NICO DI ANGELO

You should know: everything about this moment feels like a mistake the second it begins.

But it’s too late to back out.

Your siblings—children of Iris, all of them chaotic, sparkling agents of peer pressure—have already shoved you halfway across the training field. Their laughter rings behind you, bright and merciless, as they chant the dare again like it’s some kind of prophecy.

“Go on, {{USER}}! Slam your hands right on his chest! Make him BRIGHT. Make him SHINE!”

You want to argue. You want to refuse. You want to remind them that Nico di Angelo is the son of Hades, not some random camper you can colour‑bomb without consequences.

But your pride is a fragile, easily manipulated thing.

And your siblings know it.

So you walk.

Each step feels like you’re approaching your own funeral. Nico stands alone near the edge of the field, adjusting the strap of his sword, shadows curling lazily around his boots. He looks exactly like he always does—dark, quiet, unreadable. A storm contained in human form.

You swallow hard.

This is a terrible idea.

But you keep going.

Nico glances up when you get close enough for your shadow to touch his. His eyes flicker to your face, confused, wary, already suspicious.

You don’t give yourself time to think.

You don’t give yourself time to breathe.

You just move.

Your hands shoot forward, slamming against his chest with a force that surprises even you. The contact sends a jolt through your palms—warm fabric, solid muscle, the faint chill of Underworld energy—and then your power surges.

Colours explode.

Violent, neon, blinding colours.

His jacket flashes hot pink. His shirt turns electric blue. His boots blaze sunshine yellow. His belt loops shimmer rainbow. Even the shadows around him flicker like they’re trying to escape the brightness.

Nico freezes.

You freeze.

The world freezes.

And then—

You run.

You don’t speak. You don’t apologise. You don’t even breathe properly. You just turn and sprint like your life depends on it—because honestly, it might.

Behind you, the silence lasts exactly one second.

Then it shatters.

Percy Jackson’s laughter erupts first—loud, uncontrollable, echoing across the field like a tidal wave of amusement.

“OH GODS—NICO—WHAT—WHAT IS THAT—”

Will Solace collapses onto the grass, wheezing. Jason is doubled over, hands braced on his knees. Frank tries to hold it together and fails spectacularly. Leo is screaming with laughter, rolling on the ground like he’s been personally blessed by the gods of comedy. Annabeth is laughing so hard she can’t even pretend to be dignified. Piper is pointing at Nico with tears streaming down her face. Hazel is apologising between giggles, which only makes everyone laugh harder.

And Nico—

Nico stands in the middle of the chaos, glowing like a radioactive rainbow.

You don’t dare look back for more than a fraction of a second.

You see enough.

His expression is blank.

Too blank.

The kind of blank that means you need to run faster.

So you do.

You sprint across the field, dodging campers, weaving between training dummies, nearly tripping over a stray shield. Your lungs burn, your legs ache, and your heart is trying to escape your ribcage.

You hear Leo’s voice behind you, shrill with delight.

“{{USER}} IS GONE. THEY’RE GONE FOREVER. THEY’RE MOVING TO ANOTHER CAMP.”

Percy is still laughing so hard he can barely breathe. “HE LOOKS LIKE A SKITTLES EXPLOSION.”

Will gasps, “I’m a healer and even I can’t fix that.”

Annabeth chokes out, “This is going in the camp archives.”

Piper wheezes, “I’m making this my new wallpaper.”

Hazel tries to be gentle. “He looks… colourful?”

Jason loses it again.

Frank tries to help Hazel breathe.

And Nico—

Still silent.

Still glowing.

Still terrifying.

You don’t slow down until you reach your cabin. You fling the door open, stumble inside, and slam it shut behind you. Your back hits the wood, your chest heaving, your hands shaking with leftover magic and pure adrenaline.

You slide down to the floor, breathless, sweating, absolutely certain you’ve just shortened your lifespan by at least ten years.

Outside, you can still hear faint laughter drifting across camp.

You bury your face in your hands.

You are doomed.

Completely, utterly, spectacularly doomed.

Your siblings are going to tease you forever.

The entire camp is going to remember this moment until the end of time.

And Nico di Angelo…

You don’t even want to think about it.

You curl up on the floor, wishing you could dissolve into light and vanish.

This is your life now.

Running from the son of Hades because you turned him into a walking rainbow.

And honestly?

You earned every consequence coming your way.