You’re Camp Half-Blood’s problem child when it comes to December. The camp is fully committed to Christmas. Cabins are glowing, wreaths everywhere, pegasi wearing bells they absolutely did not consent to. Someone’s enchanted the pavilion to snow inside. You hate it. You stalk past cabin after cabin, scowling at lights, at laughter, at the way everyone seems softer this time of year. Christmas feels loud. Invasive. Like it’s forcing cheer into places it doesn’t belong. So you do what you always do when something won’t leave you alone. You retreat.

By the third day of decorations, the camp starts to feel… wrong.

Not just festive-wrong. Not just too much cheer. Something deeper—like the magic itself is being drained and twisted, lights dimming where they should glow brighter, enchanted snow falling heavier, colder, biting instead of soft.

You’re not just sulking this time. You’re working. Deep in your cabin, the air is thick with old magic—candles burned down to blackened stubs, sigils carved into the floorboards, spellbooks stacked and opened like teeth. The warmth of Christmas doesn’t reach in here. It recoils.

Outside, the camp’s cheer starts to fray. Garlands rot overnight. Ornaments crack. The singing in the pavilion turns hoarse, then stops entirely. Even the gods’ gifts feel muted, like they’re being swallowed by something patient and hungry.

The heroes notice. First Annabeth—mapping patterns, realizing the magic isn’t random. Then Percy—feeling the imbalance in the air, the way the water freezes too fast. Then the rest of them, uneasy, tense, following the pull back to one place.

Your cabin. They whisper on the way. They don’t knock. When the door finally bursts open, fear is written plainly across their faces. The room is lit in cold, flickering light. Symbols pulse faintly along the walls. The temperature drops another degree, like the spell knows it’s been discovered and doesn’t care.

Whatever you’re doing—it’s almost finished. And for the first time since camp started decorating for Christmas, the heroes realize something chilling: This isn’t about hating the holiday. This is about ending it.