This Dark Night ― Percy Jackson & Annabeth Chase¹

―xvii. naomi makes a choice

AT THE TOP OF THE MOUNTAIN were ruins—blocks of black granite and marble as big as houses, with broken columns and bronze statues that looked as though they'd been half melted.

"The ruins of Mount Othrys," Thalia whispered in awe.

"Yes," Zoë said. "It was not here before. This is bad."

"What's Mount Othrys?" Percy asked.

"The mountain fortress of the Titans," Zoë said. "In the first war, Olympus and Othrys were the two rival capitals of the world. Othrys was—" She winced and held her side.

"You're hurt," Naomi said. "Let me see."

"No! It is nothing," Zoë insisted. "I was saying... in the first war, Othrys was blasted to pieces."

"But... how is it here?" Percy asked.

Thalia looked around cautiously as they picked their way through the rubble, past blocks of marble and broken archways. "It moves in the same way that Olympus moves. It always exists on the edges of civilization. But the fact that it is here, on this mountain, is not good."

"Why?"

"This is Atlas's mountain," Zoë said. "Where he holds—" She froze. Her voice was ragged with despair. "Where he used to hold up the sky."

They had reached the summit. A few yards ahead of them, gray clouds swirled in a heavy vortex, forming a funnel cloud that almost touched the mountaintop, but instead rested on the shoulders of a twelve-year-old girl with auburn hair and a tattered silvery dress: Artemis, her legs bound to the rock with celestial bronze chains. Just like Naomi and Percy had seen in their dreams.

It hadn't been a cavern roof that Artemis was forced to hold. It was the sky.

"My lady!"

Zoë rushed forward, but Artemis said, "Stop! It is a trap. You must leave now."

Her voice was strained. She was drenched in sweat. Naomi had never seen a goddess in pain before, but the weight of the sky was clearly too much, even for Artemis.

Zoë was crying. She ran forward despite Artemis's protests, and tugged at the chains.

A booming voice spoke behind them: "Ah, how touching."

They turned. A man was standing there, wearing a brown silk suit, standing as tall as the columns that still remained. At his side was Luke and half a dozen dracaenae bearing the golden sarcophagus of Kronos. Annabeth stood at Luke's side. She had her hands cuffed behind her back, a gag in her mouth, and Luke was holding the point of his sword to her throat.

Naomi met her eyes, trying to ask a thousand silent questions. There was only one message Annabeth seemed to be sending: RUN!

"Luke," Thalia snarled. "Let her go."

Luke's smile was weak and pale. He looked awful, his face gaunt and the shadows beneath his eyes like smudges of charcoal against his skin. "That is the General's decision, Thalia. But it's good to see you again."

Thalia spat at him.

The General chuckled. "So much for old friends. And you, Zoë," he said. "It's been a long time. How is my little traitor? I will enjoy killing you."

"Do not respond," Artemis groaned. "Do not challenge him."

"Wait a second," Percy said. "You're Atlas."

The General glanced at him. "So, even the stupidest of heroes can finally figure something out. Yes, I am Atlas, the general of the Titans and terror of the gods. Congratulations. I will kill you presently, as soon as I deal with this wretched girl."