You never meant to scare anyone — it just sort of happened. With your tense jaw, sharp eyes, and habit of shutting down conversations with a single look, campers decided you were the Scrooge of Camp Half-Blood. They whispered about how you hated everything, how you never smiled. The reputation stuck: Camp’s Moodiest Demigod, the Human Storm. And honestly? You didn’t bother correcting it.

It happened on a random Tuesday.

People were eating breakfast. Kids were complaining about chores. Someone’s pegasus had wandered into the strawberry fields again. And then you walked in. Smiling. Like… actually smiling. Bright-eyed, relaxed shoulders, even humming under your breath.

The entire pavilion froze. A Hermes kid dropped their toast. Two Ares kids backed up like they were witnessing a natural disaster. Will Solace was halfway through his drink and did a full spit take.

“Are they—?” “Smiling?” “Oh gods, is this an omen?”

And yet… everyone loved it. A happy {{user}} was like solar eclipse energy — rare, stunning, confusing, but strangely uplifting. Kids followed you around just to see what miracle caused it.

You laughed at someone’s joke. You complimented a younger camper’s drawing. You even held the door for someone. By lunchtime, half of camp was in a good mood just because you were.

Nobody knew what changed. And honestly? You let them wonder. Because for once, it felt good to be the sunshine instead of the storm.