15 #2
The Dream Realm was crumbling, the Nocturne was poisoned, Noctis was infested with Corruption, and Elliot was in the hands of a monstrous man who happened to be ensnared in the middle of Raelion’s lair.
I knew what had to be done, even if the Weavers didn’t.
Even if they one day despised me for what I was about to make them do.
Because if we didn’t move now, we’d perish.
Somnus motioned toward the wavering map of Noctis that floated above the table.
It immediately filled with a teeming, violent darkness: Corruption clawing its way across the kingdom like an inescapable plague.
Another image swiftly replaced it: Citadel Evernight, albeit a distorted version, but it was the best replica he could manage.
Somnus carried on, “Enough of this meaningless speculation. We need to discuss the final training for your dreamers, Esmer. The labyrinth test will replicate the conditions we expect to encounter at Evernight—”
“My legion will not participate in the final test,” I interrupted. Somnus’s face twisted in displeasure, but I continued on, unshaken. Shadows surged around the room in a deadly tempest, exhilarated at the promise of battle. “We need to move on Evernight. Immediately.”
For a breath, the Weavers simply stared at me.
“There is no time, and it is impossible to replicate a situation we cannot even fathom,” I continued, barreling on before I lost my nerve.
Fortunately, I felt anything but weak. Desperate and shameful, perhaps, and certainly filled with rage toward the demons that had taken everything from me, but not weak.
“You yourselves have said as much. If we move on Evernight now, we will either succeed or we won’t.
But if we don’t succeed, we can still glean important knowledge from the effort, rethink our strategies, and try again quickly.
If we wait any longer to strike, we might only have one opportunity to do so. ”
“She’s right,” Ceveon said firmly, quickly declaring his assent.
He was the only one in the room who looked mildly proud, though Fenrir and Theia were also nodding enthusiastically.
“If we partake in Somnus’s final labyrinth, we’d be preparing the dreamers for a hypothetical that might not even happen.
They have the basic skills needed to survive; we’ve done as much as we can to train them with the impossible timeline we’ve been given.
Anything more and we’d just be wasting time. ”
“And does Erebus agree?” Somnus inquired.
“I speak for both of us,” I said sharply.
“Good,” Somnus said, smiling unexpectedly. “Then let us prepare with all due haste.”
Xander summoned a shaky vision of the Dream Realm on the table; our domains circled the Nocturne in a crescent, with Citadel Evernight at its center.
It was impossible to see within the cloud of darkness that hovered over Evernight’s shores—whatever resided inside the citadel was resisting our interference.
Mithras wanted us to stay away from Evernight, and the Weavers might have still seen him as their invaluable Light Bringer, but I knew better than to trust his instruction.
Not after everything he’d done to Erebus, and especially not after everything he’d done to me.
He had much to answer for.
The rest of the morning was a blur: strategizing about the attack, armoring our dreamers—now formally called the Shadow Legion—in ornate shadow armor with matching helms. The other Weavers manifested their own legions, hundreds of vaguely corporeal apparitions garbed in their own emblematic armor.
Ceveon and Sorren were both concerned for Erebus and his condition, but at my urging, they remained quiet.
And if they suspected anything, they kept quiet about that, too.
But whenever I had my back turned, I could feel Sorren’s silent, calculating stare on me, just as I could feel the way Ceveon tensed his shoulders and set his jaw a particular way whenever I so much as glanced in his direction.
They knew. They had to know.
But there wasn’t time to speculate aloud—not when everyone so desperately needed a leader. And if Erebus was no longer able to wield our shadows, it would have to be me. I owed it to him, just as I owed it to my parents. To Eden. To Elliot, too.
To them all.
I dressed myself like a queen going to war.
Black armor, carved to resemble whorls of darkness, covered me from my neck to my feet, light as shadows but strong as steel.
Pauldrons, mimicking sharp feathers, sat atop my shoulders, and clawed gauntlets stretched over my fingers.
I wasn’t soft; there was no silk to be seen.
Just sharp angles, pointed boots, and dark metal that spilled over my limbs like a second skin.
Even my hair was swept tightly behind my skull, pulling at my temples.
At Sorren’s suggestion, I wore my crown.
It symbolized a title I didn’t deserve but needed to embody.
The dark circlet, shimmering with shadows that wafted between its spikes, sat evenly atop my brow.
I could feel the dreamers staring at it—staring at me.
Placing their lives and dreams in my hands.
If only they knew the truth.
Swallowing hard, I fixed my eyes at the sky. The violet heavens were filled with stars so bright it seemed they, too, were looking down on us. Waiting with bated breath for a beautiful future that might never come to pass. For the chance to sparkle in the Nocturne’s waves once again.
Lastly, I called upon my wings.
They unfurled from my back in a rush of black feathers, flexing behind me as they tasted the starlit air.
Shadows threaded between them, coaxing feathers to ripple and ruffle as if the wind itself were already rushing past them.
They ached to fly—to be free—and so I let them take me to one final place before we departed.
To Erebus.
He was still unconscious in our canopied bed, resting atop velvet pillows and silk sheets.
From a distance, nothing appeared amiss—just a sleeping lord, ancient power merely slumbering.
But up close, it was obvious something was terribly wrong.
His skin was too pale, lips gray and stiff.
His chest still bore the injury I’d inflicted, unhealed and crusted with dark blood despite how quickly Erebus could usually thread himself back together after a fight.
But the worst thing was that his shadows were gone.
Even when he was resting, shadows liked to linger near Erebus’s body, always waiting, always eager to be called upon.
But now the shadows followed only me. It felt wrong.
A horrible, twisted joke. My shadows reached toward him, testing to see if he was awake, but they swiftly pulled back as soon as they met his cold skin.
I only had a few minutes to spare, but I wished I had a lifetime.
I wanted to touch him. I wanted to hold him.
I wanted to ease his head into my lap, stroking his hair until his eyes opened again.
In a different, healed world, I wanted nothing more than to wake up every morning with him by my side.
I wanted to be the first person to hear his voice, the first person to see his smile.
I wanted to be there for him now as I wanted to be there for him always.
But I kept my hands firmly at my sides. I wouldn’t permit myself to touch him.
I’d lost that right when I stabbed him through the chest.
For now, he would rest.
And I would rebuild the world for him.
For everyone.
“I love you, Erebus,” I said fiercely, clenching my hands. The admission spilled from somewhere deep within my soul. Words I’d never shared to anyone other than my family. But they were true. Maker, I’d never spoken anything truer. I love you.
I only wished I’d told him sooner.
My shadows crept over him where my hands could not, gently sweeping a strand of moon-white hair from his brow. “Rest. Heal. And when you rise again, may we reunite atop Raelion’s corpse.”