claim to a child within our boundaries? This cannot stand.”

Ares snorted, his tone half-amused, half-disgusted. “Should’ve put a spear through their gut the moment the symbol showed. End of problem.”

Apollo, unusually grim, added quietly, “You felt it too. The bond wasn’t false. Kronos doesn’t waste his time with illusions. This… is real.”

A heavy pause. Then Zeus’ voice rumbled, low and dangerous, like thunder muffled through stone. “His reach has grown bolder than I feared. To claim one beneath our very noses… in my skies? If the Titan seeks pawns, we must cut the strings before they can move.”

For once, Poseidon spoke up, his words slower, carrying the weight of oceans. “And if the pawn is not willing? If the child did not choose?”

Hera’s voice, cold as marble, snapped back, “Choice is irrelevant. The stain is there. The risk is greater than their life.”

The arguments swelled, voices overlapping, divine power pressing against the very stones of the cell. The torches flared and dimmed, shadows warping as the air seemed to thrum with their presence. Campers stood guard, pale and silent, pretending not to eavesdrop though every word branded itself into their ears.

Finally, Chiron’s voice cut through, steady but weary. “They are not Kronos. They are still a child. And until they prove otherwise, Camp Half-Blood does not execute its own.”

A silence followed, thicker than before. You couldn’t see them, but you could feel the gods’ gazes burning into you through the veil, weighing, measuring, deciding.

And then, Hermes’ voice — softer, sly, but with an edge of pity — “Poor kid. Wrong father at the wrong time.”

Hades pinched the bridge of his nose. “This is a disaster.”

The divine presences ebbed, one by one, though the air remained charged with their judgment. Above, you heard the camp stirring again — whispers, footsteps, the anxious clang of weapons being sharpened. Down here, though, you were left in damp stone and silence, shackled not only by bronze but by the weight of the name that now hung over you.