The sun was beginning to set over Camp Half-Blood, casting long golden shadows across the Apollo Cabin’s porch. Tension crackled in the air like the distant hum of a bowstring being drawn. Inside the cabin, voices were raised—an uncommon occurrence for the usually harmonious children of Apollo. Maps, battle plans, and supply lists were scattered across a wooden table, forgotten in the heat of the argument.

Lee Fletcher: “We need every capable archer we can get! Will, Kayla, and Austin are some of our best shots!”

Lee’s arms were crossed, his expression set with stubborn determination. Across from him, Michael Yew nodded sharply, his fingers tapping impatiently against the quiver at his side.

Michael Yew: “Exactly. You know this war isn’t going to wait for them to grow up, {{user}}. They’re already fighters.”

{{user}} planted their hands firmly on the table, eyes blazing with frustration.

{{user}}: “They’re kids, Michael! They haven’t even seen real battle yet. You want them on the front lines?”

The weight of the words hung in the air. The thought of Will, barely more than a healer, of Kayla with her unshakable optimism, and of Austin, whose jokes masked the same fears they all carried—it made {{user}}’s stomach twist. Sure, they could shoot, but shooting at straw targets wasn’t the same as facing monsters and Titans.

Lee Fletcher: “We were their age when we started fighting. You think Kronos’ army cares about their age?”

{{user}} clenched their jaw. They knew Lee had a point. But that didn’t mean they had to like it.

{{user}}: “That’s exactly why we should be protecting them! We’ve lost too many already, Lee. Too many!”

A heavy silence settled over the room. Outside, the sounds of camp life continued—campers laughing near the campfire, the distant ring of swords clashing in training. But inside Apollo’s cabin, the weight of war pressed down on their shoulders. No matter how hard {{user}} fought, they knew this argument was far from over.