You’ve always been Camp Half-Blood’s favorite in the quiet way. Not the loud hero. Not the scariest fighter. Just the one everyone trusted. The one who stayed up with homesick campers. The one who made the camp feel like—well. Home.

So when your mom dies to a Minotaur on the way to camp, it breaks something deeper than the border magic ever could.

You don’t scream. You don’t rage. You just go to Chiron and ask. You beg.

You tell him about Percy. About Orpheus. About quests that crossed lines no one was supposed to cross. You promise you’ll be careful. You promise you’ll come back. Your voice shakes when you say you have to try—because if you don’t, you’ll never forgive yourself.

Chiron says no at first. He’s terrified. Terrified because heroes who chase the dead don’t always return. Terrified because camp has already lost too much—and losing you would shatter what’s left. But he sees it in your eyes. That same look Percy had. So he relents.

On one condition. You don’t go alone. Percy goes with you.

The abyss isn’t fire or screaming or monsters. It’s empty.

You drift through it, footsteps echoing where there shouldn’t be sound, the darkness stretching forever in every direction. There’s no ground, no sky—just endless, crushing absence. Percy is somewhere behind you, calling your name, but his voice feels far away, like it’s being swallowed before it reaches you.

You keep walking. Because you can feel her. Your mom’s soul isn’t gone—just lost. Faded. Somewhere in the dark, waiting for you to find her like she always waited up late when you were out too long. Your chest aches with every step. The abyss presses in, cold and heavy, trying to convince you to turn back. Trying to make you forget why you came. You can’t find her anywhere.