Butch wanted to be a ballet dancer. There was no doubt about it.

They always said he'd end up at the Ares cabin for sure. With his big arms and well-defined pectoral muscles, and his seemingly aggressive nature, he had to be the son of the war god, right?

Butch stared at his own shirtless reflection. He had heard campers whisper about his face. It looked like a pile of bricks, one had said. He ran his hand across his chin. Surely he couldn't be that ugly. He shook his head and slapped his cheek. He wasn't standing alone in the Cabin 11 bathroom to complain about his appearance. He had a job to do.

The war was over; Percy Jackson had saved the day once again. The unclaimed campers were being claimed one by one, and construction on the Hades and Iris cabins had already begun. Butch was one of the few remaining campers who had yet to receive a sign from their parent. Being a homeless orphan, Butch didn't even know the gender of his godly parent. But the last person he wanted it to be was Ares. He could never believe that he could ever be related to that loud, arrogant war god. He was great with horses, but any hope of him being the son of Poseidon had been dashed long ago. If there was anyone suitable to be his godly parent, Butch often thought, it would be Apollo. Butch was skilful artist and worked with colours very well. But something about the god still didn't sit right with him.

Butch stepped back from the mirror and lifted his chin high. He pulled his feet together and pushed his toes outwards, heels firmly on the ground. At the same time, he gracefully lifted his arms and held them out parallel to his chest. He took a deep breath. Slowly, he lifted one foot off the ground, slowly moving it up the inside of his shin until it was just above his knee. That was the easy part.

Butch closed his eyes. He sent a silent prayer to whichever god or goddess had helped create him, and waited. He could only do this when the time was right. If it were too early – or too late – everything would go horribly wrong.

The sound of shuffling feet was muffled by the door. The sound got louder and louder. Butch's eyes were still closed, but he could feel the shadows under the doorway. His breathing got faster. Not now! They couldn't come now. The time wasn't right! His eyes flashed open, and immediately he realised that was a mistake. His face had ruined everything. The camper's voice played over in his head: face like a pile of bricks. He had to do it. He had to do it now. The time wasn't right, but it was now or never. Hastily, the only heel he had planted on the ground was lifted into the air and Butch sent himself into a pirouetting frenzy. One turn, two turns, wobbling, wobbling; he was losing his balance. On the third turn he lost track of his fixed point of viewing, and he began to feel dizzy.

Butch was on the ground when he regained consciousness. Parts of the sink were on the ground with him, and water was spraying on his head. There was a sharp, throbbing pain in his lower back, and blood trickled down his hand. Butch shook his head and looked towards the doorway. It was open, with what seemed like half the camp's population gaping at him.

"What?" Butch grunted. He tried to push himself up, but his knees buckled under him and he came crashing to the tiles again. Great. He couldn't walk, his hands were bleeding, and his spine had probably screwed itself up. Not to mention he'd busted the sink in his cabin. He had no close friends in camp, but now no one even wanted to go near him.

Butch rubbed his temples and looked hopelessly at the gathered crowd. And that was when he realised it. The campers were staring at him. They were staring at something else . . . something behind him? Butch looked back, but all there was to see were a few broken tiles. He observed the crowd again. No, it wasn't behind, but . . . above. They were looking at the space above his head!

Butch's head shot up. There was something there. It was like a hologram, radiating a soft light around it. The clarity of the image was wavering, so it took Butch a while to figure out what it actually was. It was an arc of many colours, shimmering in the air above him. A rainbow.

Butch heard Chiron's hooves before he saw them. It must've have taken quite a bit of effort for the centaur to enter the clustered cabin. The Activities Director pushed through the campers and entered the bathroom. He took one look at the rainbow and nodded.

"I-I don't understand," Butch shook his head, "Why are you nodding?"

"You've been claimed," Chiron muttered quietly.

"Claimed?" Butch whispered. Could it be true? Did he finally have a godly parent?

Chiron helped Butch to his feet and allowed him to lean on his back for support. He turned to the throng of assembled campers. "Hail Butch," he announced, "Son of Iris, goddess of the rainbow, messenger of the gods."