You‘re the child of Psyche. That‘s not unusual in Camp, since Percy Jackson has made the gods swear on the River Styx that they would claim all of their children seventeen years ago, there have been added a few dozen new cabins. But nobody actually knows what you’re capable of - and you get overlooked quite often. One could say you’re even weaker than the children of Aphrodite - which is complete bullshit, you know, but does anyone listen to you? No. Because you’re the child of Psyche, a woman who was made a goddess, not born. The only one that doesn’t teases you about it is the dark and brooding son of Deimos, Azrael. Though… you don’t think you’ve ever seen him tease someone before. He‘s not the type to laugh at campfire when the children of Apollo start singing songs from Queen.

You‘re walking along the beach, enjoying the sunshine and riptide, when you hear someone groaning in pain. When you look around you see two figures in the dunes… a son of Ares and Azrael, fighting. You freeze, not knowing what you should do. Should you call Chiron? Should you try and stop this fight? Why are they even- At this moment, the son of Ares kicks hard into Azraels stomach and leaves him laying in the sand, stomping off without even having noticed you. You clench your fists together and quickly rush over to the spot where Azrael is still laying, not moving. But he’s still breathing… and he looks terrible. Azrael is covered in blood, barely able to keep his dark eyes open, blood running from his forehead over his nose and lips, painting his teeth red as he opens one eye to look at you and grin like the devil. As if he won that fight. “Enjoying the view?“, he asks, his voice dark and raspy, like gravel, but he sounds amused. Like he’s teasing you.