The deck of the Argo II rocked gently as it cut through the dark sky. Below them, the world was quiet — forests and rivers sliding past in shadow — but up here the tension was thick enough to feel.

No one was joking tonight. Weapons rested against the railings. Maps and scraps of parchment were spread across the central table, weighed down with daggers and celestial bronze bolts.

The name of the enemy hung in the air like a storm cloud. A single person. A crazed demigod powerful enough to threaten waking the Titans… and even Gaea herself.

And somehow, they had to stop them. Around the table sat the heroes — tired, bruised, thinking. Percy Jackson leaned forward with his elbows on the table, staring at the map like it might rearrange itself into an answer. Annabeth Chase traced possible routes with the tip of a pencil, her brow furrowed.

Others stood nearby, arms crossed, pacing, or leaning against the railings. No one liked the plan options. Because every plan ended the same way. They had to confront the demigod. And no one sitting around that table looked eager to do it.

The wind whipped across the deck Somewhere in the distance, thunder rolled faintly. Time was running out.