2 #2
“Stop the vision,” Erebus begged. “Shut your eyes to it. Imagine something else—anything else.”
“I’m trying,” I gasped, horrified at the sudden power shift. “It won’t let me go.”
“You were all hidden from me,” the demon mused.
“And now that the rats are freed from their cage, they squeal and squirm. Restless. Without purpose.” There was that laugh again, a deep growl of thunder.
It vibrated through my bones, demanding that I run.
Demanding that I cower. Demanding that I bare my neck.
“I can give you purpose. I can be your god.”
The demon’s arms descended from the clouds, wrapped in nightmarish armor.
Its claws were massive; its nails were trees sharpened into blades, its palms hills molded into muscle and sinew.
The demon gripped the castle between its hands, forcing the sides to crack.
It was colossal—too powerful. One snap of its wrist and the entire castle would be destroyed.
Our shadows rolled against the flames in desperate protest, but the fire was stronger.
I could feel the dreamers protesting, too; they had their own shadows within them, ready to fight, but they were largely untrained.
We didn’t stand a chance.
“Begone, demon,” Erebus growled. “This is our domain. You don’t belong here.”
The demon’s hands stilled.
“I am more than a demon,” it began, fixing its red eyes upon us all. “I am Raelion, King of Demons and God of the Beyond. I am he who will unmake this world and shape the ruins in my image. Remember my name. Whether you scream it or bow to it, you will not escape it.”
I cried out, willing the illusion to rip apart as if it were as inconsequential as a piece of paper.
The ground rumbled and the sky shook, quivering at the seams, just as a burst of towering shadow wrenched Raelion and his flames from the forest, castle, and sky.
Erebus, Sorren, and Ceveon helped fuel my shadow shield, creating a rising tide of shimmering darkness that cleansed the domain.
But in the process, something slipped. Something red-hot and smoldering, much like a loose coal, embedded itself deep within my skull.
Distantly, I could hear Erebus asking the dreamers what they would choose.
Would they leave, or would they stay?
“We will stay,” a dreamer proclaimed.
“We will fight,” another agreed.
“We will kill all who oppose us,” hissed a voice inside my head.
And then the world tilted sideways.
I woke up in a pile of velvet pillows and silk sheets, enveloped in Erebus’s familiar scent. It was like walking through a forest at midnight and catching stray threads of incense, rain, and mist-covered wildflowers. Perfectly dark, complex, and invigorating.
Perfectly him.
His bed canopy fluttered above me, the dark gray fabric stirred by an errant breeze from the balcony.
I tried to focus on the way the cloth felt against my skin, or how lovely everything smelled.
Anything except the throbbing pain in my skull or the image of Raelion looming over our domain.
I winced, curling over my knees. My head hurt terribly.
As though boiling water had been poured into my ears.
And then there was a second, stranger sensation bubbling underneath my skin.
It felt as if someone—or several someones—were demanding my attention.
The dreamers.
I stumbled to the balcony, still dressed head to toe in dark, sweeping armor.
A quick exploration by my fingers told me my hair was presentable and that my onyx crown was still affixed.
If I was committing to being a proper Shadow Weaver, I supposed I’d better look the part; Weavers in the storybooks rarely appeared ruffled or disheveled. Maker, they rarely looked human.
I straightened, trying not to wince as another wave of heat passed behind my temples. Part of me wanted to crawl back into bed or sink into a bath. Float in some quiet pool of water and scrub my throbbing headache away.
But they needed me strong. They needed me powerful. Not falling unconscious at the first sign of true danger. A shiver worked its way down my spine.
There was so much work to do.
Dreamers gathered in the courtyard, which was now properly illuminated by several of the most magnificent lamps I’d ever seen.
They appeared as armored gauntlets, holding purple and silver flames within their towering palms. Tendrils of shadow slowly snaked around each limb, floating between ironclad fingers.
I smiled to myself, enjoying how similar they looked to Erebus’s arms. How the claws that held each light had once been a source of fear but now adorned my own fingertips.
Dreamers idly milled about as several new buildings—aesthetically similar to the castle but sleeker and less imposing—began to appear amid the iridescent trees.
Instead of having windows and doors, they were largely exposed to the environment.
Even if a dreamer was inside, they’d still be able to see the stars, feel the breeze, or smell the sweep of wilderness that circled us.
A perfect dwelling for weary souls aching to be free.
I wish Elliot were here.
Although if he were here, he’d likely be roaming below, happily chatting with the dreamers while they settled in.
He’d ask them a million questions—about their past lives, about which Weaver they liked the best, and about whether or not they could teach him how to fight.
And if Eden were alive, were here, she’d be right next to me, so close our elbows would be touching.
She’d ask about Erebus. How we became allies, friends, then lovers.
What my first kiss was like. Whether or not it was better than what I’d once dreamed about.
I found myself smiling, amused by the idea, even though the mere thought of my siblings made my heart sting.
Not to mention what my mother and father would think if they could see me.
Would they be proud, or would they be disappointed?
I frowned, not liking where my thoughts were traveling.
I leaned forward on the balcony, trying to clear my head as Erebus built another structure.
He’d been busy while I was unconscious.
It reminded me of seeing him as a boy, skipping around a field of glowing flowers as he formed rolling hills, emerald rivers, and birds with wings of midnight.
At his core, he was a dreamer—a visionary with an imaginative heart.
Even if he resisted this fate with bared teeth and sharp claws, he was made for this.
Leading. Guiding. Creating. He wasn’t a monster in a storybook. He was perfect.
And he was mine.
I frowned, feeling that strange pull underneath my skin again.
My palm tingled, thrumming with power. My sword.
I willed it to slide from my palm, marveling at its sleek, deadly form.
It was a glossy, light-eating black, adorned with an ornate cross guard and a silver jewel embedded in the pommel.
A mirror to Erebus’s. I peered at the jewel, noting that it swirled with small tendrils of shadow.
Vaguely, I could feel that the sword wanted something.
But what?
Below, some dreamers began to notice me on the balcony.
They peered up at me with haunted, uncertain eyes, still harboring bits of their old selves and the fear they’d felt at Raelion’s intrusion.
While they appeared to be human, the way they held themselves—hunched, tight, shaky—and communicated reminded me too keenly of their demonic forms. It was clear that while they were quick to resent Erebus, they didn’t intuitively know what to make of me.
I didn’t blame them.
Erebus was powerful and capable, a talented dreamer who had earned his place over the course of centuries. But who was I? And, more importantly, what could I offer them?
I studied the way they carried themselves.
Most seemed weighed down by an invisible pressure on their shoulders, napes, and knees.
I frowned, squinting at what I was seeing.
Or was it invisible? Ever so slowly, I began to see—or sense, rather—the shadows that still clung to them, clinging to their hearts and joints like sticky spiderwebs.
Instinctively, I began to pull at the shadows, willing them to unravel.
Coaxing them up and out, just as I sent a cloud of shadow, much like a refreshing mist, across the balcony and over their heads.
As the darkness gravitated away from them, it began to spiral into my sword.
The silver jewel shone; the more shadows the sword absorbed, the brighter it became.
Beautiful.
Erebus, held aloft by a magnificent pair of black wings, flew to my side.
“They still have so much darkness in their hearts,” he noted, unsheathing his own sword from his palm and using it to redirect some of the dreamers’ shadows.
It was just like what we’d done when we’d unexpectedly freed them from their demonic bodies.
The combined power of our shadows clarified their bodies of true darkness and strengthened us in turn.
“We might be exorcising them like this on a daily basis for quite some time.”
“As we should. Look at how much relief it gives them.”