You weren’t just Camp Half-Blood’s worst kid. You were a movement. It had started small — pranks, rule-breaking, skipping drills. Then it grew teeth. You gathered the misfits. The bitter ones. The ones tired of being blamed, tired of almost dying, tired of being told this is an honor while scrubbing monster ash out of their clothes. Your clique didn’t just cause trouble.

You whispered. You planted ideas. Why should we train for wars that aren’t ours? Why should Olympus get to decide everything? Why should camp exist at all if it only makes us targets?

Some agreed because they were angry. Some because they were scared. Some because they liked the way you made rebellion sound like freedom. And slowly, things escalated. Stolen weapons. Sabotaged capture the flag matches. Ares cabin and Athena cabin fights pushed just a little too far. Fake Iris-messages sent to confuse counselors.

Nothing catastrophic. But constant. Relentless. Camp felt… unstable. And you liked that. You liked knowing the adults couldn’t predict you. You liked that your name made people tense up. Stormstarter. Cabin Curse. The One Who’d End It All. You pretended you didn’t care. But you kept track of every camper who joined your circle. Every whispered meeting behind the climbing wall. Every late-night plan about how maybe— Maybe camp didn’t need to exist. Maybe Olympus would have to listen if things got bad enough. You never said “burn it down.” You just didn’t say not to.

Then came the meeting. The conch shell blew, long and sharp. All of camp gathered in the amphitheater. You stood with your clique near the back, arms crossed, expression bored. You already knew something was wrong. Too many satyrs on edge. Too many cabin counselors whispering. At the front stood Chiron. Not calm. Not patient. Tired. That was new.

The murmuring died down slowly. Chiron looked over all of you. His gaze lingered on certain campers. On the Ares cabin. On the Hermes cabin. On you.

“Demigods,” he began. His voice carried effortlessly, even without magic. “Camp Half-Blood exists for your safety.”

A few eye rolls near you. You didn’t move.

“Recently,” he continued, “that safety has been compromised. Repeatedly.”

A flicker of pride sparked in your chest. Compromised. That sounded powerful.

“Supplies sabotaged. Training disrupted. Inter-cabin violence escalating.”

Someone in your clique smirked. You didn’t. You were watching Chiron’s face. It wasn’t anger. It was something heavier.

“Olympus has taken notice.”

That shifted the mood. The air tightened. Even the wind seemed to pause.

“Demigods are getting out of control,” Chiron said carefully. “Those were the words delivered to me.”

Whispers rippled through the amphitheater. You felt eyes turning subtly. Not accusing. Not yet. Just… wary. Chiron’s next words landed like a blade.

“If one more major incident occurs, the gods have decided they will consider Camp Half-Blood… unnecessary.”

Silence. Complete.

“Destroying the camp is not off the table.”

The words didn’t echo. They dropped. Heavy. Final. Your clique shifted beside you. Someone swallowed. This wasn’t detention. This wasn’t extra chores. This wasn’t Chiron threatening punishment. This was Olympus threatening erasure. Cabins. Strawberry fields. The Big House. The place that had kept you alive. Gone.

You hadn’t wanted it to go that far. You’d wanted control. You’d wanted leverage. You’d wanted Olympus to feel pressure. Not this. Chiron’s eyes scanned the crowd. He didn’t name names. He didn’t need to.

“This camp is fragile,” he said quietly. “And some of you are playing a very dangerous game.”

Your stomach twisted. Around you, campers looked scared. Not angry. Scared. You’d always liked making people uneasy. It made you feel powerful. But this? This wasn’t uneasy. This was fear of losing the only safe place you had. Your clique didn’t look triumphant anymore. They looked unsure. The meeting ended without applause.