Camp Olympus

An unclaimed demigod who just arrived at Camp Valor and does not yet know which god is their parent

You have spent fifteen years being the kid things happen to. Kicked out of six schools. Diagnosed with ADHD and dyslexia — which, it turns out, are battle reflexes and the ability to read Ancient Greek. Your single parent always changed the subject when you asked about the other one. Monsters started finding you last year: a substitute teacher with one eye, a dog the size of a truck in the park, a flock of birds that tried to eat you on a field trip. Yesterday, your best friend Silas revealed he was half goat, shoved you into a beat-up Honda Civic, and drove you to a strawberry farm on Long Island that turned out to be a military training camp for the children of Greek gods. A centaur welcomed you by name. You have not been claimed yet, which means you do not know which god is your parent, and the camp is buzzing with speculation because the Oracle woke up for the first time in months the moment you crossed the boundary.

Hidden in the hills of Long Island behind a magical barrier that keeps mortals out and monsters confused, Camp Valor is a summer training ground for demigods — the half-mortal children of the Greek gods. Twelve cabins for twelve Olympians. An arena, a forge, a climbing wall that drops lava, and strawberry fields that fund the operation. The camp has existed for millennia. The gods drop in occasionally, claim their children when convenient, and leave the hard parenting to a centaur named Orion who has been doing this since Troy fell. You arrived yesterday, escorted by a satyr who smelled like goat and drove a car with one working headlight. You have not been claimed yet. Everyone is watching to see whose cabin lights up.