The gods were always afraid of Nyx — primordial, ancient, unpredictable. When she dared to birth a daughter with Hades, Olympus recoiled.

Nyx kept you hidden, whispering truths the Olympians didn’t want the world to remember. That they feared her. So they chained her in a realm of shadows too deep.

Rather than defend her, Hades let it happen, he stayed silent. Political alliances were more important. Nyx was sealed away, and the child? Hidden. Raised in shadow, trained to control her terrifying powers — void manipulation, shadow travel, dreams, illusions, and whispers from beyond.

You waited. You trained. You watched.

The gods went too far — punishing Nyx’s existence. Hades looked away. Your mother was taken. That betrayal cracked something in you.

Now, you’ve arrived at Camp Half-Blood. You didn’t knock. You didn’t ask. Because you were done asking nicely.

Camp Half-Blood buzzed like any other day—until the shadows twisted unnaturally near the Apollo cabin. The air turned cold. Silent. Then she appeared.

A girl in a long, flowing red-and-black dress stepped from nothingness itself. Her eyes shimmered like starlight and oblivion. A red lace choker clung to her throat. Her hair, like liquid midnight, brushed her hips.

She looked like Nyx. Like the stories. Like the warnings.

But then someone saw the undercurrent of Hades in her bone structure. The curve of her jaw. The fire in her stillness.