This Cold Year ― Percy Jackson & Annabeth Chase²

―viii. death loses its hold

NAOMI GASPED AWAKE, an unfamiliar and vaguely uncomfortable weight on her chest. She opened her eyes to see a crowd of people around her.

She tried to sit up, but a pair of hands kept her in place. "Don't try to move."

Naomi looked up, seeing Percy's tear-stained face a foot away from her own. "Percy?" She frowned. "There—there was a river. And my mother..."

"You're okay," Percy whispered, but his voice was shaky. "Just—just close your eyes for a second."

Naomi was confused, but she trusted Percy, so she did as he said.

She felt Percy's hands on her shoulders.

"Don't!" someone shouted. "You might—"

"What?" someone—Hazel?—snapped. "Make it worse?"

Two more pairs of hands touched Naomi's back. A moment later, the weight in her chest disappeared.

She opened her eyes as Isaac set down a bloody spear. Hazel's face appeared in Naomi's line of sight as she bent down, examining a spot on Naomi's chest. "It's closing on its own," she said. "I don't know how, but—"

"I'm okay," Naomi said. She pressed a hand to the ragged hole in her armor, her hand coming away damp with blood. She swallowed hard, pressing her other hand to her hip, feeling the stone in her pocket. She took a deep breath. "I—I'm okay."

Percy and Isaac helped her to her feet.

"Naomi," Hazel said gently, "There's no easy way to say this. You were—"

"—dead," Naomi finished, nodding slowly. "I—I know."

"How did you—I don't—" Isaac shook his head. "You weren't breathing. How are you alive again?"

"Good question," Reyna said. She turned to Nico. "Is this some power of Pluto?"

Nico was even paler than before, his expression haunted. He had to tear his eyes away from Naomi to meet Reyna's questioning look. He shook his head. "No. Pluto never lets people return from the dead."

He glanced at Hazel, almost like a warning.

"Death is chained," Naomi whispered. "That's what my mother said."

"Proserpina?" Reyna asked. "You spoke to her?"

Naomi nodded. "Something's wrong with Death."

"What do you—?"

A thunderous, vaguely familiar voice rolled across the field, cutting Reyna off: Death loses its hold. This is only the beginning.

Campers drew weapons. Hannibal trumpeted nervously. Scipio reared, almost throwing Reyna.

"I know that voice," Percy muttered, his arm tensing around Naomi's waist. She nodded in agreement, a frown tugging at her lips.

In the midst of the legion, a column of fire blasted into the air. Everyone scrambled backward as a huge soldier stepped out of the explosion.

The soldier was ten feet tall, dressed in a camouflage uniform. He radiated confidence and power, his black hair cut short in a military style. His face was angular and brutal, marked with old knife wounds. His eyes were covered with infrared goggles that glowed from inside, and he wore a utility belt with a sidearm, a knife holster, and several grenades. In his hands was an oversized M16 rifle.

Frank stepped toward him, and the soldier watched silently, waiting.

Frank took three more steps, then sank to one knee. The other campers followed his example and knelt. Even Reyna dismounted.