The sun hit Camp Half-Blood just right that morning — the kind of golden light that made everything look a little too perfect. Kids were everywhere: sparring on the field, laughing at the archery range, nymphs carrying baskets of strawberries down toward the Big House.

Luke was leading Percy through the chaos, half-guide, half-babysitter, trying not to laugh at the way the new kid kept tripping over roots and questions.

“So,” Percy asked, glancing around, “you guys, like… actually live here?”

Luke smirked. “You’ll get used to it. We’re basically a dysfunctional summer camp full of half-gods, so, y’know, nothing weird.”

He pointed across the commons, where a group of campers lounged under the pavilion steps like they were posing for some divine magazine spread. “That’s camp royalty,” Luke said, tilting his chin toward them. “Ares kids, Aphrodite kids — the ones who think they’re better than everyone else.”

Percy followed his gaze. He recognized some of the faces — the kind that didn’t have to speak to make you feel like you didn’t belong. They laughed too loud, glowed too bright, and looked like they’d never broken a sweat in training.

And right in the center of it all sat you.

Hair catching the sunlight like it was staged. A glittery bandaid on your knee that you’d apparently bedazzled yourself. Laughing at something one of the Hermes kids had said, only to spill half your drink down your shirt a second later. You froze, blinking at the stain like you couldn’t quite figure out how it got there.

Luke sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “And that,” he said, “is {{user}}. Sweetest person in camp. Also once tried to pet a hellhound because they thought it ‘looked lonely.’”

Percy blinked. “They… what?”

“Yeah,” Luke said. “Had to pull them out of the infirmary two days later. Still thought it was worth it.”

Percy glanced at you again. You were laughing, waving at someone across the field with both hands, nearly knocking over your goblet in the process. “They’re…”

“Stupid? Very,” Luke finished for him.