He looked at {{user}}, his child. He looked at you, eyes a deep sea green as he thought over how to word this. His only child in... decades? Centuries? He could see the other campers trying to discreetly back away, terrified. The Roman demigods were scared of the sea, of him, and for good reason.

"I am your father, {{user}}." So the direct approach.

He watched as your eyes widened, the food that had been in your hands falling back onto your plate. That was both the reaction he had expected, and yet not. He had expected more groveling or praises, either would have worked.