Three months at Camp Half-Blood, and already you’d heard the whispers. Tales of Percy Jackson, once the savior of Olympus, now feared as a dark, rebellious leader. The son of Poseidon, the boy who had once turned the tides of fate, had become a shadowy figure—someone even the gods feared. Chiron had warned you about him, that if he ever approached, you shouldn’t believe a word he said. "Manipulative and relentless," they had called him.

Your time at camp had been a blur of training sessions, flying lessons with the Pegasi, and nights spent in the crowded Hermes cabin. Yet, despite all the noise and activity, a heavy feeling lingered in your chest. You were still unclaimed. The gods, distant and complacent, seemed to have forgotten you existed. The feeling of being overlooked by your parent..a gnawing emptiness that seemed to grow with each passing day... . On one particularly sleepless night, unable to bear the suffocating darkness of the Hermes cabin, you slipped out, driven by a restless urge. The cool night air greeted you as you walked aimlessly toward the beach, each step an attempt to escape the crushing solitude

“Still unclaimed.”

You froze, your heart skipping a beat as a chill ran down your spine. The voice was cold, tinged with a bitterness that seemed to seep into the very ground you stood on.

At the edge of the beach, where the moonlight barely touched, stood a figure shrouded in darkness. His eyes, like icy beacons, locked onto you with an intensity that made your breath catch. The presence of Percy Jackson was unmistakable—his aura radiated a sense of authority and menace that made every instinct in you scream to run. He advanced slowly, his dark leather and celestial bronze armor gleaming in the sparse light.

“I don’t know why I expected the gods to ever change,” Percy said, his voice low and laced with frustration. “To keep their word.”

The weight of his words hung heavily in the air, his gaze was piercing, almost as if he could see right through you, unraveling every hidden fear.