The door to cabin number six creaks as I walk in. I inhale the scent of scrolls, books, and something I can't define, but I know it definitely belongs here.

I scan the vast room with my eyes. The beds are rolled up in the corner of the room - we children of Athena do not consider sleep important. We prefer to have answers to the questions we ask and the feeling of a job well done and completed to the last detail.

Every free centimeter is occupied by tables with unrolled scrolls, drawing supplies or just chaotically arranged piles of books. It always amazes me how we almost always get full points in order scoring. Usually there is such chaos that you can barely walk across the room.

I run my fingers along the spines of the books. Most are in ancient Greek, but the demigods have no problem with modern Greek either. Over the years, we have accumulated a respectable amount of them here. Most are about ancient times, architecture, and strategies, but you can also find detective stories or fantasy.

Of course, there are also the most comfortable armchairs ever invented. They have Hephaestus-childs fingers in it, so we're still not sure if it'll grow legs out of nowhere and go for a walk.

I will walk past extensive drawings of some kind of building. I see that Annabeth has already arrived at Camp Half-Blood. I can't wait to ask her about university life.

I almost trip over a game of chess. It wouldn't be too bad - in at least three moves, the black knight will be in a position to checkmate.

I sit down on the bed I sleep on every year. It's a wonderful feeling to be back - among my people, in the company of other hyperactive dyslexic genius children, with whom I can debate or play strategies in the evening.

And now a little history, you band of  deers.
This here little piece of crappy writing was written during Inktober, when I managed to post for exactly two days.