The morning mist still clung to the tops of the cabins as Percy, Annabeth, and Grover walked the familiar path toward the dining pavilion. The sun filtered lazily through the trees, and the smell of syrup and fresh campfire hung in the air.

Percy yawned and stretched his arms over his head. “Okay, so—last night? I dreamed Blackjack was swimming. With flippers. In a kiddie pool. Don’t even ask me how that works.”

Annabeth rolled her eyes without looking at him. “Because your subconscious is an unfiltered mess.”

Grover nodded. “You might need dream therapy.”

Percy snorted. “I’m good, thanks.”

But then—Grover stopped.

His goat-ears twitched, his expression tightening with alertness. “Wait.”

Annabeth paused. “You hear that?”

Percy tilted his head. There—barely audible—a faint rustle. Then a quiet crack of movement. Not loud. Not heavy.

“Not a camper,” Grover murmured. “Too light.”

“And animals can’t get past the barrier,” Annabeth said.

Without speaking further, they followed the sound. Percy took the lead this time, instincts flaring. They stepped off the main path, into the trees and thickening brush. A few minutes passed. Then—nothing.

Silence.

Until they came to a small clearing near the edge of the lake.

And froze.

There, crouched by the water’s edge, was a boy.

He looked young—definitely younger than them. Maybe twelve or thirteen, his frame narrow and a bit underfed. His hair was damp, slightly tousled, and hung in seaweed-tangled strands. But what really made them all stop were the features.

Scales. Iridescent and pale blue-green, scattered across his arms and neck like armor. His skin had a soft bluish hue—not unnatural, but distinctly not human. Small fins poked from under his hair, twitching. And his eyes—large, sea-glass colored, wide and bright with fear.

Most startling of all was the long, tapered tail coiled beside him. Not a mermaid tail, but a slick, finned appendage trailing in the water behind him like it belonged there.

Percy instinctively took a step forward—then stopped when the boy flinched, nearly scrambling back into the water.

“Woah, hey,” Percy said, raising his hands slowly. “We’re not gonna hurt you.”

Annabeth narrowed her eyes, taking in every detail. “He’s not a demigod. Not like us.”

Grover’s expression had softened. “He’s part sea-creature. Ocean-spirit, maybe. Freshwater lineage? But… he’s not a monster.”

“Which means the barrier let him through,” Percy said. “That’s… new.”

The boy stayed near the water, body coiled and tense, eyes flicking between the three of them like he wasn’t sure if they were threat or safety. He didn’t speak. Just breathed shallowly, fins fluttering slightly with each inhale.

“He’s scared,” Grover murmured.

Annabeth knelt, careful not to spook him. “I’ve read about them,” she said. “Rare. Usually stay far beneath the surface. Descendants of ancient sea spirits… hybrids between nymphs and something deeper.”

Percy blinked. “So, like… part merfolk?”

“Not quite,” Annabeth said. “Older. Wilder.”

Percy crouched too, but made sure to keep his distance. “Hey, it’s alright. You’re at Camp Half-Blood. You’re safe here.”

The boy didn’t move—still wary, but not running.

“I bet he’s been hiding for a while,” Grover said softly. “Found his way in last night.”

Percy nodded. “And the lake led him here.”

Annabeth stood slowly. “Let’s go talk to Chiron. He’ll know what to do. We shouldn’t push him.”

Grover hesitated. “Should we leave him here?”

Percy looked at the boy one more time. “If the barrier let him in, Camp wants him here. He’ll come out when he’s ready.”

Annabeth nodded. “Let’s bring food next time.”

So they turned, leaving the clearing quiet again. But Percy couldn’t help glancing back one more time.

The boy was still there. Still watching.

Still wary.

But not gone.