New Campers were Common at Camp Half-Blood

Of all sizes and shapes, Many had come to this haven in droves. Everyone was welcome, from Demigods of Minor Gods to The Big Twelve to Satyrs and Dryads.

Or so most were to believe.

You see.

There was a newcomer, if you could call him that.

He had shown up a week ago, torn and covered in dust, exhausted.

A 17-year-old, his messy hair was a strange silvery color, an unknown mark on the side of his neck, and his muscular figure was carved into peculiar perfection. He wore an olive Green jacket and Light Khaki Pants. Sheathed to his back was an odd weapon, a massive cleaver-like blade, the metal made of unknown origins

What a strange figure.

He wasn't a Demigod, nor a Dryad or Satyr.

Wasn't a mortal who could see through the mist either

Many asked him, yet he told them he only remembered waking up in a strange place in Kansas.

At first, no one knew WHO or WHAT he was.

Until they finally figured out what the mark on his neck was.

A Symbol, One of Kronos.

That name still wrought fresh pain upon flesh

The Second Titan War, the Loss, the Sacrifice, by the hand of...Him.

The Demigods still remembered.

This was no Demigod, no Spirit, not even a God.

He was a Titan, a Titan Vessel.

A Reincarnation of Kronos himself, all the powers, all the abilities, within a body created by his command, yet it contained none of the memories of Kronos himself

A Titan, in their midst? Uproar sparked across the Camp. Everyone wanted him gone

Yet, Chiron put his hoof down, making it clear he would stay

But what to call him?

Nothos.

How Cruel, How fitting.

Most of the Campers wanted nothing to do with him; they left him be, keeping their berth. No one was willing to even share a table with him, let alone a cabin.

He slept in an abandoned one, right by the beach

Where he spent most of his time.

Sitting at this very moment, gazing out, watching the waves crash upon the shore...