19 #3
Five years ago, Elliot was a boy. Just a ten-year-old with sparkling brown eyes and a heart so filled with hope and innocence, despite our tragic circumstances, that I tried to be stronger, just for him.
To be the protective sister that I couldn’t be for Eden.
But he’d be fifteen now. Well on his way to adulthood.
His voice would be different. His height would be different, his demeanor would be different.
He’d smell different, look different, be different.
And worst of all was that I’d left him alone for five pivotal years.
He’d been alone. So young, and so alone.
Mother, dead. Father, dead. Siblings, dead.
I was going to be sick.
The innkeeper adjusted his eyeglasses, peering at us as if we were perhaps fools after all. “The Age of Our Holy Light Bringer.”
“How wonderful. Thank you,” I said, voice cracking as I quickly slid a few more coins his way.
I plastered a friendly smile on my face, trying to mirror his excitement.
The last thing I needed was to draw even more suspicion.
“We’ll gladly take two meals and a room for the night. Horses, too, if you have any left.”
The innkeeper hesitated, then nodded. “Most of our villagers are gathered at the capital these days, so there’s plenty to spare. I’ll get the details sorted. You two just enjoy your food and lodging.”
He left to prepare our food, and I sank into my chair, exhaling heavily. The fire crackled between us, its glow painting fleeting shadows across Erebus’s face. But even though he was staring at the flames, I knew better than to think his thoughts were serene in any way.
“If that lying bastard—who is clearly bound to the demon king—is planning to make everyone dream again, it will be catastrophic,” Erebus said, jaw clenched so tightly that I worried he’d crack his teeth.
“If they dream now, their souls will be devoured by Raelion and his demons. This is no miracle. This is… a slaughter.” He brought his face into his hands.
It was one of the only times I’d seen him look truly exhausted.
“Every single person who falls asleep without drinking the elixir will become Corrupt.”
I swallowed hard. “And they’ll all think he’s performing a miracle. Ending Corruption for good. They’ll willfully dream, thinking they’ll finally experience the Dream Realm they’ve only read about in storybooks.”
“They’re desperate for any sign of hope,” he said, the disdain in his voice thick enough to cut. “I cannot blame them.”
“He’s using them. Taking their fear and twisting it into loyalty. And if he’s cutting off the elixir…”
“Then he’s bringing his sword down on their necks. There will be nothing to stop the demons. Raelion and his darkness will consume them all.”
A chill settled over me despite the heat of the fire.
I glanced away, letting my gaze drift to the inn’s other patrons.
A couple whispered to each other near the door.
A woman hushed a crying child by the window.
The rest sat hunched over their meals, eyes downcast and shoulders weighed down by unseen burdens.
A few seemed hopeful—cheerful, even—but I could tell it was a tentative kind of hope.
The kind that would crumble under the next strong breeze.
“Five years,” I repeated softly, more to myself than Erebus. “What else has he done in that time? And who else has fallen prey to his lies?”
Erebus didn’t answer, but the tension in his jaw told me he was thinking the same thing I was.
“We’ll find Elliot,” he said fiercely. He leaned forward, his voice a low rumble. “We’ll stop him, Esmer. We’ll find the cracks in Mithras’s plan and tear it apart.”
“We need to get to Istralla as soon as possible, then. If Elliot’s still alive, he’ll know more. And if he’s not…” I trailed off, throat tightening.
Erebus didn’t let me finish the thought. “He’s alive.” The certainty in his voice was unshakable. “And so are we. That’s enough for now.”
The fire hissed, and for a moment, I let the weight of his conviction settle in my chest.
Elliot had to be alive.
I couldn’t consider another alternative.
When an older woman finally brought our food out—two heaping bowls of stew, buttered potatoes, warm bread, and a second pitcher of steaming cider—Erebus melted.
He picked up a piece of bread, his expression flickering between wariness and wonder, as if he’d forgotten what it meant to savor something so simple.
I smiled, some of my own tension melting at his childlike awe. “All that emotion for a piece of bread.”
He arched a brow but didn’t bother masking the slight upward twitch of his lips. “After centuries of stale air and shadows? This might as well be ambrosia.”
I bit into my own bread, groaning as the warmth and saltiness spread through me like sunlight. For a moment, the world outside—the cold, the demons, Noctis’s Corruption, the Light Bringer—faded. It was just the two of us, sharing a stolen slice of normalcy.
“You’re not wrong,” I admitted, pouring us each a cup of cider. “Here,” I said, lifting my cup. “To food that’s not a dream.”
Erebus raised his mug, his eyes locking with mine. “And to nights that remind us of what’s real.”