This Dark Night ― Percy Jackson & Annabeth Chase¹

―xviii. death is an old friend

THE DARKNESS THAT GREETED HER WAS NEW. As Naomi's eyes adjusted to this strange, unfamiliar black, she wondered if she was in the Underworld—if perhaps it looked different for the dead than it did the living. 

But she knew that wasn't it. This darkness was somehow greater, deeper, even than her mother's seasonal home. 

"Naomi," a voice called, the tone both terrifying and comforting in the same unexplainable way. "Hello again."

Naomi turned, though she wasn't sure why—the voice came from all around, not from any one direction. But when she stopped, a figure stepped closer, and Naomi could make out his face. 

He was a stranger; that much she was sure of. He was tall and lean, his face like that of a merciful king's—stern but with kind, dark eyes that were not as frightening as Naomi thought they should have been. Black hair flowed down his shoulders in tiny braids, brushing the tops of his broad shoulders. His skin was dark like umber. 

Something told Naomi that she should have been afraid; that any rational mortal would tremble before this figure, would drop to their knees and plead for mercy. But she wasn't afraid, and she wasn't sure if that was bravery or naivety. 

"Where am I?" she asked. 

"Where all souls come, eventually," the stranger answered. "The end of the mortal road." 

The line in the prophecy came back to her like a tidal wave. 

One shall greet death as an old friend.

Grief seized Naomi's heart in a vice grip.

"You're Death," she said.

"You may call me that," he said. "Or you may call me Thanatos." 

Naomi touched her stomach, where the pain of her wound had faded into nothing. Her hand still came away bloody, though. 

"I'm dead," she whispered.

The god almost appeared amused. "I am afraid not, Naomi," Thanatos said. "Death now would be a mercy." 

Naomi's brow furrowed. "I don't understand." 

"This is not the end of your story," he told her. "Artemis's magic will see you through." 

"But—the prophecy, it said—"

"It said we would meet," Thanatos said. "It never said I would come to take you away." 

Naomi still didn't understand. "If I'm not dying... why are you here?" 

Thanatos tilted his head just slightly. "It seems the Fates wished for us to meet again." 

Naomi frowned. Now she was more confused. "Again?"

"You were such a little thing," he said quietly—almost mournfully. "It always hurts to take a father from his child so early. Especially when that child is still in his arms." 

Naomi felt like a grenade had gone off in her chest, and the blast made her stumble back a step, knocking her world off-kilter. She stared up at the god of death, torn between shock and confusion. "My... my father?"

Thanatos hummed. "A good man," he said. "It seems those are the ones who come to me the soonest." 

He held something out to her: a small photograph, glossy and pristine. 

"He had this in his wallet that night," Thanatos told her. "Queen Persephone asked that I get it to you." 

Naomi took the picture with a shaking hand.