This Dark Night ― Percy Jackson & Annabeth Chase¹

―xiii. the old darkness

NAOMI DIDN'T KNOW HOW LONG SHE FELL. She didn't even know if she was falling, or if she was scattering or flying or... nothing.

It could have been days, weeks, or even seconds. It was as if time no longer existed, leaving her dropping endlessly into a nightmare she'd had too many times to count.

But there would be no waking up this time. It was the one thing she was certain of. This—whatever this was—was really happening.

She didn't hit the ground the way she expected to. Rather than smashing into the floor, she landed on her feet, as if she'd been standing on something the entire time. She hadn't realized it until now, but her body had seemed to turn into something vaporous—like the mist Bianca had been the night before. The comparison was enough to double her fear, but thankfully as she came to a stop, her body re-solidified, leaving her with strangely heavy limbs and no idea where she was.

She opened her eyes, not even sure when she'd first closed them. It didn't matter—the darkness of her eyelids was the same as the darkness before her.

Naomi's heart stuttered in her chest. No.

"Hello?" she asked, her voice tinged with panic. "Annabeth? Percy? Somebody?"

She rushed forward, trying to find a wall, a person, a monster—anything. But she was alone, without even an echo to answer back.

"No," she whispered. "No, no, no, no."

She was panicking. She knew it was counterproductive, she knew it would just tire her out and take up energy that she needed to preserve to... to what? What was she supposed to do?

The darkness had no end. There was no tunnel out of it, no exit to walk through.

There was just nothing.

Her rings were gone. She wasn't sure if they'd fallen off, or disappeared, or been taken somehow during the fall. All she knew was that her hands felt naked.

She was alone—weaponless, friendless, hopeless.

She screamed until her throat felt raw. She cycled through her friends' names, the gods' names, begging anyone she could think of to hear her. By the time she gave up, she was on her knees, pressing her hands to the cold, smooth floor beneath her—the one tangible thing in this endless abyss.

A tear slipped down Naomi's cheek. She didn't bother to wipe it away—who would see it? She was alone.

"No," she whimpered.

She forced herself back to her feet. She made her feet stumble forward, praying to every god whose name she could remember that her nightmare had been a deception, that there was an end to this void if only she kept walking.

So she kept walking, until the air burned her skin.

She jumped back, yanking her body away from whatever had burned her. Fire? Some kind of poison gas? At some point, the air had turned from an empty cold to a frightening heat, but the burn hadn't been gradual. There had been no hint of the heat before she plunged into it, no warmth to warn her before she was burned.

Hesitantly, Naomi reached a hand in front of her, wondering briefly if she was beginning to hallucinate. It seemed too early for that, but in this emptiness, she thought anything might be possible. It seemed an easy place to go mad in.

Her fingers touched the place where the air turned acidic, and she drew it back as quickly as she could, stumbling away. Her fingertips throbbed painfully as she clutched her hand to her chest.