Chapter 29
The second dream began with a starlit sky. Floating, untethered, free.
And then we plummeted like stones, crashing into a floor of black marble.
I gingerly untangled myself from the Shadow Bringer’s long limbs, trying not to think about our kiss.
We had fallen asleep in close proximity, his mouth near my ear, his gauntleted hand atop my waist, and his armored legs a close shadow around mine.
But he never touched me in a way that wasn’t strictly necessary. Never crossed that unspoken line.
“Where are we now?” I asked, reeling from the splendor surrounding us.
Vast and domed, the dimly lit chamber was adorned with painted murals depicting strange dreamscapes, celestial beings, and dreamers in various states of sleep.
A long line of people, clad in nightclothes, stood in front of the murals as they waited to reach a circular dais draped in blue velvet.
At the center was a willow tree, its long, slender branches slipping into a pool of starry water that encircled the dais and poured backward out of the chamber.
There were two figures in front of the tree.
One sat in a throne-like chair; the other stood at his side.
“Welcome to the Evernight Dream Temple,” the Shadow Bringer announced, helping me up.
Hazy stars, almost as if they were pulled from the sky beyond, drifted into the chamber from the missing wall, casting ever-changing patterns on the floor.
Several began spinning in slow circles around us, and he gently parted them with his hands.
“Here the dreamers visit the kingdom’s esteemed dream interpreters.
All from the convenience of dreamers’ mortal beds. ”
“It’s beautiful,” I breathed. “I would have done anything to visit a place like this if I knew I could.”
“It used to be common. Dreamers would visit if they were struggling to make sense of their dreams, which happened often, or if a Weaver felt a dreamer was following a self-destructive path and needed clarity. For the dreamers who sought the temple willingly, most simply wished to know whether their dreams were Maker-sent, Weaver-sent, or figments of their own twisted minds.”
“Are we here to get our dreams interpreted, then?”
He nodded grimly. “Yes. And hopefully we can speak with the interpreter before the demon appears. I can feel it lurking.”
I shuddered. I didn’t see the red-eyed demon anywhere, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t hiding in the shadows.
“Keep in mind that the first dream was, for the most part, a singular dream. A distorted nightmare of sorts. This is a memory of a collective dream. We can only participate here as much as the Maker wills.”
An older man wearing a long robe and feathered slippers pushed into me.
“Go on,” the man demanded, his half-hooded eyes glassy with sleep. “Go forward to the dais.”
The Shadow Bringer shot him a look of icy, utter disdain, but the dreamer either couldn’t see him or wasn’t paying attention.
The dream, ever so slightly, flickered.
“You need to calm down,” I ordered, grabbing the Bringer’s hand before he could attempt anything drastic. “This dream relies on the strength and tranquility of your subconscious, correct? Because I think I’m starting to understand something.”
“I am anything but tranquil, Esmer.”
I fought not to roll my eyes. “If you let your emotions get the better of you—your rage, your disgust, your hate—then this dream will shatter before we can even meet the interpreter, yet alone confront the demon.”
“So what do you wish for me to do? Be civil?”
“Yes. Be civil.”
His eyes widened a touch, as if this was the most ridiculous concept he’d ever heard of. But then he sighed, a terse breath through his lips, and slowly squeezed my hand.
“I don’t wish to be civil,” he said darkly, giving me a deadly half smile. It was positively violent. “But for you, perhaps I will put my rage aside. Reserve it for those who truly deserve it.”
Dozens of dreamers had formed a queue behind us, slowly materializing into the temple chamber each time a new dream was interpreted.
From what I could see, interpretations held a specific pattern: The dreamer would approach the dais, images would appear in the water, the tree would glow one of several colors, and finally the interpreter would relay a brief message.
Then the dreamer would vanish, presumably sent back to their earthbound dwelling.
It appeared that the central figure was the main interpreter, whereas the figure next to him was perhaps his guard.
Sometimes, the guard leaned sideways, sharing a laugh with the interpreter.
Other times, he stood still and serious, glaring daggers at any dreamer who dared get too close or too comfortable.
“If the tree glows a color, the dream was sent by an elemental Weaver,” the Shadow Bringer explained.
“Red, blue, green, or brown for Fenrir, Nephthys, Ceres, or Lelantos. If the dream is from Somnus, Xander, or Theia, it will harden into either bone, iron, or diamond. If it turns black and charred, that means the dream is a nightmare. Some worthless figment either conjured by the dreamer themselves or under the influence of a demon.”
Soon, we were near the front of the line.
With each step, the air grew thick with anticipation, as if the very atmosphere hummed with the secrets of the universe. The air that surrounded the dais was blurry, as if time itself was beginning to distort. The interpreter motioned us forward, his hands covered in black leather.
“Approach the water,” the interpreter commanded, his voice a dark, haunting melody. “Look into its depths and show me what you seek, dreamer.”
“Listen to him,” the Shadow Bringer urged. “Look into the water and focus on your desire for freedom. Think about breaking away from my castle, and ask the Maker to help you. The Nocturne and your subconscious will do the rest.”
I looked up, meeting the interpreter’s silver-flecked eyes. Eyes I’d know anywhere now. Erebus.
My breath stilled; my chest burned. He was even more beautiful than I’d imagined he’d be.
His hair, raven black, swept away from a pale, perfect face that balanced masculinity with something so refined and so elegant that he was difficult to look at.
With his helm on, the Shadow Bringer was a striking collage of sharp and captivating pieces: eyes, lips, jaw, metal.
Unmasked, with all his features revealed, he was a masterpiece.
“Why is—”
“Don’t acknowledge me,” the Shadow Bringer murmured just as a shadow ghosted across my lips, silencing me. “It will draw the suspicions of Weavers or dreamers, which could jeopardize the dream’s viability. Just… be careful. And be especially mindful of that one.”
That one? Reluctantly, I tore my eyes from Erebus to his guard.
Not guard—the Light Bringer. Mithras.
Mithras, his honeyed eyes sparkling with humor, stood next to Erebus, arm casually draped atop the back of his chair.
Erebus’s cape billowed behind him like the wings of some nocturnal creature, complementing the finely tailored clothes he wore; Mithras, on the other hand, wore a white shirt that was open at the collar, black slim-fitting pants, and golden adornments that gleamed even in the dimly lit room.
Both wore similar signet rings; both had the trappings of two beautiful young princes in their primes.
The water was still and depthless like an all-seeing eye.
Odd.
When I looked, I could feel the water looking back.
Waiting. Assessing. Probing for ways to help me see.
Something tugged faintly on my mind, coaxing out a memory.
I followed the Shadow Bringer’s instructions, focusing on my desire for freedom.
Vaguely, I could sense my mind drifting to Elliot, but I pulled it back, focusing instead on my dream of the Shadow Bringer’s castle and the invisible bindings that trapped us there.
The Nocturne wanted more—it felt unsatisfied—so I gave it more context.
Corruption and my frustration because there was no cure.
Eden, Mother, and Father. Aching for a normal life outside of Norhavellis.
The terror I felt whenever I thought about Elliot. My connection with the Shadow Bringer.
My deeply unsettling connection with the Shadow Bringer.
Erebus could see some of what I was showing the Nocturne—pieces of the Shadow Bringer’s castle, the demons, my family—but other parts were swept away, hidden as if only for the water itself. The willow’s branches sank idly into the liquid, softly swaying.
Show me how to be free, I thought.
Show me how to save us.
Show me how to save all of us.
Suddenly, the temple began to glow with a radiant, overwhelming light.
The tree was turning gold, lit from within as if by the sun itself.
I felt warmth spread through my limbs, a pure aching rightness.
Tears slipped down my face because, for a moment—for once in perhaps my entire life—I finally felt nothing but peace, hope, and the reassurance that everything would be fine.
The dreamers behind us were similarly amazed.
Some wept; others simply beamed in outright joy.
The Shadow Bringer stood at my side, utterly speechless. He cast a beautiful shadow with the sun dancing in his eyes.
The dream flickered again. We were running out of time. Hurry.
“Your dream is Maker-given, dreamer. A light in the darkness,” Erebus said, standing to get a better look.
Beside him, Mithras was staring in similar wonder.
“Nightmares are false; they exist to misdirect, twist, and misalign dreamers with their true purpose. Weaver-sent dreams are messages meant to inspire, teach, warn, or guide—all depending on the Weaver. But Maker-sent dreams serve a greater purpose. They can alter the fabric of the Realm itself.”
“What does my dream mean?” I urged. “Can you tell me what I should know?”
Erebus closed his eyes, considering. Then they opened quickly, snapping back to mine.
“I cannot. Maker-sent dreams are not for me to interpret. I can only tell you that you are on the right path and that your dream serves an important role in the fabric of our world.”
“That tells us nothing,” the Shadow Bringer spat.
“Is there truly nothing you can tell me?” I implored, echoing the Shadow Bringer’s frustration.
Erebus peered into the water. “When I try to interpret your dream, shadows cloud my vision. The only thing I can glean is that you are meant to walk through this darkness in order to find what you are looking for. Keep moving forward, and trust that you will reach your purpose. I’m sorry I can’t tell you more. I wish I could.”
Suddenly the dream quivered, fraying at its edges.
In the open space behind the dais, the Nocturne could be seen in all its great expanse. But something was terribly wrong. A murky presence had formed on the horizon, and it was sliding through the water, turning the sea black in its wake. With every step, the dream temple shook.
“I see you, dreamers,” the shape rumbled, its voice shaking the foundations of Evernight. The dreamers around us, including Erebus and Mithras, began to fade, unaware of what was happening. “You will not run.”
In a blink, the intruder was upon us. Its colossal face peered through the temple’s open wall, skull ringed in horns that framed red smoking eyes.
Its face was still a mask of swirling darkness—a terrifying storm cloud that sought to devour more than just bones and blood.
It hungered for the very fabric of a person’s being, the threads that held souls together.
“You fight against your fate; you are meant to succumb to the dark. It is in your blood,” the demon spoke to me.
The Shadow Bringer grabbed me by the waist, urging me to run.
He sent a wave of rolling darkness into the demon’s head, but it was useless.
The demon merely laughed, a strange, hideous sound that felt too similar to the crash of thunder, and began to smash the temple wall so that its body could properly fit.
“We need to wake up, Bringer. We have no chance.”
“No, we don’t,” he agreed, holding me tighter. “This isn’t natural; this demon is so powerful that it’s destroying the threads of time itself.”
The demon grabbed the willow tree with a massive claw. Instantly, the bark charred, turned black, and erupted into flames.
“Hold on,” the Shadow Bringer urged. Our shadows swept us forward, desperate to save us.
“If you continue squirming, dreamers, I will find other ways to pry you apart,” the demon warned.
“Ignore it. Keep running—”
“I know!”
“I will start with your brother, Esmer Havenfall. If you do not succumb, I will tear him apart limb from limb. I will dismember him and make you watch.”
Fear, sharp and deep, twisted my stomach, sending my mind reeling. Demons were liars—deceivers and weavers of ugly half-truths. But this demon already knew Elliot. Had tried to devour him once. Had hunted for my entire family, if what Somnus said was true.
The demon pulled the tree out by its roots, throwing it at us in a fiery, smoking spiral.
And then the world went black.