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War Games

Hazel's POV

On the way back, Hazel tripped over a gold bar.

She should have known not to run so fast, but she was afraid of being late for muster. The Fifth Cohort had the nicest centurions in camp. Still, even they would have to punish her if she was tardy. Roman punishments were harsh: scrubbing the streets with a toothbrush, cleaning the bullpens at the coliseum, getting sewn inside a sack full of angry weasels and dumped into the Little Tiber—the options were not great.

The gold bar popped out of the ground just in time for her foot to hit it. Nico tried to catch her, but she took a spill and scraped her hands.

Nico: You okay?

Nico knelt next to her and reached for the bar of gold.

Hazel: Don't!

Nico froze.

Nico: Right. Sorry. It's just...jeez. That thing is huge.

He pulled a flask of nectar from his aviator jacket and poured a little on Hazel's hands. Immediately the cuts started to heal.

Nico: Can you stand?

He helped her up. They both stared at the gold. It was the size of a bread loaf, stamped with a serial number and the words U.S. Treasury.

Hazel: I don't know. It could've been buried there by robbers or dropped off a wagon a hundred years ago. Maybe it migrated from the nearest bank vault. Whatever's in the ground, anywhere close to me—it just pops up. And the more valuable it is—

Nico: The more dangerous it is. Should we cover it up? If the fauns find it...

Hazel imagined a mushroom cloud billowing up from the road, char-broiled fauns tossed in every direction. It was too horrible to consider.

Hazel: It should sink back underground after I leave, eventually, but just to be sure...

She'd been practicing this trick, but never with something so heavy and dense. She

pointed at the gold bar and tried to concentrate.

The gold levitated. She channeled her anger, which wasn't hard—she hated that gold, she hated her curse, she hated thinking about her past and all the ways she'd failed. Her fingers tingled. The gold bar glowed with heat.

Nico: Um, Hazel, are you sure...

She made a fist. The gold bent like putty. Hazel forced it to twist into a giant, lumpy ring. Then she flicked her hand toward the ground. Her million-dollar doughnut slammed into the earth. It sank so deep, that nothing was left but a scar of fresh dirt.

Nico: (widens his eyes) That was...terrifying.

Hazel didn't think it was so impressive compared to the powers of a guy who could reanimate skeletons and bring people back from the dead, but it felt good to surprise him for a change.

Inside the camp, horns blew again. The cohorts would be starting roll call, and Hazel had no desire to be sewn into a sack of weasels.

Hazel: Hurry!

They ran for the gates.

The first time Hazel had seen the legion assemble, she'd been so intimidated, she'd almost slunk back to the barracks to hide. Even after being at camp for nine months, she still found it an impressive sight.

The first four cohorts, each forty kids strong, stood in rows in front of their barracks on either side of the Via Praetoria. The Fifth Cohort assembled at the very end, in front of the principia, since their barracks were tucked in the back corner of camp next to the stables and the latrines. Hazel had to run right down the middle of the legion to reach her place.