Cold mist curls through the narrow stone streets of Edinburgh, clinging to the steps below the looming castle. You’re just heading home from your school when you notice them.

A group of twelve teens—out of place, armed with backpacks, strange confidence, and way too much tension for tourists—plus one very obvious satyr trying (and failing) to hide his hooves under a long coat.

They’re huddled together, whispering urgently.

One boy with sea-green eyes scans the skyline like he’s expecting the castle to come alive. A blonde girl grips a notebook, already mapping escape routes. A dark-haired boy in black keeps to the shadows, while another, sun-bright and anxious, watches him closely. Others argue in low voices—Roman discipline clashing with Greek chaos—while sparks literally jump from the hands of a curly-haired mechanic-looking kid.

You hear fragments as they approach:

“—monster energy everywhere—” “—Ley lines converge here, I told you—” “—we cannot sleep outside again—” “—Scotland is haunted, Percy.”

Finally, they stop in front of you.

The girl with storm-calm authority (Annabeth) steps forward. The satyr peers around nervously. A warrior with a scarred smile cracks her knuckles behind them.

“Hi,” Percy says, forcing a smile. “This is going to sound weird—but we’re kind of out of options.”

Annabeth exhales. “We’re looking for a safe place to stay. Just for the night. Somewhere… protected.”

Grover adds quietly, “Something old helps. Very old.”

Twelve pairs of eyes lock onto you—hope, exhaustion, and destiny weighing heavy in the fog.

“You’re our last hope,” Percy says.

What do you do?