Chapter 2: First Impressions and Bad Manners
The dust was settling.
Literally.
I lay face-down in what I was pretty sure was a crater of my own making, my entire body aching like I'd been put through a cosmic blender. Which, technically, I had been.
"...stupid divine bureaucracy," I muttered into the dirt. "Thrown like a cricket ball... I swear if I ever see Krishna again, I'm going to—"
That's when I felt it.
The breeze.
The very, very concerning breeze.
I looked down at myself and immediately wanted to die. Again.
Completely. Utterly. Naked.
"Oh, you've GOT to be—"
COUGH. COUGH.
A polite, dignified clearing of the throat that somehow managed to sound both concerned and mildly exasperated.
"Young man," came a cultured voice from above me, "it is not good manners to talk to yourself."
I looked up.
And up.
And up some more.
Standing at the edge of my crater was a man. Well, half a man. The top half was definitely human—middle-aged, kindly face, wearing a tweed jacket like some professor who'd wandered out of a university.
The bottom half?
Horse.
I screamed.
"HORSE! MAN! HORSE-MAN! WHAT?!"
I scrambled backward, trying desperately to cover myself with my hands, failed miserably because human hands are woefully inadequate for that purpose, and ended up in an awkward crouch that somehow made everything worse.
My face burned hotter than any fire I could ever produce.
The horse-man—centaur, some part of my brain supplied helpfully—watched this display with the patience of someone who had seen many, many traumatized teenagers before.
"Easy, child," he said calmly. Then, with practiced efficiency, he produced a blanket from somewhere and draped it over me. "There we are. Much better."
I clutched the blanket like a lifeline, my entire face burning red enough to rival the sun itself.
"This is the worst reincarnation ever," I muttered.
Behind the centaur, I became aware of an audience.
A crowd of teenagers—no, demigods—stood in a semicircle around the crater, staring at me with expressions ranging from shock to amusement to outright laughter.
Kill me now. Please. I've already died once, what's one more time?
A girl with curly blonde hair and calculating gray eyes was studying me like I was a particularly interesting puzzle. A tall guy with a scar on his face looked concerned but friendly. And a muscular girl with dark hair was grinning like she'd just found a new chew toy.
"Well," drawled a voice dripping with barely contained amusement, "that's one way to make an entrance."
A man—no, a god, I could feel it—stepped forward. He was short, pudgy, wearing a leopard-print Hawaiian shirt and purple running shoes that somehow looked both ridiculous and intimidating. He radiated divine power and annoyance in equal measure.
"Mr. D," the centaur said with a long-suffering sigh, "perhaps we should—"
"Another one?" Mr. D interrupted, looking at me like I was a particularly bothersome stain on his carpet. "We just had the tree situation sorted out, and now the sky is raining naked teenagers? What's next, locusts?"
"I didn't choose to fall from the sky!" I protested, then immediately wished I'd stayed quiet because everyone's attention snapped back to me.
The centaur raised an eyebrow. "Fall from the sky? My dear boy, that was rather more than a simple fall. The energy signature was..." He paused, frowning. "...unusual."
"Unusual is putting it mildly, Chiron," said the blonde girl, stepping closer to the crater. "That wasn't standard demigod energy. It felt different. Wrong, almost. Not Greek."
Chiron. The name clicked in my head. The trainer of heroes. Achilles' mentor. The immortal centaur.
And he was currently giving me a blanket and helping me out of a crater while I was naked.
I wanted to crawl into said crater and never come out.
"Come now," Chiron said, offering me a hand. "Let's get you properly clothed and sorted out. I'm sure you have quite a story to tell."
---The Walk of Shame---
They gave me clothes—an orange Camp Half-Blood t-shirt and jeans that someone from the Hermes cabin had hastily provided. The shirt was too big, the jeans were too long, and I'd never felt more uncomfortable in my life.
As we walked toward what Chiron called "the Big House," I became acutely aware of the whispers following me.
"Did you see the crater?"
"He came down like a meteor!"
"Is he claimed yet?"
"What cabin do you think?"
"Dude was totally naked—"
"Did you see his dic—"
"TRAVIS!" A girl's voice, scandalized.
I hunched my shoulders, trying to make myself smaller. This was not how I'd imagined my grand entrance into Camp Half-Blood.
The campgrounds were... incredible. Cabins arranged in a U-shape, each one distinctly different from the others. An arena, a climbing wall with lava (!), strawberry fields, and beyond it all, the Long Island Sound sparkling in the afternoon sun.
And at the top of the hill, a massive pine tree that radiated power.
Thalia's tree. I knew the story—how Zeus had transformed his daughter into a tree to save her life, and how that tree now protected the camp from monsters.
"Watch your step," Chiron said as we climbed the porch steps of the Big House.
I looked down and froze.
There was a sign. A welcome sign with flowing script that was clearly meant to be read, but to me it looked like... gibberish. Elegant gibberish, but gibberish nonetheless.
I stared at it, my stomach sinking.
"Something wrong?" asked the blonde girl who'd followed us. Up close, I could see the sharp intelligence in her storm-gray eyes.
"I... can't read it," I admitted quietly.
Everyone stopped.
"What do you mean you can't read it?" Mr. D asked, sounding more interested than he had since I'd arrived. "It's in English."
"The camp name is in English," Chiron corrected gently. "But the rest is in Ancient Greek. All demigods can read Ancient Greek naturally—it's in their blood." He looked at me curiously. "You can't?"
I shook my head.
The blonde girl's eyes widened. "But that's impossible. Even unclaimed demigods can read it. It's one of the signs you're a demigod at all."
"Well," Mr. D said, that unpleasant grin returning, "maybe he's not a demigod. Maybe he's just some very confused mortal who happened to fall from the sky naked."
"The energy signature—" the girl started to protest.
"Was unusual," Chiron finished. "Yes, Annabeth. Which is precisely why we need to have a conversation." He gestured toward the door. "Shall we?"
---The Big House---
The interior of the Big House was exactly what you'd expect from a summer camp director's office, except for the stuffed leopard head on the wall (which was glaring at me) and the distinct feeling that the building had seen more than its fair share of world-ending crises.
"Once inside, Chiron shifted smoothly from his centaur form into a wheelchair—apparently some kind of magical disguise—though he still managed to be intimidating in the confined space."
Mr. D sprawled in a chair, conjured a can of Diet Coke from thin air, and looked at me with undisguised boredom.
"So," Chiron began kindly, "perhaps you could start with your name?"
I hesitated. My old name felt... wrong. Like it belonged to someone else. Someone who had died on a Delhi street because a god was texting and driving.
"Aditya," I said finally. "My name is Aditya."
"Aditya," Chiron repeated, testing the name. "Indian origin, if I'm not mistaken. 'Belonging to the sun.' A beautiful name."
Mr. D snorted. "Wonderful. A geography lesson. Can we get to the part where you explain why you crash-landed in my camp like a deranged comet?"
"Mr. D," Chiron said with infinite patience.
"It's complicated," I said, which was possibly the understatement of the millennium.
"Try us," Annabeth said. She'd followed us in and was leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed. "We've dealt with complicated before."
I looked at them—the immortal trainer of heroes, a god of wine who clearly wanted to be anywhere else, and a twelve-year-old girl who looked like she could outsmart entire armies.
How was I supposed to explain this? Hey, I'm from a different pantheon entirely. I died, met some Hindu gods, got thrown across reality by Krishna, and now I'm here to get revenge on Hermes for texting and driving?
Yeah, that would go over well.
"I'd rather not talk about it," I said quietly. "Not yet. It's... personal. And complicated. And I'm still processing it myself."
Chiron studied me for a long moment. "That's fair. But we do need to understand at least the basics. Can you tell us anything? Where you're from? Who your parents are?"
"I'm from Delhi," I said. "India. As for my parents..." I hesitated. " It's complicated—"
"Then can you tell us what happened? How did you become a comet?" Annabeth demanded. "How did you produce that energy signature? How are you even here?"
"I told you, it's complicated—"
"Enough," Chiron interrupted gently. "The boy has clearly been through something traumatic. We can ask questions later. For now, let's focus on the practical. Aditya, you'll be staying in the Hermes cabin until we can determine your... situation."
The Hermes cabin.
The cabin of the god who killed me.
Perfect. Just perfect.
"The Hermes cabin welcomes all unclaimed campers," Chiron explained, mistaking my expression for confusion. "Luke Castellan, their counselor, will help you get settled. You'll start training tomorrow, and we'll work on understanding your abilities."
"What if I don't want to train?" I asked quietly.
All three of them looked at me like I'd grown a second head.
"Why wouldn't you want to train?" Annabeth asked.
Because I didn't want to be here. Because I wanted my old life back. Because I was angry and confused and dealing with being murdered by a texting god and reincarnated by divine bureaucracy.
"Just... tired," I said instead.
"Understandable," Chiron said kindly. "But training is mandatory at Camp Half-Blood. It's for your own protection. The monsters won't care if you're tired."
Monsters. Right. This was Percy Jackson's world. Monsters were real, and they wanted to eat demigods.
And I was apparently a demigod now. Sort of. Maybe. It was complicated.
"Fine," I muttered.
"Excellent!" Chiron smiled. "Now, let's get you properly introduced to camp life..."
That Evening - Campfire
The campfire was... surreal.
Dozens of teenagers—demigods—sat in a semicircle around a massive bonfire that seemed to burn in different colors depending on the mood of the crowd. They were singing, laughing, roasting marshmallows like this was just a normal summer camp.
I sat at the edge of the Hermes cabin's section, trying to be invisible.
It wasn't working.
I could feel eyes on me. Whispers. The new kid who fell from the sky naked. The kid who couldn't read Ancient Greek. The kid who was weird.
Luke Castellan sat down next to me. "Hey. How are you holding up?"
"Been better," I muttered.
He chuckled. "Yeah, first day at camp can be rough. But it gets better, I promise."
I doubted that, but I didn't say anything.
"That scar," I said instead, gesturing to the long mark running down the side of his face. "How'd you get it?"
His expression darkened slightly. "Quest. Few years back. Didn't go as planned."
"Sorry."
"Don't be. It's a reminder." He smiled, but it didn't quite reach his eyes. "Anyway, tomorrow we'll start you on basic training. Sword work, probably. You have any experience with weapons?"
I thought about my old life. Martial arts training. Staff work. Some sword basics.
"A little," I said.
"Good. That'll help." Luke stood up. "Try to relax tonight. Tomorrow's a new day."
As he walked away, I stared into the fire.
The flames danced and shifted, and for a moment, I could swear they turned golden-red. Sun-colored. My color.
And I felt something stir inside me. A warmth that wasn't quite heat. A power that wanted to be released.
I clenched my fists and looked away.
Tomorrow would be interesting.
---The Incident---
It happened after the campfire.
I was walking back to the Hermes cabin, lost in my thoughts, when I heard a voice.
"Hey. New kid."
I turned.
A tall, muscular girl stood there with three other kids. All of them had the same look—children of Ares. Warriors. Bullies.
The girl in front—Clarisse, I remembered her name from earlier—stepped forward with a nasty smile and with a spear hanging at her back.
"We need to talk about proper respect around here."
"I'm not interested," I said, turning to walk away.
A hand grabbed my shoulder and spun me around.
"I wasn't asking," Clarisse growled.
I looked at her hand on my shoulder, then at her face.
"Let. Go."
She laughed. "Or what? You gonna cry? Gonna run to Chiron?"
The other Ares kids snickered.
I felt that warmth again. That heat. Building inside me.
"Last chance," I said quietly. "Let. Go."
"Make me, new boy."
Wrong answer.
I didn't even think. I just moved.
My hand shot up, grabbed her wrist, twisted. Basic self-defense, muscle memory from my old life.
Clarisse's eyes widened in surprise as I broke her grip and shoved her back.
"I said let go," I repeated.
Her surprise turned to anger. "You little—"
She swung at me.
I ducked under the punch, sidestepped, and her momentum carried her past me.
The other Ares kids moved forward.
And that's when it happened.
"You think you're tough?" Clarisse snarled, recovering. "You think you can just show up here and disrespect us? You're nobody. No godly parent. No cabin. No claim. You're just trash that fell from the sky."
The heat inside me intensified.
"Shut up," I said.
"Make me." She stepped closer. "What's wrong? Gonna cry? Where's your mommy, new boy? Oh wait—she probably abandoned you because you're worthless."
Red tinged my vision.
"I said shut up."
"Your mother was probably trash," she continued, that cruel smile never wavering. "And you? You're just the garbage she left behind. No wonder nobody claimed you. No wonder nobody wants you. You're nothing—"
Something inside me snapped.
My eyes flashed gold—I could feel it, like someone had flipped a switch inside my skull.
Heat erupted from my body. Not normal heat. Divine heat. The heat of the sun concentrated into a single point.
The ground beneath my feet cracked. Started to glow.
"What the—" Clarisse stumbled back, her spear suddenly looking less threatening.
Golden-red flames burst from my skin, wrapping around me like living things. But these weren't wild, chaotic flames.
They were solidifying.
I felt it happening—the fire condensing, shaping itself, forming into something solid and real.
A chestplate materialized across my torso. Kavach. Ancient Indian armor, golden and gleaming, covering me from neck to waist in overlapping plates that looked like they were made from solidified sunlight.
Earrings formed at my ears. Kundal. Not simple earrings but elaborate divine ornaments that radiated power.
A helmet grew from the flames, covering my head, with a design I recognized from every painting and statue I'd ever seen of the great warrior.
Karna's armor.
My armor.
The ground beneath me had turned to molten slag. The very air shimmered with heat. And I stood at the center of it all, wreathed in golden-red fire, looking at Clarisse and her friends through eyes that burned like miniature suns.
Clarisse's spear was melting. Actually melting, the metal running like wax, dripping to the ground in molten droplets.
She hurriedly dropped it with a yelp, stumbling backward.
"I gave you a chance to back off," I said, and my voice didn't sound like my own. It sounded older. Harder. Divine.
I raised my hand.
The fire responded.
BOOM.
A shockwave of pure thermal energy exploded outward from me. Not flame, not heat blast—pure force made from superheated air and divine power.
Clarisse and her friends were thrown. Actually picked up and hurled backward like they weighed nothing.
They hit the ground four meters away, rolling, tumbling, finally sliding to a stop in a heap of groaning bodies.
Burns marked their skin—not severe, but painful. Cuts from where they'd hit the ground and scraped against stone. Their clothes were singed, their pride thoroughly demolished.
I stood in a crater of my own making—again—surrounded by molten earth, wreathed in divine armor, breathing hard.
The fire slowly started to die down.
And that's when I realized we had an audience.
What felt like half the camp had emerged from the campfire sing-along. They stood in a semicircle, staring at me with expressions ranging from awe to fear to shock.
Annabeth was there, her gray eyes wide.
Luke was there, hand on his sword hilt, looking concerned.
And Chiron was there, in full centaur form, his expression grave.
"WHAT HAPPENED HERE?!" Chiron's voice boomed across the arena.
The armor was dissolving now, fading back into light and fire, leaving me standing in singed clothes, my eyes slowly fading from gold back to their normal dark brown.
I looked at my hands. They were shaking.
"I... I didn't mean to..." I started, then stopped.
That was a lie. I'd meant every second of it.
Clarisse and her friends were being helped up by other campers. They looked like they'd been through a fight with a dragon and lost. Burns, cuts, bruises, and thoroughly demolished egos.
"She started it," one of the Ares kids muttered. "She kept pushing—"
"I don't care who started it!" Chiron's voice was sharp. "Mr. Aditya, with me. Now."
I followed him toward the Big House, acutely aware of every eye on me.
As we walked, I heard the whispers starting.
"Did you see that armor?"
"What was that?"
"His eyes turned gold—"
"He threw them like they were nothing—"
"Who is this guy?"
I didn't have an answer for them.
I barely had an answer for myself.
---The Hermes Cabin - That Night---
The lecture from Chiron had been... uncomfortable. Not angry, exactly. More concerned. More "you're clearly dealing with powers you don't fully understand" and less "you broke the rules."
Mr. D had been there too, looking less bored and more suspicious than before.
They'd asked questions I couldn't answer without revealing everything. I'd deflected, apologized, promised to work on controlling my temper.
Eventually, they'd let me go with a warning.
Now I lay in my bunk in the Hermes cabin, staring at the ceiling while the other campers slowly filed in for the night.
I could hear them whispering. About me. About what happened. About the armor.
Luke climbed up to the bunk above mine. "Hey. You okay?"
"Been better," I muttered.
"Clarisse can be... intense. She pushes people's buttons. It's kind of her thing."
"She crossed a line."
"Yeah." Luke was quiet for a moment. "But that armor... that was something else. I've never seen anything like it."
Neither had I, honestly. In the moment, it had just... happened. Like muscle memory for something I'd never done before.
"Get some sleep," Luke said finally. "Tomorrow's a new day. Things will calm down."
I wasn't so sure about that.
As the cabin quieted down and campers settled into sleep, I found my eyes drawn to the symbols on the walls. The caduceus. Hermes' staff.
The symbol of the god who'd killed me.
I was living in his cabin. Surrounded by his imagery. Being welcomed by his children.
And all I could think about was petty revenge.
Hermes, I thought, staring at his symbol in the darkness. When you show up at this camp, we're going to have a conversation. And you're not going to like it.
Tomorrow, Chiron had said, they'd start testing me properly. Figuring out what I could do. Where I fit.
I had a month before Percy Jackson arrived and the real plot of this world kicked into gear.
One month to train. To learn. To prepare.
And to plan exactly how I was going to make Hermes regret ever picking up his phone while driving.
I closed my eyes, feeling the warmth of divine fire still simmering under my skin.
Tomorrow was going to be interesting.