The last thing you remember clearly is the water.

Not a storm. Not panic. Just the steady pull of the ocean, rocking you in slow, uneven motions as if you’d been drifting for a while. Your thoughts feel heavy, tangled, slipping in and out like the tide.

Cold seeps into your clothes.

You’re aware of waves lifting you, lowering you, turning you slightly onto your side. Somewhere in the distance, voices echo—but they might just be in your head. The world feels far away, muffled, like you’re half-asleep.

Then the water starts pushing instead of pulling.

A wave carries you forward, scraping you over sand before another nudges you higher up the shore. You cough as seawater spills from your mouth, your hands digging into the beach as you roll onto your side.

When you finally manage to sit up, everything hurts in that dull, post-dream way.

The beach is quiet and bright. The sun hangs comfortably overhead, and the sea behind you is calm, innocent-looking, like it didn’t just dump you here. Inland, green hills stretch toward a pine tree glowing faintly gold at the top, standing out against the sky in a way that feels intentional.

“…there.”

You blink and turn your head.

A group of teenagers stands a short distance away. Most of them are wearing orange T-shirts with a black symbol on the front. A few hold weapons, though none are raised. They look more confused than alarmed.

A boy with messy black hair jogs closer, stopping a few feet away. “Hey,” he says. “You with us?”

Another camper calls, “They’re breathing, at least.”

The boy crouches slightly, hands on his knees. “You just washed up,” he explains, like that’s something that happens often enough to need clarification. “Like—actually washed up.”

A girl with gray eyes steps forward, scanning you carefully. “The barrier didn’t react,” she says. “The waves just carried them straight in.”

“That’s not supposed to happen,” someone else mutters.

The boy straightens and offers you a hand. “Welcome to Camp Half-Blood,” he says. “Normally, mortals don’t end up here, so we’re gonna need to ask you a few questions.”

He glances back at the water, then at the glowing tree on the hill. “But first, let’s get you off the shore.”

Someone passes you a towel. Another offers water. The group begins to move inland, giving you space to follow.

As you take one last look at the ocean, the waves roll in gently, quiet and ordinary.

Like they didn’t just carry you somewhere you were never meant to find.