This Cold Year ― Percy Jackson & Annabeth Chase²

―vii. opal vs. tanzanite

NAOMI FOLLOWED MICHAEL TO BACK TO THE FIRST COHORT, and they marched north as a group, out of camp. As they approached the site of the war games, Isaac whispered that it was called the Field of Mars, and it was where almost all the war games and other similar activities were held. 

The Field of Mars was the largest, flattest part of the valley outside of Camp Jupiter. The grass was cropped short by grazing animals (and satyrs) where the earth wasn't pitted with explosion craters or scarred with old trenches. At the north end of the field stood the fort. It was made of stone, with an iron portcullis, guard towers, scorpion ballistae, and water cannons.

"Who was in charge of building?" Adrien asked. 

"The Vulcan twins in Second," Michael said. "They did a good job today." 

Naomi squinted up at the fortress. She looked at Isaac and asked, "That fortress was built today?" 

Isaac snorted. "Don't look so surprised," he said. "Legionnaires are trained to build. If it came down to it, we could break down the entire camp and rebuild it somewhere else. Take a couple days, but we'd get it done." 

Octavian called for attention with the world's most condescending, "Children, listen up!" When everyone looked at him, he said, "You all know the drill by now. Get inside, get in position, and get comfortable. It's gonna be another easy night." 

Michael scowled a little, but didn't say anything to contradict his co-centurion. He gestured for Naomi to join him as the group walked into the fortress. Adrien and Isaac split off, heading for opposite staircases to head up to the top of the wall. 

"So... what's the whole objective?" Naomi asked, joining Michael by an open doorway. A peek inside showed her it was the room the banners were being held in, the standard-bearers settling around a table with some kind of game involving cards and figurines.

"In a perfect world, the opposing team would breach the fort and try to take our banners," Octavian said as he unfortunately joined her and Michael, leaning back against the wall with his arms crossed. Naomi wondered if he thought he looked cool like that (he didn't). "But in the real world, they'll try to breach our defenses, fail spectacularly and hilariously, and the Third and the Fourth will rightfully blame the Fifth for the loss." 

Naomi scowled. "Why does everyone hate the Fifth so much?" 

Octavian laughed. "It's the cohort for losers and rejects," he said. "They used to be worth something, once, before Michael Varus lost the legion's eagle in Alaska." 

Naomi raised an eyebrow, confused. 

"There's this big prophecy," Michael explained. "The Prophecy of Eight. Back in the eighties, Varus led an expedition to Alaska—he thought it would bring glory to the legion if he could figure out the prophecy and make it come true. He convinced himself he was a part of the prophecy, but he wasn't. He led his cohort into a slaughter. Almost the entire Fifth Cohort was wiped out, and most of the legion's Imperial gold weapons were lost, along with the eagle."

"What happened to them?" Naomi asked. "What attacked them?" 

Michael shook his head. "No one knows. The survivors were driven insane by what they saw."

"Since the Fifth's failure, the camp has been growing weaker," Octavian said. "Quests are more dangerous. Monsters are more aggressive at the borders."

"But... what does that have to do with the Fifth now?" Naomi asked. "They weren't part of the expedition. They haven't done anything wrong." 

Octavian rolled his eyes. "You'll see eventually. The Fifth is cursed—they're nothing but bad luck. Even the camp's saving grace wasn't spared."