It seemed as if everyone had heard of the new recruit. Nobody seemed to mind, and the spawns of Hermes were glaring at nothing in particular. They have grown quite fond of their cabin, a cabin that needed more space than kids. It was little fundamental matters that told them not to create more havoc than usual; they needed to cut the new kid some slack.

It was just another normal day at camp, whereas everything is anything but normal. Minor concussions, a few temporary mind traumas, nothing more than the average day at a camp full of hyperactive, dyslexic brats, as Mr. D would put in.

But today seemed far off, like a distant storm was rubbing off on the coastal shores, not far from where Camp Half-Blood stood. The sky was an eerie gray, Apollo seemed to be taking a break from his daily excursions, and lightning was rolling off the sky like camera bulbs.

All the kids knew was that today was not a normal day. News being spread like wildfire in a camp, many believed it was all due to the arrival of this mysterious, new camper.

"Cancelling sword practice are you, Luke?" the voice of one Annabeth Chase drifted out, a heavily protected book sitting innocently beneath the folds of her arms as she stared at the day-dreaming face of Luke Castellan.

Luke just smiled at her, and shook his head in amusement as the Hermes' cabin gave off mock heart attacks and kissy noises. The gray-eyed female just rolled her eyes, trying to hide the sickening blush creeping on her neck. Too bad Luke was naturally observant, and just had to see it coming. More kissing noises adjoined the quartet of moans and 'faster, faster!' conducted by the ever faithful Stoll brothers.

"Okay all you perverted big-headed excuses for demigods, give me thirty, on the floor, now!"

Laughing was a natural reaction as he swung his arm over Annabeth and gave her a one-sided hug. And Annabeth, with her blond hair in disarray and her shirt sleeves rolled off at the sides, she was taking all of her free will and determination not to swoon, which was being done in a very futile manner. Luke stared at the tired campers and smirked, "I won't end this practice until all of you have done fifty."

More protests and ramblings, curses and bad luck directed to Luke stormed through the thin air, cutting it like a blade, another natural reaction of the training heroes and heroines.

Chiron was galloping towards them, an expression of indifference painted over his bearded features. A signalling horn was in his hands, only to be brought up and blown fiercely. The clouds seemed to be heavy with water as they drooped all over the camp in slow, heaving movements.

"Everybody, get into your cabins, now!" there was fiery determination in his voice, but cracks of refutation followed, ending his announcement with doubled fear and anxiety.

Nevertheless, the Hermes' cabin stuck out their tongues at Luke and ran askew in the woods, surely to return in a couple of minutes with twigs and forgotten armour.

The rain had started to pour, and the lightning intensified, doubling the thunder in rebuttal. Today was just not a good day.

A figure, wrapped in seas of comforters and blankets, sat close to the hearth inside the farmhouse of Mr. D. The warmth of the flames crackled and shot out in tendrils of red and yellow whips, hitting the most unfortunate of corners. The outline of the figure was rogue, yet it had a certain slenderness that attributed to a female. Surely, the figure was a male, if the short black hair meant anything, but the body was just too lithe and fragile for a male, a little feminine, too.

The hair was messy, confused tresses that resembled black snakes in the wind. Ironic that it was soft to the touch, like a cock's feather and could have been one of the softest things to stroke.

The skin that peaked out of the marring clothes was unrealistically white, like ceramic vases. Blemishes and pimples that were common to those of his age were unfound and unbelievably not there. Every now and then, a slender hand with long, spider-like fingers with perfectly manicured nails would peer out to caress the hidden face of the figure.

It was not unthinkable for the gods to stare at him with gaping mouths and huge, circular eyes. A very ungodly stature for them and it did not go well with their physique, even if they were perfectly perfect.

The figure took no notice of them, eyes solely focused on the torching fire, his face unmoving and possibly stoic.

An old door with putrefying wood and rusty nails opened, the sound creating a vast thunderclap in their midst. Chiron had just entered; hair and beard soaked in sea water from the skies. His hooves made a tapping rhythm with an enjoyable beat that echoed through silent walls.

Clearing his throat, the gods were taken from their concentration into delving into the poor boy's mind and into Chiron's steely, gray eyes.

"I see you have met our newest camper."

Slowly, they nodded and went back into focusing. It was such a comical painting, the one they made, with entirely powerful ethereal beings staring in awe at the figure who was closing into the fire for comfort with weak, little nudges.

Abruptly, the boy turned and stared at them, his face was blank and his eyes almost unseeing. But that wasn't what relayed the gods to gasp; it was but the invisible pools of emotion swirling in those evergreen eyes.

And those eyes, they were, simply put, beautiful, and no other word had jurisdiction over those eyes except for that word. The strength of the sea green tone broke all connection between everything real and surreal. They were enticing, delicious loaves out in the open that beckoned for a closer look, a simple touch, a deal of life.

Like sirens, they would call, and call they did in their haunting voices of emerald petals. The long lashes that shaded the sides curved in an uproar of intricate movements when fluttered. The outline of the eyes slanted into a perfect, almond shape. The contrast of the eyes and the paleness of the boy only begged to differ and fought in attention.

He was a pure epitome of everything god-like, yet the simplicity of his cherubic face only revealed the innocence in depth.

And it was plain hubris to say he was not a god, his features alone sent Eros on his knees, buckled and begging.

Aphrodite smiled, wicked and all-knowing as she looked at the boy, her dense mind secretly claiming him as her own. Where else would he get his looks from? His father? Impossible. No mortal could have been the source of this beauty.

And the boy turned sharply to her, as if he had read through her thick skull, anger evident in his eyes as they spoke for him, sea green telling her he would never be a spawn of a whore. And oddly, she nodded meekly, accepting the fact that a mere boy had turned her down.

Chiron sighed and trotted to them, the uneven beats now sporadic and down.

"My Lords, my Ladies, as you can see, this boy is not...entirely human, nor is he entirely god. The scans of his body show no sign of a living heartbeat or a pulse, yet there is a kind of liquid that flows through his veins, comparably like blood, but not entirely so."

They stared at him, unable to comprehend the information given. Dionysus smirked, as he was one of the first to learn of the news. Just one of the perks of being Camp director.

The gods for one, though wise with centuries of age, can be a little opaque and narrow-minded at times, and often, though not spoken of, quite dumb of the trivial facts set in front of them.

The boy just stared at them, harder than ever and they inwardly cringed, little shivers running up and down their spine, spiking them with electric jolts.

"He is also mute."

Little crickets in the dark afternoon chorused in happiness, unaware of the situation behind the walls.

"Then, what exactly is he?"

The unnamed boy looked at the queen of all gods, sensing and tasting the fear that emulated from her pores. He smirked openly, a glint in his soulful eyes that sent little trails of seduction bouncing off the closed doors and windows. The rain was gushing out harder as the gods stood in confusion, little question marks branded in their eyes. The boy smirked harder, as if knowing a secret no one else knew, and stood up, full height.

The sources of warmth from the blankets fell off of him and exposed his bare torso that was free from body fat or well-toned muscles. Just a clear stomach that invited and appealed. Jeans that stuck well to his legs only added to the erotica, uncovering all the hidden nooks and crannies.

The male gods swallowed openly, before he smirked yet again, a trademark emotion on his features. A smirk that ran straight to their groins, blood rushing and getting stronger, harder.

And he just disappeared, clever boy.