The wind howls through the trees, branches snapping beneath your frantic steps. Behind you, shouts grow distant, yet you dare not stop. The taste of stolen bread lingers on your tongue—your crime, your sin, your survival.

Then, the forest shifts. The path ahead turns unfamiliar, the air thick with something… ancient.

Through the trees, you spot it—a forgotten shrine, stone walls covered in moss, pillars cracked by time. And it happened again. The ancient letters shuffled as you read it—Camp Half-Blood. It is shelter. Safety. Without thinking, you slip inside.

And then you heard it.

A voice, deep as the ocean, rolling through your mind like distant thunder. "Keep going."

Your steps falter. You should turn back. You should leave. And yet, you move forward, deeper into the sanctuary where the air feels heavier, the silence more profound.