Chapter 8 - Chapter 8: Storm and Banner

Cynthia's POVCynthia Morales gripped Grover's sodden arm tighter as they stumbled down the Big House hallway, her sneakers squelching on polished wood. Rain hammered the windows outside, lightning cracking like the gods themselves were arguing. The boy beside her—Percy, Grover had gasped—smelled of ozone and salt, his black hair dripping rivulets down a face pale from shock. Sea-green eyes darted wild, taking in tapestries of heroes, nymph vases whispering. New kid. Bad timing, she thought, twelve-year-old mind matured but naive to the storm's weight.Medbay doors swung; Chiron's hooves clopped urgent. "Lay him here," the centaur ordered, nymph healers fluttering. Cynthia eased Grover onto a cot, her lean arms straining less than Percy's trembling ones. "He's… satyr friend?" she asked Percy quietly, wiping rain from her olive face, dark waves slicked back."Yeah. Grover Underwood. Saved me." Percy's voice cracked, athletic frame shaking. Looks tough, but scared. Like me first time.Mr. D loomed, Diet Coke fizzing. "Great. Another hero wannabe. Jackson, rest. Storm gods' tantrum."Chiron wheeled closer, blue eyes piercing Percy. "You've reached camp safely. Rest now—explanations tomorrow."Cynthia lingered as Percy slumped beside Grover, exhausted. Who's he? Water weirdness? Smart instincts noted his ease near the rain scent. She squeezed Grover's hand—"Hang on"—then slipped out, heart tugging unclaimed worry. Another Hermes bunkmate?Next days, Percy integrated chaos. Breakfast pavilion: campers stared at the twelve-year-old newcomer bunking Hermes, mystery dad unspoken. Cynthia sat nearby, passing bread. "Cyn," she introduced simple. Percy nodded wary, sea-green eyes scanning—Luke's cool welcome, Stoll pranks teased.Training montage blurred: Percy's sword mediocre like hers, raw strength shining. Archery? Decent, Cynthia coaching excellent form: "Elbow up." He grinned—"Thanks"—friendship sparking quiet. Hand-to-hand: his grapples solid vs. her excellent pins; laughs traded.Annabeth watched hungry, gray eyes calculating. "Potential," she muttered spars-side.Clarisse La Rue cornered him brutal— Ares electric spear zap, toilet humiliation. Cynthia found him post, soaked furious. "Jerks," she said plain, tossing towel. "Clarisse tests everyone. Survive, you fit."Percy dried hair. "You survived?""Two years. Unclaimed club." Shared jerky; he vented mom-loss, Grover tales. Real. Like family.Chiron announced capture-the-flag: teams blue (Athena, Hermes, Poseidon?) vs. red (Ares lead). "Strategy key." Cynthia's heart raced—Prove worth.Percy's POVPercy Jackson woke sore in Hermes cabin, bunk chaos overwhelming. Curly-haired Grover snored nearby, satyr buddy real as lightning. Camp Half-Blood: strawberry fields endless, pegasi flying, cabins Greek-wild. Mom gone. Gods? Sea-green eyes adjusted to orange-shirt stares.Chiron: wheelchair grandpa by day, centaur wise at night—knew myths, explained demigods calm. "Your father… powerful sea god?" Mystery dad gnawed; Percy dreamed waves, horses.Mr. D: grumpy camp director, soda eternal, wine-god bored. "Don't bore me, Jackson."Annabeth Chase: blond strategist, gray eyes intense, dagger quick. "Prove useful," she'd snap spars, but loaned books—smart scary, quest-eager weird. Like knows secrets.Cynthia Morales: quiet twelve-year-old Hermes girl, dark hair waves, obsidian eyes deep. Lean strong, beauty natural—graceful shots, kind towel post-Clarisse zap. "Unclaimed too," she'd said towel-toss, jerky shared. Archery coach excellent, pins fierce hand-to-hand. Steady. Trusts slow, but real. Spars fun—her knives flashed, spears solid; his sword clashed mediocre laughs.Luke Castellan: cool older Hermes, gold hair, sword-master. "Cabin's yours." Travis/Connor: prank twins, redhead mayhem.Clarisse: bully queen, spear electric hell. Toilet dunk burned.Training ramped: lava wall climbs (fell once, Cynthia pulled up laughing), canoe races (water liked him weird). Capture-the-flag loomed—blue team Annabeth lead, Cynthia flanking smart.3rd PersonEvents built tension. Morning drills: Percy's sword Riptide hummed, mediocre forms Cynthia critiqued gentle—"Wrist snap." Annabeth plotted creek defense, gray eyes fever-bright quest-hint.Afternoon: Clarisse taunts escalated, Ares red team smirking. Luke coached blue: "Flank hard." Cynthia nodded, spears prepped very good, knives sheathed excellent.Pavilion dinner nerves hummed—prophecy whispers faded, but Percy's mystery dad loomed. Chiron eyed him thoughtful. "Banner tonight decides alliances."Dusk fell; teams armored. Blue: Annabeth ponytail fierce, Percy shield-nervous, Cynthia bow-ready graceful, Hermes Stolls sneaky. Red: Clarisse spear-glow, Ares brutes.Horn blared. Forest exploded—swords clash, arrows whistle. Cynthia's archery excellent sniped red scouts, knives flashed hand-to-hand takedowns. Spears very good charged flanks. Percy fought raw, mediocre sword holding vs. Clarisse lackeys.Creek defense held; Annabeth strategies smart, Cynthia instincts seamless. Red pushed—Clarisse spear crackled toward Percy.Lightning split sky—not storm, sign. Water swirled Percy wild, trident hologram blazed gold: Poseidon's claim. Camp gasped; blue roared. Banner snatched victory.Percy stared sky-dazed, sea-green eyes awed. Cynthia lowered bow nearby, heart twinge unclaimed. His turn. Mine?