Camp Half-Blood had never been quiet before. Even on its worst days there had been noise — sword clashes from the arena, laughter drifting from the cabins, someone arguing loudly at the dining pavilion. Now the silence felt wrong. Heavy. Like the camp itself was holding its breath. Across the strawberry fields, figures moved slowly toward the forest. Dozens of them. Campers walked in straight, steady lines, their movements eerily calm. No one spoke. No one looked around. Their eyes were the worst part. Blank white. No pupils. Just glowing pale light, empty and distant. They walked like sleepwalkers. One after another disappearing into the dark trees at the edge of camp.

The sky above churned with storm clouds that didn’t belong there. Cold wind pushed across the hill. Somewhere deep in the forest something ancient was awake. Kronos had grown too strong. Too patient. Too careful. And now his voice had found its way into the minds of the camp.

Near the Big House porch stood Chiron, bow in hand though he hadn’t raised it. He watched another pair of campers drift past him toward the woods. His expression was calm. But the tension in his shoulders betrayed him. He could not shoot them. They were children he had trained. Children he had taught.

A few steps away, Percy Jackson stood with his sword drawn but useless at his side. He had tried grabbing one earlier. The camper hadn’t even reacted. Just kept walking, eyes glowing, arms limp at their sides. No recognition. No resistance. Percy had let go like the touch burned.

Beside him, Annabeth Chase paced back and forth across the grass, mind racing through every possibility. Her hands trembled slightly — not from fear, but from frustration. There was always a solution. There had to be. But nothing in the stories prepared them for this. This wasn’t a monster. It wasn’t a spell she recognized. It was control. Complete and effortless.

Grover Underwood hovered near the tree line, reed pipes clutched in his hands. He had tried playing. Music usually reached people when nothing else could. But the campers hadn’t even turned their heads. They just kept walking. Straight into the forest.

On the porch, Mr. D stood unusually still, arms folded across his chest. For once, there was no sarcasm. No complaints. Just a god watching something spiral beyond even his control.

Another group of campers passed them. White eyes glowing faintly in the dimming light. Step. Step. Step. The forest swallowed them one by one. No one knew what waited inside. No one knew what Kronos was doing with them. And the worst part—The five of them could only watch. Because every person walking toward those trees was someone they were supposed to protect.