there's the home of the gods, the convergence point of their powers, which did indeed used to be on Mount Olympus. It's still called Mount Olympus, out of respect to the old ways, but the palace moves, Percy, Y/N, just as the gods do."

"You mean the Greek gods are here? Like... in America?" Y/N asked, confused.

"Well, certainly. The gods move with the heart of the West," Chiron said. Y/N tilted his head, still not understanding.

"Come now, Y/N," he urged. "The term, 'Western civilization.' Do you believe it's merely an abstract concept? No, it's a living force, a collective consciousness that has burned brightly for thousands of years. The gods are integral to it. One might even assert they are its source, or at least, intricately tied to it in a way that suggests they couldn't possibly fade, not unless all of Western civilization were obliterated. The fire originated in Greece. Then the heart of the fire shifted to Rome, and so did the gods. Different names, perhaps – Jupiter for Zeus, Venus for Aphrodite, and so forth – but the same forces, the same gods."

"And then they died?" Y/N questioned.

"Died?" Chiron shook his head. "No. Did the West die? The gods simply moved, to Germany, to France, to Spain, for a while. Wherever the flame burned brightest, the gods were there. They spent several centuries in England. All you need to do is look at the architecture. People do not forget the gods. Every place they've ruled, for the last three thousand years, you can see them in paintings, in statues, on the most important buildings. And yes, Percy, Y/N, of course, they are now in your United States. Look at your symbol, the eagle of Zeus. Look at the statue of Prometheus in Rockefeller Centre, the Greek facades of your government buildings in Washington. I defy you to find any American city where the Olympians are not prominently displayed in multiple places. Like it or not – and believe me, plenty of people weren't very fond of Rome, either – America is now the heart of the flame. It is the great power of the West. And so Olympus is here. And we are here."

It was all too much, questions swam in his mind like eels. But it was Percy who voiced his main concern. "Who are you, Chiron? Who... who am I?" He asked. Chiron smiled. He shifted his weight as if he were going to get up out of his wheelchair.

"Who are you," he mused. "Well, that's the question we all want answered, isn't it? But for now,  you should go to cabin eleven. There will be new friends to meet. And plenty of time for lessons tomorrow. Besides, there will be toasted marshmallows at the campfire tonight, and I simply adore them."

And then Chiron did rise from his wheelchair. But there was something odd about the way he did it. His blanket fell away from his legs, but the legs didn't move. His waist kept getting longer, rising above his belt. Eventually, he stepped out of the wheelchair.

Y/N stared up in shock the horse who had just sprung from the wheelchair: a huge white stallion. But where its neck should be was the upper body of Chiron, smoothly grafted to the horse's trunk.

"What a relief," the centaur said. "I'd been cooped up in there so long, my fetlocks had fallen asleep. Now, come, Percy Jackson and Y/N. Let's meet the other campers."