My earliest memories weren't of birthday parties or picnics in the park. They were of soaring marble walls etched with forgotten battles and constellations woven into the night sky. A golden owl with eyes like polished amber would sometimes swoop down, leaving a blueprint-like image in my mind, a tantalizing glimpse of a world I couldn't quite grasp.

The first disorienting shift came at seven. My world rearranged itself, the comforting familiarity of my surroundings replaced by a monstrous maze of hedges, towering over my head and stretching into an endless green labyrinth. Panic clawed at me, but fear was a luxury I couldn't afford. I possessed an uncanny sense of direction, an internal compass that whispered the layout of the maze before I even took my first step. It was unsettling, this preternatural knowledge, the feeling of being pre-programmed for a life I didn't understand.

Following the dim glow of an emergency exit sign, I squeezed into the narrow vent, the metallic taste of stale air heavy in my mouth. Claustrophobia threatened to overwhelm me, but I pushed on, fueled by a desperate yearning for something more.

Hours later, I emerged into a world of blinding sunlight and honking horns. The city stretched before me, a chaotic labyrinth in its own right, but vastly preferable to the one I left behind. Lost and hungry, I wandered the streets, dodging scowls and exhaust fumes, until a flash of silver caught my eye.

A boy, a couple of years older than me, was perched atop a newsstand, meticulously cleaning a celestial bronze dagger. His eyes, two different colors, heterochromia, I realized, locked onto mine.

"Well, well," he smirked, a hint of a challenge in his voice. "Another stray demigod."

This was Luke. He and a fierce girl with wild black hair, Thalia, became my new family. Luke, a son of Hermes, possessed an uncanny knack for navigating the city's underbelly. Thalia, a daughter of Zeus, bristled with raw power, her eyes holding the same lightning I'd seen in Zeus's statue at the Met.

Together, we were a ragtag trio, surviving on scraps and stolen snacks. Luke taught me the art of picking locks and evading authorities, while Thalia showed me the deadly grace of hand-to-hand combat. My knowledge of mythology, honed in the quiet room, proved surprisingly useful.

One blustery night, huddled around a flickering campfire in a condemned building, Luke unfolded a tattered map. It depicted a place called Camp Half-Blood, a haven for demigods like us. Hope flickered in my chest. Maybe this wasn't just another dead end. Maybe this labyrinth had an exit.

Thalia scoffed. "Camps for freaks? Forget it, Luke."

But the idea had taken root in my mind. A camp dedicated to heroes, a place where my knowledge wouldn't be a curse but a strength? I yearned for it with the same desperate intensity that had fueled my escape from the orphanage.

"We have to try," I insisted, the firelight glinting off the determined set of my jaw. Luke eyed me, a flicker of amusement dancing in his eyes.

"The daughter of Athena, ever the strategist," he mused, a hint of grudging respect in his voice.