23
We slipped past the towering doors of Citadel Firstlight, and Silas guided us through the gilded halls.
The soles of my bloody boots looked profane against the pristine marble floors, which were polished to a mirror’s shine.
Erebus’s heavier steps, deliberate and even, echoed in contrast to the eerie quiet that hung over the citadel.
The rustle of his cloak and the warmth of his hand were the only reassurances that I hadn’t somehow slipped into another dream—a more vicious one than the current reality I was trapped in.
“Are you able to access our shadows?” I whispered.
His mouth tightened. “No. I can’t feel them anywhere.”
I focused on the corners of the citadel, searching for shadows. There. Beyond a grouping of nobles, hiding under a sculpture of a lion, was a thick pool of darkness. I called to it, gently coaxing it to rise, but it did not so much as twitch. So, we were powerless.
Again.
“He reminds me of someone, but I can’t say who,” Erebus murmured, glaring daggers into the back of Silas’s immaculate, close-cropped curls. “Do you see how the others are watching him?”
Sure enough, when we passed the next grouping of nobles—three women, two men, and a single Light Legionnaire—they rushed to incline their heads. But their eyes still watched, gleaming with something suspiciously close to desire. To jealousy, even.
I shuddered, skin crawling. “They act like they want to eat him.”
“Or wear his skin.”
We gave each other a look, the corners of our mouths twitching.
Erebus dipped his head toward my ear, pretending that he was adjusting my cloak.
“I know he helped you survive the Corrupt attack on your village. And that he was friendly when you were being taken to my tomb.” He adjusted my makeshift scarf, acting as if he was patting away a layer of dust. “But if it turns out he’s marching us to our graves, I will show him no mercy. ”
And then he straightened as if he’d never spoken a word.
Everything about the citadel shimmered with excessive opulence.
Walls encrusted with golden filigree towered impossibly high, and massive tapestries depicted not the Maker, not the Weavers, but Mithras.
His tapestries stretched from floor to ceiling, illustrating him in various scenes throughout history.
Mithras, defeating demons. Mithras, creating the elixir.
Mithras, being ordained by the Maker as he became the Light Bringer.
But the final tapestry made my blood run cold.
In the histories, Erebus was depicted as the monster who caused Corruption, unleashing thousands of demons upon the Dream Realm when he tried to purify the Nocturne.
For hundreds of years, artists had depicted him cruelly, more beast than man.
He often appeared with horns, fangs, and a beast-like body.
He was never beautiful. Never human at all.
Without his draconic helmet, it would have been impossible to recognize him as the villain he’d been damned to be.
But this tapestry was a version I’d never seen before.
It didn’t show the Shadow Bringer as a monster; it depicted him as a man, no helmet in sight.
And he wasn’t alone.
At the center of the tapestry were Erebus and me.
We were both wearing spiked armor as we flew above a tainted sea, mouths stretched into disturbing grins.
Around us, forming a depraved halo, were the seven Weavers.
Their faces were twisted in pure agony, chests broken by the chains running through them.
Erebus and I were holding these seven chains between us, our other hands raised as a storm of shadow loomed overhead.
And below us, prepared to strike us down, was Mithras.
He wore a golden cape so long that it filled the bottom of the tapestry, and his sword, brimming with light, was raised high above his head.
It was a hideous reversal of what had truly happened at Citadel Evernight.
I fought the urge to tear it to the ground.
No wonder Silas wanted our hoods up.
“What a wretched mockery,” Erebus said, disgusted. “Their fear of the truth runs so deep that they’ve butchered it and paraded the corpse as their own creation.”
Silas hurried us on, and I found myself curling inward.
Firstlight wasn’t beauty; it was opulence.
The gold refracted the last rays of light streaming through narrow stained glass windows, casting warped distortions over the nobles we passed.
I tried to ignore their stares, but it was impossible not to perceive their disdain.
They didn’t recognize us, and yet they gawked at us as though we were insects or anomalies, faces twisting in horror as they beheld our tarnished clothes and scuffed boots.
They wrinkled their noses as we passed, likely offended by smell of soot and Corrupt blood that still clung to our skin.
Strangely, they barely spoke.
Most were pale and still, almost as if they feared breaking the fragile veneer of the world around them.
It was a dramatic contrast to the jubilant villagers just outside Firstlight’s walls.
Even the guards stationed at each of Firstlight’s halls were unnervingly quiet.
Their gold-and-ivory armor gleamed with the same unnatural brilliance as the walls, and their hollow gazes stalked us even after we’d turned a corner.
My stomach churned as we moved farther into the citadel.
I couldn’t place the feeling, but something was wrong with these people—it was demonic, almost. Their faces seemed carved from wax, their smiles pasted on like masks.
It took every ounce of control I had not to reach for my dagger.
Fortunately, our weapons hadn’t been removed.
“Keep moving,” Silas urged. “We’re going to see your brother first.”
The spiral staircase he led us to seemed endless, its steps carved from pure alabaster.
Each step felt heavier than the last, my legs burning with exertion as tension coiled in my chest. The anticipation—and the fear—of seeing Elliot after all these years was a wolf prowling inside my throat.
When we finally reached the top, Silas paused in front of a wooden door.
The celestial carving etched into the frame pulsed faintly with golden light, and a soft hum resonated through the air, low and unnerving.
“He’s in here. Farthest cot from the door,” Silas said, his voice tight. “Be swift, please.”
I shoved past him, my trembling hands fumbling with the latch.
The door creaked open, revealing a long, dimly lit room.
The thick scent of incense hit me like a wave, acrid and overwhelming, as though it was trying to mask something rotting beneath.
Rows of narrow cots lined the room, each one occupied by a boy who couldn’t have been older than fifteen or sixteen.
They lay perfectly still, their faces unnaturally serene, like statues carved from flesh.
My heart hammered as I scanned the room.
“Elliot,” I gasped, my voice cracking.
My legs moved before I could think. Elliot looked so much older than I remembered. His jaw was sharper, his cheekbones more pronounced. His hair, once a mess of curls, was neatly combed, framing a face that bore few traces of the boy I’d left behind.
I fell to my knees beside him, the cold stone floor biting through my clothes.
My hands hovered over him, trembling, afraid to touch.
“Elliot,” I whispered again, my voice cracking under the weight of his name. “It’s me. It’s Esmer. I’m here. Are you sleeping?”
When my fingers finally brushed his cheek, his skin was cold. My stomach twisted violently. His chest rose and fell, but barely—just enough to keep hope alive.
“He won’t wake,” Silas said quietly from behind me. “I don’t recommend trying.”
“What do you mean?” I demanded, whirling around to face him. “What’s wrong with him?”
“He’s been put to sleep in preparation for tomorrow’s ceremony.”
“Then wake him up,” I snarled, disbelief and fury warring in my chest. “Wake him up now.”
Elliot’s clothing suddenly seemed glaringly obvious. He wore cream-and-gold sleep clothes, with a familiar insignia embroidered over his heart. It was the same crest I’d seen on the guards, on the legionnaires, on the banners that lined the halls.
He was a member of the Light Legion now.
And his glorious lord, the leader he served, was a monster.
“I can’t,” Silas said simply. “All trainee Light Legionnaires and their supervising captains are in the Dream Realm. There are many preparations to make for tomorrow’s Revel.”
“Preparations?” Erebus mocked darkly. “You mean watching the Weavers writhe on their chains as the Dream Realm and Noctis become more Corrupt?”
Silas’s entire body tensed. “Lower your voice.” Then he said to me, softening, “He isn’t dead, Esmer. He’ll wake soon enough. Then you’ll get to hear all about his adventures these past five years. He’s done very well under our care.”
I clutched Elliot’s hand, his limp fingers a harsh reminder of how powerless I was. Time was cruel, but this fate was crueler. I’d vowed to protect Elliot no matter what.
But I’d failed.
I felt Erebus’s shadow settle over me, his hands firmly touching my back.
“You didn’t fail him,” he murmured into my hair, so soft that Silas wouldn’t be able to hear. “We will make good on your promise. We will not leave this citadel without him.”
I turned to Erebus, desperate for something to cling to. His pale skin and the black clothes he wore made him look like a storm in the middle of this golden nightmare, and I wanted to believe him. But the wrongness of this place pressed down on me like a wrought iron anchor, suffocating me.
A faint noise outside broke through the stillness: a clatter of metal boots, distant but growing louder.
Silas straightened, face sharp with alarm.
“There’s no time to explain,” he said urgently. “I need to move you to more private quarters.”
“But—”
“Now,” he insisted. “If we get caught here, you’ll be killed on the spot.”
Silas led us back down the corridor, the sound of our hurried footsteps echoing against the walls.
The golden light that bathed the halls now felt harsh and menacing, as if it was watching us.
Finally, Silas stopped in front of a nondescript door.
He shoved it open, revealing a sprawling room filled with opulent furniture and several candelabras.
“Stay here,” Silas said, his voice strangled. “I’ll be back with fresh food and clothes.” Then he stared at Erebus, his expression deadly. “Don’t do anything rash. And no matter what, do not leave this room.”
And then he slammed the door, locking us inside.