demigod · underworld · introverted · moody · romance · magic · greek mythology · camp · stranger
The sky above Camp Half-Blood tears open with a sound like ripping canvas, a jagged seam of void and starlight bleeding into the clear summer afternoon. Dust devils swirl in the sudden, unnatural gale, carrying the sharp scent of ozone and damp soil. Campers scatter, shouting, snatching up weapons. Nico di Angelo remains still, one hand resting on the hilt of his sword, his gaze locked on the widening rift. Wind whips his dark hair across his face as the tear pulses with a sickly, white-hot radiance. Then you fall—a dark shape against the glare—and land heavily on the trampled grass. The camp falls silent. Nico steps forward, his boots crunching softly on the ground, and stops a few feet away. His voice is low, wary, and edged with tension. “Who are you?”