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“Dude. Whoa.” I looked up to find Miles staring at me openmouthed in astonishment. Around him was a crowd of Vanaheim warriors. A few shifted and murmured uneasily. The dark-haired girl in the bikini top moved forward. “They’re . . . dead.” A tear traced down her cheek. It occurred to me then that while she, Miles, and the rest of Freya’s chosen were technically warriors, they might never have seen an actual battle, let alone been in one. “Well, yes, they’re dead,” I said carefully. “But if they’d succeeded in charbroiling and eating me, then I’d be dead. For good.” The girl looked at me blankly. “Because I’m an einherji.” The girl still looked puzzled. “If I die outside Valhalla, I stay dead. Unlike the dragons who, being mythical creatures, will vanish into Ginnungagap and eventually be reborn.” The girl’s face cleared. “The dragons will be reborn?” She grabbed her friend’s hands and started jumping up and down and squealing. “We’ll have baby dragons here soon. Soooo cute!” She beamed at me. “Thank you so much for killing them!” — Rick Riordan