The journey to Camp Half-Blood was tense, a silent testament to the unnatural alliance forged on the Pensacola coast. Rainbow, Percy's familiar Hippocampus friend, and another of his kind, cut through the water with powerful strokes, their backs burdened not just by demigods, but by a volatile, uneasy peace. Percy rode Rainbow, his gaze fixed on the horizon, his jaw set. Behind him, Nico rode the second Hippocampus, his presence unnerving it, while Corina clung to its neck, still trembling from the revelations on the beach. Cyrus, bound securely with celestial bronze ropes conjured by Nico, rode uneasily behind her, his rage now simmering beneath a layer of palpable fear, a direct consequence of Percy's chilling composure.

The golden fleece marking the camp's border came into view, its magical barrier shimmering. The Hippocampi surged through, bringing them into the comforting, yet now jarringly normal, world of Camp Half-Blood. Word of their arrival must have preceded them, as Chiron was waiting by the Big House, his centaur form radiating quiet concern. Mr. D, as usual, was sprawled in a deck chair, a diet coke in hand, looking utterly bored.

"Percy, Nico," Chiron greeted, his ancient eyes sweeping over them, lingering momentarily on the bound Cyrus and the distraught Corina. His gaze then flickered to the Hippocampi, who nudged Percy affectionately before returning to the sea. "It seems...a great deal has transpired."

"You could say that, Chiron," Percy replied, his voice flat, devoid of its usual warmth when speaking to the centaur. He jumped down from Rainbow, Riptide already capped and in his pocket, but his posture remained rigid, alert. "We have some things to discuss. Important things."

Mr. D scoffed, without opening his eyes. "Oh, do we now? More demigod dramatics? Can't you children ever just have a quiet vacation?"

No one bothered to answer him. He was a constant, unhelpful presence, a background hum of divine apathy they had long learned to ignore.

Chiron, however, stepped forward, his expression grave. "Come inside. All of you." His eyes held a deep sadness as he looked at Cyrus and Corina. "And bring your...guests, Percy. We have much to unravel."

Inside the Big House, the familiar scent of pine and strawberry mingled with the dampness of their clothes and the lingering tang of sea salt. Cyrus was secured to a sturdy, magically reinforced chair in the center of the room, watched carefully by Nico, who remained alert, shadows coiling subtly around his hands. Corina huddled in a corner, unable to meet anyone's gaze. Percy stood apart, arms crossed, a silent, dark statue.

Chiron poured himself a cup of tea, his movements deliberate. "Percy, Nico, you mentioned certain...unsettling developments on the coast. And Corina, your words to Percy, would you elaborate on them? Although most enlightening, they were incomplete." He casted a meaningful look at Percy, acknowledging the information he'd already shared.

"It was Mother," Corina whispered, her voice still hoarse. "As I told Percy, she changed. Her storms weren't just violent, they were wild, uncontrolled. As if something...something had seeped into her very being. She spoke of things...things she shouldn't have known, things that were not hers to t— no, not only that, they were absolutely out of her domain. And Cyrus...he absorbed it. Somehow, I don’t know why but maybe because he has always been the most like mother, the closest to her."

Chiron nodded slowly, his gaze distant, as if sifting through millennia of lore. "Indeed. Your description, Corina, aligns with some recent...peculiar findings. We have been investigating certain anomalies. Disturbances in the wildest, most untouched corners of nature. Places where the earth groans and the air hums with a power that feels...ancient, yet warped."

He paused, looking directly at Percy, then at Nico. "After piecing together tidbits from Apollo's cryptic warning, Triton's concerns, and now your experience, I consulted with...those who are most attuned to the pulse of the wild."

A flicker of recognition crossed Percy's face, cold and swift. He knew who Chiron meant. "So you mean…?"

"Yes, Percy, Grover and the other satyrs," Chiron continued, his voice heavy with a profound, almost sorrowful weight. "They have been feeling it. A lingering presence. A subtle power thought to have passed entirely to Grover, yet somehow...clinging on. Stronger. Concentrated in fragments, like shards of a broken mirror, reflecting pure, untamed madness."

He looked from Corina to Cyrus, then back to the demigods. "They have discovered that there are still remains of Pan's power. Not his benevolent, nurturing spirit, no. But the raw, untamed essence of the Wild God. The part of him that embodied pure, unadulterated nature, devoid of reason or restraint. It seems a fragment of his primordial essence has...endured. And, it would seem, your mother, Kymopoleia, stumbled upon one such fragment, inadvertently becoming a conduit for its chaotic influence. And Cyrus here, being most like her, was strongly influenced by it."

A chilling silence fell, broken only by Mr. D's uninterested sniff. Nico's eyes, wide with understanding, connected the dots. A primordial shard of Pan's wildness. It explained everything: Kymopoleia's escalating, unpredictable madness, her sudden, specific knowledge and Cyrus's terrifying transformation from arrogant demigod to vengeful, corrupted monster.

Nico shifted, his gaze involuntarily drawn to Percy. Pan's essence. It was worse than he'd imagined, yet also...a new kind of terror. He'd come to Percy not just out of concern, but with a hidden, desperate hope. His father, Hades, had sent him with a message, delivered in a voice more weary than usual. Hades, who rarely did favors for anyone, especially not for a living demigod. 'She wasn't due, Nico,' his father's voice echoed in his mind, solemn and deep. 'Her thread was cut, but not by fate's hand. Not yet. A ripple, a flaw in the weave. A favor, boy, for the part you and the Poseidon spawn played in Gaea's fall. I can release her. Her spirit still lingers, unclaimed by the deeper currents. Tell him. Tell Jackson I can release Annabeth. It would not be her time. Not yet.'

Nico had stared at the floor of the throne room, his heart a frantic drum. Annabeth. Alive. Or at least, reclaimable. The thought was intoxicating, a blinding light in the grim world Percy now inhabited. But looking at Percy now, cold and sharp as a shard of ice, Nico hesitated. Would the news even register? Or would it be too much, too soon, shatter what little was left of him? His father's favor, a gift beyond measure, suddenly felt like a ticking bomb. When was the right time to offer a miracle to a soul so utterly consumed by a self-forged hell?

Percy, however, remained impassive. "Pan," he murmured, the name just a breath. His green eyes, still dark as the abyss, flickered to Cyrus, then back to Chiron. "So, this isn't just vengeance anymore. It's...a problem." His voice was utterly calm, utterly without the usual shock or fear that such a revelation would have brought. The heroes were just now learning the true nature of this madness, but Percy was already calculating its implications, his mind cold and sharp as a newly forged blade. The vengeance would still come, but now, it had a target far older, and far more insidious, than just a grieving son.

Dinner at Camp Half-Blood was usually a chaotic, joyful affair, a symphony of clanking plates, boisterous laughter, and the crackle of the bonfire. Tonight, however, an undercurrent of unease permeated the air, a hushed awareness that something profound and unsettling had occurred. The news of Annabeth's death, though not yet widely known in its full, horrific detail, had cast a pall over the pavilion. Many campers looked towards Percy's table with worried glances, though none dared approach.

Percy sat at the head of the Poseidon table, alone as usual, but his customary indifference had shifted into something else entirely. He moved with a strange, almost methodical calm. He stacked his plate with scrambled eggs, pancakes, and a glimpse of his old self, a towering pile of blueberry muffins. As he ate, he methodically dipped each muffin in nectar, the sweet, golden liquid steaming faintly as it met the warm pastry. He ate with an almost surgical precision, each bite chewed thoroughly, swallowed deliberately. It wasn't enjoyment, not really, but a form of grounding, a familiar ritual in a world turned utterly alien.

Nico sat nearby at the Hades table, watching Percy with a mixture of concern and morbid fascination. He’d seen Percy angry, seen him grief-stricken, but this new, cold composure was something else entirely. It was terrifying in its quiet intensity.

Corina, granted temporary guest status and sitting at the Hermes table alongside a handful of wary campers, picked at her food, her eyes occasionally darting towards her brother, who remained secured in the Big House under Chiron's watchful eye. She still looked shell-shocked, barely registering the bustling activity around her.

After a meal that felt both interminable and strangely fleeting, Percy finished his last muffin. He wiped his mouth with a napkin, and for a fleeting moment, a ghost of his old self flickered - a memory of lighter times, of Annabeth laughing as he devoured an entire plate of blue cookies. The flicker vanished as quickly as it appeared, leaving behind the cold steel of his resolve.

He pushed his plate away and rose, his movements deliberate. The low hum of conversations died down, all eyes turning towards him. He walked straight to the Hermes table, stopping before Corina.

"Corina," Percy's voice was low, betraying nothing of his inner turmoil. "After what Chiron explained...I understand Cyrus was not entirely himself. The blame for Annabeth's death...it is still his to bear. But the root of this madness...that lies elsewhere."

Corina looked up, with surprise and a flicker of hope in her haunted eyes.

"He won't die," Percy continued, his gaze sweeping briefly over the pavilion, then returning to Corina. "Not by my hand. At least not yet, anyway. There's a greater threat now. A primal one." His green eyes, though still dark, held a terrifying new focus. "We need to understand this power, contain it, or destroy it. And to do that, we need answers. Answers that Cyrus, or perhaps your mother, can provide."

He paused, then added, "It's been a long day. You both need to rest. I asked Chiron to set up a place for you in the Poseidon cabin for tonight. It's...empty. And safe, for now."

Nico, at his table, nearly choked on his ambrosia. The Poseidon cabin? The one Percy guarded with such fierce possessiveness, where he and Annabeth had shared so many quiet moments? To offer it to his enemies, even if one was technically a victim of circumstance, was unthinkable. It wasn't an act of kindness, Nico realized with a jolt of dread. It was a calculated move. Percy was making a very clear statement: he would control the situation, he would keep his enemies close, and he would extract the information he needed, no matter the cost, no matter the personal offense. The old Percy would never have even considered it. The new Percy, cold and strategic, saw it only as a means to an end.

Corina stared at him, speechless. The Poseidon cabin. Percy Jackson, the grieving hero who had just promised her brother only death hours ago, was offering them his sanctuary. It was a chilling display of control, a pragmatic decision born from unimaginable pain.

"Thank you, Percy," Corina finally managed, almost choking, her voice barely a whisper, not quite understanding, but instinctively sensing the gravity of his offer. She glanced nervously at her bound brother in the Big House, then back at Percy. There would be no escape, not from him. But perhaps, now, a chance to understand this turmoil of madness.