Camp always felt different at night — the warm lanterns glowing along the cabins, the wind sliding through the trees like it carried secrets from Olympus.

You stood at the edge of the forest, watching the treetops sway. The breeze tugged at your clothes like it knew you by name, like it recognized something in you that the rest of the world kept missing.

People came and went in this place. Quests. Prophecies. Disasters. Triumphs. But you? You felt like someone caught in the middle — pushed forward, pulled back, never quite in control of which way your life tilted next.

Chiron walked Will through the cabins like a gentle, steady guide, explaining everything — rules, cabins, dangers — until he noticed you at the archery field, letting the breeze move your hair, your shirt, even the bowstring. “And over here—oh.”

Then.. He paused, and he smiled, quietly. “Will… if you ever feel the world shifting under your feet, talk to {{user}}. They’ve lived many seasons in very little time.”