8 #2
Lelantos shrugged. “Better for a dreamer, even if they are inexperienced, to know how to move when they need it most. When all appears lost and they’re being chased by a demon, their own instincts must triumph. We cannot coddle them. We cannot interfere.”
“But isn’t this cruel?” I questioned. I didn’t want to offend, but I couldn’t stand to see dreamers in our domain suffer needlessly.
His pale eyes grew contemplative. “Some would call it cruel. They’d say it’s just a dream, so why inflict unnecessary harm?
But nothing about our current state is ‘just a dream.’ Not any longer.
If we fail now, we are doomed.” He shifted on his feet, tawny wings flexing slightly.
“Rest assured, there are no demons here to threaten your dreamers. If they perish, they’ll simply wake up again tomorrow and begin anew. ”
I shifted on my feet. “If you’re certain this will be helpful.”
“It will. This method worked excellently for my own acolytes. And they were the best—masters both in flight and manipulating their movements.” His eyes lowered. “I will do all that I can to help your dreamers forge those skills, too.”
Ceres nodded. “It is true. I’ve seen it with my own eyes, how his fledglings soared.”
“Very well, then,” Erebus said curtly.
With Ceres and Lelantos’s guidance, Erebus and I shifted our domain’s landscape, forming part of it to their specifications.
A tall, looming cliff; a sea of spiked tree branches; and, hidden in the shadows of the violet sky, colossal trees waiting to drop.
We granted Ceres and Lelantos a hint of control—just enough to orchestrate the trial’s mechanics—and flew to stand next to Ceveon and Sorren.
The rest of the Weavers stood watch atop a higher level of the cliff, their view unobstructed.
Lelantos announced the rules: jump wingless from the cliff, manifest wings, take flight, and return to the cliff before hitting the ground.
The dreamers were reminded that if they fell—if they “died”—they would wake in their beds the next day, miraculously unscathed.
The hidden danger, however, was not disclosed.
The looming trees would be a true test of their reflexes.
“We should undertake this test, too,” Erebus murmured, just to me. “If our dreamers must endure these trials, so should we.”
He’s right.
I flexed my hands, a wave of fear thrusting a spike into my ribs.
He was right, but that didn’t mean I was ready.
One hundred different scenarios fluttered through my head, one after the other.
My wings failing to open. The insides of my stomach spilling over the sharp tree trunks.
The pity in the dreamers’ eyes as I failed to rise.
I’d be perceived as weak. A mistaken excuse for a Weaver.
But if I succeeded…
I balled my hands into fists, nails biting into my palms. “If my wings don’t open or work right—”
“I’ll catch you,” Erebus finished seriously. “I will never let you fall.”
I vehemently shook my head. “I don’t want you to catch me. Or to help in any way.” I could feel my shadow magic just underneath my skin, spooling across my limbs like velvet threads. I needed to prove my worth. To the dreamers, to the Weavers, and to myself. “I need to learn this, too.”
Erebus’s face twisted into barely restrained control.
Maker, he’s beautiful. Even when he’s irritated.
We were both wearing black leathers, sharp gauntlets, and scaled chest plates made to move freely with our bodies.
The dreamers wore outfits that complemented ours: layers of soft black leather, silver adornments, and thin veils of shadow that skimmed across their shoulders like comforting mantles. We looked coordinated. Unified, even.
“You can’t demand that of me,” Erebus growled. He lowered his mouth to my hair, as if he had a secret just for me to hear. “So long as I am by your side, I am your partner. And partners do not stand idly by when their companions are in distress.”
I made to step away, but he snagged my wrist, stopping me.
“Do you understand?” he implored, twisting so that he could see me clearly. His silver-bright eyes bore into mine.
“I understand,” I answered. “But if—”
“Would you not do the same for me?”
I scoffed. “Of course I would, I—”
His cool breath grazed my lips, tantalizing in its nearness. “So do this on your own. Triumph. But do not deny me the ability to protect that which I cherish most.”
And then, with one last searing gaze, he strode to the edge of the cliff.
With a shaky sigh, I joined him. We were all wingless now, eyeing the dizzying descent in front of us.
Staring wordlessly at the sea of sharp spikes lining the ground.
My stomach churned as a thin sheen of sweat dampened my palms. This was it.
A test of my power and intuition. I needed to succeed—to prove my worth. I needed it more than anything.
Lelantos gave the signal: a sharp, keening whistle that cut through the air.
But before we could step off the cliff of our own volitions, a powerful gust shoved into our backs, strong as any battering ram.
I was a tumbling stone, a useless doll. Wind slapped me, hitting my back and pulling my hair. In the chaos, I was separated from Erebus, Sorren, and Ceveon. A flutter of feathers—of wings so dark they could scarcely be seen—told me some dreamers were already ascending.
My heart soared with them.
Good.
But just as some were brandishing their wings, wingless dreamers were clambering up their legs, grabbing for their arms, their hair, their necks—anything they could use for purchase.
I felt my own hand being yanked down—sharp nails pulling off my gauntlet and digging into my wrist—before I was rammed aside in favor of a dreamer who already had their wings.
I forced down the instinct to scream. Erebus was just out of sight; he had already regained his wings and was shoving dreamers away, desperate to reach me.
The ground was coming quickly.
Too quickly.
One dreamer hit the spikes, unable to manifest her wings. I turned my head away, but I was a second too late. Her body dissolved into shadows, but not before I witnessed her stomach split in two. Envisioning it was one thing; seeing it was another.
And I wasn’t the only dreamer who saw.
The dreamers’ threads shivered, vibrating with fear.
Festering below it all, however, in relentless waves, was a darkness that united us.
A deep, churning shadow that demanded to be sated.
The will to survive at all costs, even if it meant the death and destruction of their peers.
It wasn’t the mentality that any group should have—let alone a set of dreamers called to work as a cohesive legion against Raelion. I needed to do something about that.
But first, I needed wings—and fast.