1 #2
The thread snapped as easily as a hair; Somnus scarcely had time to roll his eyes before his body slammed backward through the iridescent trees, melting into a void of shadow. The dreamers froze, jaws slackening at the wake Somnus left behind.
“You killed him,” Ceveon said in awe.
My eyes widened. I didn’t kill him.
Did I?
“No one can kill a Weaver that easily,” Sorren scoffed. “He’ll return any second now. If Esmer and Erebus decide to let him back in, that is.”
A faint knocking could be heard—or felt, rather—in the distance.
“Can you hear that?” Erebus asked.
Sorren glanced around. “The dreamers whispering that you’re gods? Or did you mean something else?”
Knock.
Knock.
Knock.
“There’s someone knocking,” I clarified, much to Ceveon and Sorren’s confusion.
I focused on the sound, trying to discern who it was and what they wanted. Slowly, the knocks grew louder, and I could see their origin in my mind’s eye. A faint outline of a man appeared. Long hair, black robes, skin the color of bones, and a face wearing a frightening smile.
Somnus was at the edge of our domain and was requesting entry.
“We should let him back in,” I suggested.
“No, we shouldn’t,” Erebus snapped, crossing his armored forearms. “Not until he gets on his knees and begs.”
“He’s not our enemy, Erebus. At the very least we need to hear him out.”
Erebus turned so he was fully facing me, ignoring the hundreds of dreamers staring at us as though we had just commanded the sun to rise and the moon to set. He let out a terse breath, considering. Trying to understand me, but struggling.
His eyes alone spoke of what his lips did not.
This is too much. Our newfound freedom, demons turning into dreamers, and the reality of our destiny as Shadow Weavers spun before us in a riotous circle. It was dizzying.
“For centuries I sought revenge on Mithras and the Weavers for what they did to me,” he said. “Revenge is a calling carved into my bones. Into my very instincts. It is difficult to consider a different enemy.”
He didn’t say it, but we both knew what he meant. The powerful demon with red eyes.
I touched his cheek, willing my gauntlet to disappear.
He closed his eyes as his white hair spilled over my wrist. For a moment, all the world slipped away.
The dreamers faded, slowly going out of focus.
It felt like a wall of water separated us from them—as though we were standing on the banks of a crystalline river and the dreamers were rippling under its depths.
“I know,” I said softly. And I meant it.
I wanted revenge, too. On someone—or something—for all the horrors I’d faced.
The deaths of Eden and my parents, being taken from my home, and Elliot’s abduction—it was all a festering wound, leaking poison into my lungs.
Even though I didn’t have a heart in the Dream Realm, I often found it hard to breathe.
“But we’ll need the Weavers’ help to defeat our true enemy.
You remember your promise to me, don’t you?
” I asked, recalling the first of three dreams Erebus and I walked through.
“You agreed to do everything in your power to help me stop Corruption after we broke free from your castle.”
“I agreed to help you stop Corruption. I didn’t agree to partner with seven fools.”
“But if we’re Weavers now, that changes everything.”
“We aren’t Weavers,” he murmured, pressing his mouth into my palm. His eyes were still closed.
“Then why do things bend to our will? Why are we able to control and influence both the landscape and their souls? Erebus, look.”
He heeded my command, observing the dreamers and the darkness that connected us all.
Shadows lingered around the dreamers’ bodies, obscuring them from our sight.
It didn’t feel as if they were searching for or missing us.
It was simply as if the dream was holding its breath, waiting for us to move.
The sheer power, all at my fingertips, was terrifying.
Intoxicating, too.
“For years I craved freedom from the shackles of the Dream Realm. I wanted my vengeance, and then I wanted the autonomy to do whatever I pleased.” His mouth slackened, then tightened.
“This is another form of imprisonment, Esmer. Our lives will never again be the same.” His eyes slid back to mine, overwhelming in their beauty.
Everything about him was achingly beautiful.
He was tall, intimidating, and glorious in both his brute power and his cunning spirit.
But there, simmering like fire, was a well of rage and fear.
“When we finally wake from this dream, we won’t be able to live freely in Noctis.
We’ll be caged in our tomb—and in this domain—for the foreseeable future. ”
“Weeks? Months?”
“Not months,” he said, shaking his head. “Decades. Centuries. Millennia. Weavers are immortal unless their mortal bodies die. And that’s only possible if they are murdered or die of old age from too many years spent awake instead of dreaming.”
The intoxicating well of power under my skin suddenly felt cold.
What would it feel like to be alive for centuries?
Not so long ago, I had simple hopes and dreams. I longed for freedom outside of Norhavellis, but not the freedom of an immortal.
I longed for safety from Corruption, but not safety within the confines of a tomb.
I had wanted a life without demons, shadows, and fear; but now I was at the heart of all three.
Distantly, I wondered what Elliot would think.
He’d grow up. He’d grow old. He’d die. And I’d still be in the Dream Realm, years slipping through my fingers like sand in a towering hourglass.
Dread rose up like a dark tide, threatening to drown me.
“Perhaps it wouldn’t be permanent,” I offered quickly. “Once the demons are defeated, we could ask the Maker to anoint someone else.”
“If only it were that simple.” Erebus turned away from me, beholding the blur of dreamers who encircled us.
“To be anointed as a Weaver is to be given a direct command from the Maker Himself. If we don’t heed his call, we will be culled from existence.
Cast out to the Beyond—that endless pit of darkness in the underbelly of the Realm, where demons make their nests. ”
“So, we become Weavers, or we succumb to eternal darkness?”
“I’m sorry, Esmer.” He clenched his fists, arms so tense they were shaking. “This is nothing you’d ever want for yourself. You shouldn’t have to shoulder this impossible burden with me.”
His voice cracked on with me, as if that—our shared fate—was the part that pained him most.
I considered what we’d been offered.
Perhaps we hadn’t been given a choice, but we still could decide how to respond.
Would we cower from what had been thrust upon us?
Or would we rise, even after everything we’d endured?
On one hand, it meant I’d never live a life of quiet normalcy.
Never walk within Noctis as just another mortal.
I might see Elliot less than I wanted. Might never have the chance to start a family of my own, to settle into some peaceful corner of the kingdom.
Shadows prickled at my fingertips, stirred by the storm inside me.
Weavers were heroes in the storybooks; protectors forged by the Maker to guard against greater evil.
But they were more than heroes. They were power incarnate.
And power, I realized, was something I needed.
Not just to protect, but to destroy. I wanted to defeat the demons, and I wanted them to hurt.
Perhaps our fate was not an unbearable burden but a miraculous opportunity.
“You’re wrong,” I said, placing my hands over his clenched fists. “I do want this.”
His eyes narrowed. “You want—”