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[indent] [color=#ffffff]Rae didn’t know what she expected from a journey to a mysterious camp for demigods, but this sure as hell wasn’t it so far. [/color]

[color=#ffffff]Part of her thought there’d be, like… floating staircases, maybe? Some talking animals. Maybe some Hogwarts-level nonsense where she was met by some mystical train or some other form of transportation. Shit, she'd half-expected a centaur with a clipboard to meet her at the airport and say something like, [i]“Ah yes, another latent Chosen One. Do try not to die, will you?”[/i][/color]

[color=#ffffff]Instead?[/color]

[color=#ffffff]Trees.[/color]
[color=#ffffff]So many trees. 
And rocks. And snow. 
And an unfortunate lack of an epic John Williams or Howard Shore soundtrack to accompany her all along.   [/color]

[color=#ffffff]So…yay? [/color]

[color=#ffffff]Rae huffed, slowing her steps and temporarily letting go of her suitcase to pull the map she was given from her coat pocket. She unfolded it with care, even though the corners had already gone soft from travel. The ink had smudged slightly—probably from the oil that had been on her fingers at the time—but the markings were still legible: a rough sketch of the campgrounds along with directions to it, labelled in that same unmistakable handwriting she’d come to associate with [i]him[/i]. 

Her father’s handwriting. [/color]

[color=#ffffff]She still wasn’t sure what tripped her out more: that he’d shown up and handed her a map at all...or that he’d written it by his own hand. A personally scrawled guide from a god who could melt steel beams with his fingers.[/color]

[i][color=#3b9ae1]Pretty damn gnarly[/color][/i].

[color=#ffffff]She hadn’t forgotten the way he’d just appeared in the machine shop that night and how he’d reshaped her warped housing unit with his bare hand, like it was nothing. Like [i]she[/i] was nothing special. And then he’d just…dipped without so much as a heartfelt goodbye or explanation. Just a nod, and this janky little map with scribbled notes at the bottom:[/color]

[center][img]https://i.postimg.cc/XY6X7Kz7/Thalia-Evercrest-removebg-preview-1.png[/img][/center]

[color=#ffffff]Rae exhaled, stuffing the map back into her coat. The air was colder here than she’d expected, the kind of chill that seeped into your bones if you stood still too long. Not that it bothered her much. Her body, after all,  ran hotter than most. A lovely (and honestly, clutch) side effect of the whole firestarter gene pool. [/color]

[color=#ffffff]The crunch of snow under her boots softened as the trees began to spread apart. Rae paused, pushing a stubborn curl of hair from her face where the wind kept tossing it. The ground here felt different; flatter, more packed down, like hundreds of feet had worn this path before hers. The cold air tugged at her coat like an impatient child, but she barely registered it.[/color]

[color=#ffffff]Because there, just ahead through the swirling snow, something almost unnatural rose from the wilderness.[/color]

[color=#ffffff]Iron. Big, tall, fortified iron gates. The kind that made Rae instinctively check her pockets and tighten her grip on the handle of her wheeled suitcase, as if expecting a security check. They stood like a wall of “keep out”, or maybe “you’ve been expected”. Either way, she couldn’t stop herself from mumbling a [/color][color=#3b9ae1]“Yikes”[/color][color=#ffffff] under her breath, ever so slowly dragging her suitcase forward. [/color]

[color=#ffffff]What was this, a boarding school for magical delinquents? [/color]

[color=#ffffff]It couldn’t be, though, because she just wasn’t that girl.[/color]

[color=#ffffff]Rae had never been bad. Awkward? Sure. Blunt? Sometimes. But bad? No way. She was the kid who always handed in her lab reports early, who colour-coded her notes even when she swore she wasn’t that kind of person. She got scholarships because she worked her ass off, not because she charmed professors or knew how to play “the game”, as Wesley sometimes liked to put it. [/color]

[color=#ffffff]Speaking of Wes…her record was clean, save for one stupid incident with him back in high school that somehow still made her cringe to think about.  A smoke bomb. A homemade one. Meant for testing airflow mechanics in enclosed spaces and [i]not[/i] for setting off in the ventilation system during a school-wide standardized test.[/color]

[color=#ffffff]To be fair, Wes had dared her. To be even fairer, she’d laughed so hard afterwards despite nearly failing physics because of the whole ordeal. She probably [i]would[/i] have failed, too, if she hadn’t begged her teacher for a retake with the kind of exhausted sincerity that only a sleep-deprived perfectionist could manage. That, and the fact that she showed up the next day with a twelve-page report on ventilation systems and the thermodynamic properties of aerosol dispersal under duress. (Complete with citations.)[/color]

[color=#ffffff]Her teacher, bless her, had sighed like someone who regretted choosing this career and said, [/color][b][color=#ffffff]“You're lucky you're brilliant.”[/color][/b]

[color=#ffffff]So no, Rae wasn’t some wild-child rule-breaker. She was a walking contradiction: the kind of girl who could hack a coffee machine to pour triple espresso shots and remind you to stay hydrated. So why did the whole scene in front of her look like the opening to a Resident Evil game? All it was missing, at this point, was a creepy piano theme and a voice saying, “Welcome to the nightmare.”[/color]

[color=#ffffff]The massive iron gates towered over Rae as she approached, their blackened metal streaked with frost like veins of ice. Each step forward made them appear more imposing, and as she came to a full stop, she tilted her head back to take in their full height.[/color]

[color=#3b9ae1]“Alright,”[/color][color=#ffffff] she muttered, narrowing her eyes at the unwelcoming hunk of metal. [/color][color=#3b9ae1]“Now, how do I get past you?” [/color][color=#ffffff]Rubbing her gloved hands together for warmth despite her natural heat resistance, her eyes scanned the gate's surface, searching for any sign of a handle, a button, or, knowing her luck, some kind of magical puzzle that required solving. Just as she was considering whether she'd need to melt her way through ( which, even if she could do it, it was bound to make a bad first impression surely), a glint of metal caught her attention near the base. She crouched down, brushing away the accumulated snow with quick swipes of her glove to reveal a black panel about the size of a playing card embedded in the iron.[/color]

[color=#3b9ae1]“Ohhh,”[/color][color=#ffffff] Rae said under her breath. [/color][color=#3b9ae1]“Now, [i]there’s[/i] the dystopian tech I’ve been waiting for.”[/color]

[color=#ffffff]She hesitated for half a second before pulling off her gloves and pressing her thumb against the box. All the while, she sent a hopeful prayer in her mind to the high heavens that if this was truly a horror game, that at least she be regarded as one of the main characters that lived to see another day, like Claire Redfield. Except, you know, without the badassery. [/color]

[color=#ffffff][i]Click.[/i][/color]

[color=#ffffff]The response was immediate. A low mechanical groan hummed through the air, followed by the sharp screech of cold iron joints as the gates began to open slowly, parting just wide enough for one person and a suitcase with squeaky wheels. Rae glanced once over her shoulder at the snowy path behind her. Then, with a resigned huff, she yanked the handle of her suitcase upright and mumbled, [/color][color=#3b9ae1]“Well… here goes my protagonist arc,”[/color][color=#ffffff] before stepping through.[/color][hr] 
[color=#ffffff]The gates eased shut behind her with a finality that made Rae’s stomach flip. [/color]

[color=#ffffff]But also…was it just her, or? [/color]

[color=#ffffff]She took a hesitant step forward, then another, her boots sinking slightly into the snow... except wait. The snow here was a bit patchy and somewhat melting. And the air? It had changed completely. Gone was the biting winter chill, replaced by a warmth so sudden it made her head spin.[/color]

[color=#ffffff]Rae blinked up at the nearest signpost like it might explain this meteorological nonsense. Her eyes followed its arrow to a little kiosk that looked like it belonged in a national park, complete with a wooden roof and plastic display case. Inside hung a map so detailed it made her father's scribbled notes look like cave drawings. Cabins, training grounds, even something marked “Beach”, all laid out before her. [/color]

[color=#3b9ae1]“Jackpot,”[/color][color=#ffffff] she muttered, snagging a copy before turning back to the path... only to stop dead.[/color]

[color=#3b9ae1]“Seriously, what the actual hell?” [/color][color=#ffffff]The words burst out before she could stop them. The temperature had spiked from “unseasonably warm” to “surface of the sun” in the thirty seconds she'd been distracted. Her heavy winter coat, perfectly reasonable attire two minutes ago, now felt like a sauna suit. With clumsy, irritated movements, she wrestled it off, nearly dropping both the map and her suitcase in the process. The coat, with her gloves stuffed into its pockets, ended up slung over her shoulder by the end. [/color]

[color=#ffffff]Underneath, her outfit - black cargo pants, fitted tee, and a striped knit sweater she'd impulse-bought during finals week - was already sticking to her skin. She shoved the sweater sleeves up to her elbows, the wool suddenly unbearably warm against her fire-resistant skin.[/color]

[color=#3b9ae1]“This is some Jurassic Park climate dome bullshit,”[/color][color=#ffffff] she grumbled, plucking at her sweat-damp shirt. Even her curls felt heavier in the humid air, clinging to her forehead like they, too, were exhausted by this entire conundrum.[/color]

[color=#ffffff]Then the trees parted like stage curtains, and the rest of Rae's complaints died in her throat.[/color]

[color=#ffffff]Before her sprawled a scene straight out of some fantasy novel,  if fantasy novels had a killer sound system and a huge countdown clock signalling the end of the year. A massive bonfire roared at the center, its flames dancing in time with the pulsing music. To one side, an ice rink glittered under strings of fairy lights, the incongruous mix of fire and ice somehow working. Campers swarmed between a food table and a makeshift bar, their talking and dancing blending into a constant hum of energy.[/color]

[color=#ffffff]Rae's grip on her suitcase handle turned white-knuckled as the scene before her unfolded in overwhelming detail. This wasn't just a camp her father had sent her to; she was beginning to see this now.  It was a living, breathing organism, and she stood frozen at its periphery, an uninvited guest at a party she didn't know how to join.  Like it was high school all over again.[/color]

[color=#ffffff]She could almost feel it in her spine, that cold, twitchy awareness of standing just outside the circle. The lunch periods spent pretending to study while actually counting the minutes until class; group projects where she did all the work while others took credit; the way conversations would pause just a bit too long when she approached. She hadn't been bullied exactly, just... overlooked. The scholarship kid with grease under her fingernails and thrift store clothes, too smart to ignore but too different for anyone to truly include.[/color]

[color=#ffffff]Except for Wes. Wes, who'd sauntered through social barriers like they didn't exist. He'd plop down next to her in the cafeteria with that infuriating smile, stealing fries off her tray like they'd been friends forever. He'd make terrible jokes just to see her roll her eyes, defend her with cutting remarks when others tried to diminish her, and look at her like she was someone worth looking at. That had meant something, maybe too much, if she was honest with herself. Which she usually wasn't.[/color]

[color=#ffffff]College had been her fresh start. No more waiting for invitations that never came. She'd built her own place in the world: the machine shop at 2 AM, her workbench covered in half-finished projects, the quiet satisfaction of creating something no one else could. She'd told herself that the insecure girl was gone, that she'd outgrown needing anyone's approval.[/color]

[color=#ffffff]Yet here she stood, twenty feet from a crowd of strangers, that old uncertainty curling in her stomach. The suitcase wheels squeaked as she shifted her weight, the sound barely audible over the music. Her free hand found the edge of the map in her pants pocket, the paper crinkling under her fingers. She could almost hear Wes's voice in her head: “Don't overthink it, Lewski.”  Easy for him to say, though.  He'd never overthought anything in his life.[/color]

[color=#ffffff]Rae let out a slow breath, her gaze drawn irresistibly to the roaring bonfire at the camp's center. Even from twenty feet away, she could feel its comforting heat pulsing against her skin in steady waves, familiar and strangely reassuring amidst all this unfamiliarity. Fire had always made sense to her in ways people never did. While the thought of introducing herself to strangers made her stomach twist, the fire asked nothing of her but to stand nearby and exist.[/color]

She glanced down at the coat still slung over her shoulder, hesitating. It was too warm for it now, and honestly, with her internal thermostat, probably always would be. She eyed the firepit for a second, debated, then draped it over the back of an empty chair nearby with a mutter:[color=#3b9ae1]“You’re officially benched.”[/color]

[color=#ffffff]And then Rae started walking.[/color]

[color=#ffffff]As she neared the fire, the orange light hit her from the side, highlighting the copper in her curls, turning them almost molten. She stopped just shy of the inner circle and next to a pair of campers, a pretty girl and another person with a ukulele in their hand. She was, however, close enough to feel the heat but not so close as to intrude on their conversation. In fact, no one was paying her much attention, which she supposed was a blessing in disguise just for her. Because, for now, she could just be a girl standing near a fire, pretending her suitcase wasn’t still clutched in one hand like a security blanket.[/color]

[color=#3b9ae1]“Happy almost freakin’ New Year,” [/color][color=#ffffff]Rae whispered to the flames, her voice barely audible over the crackling logs and distant music. The countdown clock ticked away somewhere behind her, not just marking the new year but also serving as an accompaniment to the beginning of something she didn't yet understand.[/color]

[/indent][hr]Location: Party, near the bonfire
Interactions: Open/ N/A
Mentions: Wes, Ocean, Marlen