I woke up to sunlight streaming through an unfamiliar window.
For a moment, I forgot where I was. The bed was too soft, the room too quiet. Then yesterday came crashing back—the crater, the naked landing, Clarisse, the armor—and I groaned into my pillow.
"This is my life now," I muttered.
I pushed myself upright, half-expecting to see the ceiling of the Hermes cabin above me—the cramped bunks, the carved runes, the constant background noise of campers whispering, laughing, or stealing each other's stuff.
Instead, I was greeted by silence.
A small, tidy room. A single bed. A desk. A chair. One window letting in calm morning light.
I blinked.
"…Right," I sighed. "Protective custody."
Memory clicked into place.
Chiron's calm voice from last night.
"After what happened, I think it's best if you stay in the Big House for now. Just until we understand your abilities better."
Translation: You accidentally scared half the camp and violated several unspoken safety guidelines.
I swung my legs off the bed and stretched. My muscles ached, but not badly—more like the aftermath of an intense workout than a fight.
Yeah. Hermes cabin privileges were definitely suspended.
A knock on the door.
"Mr. Aditya?" Chiron's voice, patient and polite. "If you're awake, I'd like to speak with you. Breakfast is waiting."
---Breakfast in the Big House---
The dining area of the Big House was much quieter than the pavilion. Just me, Chiron in his wheelchair form, and Mr. D nursing what looked like a Diet Coke but smelled suspiciously like wine.
"Sleep well?" Chiron asked pleasantly, pushing a plate of pancakes toward me.
"Define 'well,'" I muttered, stabbing a pancake.
Mr. D snorted. "The boy's got trauma written all over him. Fantastic. Just what this camp needs—another damaged brat with anger issues."
"Mr. D," Chiron said with that infinite patience.
"What? I'm being honest. He nearly killed four campers yesterday. Over some words."
My fork paused halfway to my mouth. "She insulted my—"
"I know what she said," Chiron interrupted gently. "Clarisse has a talent for finding weak spots. But Aditya..." He looked at me seriously. "If you're going to stay here, you need to learn control. Not just of your powers, but of your temper."
I set down my fork. "I know. I'm sorry. It won't happen again."
"See that it doesn't," Mr. D said. "Because next time, I won't be so lenient. You'll be out on your divine posterior, mysterious energy signature or not."
Chiron cleared his throat. "Which brings us to today. I'd like to assess your abilities properly. Combat training, weapons proficiency, the extent of your... unique gifts."
"You want to figure out what I am," I said flatly.
"I want to help you understand what you can do," Chiron corrected. "There's a difference. Luke will assist me. He's our best swordsman and an excellent teacher."
I remembered Luke—the friendly guy with the scar who'd been kind to me yesterday.
"When do we start?"
Chiron smiled. "Right after you finish those pancakes."
---The Training Arena - Morning---
The arena was empty when we arrived, just Luke waiting with two practice swords and that easy smile of his.
"Morning, Aditya," he called. "Ready to see what you can do?"
"As ready as I'll ever be," I said.
Chiron settled himself at the arena's edge, his wheelchair form comfortable but his eyes sharp and assessing. "We'll start simple. Basic combat assessment. Luke, if you would?"
Luke tossed me one of the practice swords. It was celestial bronze, I realized—the metal humming faintly in my hand.
"Celestial bronze," Chiron explained, noticing my curiosity. "It's the metal of the gods. Forged in Mount Olympus, deadly to monsters, but it passes harmlessly through mortals. You could swing that sword through a normal human and they wouldn't feel a thing."
I looked at the blade with new appreciation. "So I can't accidentally hurt normal people with it?"
"Precisely. Though I suspect 'normal people' aren't your primary concern here." Chiron gestured to the arena. "Whenever you're ready."
Luke took a ready stance, sword held comfortably. "Don't worry, I'll go easy on you. Just want to see your form."
I mirrored his stance as best I could, feeling awkward and uncertain.
Luke moved.
It was like watching water flow. His blade came at me in a testing strike—not fast enough to hurt, but fast enough to challenge. I blocked clumsily, my arms jarring from the impact.
He pressed forward, a series of strikes that I barely managed to deflect. Each movement was precise, controlled, flowing seamlessly into the next. He wasn't even trying, and I was already struggling.
"You're strong," Luke observed, circling me. "Good reflexes too. But you're holding the sword like you're expecting it to bite you."
"It's not comfortable," I admitted, adjusting my grip.
"Try a shield with it?" He grabbed a round shield from the weapon rack and tossed it to me.
I caught it, strapped it to my arm, and immediately felt more unbalanced. The weight distribution was all wrong. I tried the stance again, shield up, sword ready.
Luke came at me, and this time I felt even more awkward. The shield kept getting in my way. I blocked too high, too low, too late. Within seconds, Luke had tapped his practice sword against my ribs three times.
"Dead, dead, and dead," he said cheerfully. "The sword and shield combo is classic Greek style, but it's not for everyone."
By now, I'd noticed we weren't alone anymore.
Campers were gathering at the edges of the arena. Just a few at first—curious kids wondering what was happening. But word was spreading fast.
"That's the new kid," someone whispered.
"The one who threw Clarisse?"
"Let's watch!"
I tried to ignore them, but it was hard when I could feel dozens of eyes on me.
"Let's try other weapons," Chiron suggested. "Sometimes it takes experimentation to find what suits you."
---The Weapon Hunt---
Over the next twenty minutes, I tried everything.
A spear—too long, didn't feel right in my hands.
A short sword—better, but still not quite there.
An axe—too brutal, no finesse.
Dual daggers—too close-quarters for my comfort.
The crowd kept growing. I could see the Stoll brothers now, making commentary and probably placing bets. Some Ares kids watching with hostile glares—including Clarisse, her arms crossed, still showing faint burn marks from yesterday.
"Try the bow," Chiron suggested, rolling over with a recurve bow and quiver.
I took it, feeling the weight, the balance. Drew the string back experimentally.
"Good form," Chiron observed. "Natural posture. Try the target."
I nocked an arrow, drew, aimed at the target fifty feet away, and released.
THUNK.
The arrow buried itself in the second ring from the center.
"Excellent!" Chiron said. "Try again."
I did. This time, closer to the bullseye.
"You have natural talent for archery," Chiron said, and I could hear the approval in his voice. "Very natural. With training, you could be exceptional."
But even as I lowered the bow, something felt... incomplete. The bow was good. I was good with it. But it didn't feel like mine.
I was scanning the weapon racks, looking for something else to try, when I saw it.
Pushed into the corner, half-hidden behind regular swords and spears, was something that didn't belong.
It was a sword—no, a greatsword. Massive, brutal-looking, with a straight blade that seemed to go on forever. The handle was long enough for two hands, the blade thick and intimidating. It looked less like a weapon and more like a piece of metal someone had sharpened out of spite.
"What's that?" I asked, pointing.
Chiron followed my gaze and sighed. "Ah. One of Charles Beckendorf's experiments. From the Hephaestus cabin—they're our forgers and craftsmen. Charles is quite talented, but that particular piece was... unsuccessful."
"Why?"
"It's too heavy, too unwieldy. Designed for a fighting style that doesn't really exist anymore—full armor combat, trading mobility for raw power. Modern demigods fight light and fast. That sword requires you to be willing to take hits while you deliver them. No one's been able to use it effectively."
I walked over to it, drawn by something I couldn't explain.
The crowd noticed. I heard whispers.
"Is he going for that thing?"
"No way he can even lift it..."
I reached out and gripped the handle.
It was heavy. Really heavy. My arms strained as I lifted it, and I immediately understood why no one used it. This thing would slow you down, leave you open, make you vulnerable.
But in my hands...
It felt right.
I took a few experimental swings. The blade cut through the air with a satisfying whoosh. Yes, it was heavy. Yes, it was slow. But that weight, that momentum—there was power in it. Devastating power.
"Interesting choice," Chiron said, rolling closer. "Do you think you can actually wield it?"
"Only one way to find out," I said.
Luke looked skeptical but game. "All right. Let's see what you can do with that monster."
I hefted the greatsword into a two-handed grip. It was awkward—I had no formal training with something like this. But somehow, instinctively, I knew what to do.
Plant your feet. Watch your opponent. When they commit to an attack, you commit harder.
Luke circled me cautiously. "Ready?"
I nodded.
He came in fast—testing me, seeing if the heavy weapon would make me too slow to defend. His practice sword flicked toward my side.
I didn't try to block with finesse. I just swung.
The greatsword came around in a wide, brutal arc. Luke barely managed to parry, and even then, the force of my swing sent him stumbling backward.
His eyes widened. "Okay. That's... that's a lot of power."
I advanced, keeping the pressure on. Another swing—heavy, committed, unstoppable. Luke dodged this time rather than block, smart enough to know he couldn't match that force.
"You're leaving yourself open," he called out, dancing back. "That wind-up is huge. I could—"
He darted in during my recovery, his practice sword aimed at my exposed ribs.
Golden light flashed.
The Kavach materialized across my torsoinstantly, solid plates of divine armor that Luke's sword bounced off harmlessly.
"—or not," Luke finished, staring at the armor in disbelief.
I grinned, the armor fading as quickly as it had appeared. "I don't need to dodge if I can just take the hit."
"That's..." Chiron leaned forward in his wheelchair, eyes sharp. "That's deliberate manifestation. You controlled it. Summoned only what you needed, exactly when you needed it."
"It felt natural," I said, lowering the greatsword. "Like muscle memory."
Luke was shaking his head, half-amused, half-impressed. "So your fighting style is basically 'hit them really hard and tank through their response.' That's... actually terrifying."
"Can you do it again?" Chiron asked. "The armor manifestation?"
I focused, reaching for that warmth inside me. The golden light flared, and the Kavach formed across my chest—not the full suit like yesterday, just the chestplate. I held it for a moment, then let it fade.
"Impressive," Chiron murmured. "Most demigods with summoned equipment can't control it that precisely. It's all or nothing. But you're activating specific pieces as needed."
"Is that unusual?"
"Very. It suggests either incredible control or..." He paused. "...or the armor is more than just a manifestation of power. It's something else. Something with its own consciousness, perhaps."
Karna's Kavach, I thought. A divine gift from Surya himself, fused with his son at birth. If anything could have consciousness, it would be that.
The crowd around the arena had grown significantly. I heard excited whispers.
"Did you see the armor?"
"He just tanked Luke's hit!"
"That sword is massive..."
"He's definitely Big Three material..."
Chiron noticed the attention. "I think that's enough for today. Well done, Aditya. You've found your style—power, endurance, and controlled defense. Very effective, if unorthodox."
As the crowd dispersed, many of them glancing back at me with new respect or fear, Luke came over and clapped me on the shoulder.
"That was wild, man. You're going to be a beast once you get some proper training." He grinned. "Just try not to accidentally flatten any more Ares kids, okay?"
I laughed. "No promises."
As I walked back toward the Big House, greatsword slung awkwardly over my shoulder, I heard the whispers.
"Big Three for sure..."
"Has to be Zeus, right? The power level?"
"Or Poseidon?"
"Definitely not Hades..."
I sighed. They were trying to fit me into their framework, their understanding of how things worked.
If only they knew.
---The Interrogation---
Lunch was a blur. Everyone stared at me. The Aphrodite table kept giggling and waving. The Ares table glared. The Athena table watched with calculating eyes.
I ate quickly and excused myself.
Annabeth caught me before I could escape.
"We need to talk," she said, falling into step beside me. "About what you are."
"I'm just—"
"Don't." She held up a hand. "I've been watching you. Taking notes. And I have a theory."
We'd reached a quiet spot near the strawberry fields. She turned to face me, her expression serious.
"You're a child of one of the Big Three," she said. "Zeus, Poseidon, or Hades. It's the only explanation."
I blinked. "What?"
"Think about it," she continued, warming to her theory. "The power level—you threw four Ares kids like they were nothing. The divine armor—that's not normal demigod manifestation. The energy signature—Chiron said it felt foreign, different. Because you're trying to hide it, right? Big Three children aren't supposed to exist."
"That's not—"
"The fact that you can't read Ancient Greek," she pressed on. "At first I thought it was weird, but now it makes sense. You're blocking it somehow, hiding your divine heritage. Making yourself seem more mysterious, less identifiable."
"Annabeth—"
"And the special treatment! Your own room in the Big House? Chiron never does that unless someone is incredibly powerful or dangerous. You're both."
She looked at me triumphantly. "So which one is it? Zeus? That would explain the power, the presence. Poseidon? That might explain the... foreignness. Or Hades? That would definitely explain why you're hiding it."
I stared at her, completely speechless.
She had built an entire theory. A wrong theory, but an internally consistent one that explained everything she'd observed. And the worst part? I couldn't correct her without revealing the truth—that I was from a completely different pantheon.
"I..." I started, then stopped. What could I say?
Annabeth's expression softened. "Look, I get it. The Big Three made a pact. You're not supposed to exist. But you're here now, and you're clearly powerful. I just want to understand."
"It's complicated," I said finally. "More complicated than you think."
"I can handle complicated."
"Not this complicated."
She studied me for a long moment, then nodded slowly. "Okay. You don't have to tell me. But I want you to know—I won't tell anyone my theory. If you're trying to stay hidden, I'll respect that."
"Annabeth, you really don't—"
"Just promise me something," she interrupted. "Whatever you are, whoever your parent is—use your power to help people. Don't let it corrupt you. Big Three children... they tend to be either really great or really terrible. No in-between."
I thought about that. About Karna, the greatest archer who ever lived, who'd fought on the wrong side of a war because of loyalty and pride. About the gods who'd sent me here as cosmic retribution against Zeus.
"I'll try," I said honestly. "That's all I can promise."
She smiled. "That's enough."
As she walked away, I heard her mutter to herself, "Definitely Big Three. The power signature, the armor, the mystery... I need to research more..."
I groaned and headed back to the Big House.
This was going to be a long month.
---Evening - The Big House---
Chiron found me on the porch after dinner, watching the sun set over Long Island Sound.
"Quite a day," he observed, settling his wheelchair beside me.
"Yeah."
"You handled it well. The training, the attention, even Miss Chase's interrogation."
I glanced at him. "You knew she'd ambush me with a theory?"
"I suspected. Annabeth has a brilliant mind and insatiable curiosity. A dangerous combination." He chuckled. "Though I must say, her Big Three theory is... creative."
"But wrong."
"Is it?" He looked at me curiously. "You're certainly powerful enough to be a child of the Big Three. The armor alone suggests divine parentage of significant strength."
I said nothing.
"You don't have to tell me," Chiron said gently. "Not yet. But understand—this camp has seen many children with complicated parentage, painful pasts, and secrets they weren't ready to share. You're safe here, Aditya. Whatever you are, wherever you came from, you're safe."
Something in my chest loosened. "Thank you."
We sat in comfortable silence for a while.
"The sword suits you," Chiron said eventually. "And the armor... I've never seen anything quite like it. It reminds me of descriptions from ancient texts. Warriors who wore divine armor gifted by gods. Impenetrable, radiant, legendary."
Karna, I thought. The Kavach and Kundal he was born with. The armor and earrings that made him invincible.
"Tomorrow," Chiron continued, "we'll start proper training. Weapon drills, power control, combat scenarios. You're powerful, but raw. Untrained. And if you're going to stay here, you need to learn not just how to fight, but when to fight. And when to walk away."
"Like with Clarisse?"
"Exactly. She pushed your buttons deliberately. Made it personal. Got exactly the reaction she wanted. Next time, you'll know better."
"Next time, I'll just set her on fire from the start," I muttered.
Chiron laughed—actually laughed. "I didn't hear that. But between you and me? The Ares cabin could use some humility. They've been getting a bit cocky lately."
As the last light faded from the sky, I felt something settle in my chest. This place, this camp—it wasn't home. Not yet. Maybe never.
But it was somewhere.
And for now, that was enough.
That Night
I lay in my bed in the Big House, the massive greatsword propped against the wall beside me. Through the window, I could see the cabins lit by torches, could hear the distant sounds of campers settling in for the night.
One month.
One month until Percy Jackson arrived and the real story began.
One month to train, to prepare, to get stronger.
And somewhere out there, Hermes—the god who'd killed me, who'd been texting and driving through reality itself—had no idea I existed.
Which was probably for the best.
Not because I wanted revenge.
But because one day, I was going to make things very, very awkward.