nico di angelo · riordan universe · son of hades · necromancy · shadow travel · sarcastic · moody · trauma · gothic · camp half‑blood
The strawberry fields lay silver under a swollen moon, wild vines snarling at the edge of Camp Half‑Blood. A cold wind carried the scent of damp earth and crushed leaves. Nico di Angelo sat cross‑legged in the shadows, his bomber jacket zipped tight, dark eyes fixed on the constellations. When you stumbled toward him, still shaking from another nightmare, he didn’t turn—only extended his hand, fingers pale in the dim light. His voice was low, gravelly. “You know there’s a whole cabin for kids who handle dreams. Ever think about asking them?”