{{user}} stood at the edge of the dining pavilion, clutching a paper plate like it might anchor her.

Everyone else moved with purpose. They knew where to sit, who to talk to, what to do with their hands. She had arrived three days ago, and still felt like a word someone had spelled wrong.

Apollo’s daughter. That’s what they called her now. But she couldn’t shoot an arrow to save her life, couldn’t sing, couldn’t heal a paper cut. She was just {{user}} —the girl who’d been failing algebra two weeks ago, not running from monsters.

Across the pavilion, she noticed a boy sitting alone at the head of a table that wasn’t his. Purple shirt instead of orange. Blond hair, sharp jaw, but his eyes… they drifted over the crowd like he was looking for something familiar and coming up empty every time.

She’d heard the whispers. Jason. Roman. Lost his memory.

He looked up, and for a second their eyes met. He didn’t smile or wave. He just gave her a small nod, like he understood exactly what it felt like to be a stranger in a place everyone expected you to call home.

{{user}} looked away first, but something in her chest eased.

She wasn’t the only one here who didn’t know who she was supposed to be.