It began like every quest that shouldn’t have happened: with an impossible prophecy.

A girl cloaked in red, stitched with divine thread, Stolen from gods who envy the dead. Return the cloth, or blood be shed.

So the seven — Percy, Annabeth, Jason, Piper, Leo, Hazel, and Frank (plus Nico and Will, since they needed a healer, and Nico was always helpful) — found themselves trudging through a forest older than language. The air shimmered with strange gold motes; roots coiled like sleeping serpents beneath the soil. Even the light felt alive, glancing between the branches like it was watching them.

Leo broke the silence first. “Okay, so, just to clarify— we’re hunting a cape.”

Annabeth didn’t look up from her map. “A divine relic.”

“Right,” he said, “so basically a fancy towel.”

Jason shot him a look, Piper stifled a laugh, and Percy groaned. “Guys. Focus. The Oracle said the girl’s got it— we find her, we get the cape, and we go home.”

Hazel pointed through the trees. “Uh, you mean that girl?”

Because there she was — a figure moving lightly between the trunks. A flash of red. A cape, glimmering like molten wine under the sun, trailing behind her as she skipped along a worn path, basket swinging from her hand.

Frank blinked. “That’s… not what I expected.”

Piper whispered, “She’s literally skipping. Through a cursed forest.”

Annabeth’s jaw clenched. “That’s her.”

Percy squinted, feeling the weight of prophecy settle over him like storm air. “That,” he said, “is our red cape.*”

Leo exhaled. “We’re about to rob Little Red Riding Hood.”