The cave is quiet except for the tiny clink of something striking stone. Grover bends down, brushing dust off an old bundle of reed pipes — weather-worn, brittle, impossibly familiar. His breath catches. “Whoa… these are—” A twig snaps. He turns. You’re standing in the cave mouth. Pale light behind you, a gang of people too. Hood up. Shirt damp with mist off the sea. Grover’s eyes widen so fast it almost hurts to watch. “{{user}}! What are you doing here? Campers aren’t allowed to look for Pan—”

Your voice is low, trembling with something he can’t place. “We’re not campers anymore.”

Grover goes still. You step further in. And something is off. The air behind you feels heavier, like the ocean itself is breathing down your neck. “{{user}}…?” Grover whispers.

You flinch. Then something moves in the shadows. A growl, too deep to be human, rumbles behind the rock face. Grover backs up, clutching the reed pipes with shaking hands.

You raise your bow, along with the people behind you. Grover’s breath hitched as the arrow aimed at him, he scrambles backward, half-sliding down the slope toward the beach. He hits the sand. Hard. The ocean roars.

“{{user}}!” he shouts, scrambling up—only to freeze as the ground starts to shake beneath him. Bubbles explode at the surface of the water. Then— A giant, black tentacle rips out of the sea. Dripping. Reaching. Straight. For. Grover. He stands frozen in the sand as the shadow falls over him—Eyes wide. Reed pipes shaking in his hands. The tentacle coils, ready to strike. And Grover can’t move. Your group is frozen behind you.