Everyone loved you. That was the problem. You were brilliant in lessons, terrifying in training, generous in public. Camp Half-Blood’s golden kid. Counselors trusted you. Chiron praised you. Even Mr. D tolerated you more than most. No one would ever suspect you of wanting more—more power, more control, more than the gods were willing to give.

Except you did. You were twelve and already starving for it. That was why you listened when Kronos whispered. That was why you didn’t hesitate. Not loyalty. Not revenge. Power. Pure and blinding and endless.

Percy didn’t know any of that. He just couldn’t sleep. The camp was quiet—too quiet—and his thoughts kept circling back to you. His best friend. The one person who always made things feel steadier. He told himself he just wanted to talk. Just wanted to make sure you were okay.

So he slipped out of his cabin. The night air was cool, the forest looming dark beyond the borders. He was halfway to the Big House when he heard your voice—soft, low, not meant for him. He froze. You weren’t alone. Confused, Percy followed the sound, heart hammering as he crossed the camp boundary without realizing it. The trees swallowed the light. Your voice grew clearer. So did the other one with you—another camper Percy recognized, someone trusted. Someone safe.

Or so he thought. He stopped behind a tree. Watched you step forward. And then the ground shifted. The air thickened, ancient and rotten, time itself pressing down until Percy couldn’t breathe. A presence unfolded from the darkness—vast, fractured, wrong. Golden eyes burned open in the shadows.

A voice older than the earth itself rumbled through the forest. Kronos. Percy’s blood turned to ice. And from the way you stood—unafraid, eager, almost reverent—he knew. Everything he thought he knew about you was wrong.