A few days passed quietly, but the air around Camp Half-Blood felt different.
Percy Jackson was coming.
Not yet—not until later that day—but everyone could feel it. The camp always shifted when a major player entered the board. Like the world itself was holding its breath.
Even so, life went on.
Chiron had finally returned to camp, and that alone sent a ripple of excitement through the campers. Training intensified. Schedules tightened. The sense of preparation grew sharper.
On the training fields, Luna and Hana practiced together.
Hana wielded a spear, her movements precise and controlled. Every thrust was sharp but restrained, careful not to reveal the full power coiled beneath her skin.
Luna trained with a scythe—an unusual weapon for the camp—but she handled it with surprising grace. Her spins were fluid, her footwork clean, the curved blade tracing smooth arcs through the air.
They were good.
Too good.
But both of them knew better than to stand out.
Max watched from a distance, arms crossed, quietly impressed.
He badly wanted to forge them proper celestial bronze weapons—something worthy of their potential—but the Hephaestus kids were already in a frenzy over a missing unfinished greatsword and stolen materials.
Which was exactly why Max hadn't revealed his own creation.
For now, discretion mattered more than pride.
Leaving the training fields behind, Max headed toward the Big House.
Chiron's office was warm and smelled faintly of old books and polished wood. The centaur looked tired—more worn than the heroic mentor of legend. Centuries of war would do that to anyone.
Max took a seat across from him.
"Mr. D has explained your particular situation," Chiron said calmly, tapping a stack of papers. "You are here, but you are not a demigod."
Max remained silent.
"Nothing enters this camp without divine or demigod permission," Chiron continued. "So I assume you have such authorization."
He met Max's eyes.
"I did not ask for details. I do not want them."
That surprised Max slightly.
"But," Chiron added firmly, "you will follow the same rules as every camper."
He paused.
"And please… be careful with the daughters of Aphrodite. I do not need trouble with that goddess."
Max nodded. "I'm not changing anything with Luna and Hana. And I don't want special treatment."
He leaned forward slightly. "Just treat me like any other camper."
Then he added, "But I would like my own place to stay. Even a small one. My current arrangement isn't ideal."
Chiron studied him for several seconds.
Finally, he reached into a drawer and removed a key.
"There is an old storage house on the edge of camp," Chiron said. "We no longer use it."
His expression darkened briefly.
"It once stored equipment for a training game we discontinued. Too many died."
Max said nothing.
"I cannot provide furniture," Chiron continued, "but it is yours to use."
He fixed Max with a look.
"And remember—no overnight guests after eight."
He sighed. "Even if your Aphrodite girls insist."
Max smiled faintly. "Understood."
Chiron slid the key across the desk.
Max took it.
The storage house was… terrible.
Dust coated every surface. The wooden boards were warped. Cracks ran through the stone foundation like spiderwebs. It looked like it hadn't been touched in decades.
Max stood in the doorway, unimpressed.
"Well," he muttered, "this won't do."
Magic surged through him.
The walls straightened. Rot faded. Cracks sealed. The floor leveled itself, old wood reforging into smooth polished boards.
With careful precision, Max expanded the interior slightly—just enough to make it comfortable without warping reality too much.
He formed a king-sized bed, a dresser, shelves, carpets, a desk, a couch, and a TV stand.
The room shifted from abandoned ruin to modest apartment in minutes.
"Sadly, I can't create complex enchanted tech yet," Max said to himself. "And expanding it any more would cause dimensional instability."
He stretched.
"But this is perfect."
Max lay back on the bed, staring at the ceiling.
For the first time in a long while, he wasn't sleeping in shadows or hiding in corners.
This felt real.
After a few minutes, he pulled out his phone.
To his relief, it still worked.
It had even adapted.
Greek-styled apps filled the screen—navigation charms, monster alerts, divine messaging services.
The one he wanted most was Hermes Delivery.
Hermes was one of the few gods who fully embraced the modern age. His divine marketplace was basically Amazon for immortals and demigods alike.
Max opened the app.
His balance read: 50 drachmas.
The girls had given him theirs too.
150 drachmas total.
Plenty, right?
Wrong.
Demigods paid full price.
Gods got divine discounts.
Max discovered this painfully fast.
He selected a mini fridge, a TV, a console, and a small bundle of drinks and snacks.
Total: 130 drachmas.
"…That's robbery," Max muttered.
There was literally a golden checkout code labeled: Divine Status Only.
He sighed and hit confirm.
There was an immediate knock on the door.
Max blinked.
He opened it.
Three neatly stacked packages sat outside.
Along with a note.
He brought everything inside and unfolded it.
Thank you for using Hermes Delivery!
You are currently our highest-spending demigod customer this year!
Max stared at it.
"…That is not a flex."
He set up the fridge and TV quickly, unpacked his food, and flopped back onto the bed.
A glance at the time made him smile faintly.
"Only a couple more hours left."
Until Percy Jackson arrived.
Until the real story began.
And for once, Max was ready.