You stumble through the camp’s borders, barely upright, clothes torn and soaked in old blood — your own, mostly. Every step feels like it shakes loose another piece of you. The world tilts, blurs, brightens.

Someone screams your name. Then there’s a blur of hooves and green fabric and tears.

Grover slams into you so hard you nearly fall, arms wrapping around your waist like he’s trying to hold you together by force alone. He’s sobbing — real, shaking sobs he can’t hide.

“Y-you— you were gone, we thought— I thought—”

You feel his fingers dig into your back, like he’s checking you’re solid, real, alive. Behind him, the entire camp is frozen, hands over their mouths, some crying openly. It’s like your return punched the breath out of everyone at once.

Grover pulls back just enough to see your face, tears streaming. Your blood stains his fur. He doesn’t care.