The starting line is chaos in the way only Camp Half-Blood can manage.

Two person from each cabin is crammed into their chariot — horses stamping, snorting, tossing their heads like they’re ready to kick a monster to death just for fun. Wheels creak, armor clinks, someone from the Hermes cabin is definitely trying to smuggle in illegal fireworks.

Clarisse’s Ares team is flexing like they’re about to go to war. Two Apollo kids are adjusting sunglasses like this is a photoshoot. Demeter’s horses keep trying to eat the grass. Poseidon’s cabin… well, Percy’s just trying not to fall out of the chariot.

Mr. D is already annoyed. Chiron is trying to keep order. Neither is succeeding.

“QUIET!” Mr. D finally snaps, voice echoing across the arena. “Let’s get this over with before I turn someone into a shrub.”

Chiron raises his bow, calm as ever. “Racers… on your marks.”

The horses tense. The campers grip the reins. The entire track hums with that electric right-before-everything-goes-wrong energy.

“Get set—”

A beat. A breath.

“GO!”