14
Once upon a time, there was the Light Bringer, and once upon a time, the Light Bringer was good.
Mithras was Noctis’s holy sovereign, a golden, immortal king who fought against Corruption with every breath in his regal body.
He symbolized everything the monstrous Shadow Bringer wasn’t—the epitome of strength, heroism, and goodness.
When he visited Norhavellis during seasonal elixir distributions, Eden, Elliot, and I would clamber over one another to catch a glimpse of him first.
When he emerged from the Visstill, he was always glowing.
He rivaled the sun in his radiance, ever adorned in white and gold. He rivaled the brightest star in his beauty, towering over ordinary men and taking in the world with honeyed eyes that seemed to sparkle from within.
Elliot wanted to be him.
Eden wanted to kiss him.
And I simply wanted him to win.
He was our final protector in the centuries-old fight against Corruption.
A bright hope who could cleanse souls, dispel demons, and distribute vials filled with liquid so powerful it became a nightly ritual for everyone in the kingdom.
It was he who would bring the seven Weavers back.
It was he who could finally rid the world of demons so that we may dream again.
And once upon a time, not so very long ago, I would have done anything to firm his faith in me.
Even if that meant killing the Shadow Bringer.
But that was before Mithras had violently killed his own legionnaires with blades of light, leaving their bodies to rot unceremoniously in Erebus’s tomb.
Before he had taken Elliot from me. Before he had told me the Shadow Bringer was—of all things—a “necessary darkness.” That I was to keep him alive and safely locked away for the good of the kingdom.
Before I learned he’d betrayed Erebus centuries ago, trapping him with hundreds of screaming demons.
Erebus’s pain, as well as the pain of the imprisoned dreamers and the legionnaires Mithras had slaughtered, was unfathomable.
The Light Bringer was not the fairy-tale king I’d grown up admiring, and I had questions.
I had rage.
I used to think Erebus’s anger against Mithras was unfounded, a vengefulness aimed at the person keeping him rightfully imprisoned in a faraway corner of the Dream Realm. But now I understood it. Anger, pure and scortching, swept like fire through my veins.
Mithras was slumped against a charred tree in the center of a dim chamber, head in his hands.
Somehow, he’d called to me, forcing me from my domain and transporting me to this strange, broken place.
Black marble floors crumbled under my feet; the domed walls, painted with faded murals, appeared close to shattering.
He wasn’t donned in his usual golden armor; he wore no cape, no sword, no crown.
Instead, he was in a ripped tunic and brown pants tucked into knee-high black boots.
His hair was damp and stringy, his golden skin marred by cuts and bruises.
He was a mess.
My own hair was loose, and I was clothed in a simple nightgown, feet bare. I didn’t have the outward adornments of a Shadow Weaver, but I didn’t need armor or a crown to communicate my power. Magic was already spewing from my fingertips, swirling behind me like a menacing storm.
Mithras’s gaze snapped to me at once, eyes flashing as he noted my shadows.
“Get those away from here,” he roared, voice cracking as he sent a brutal wave of light my way.
His light tangled with my shadows, bidding them to quiet.
It quickly became apparent that neither his light nor my shadows would win outright; they were evenly matched, neutralizing each other before one power could take any advantage.
I cursed, remembering the fight that had taken place in the Tomb of the Devourer.
Erebus and Mithras had been evenly matched; it wasn’t until Erebus had pulled power from me that the tide had begun to shift.
“I’m a Shadow Weaver now,” I said, fingers twitching as I continued to throw my shadows against his light. All it would take was one slip. One mistake and he’d be mine. “My shadows go where I go.”
With a snarl, Mithras sent another wave of light my way, this time using the chamber’s wide array of broken mirrors and shards of glass to amplify his efforts.
The chamber instantly filled with undulating waves of light, banishing every thread of darkness I could muster.
I screamed, shielding my eyes and expecting the worst. For the light to crawl down my throat and out of my eyes.
For it to rip me apart as it had his legionnaires.
But the light simply bathed my skin in a soft, comfortable glow, much like feeling the sun’s warmth after a harsh winter.
Mithras stalked toward me, mouth tight and shoulders tense.
I reached for the familiar threads I felt in my domain, but I couldn’t feel Erebus, the dreamers, or any of the other Weavers. It was just me, Mithras, and the gnawing, dreadful sense that something else was watching us.
“Of course your shadows go where you go,” Mithras bit out, voice straining with the effort he was using to suffuse the room in light. “You’re like him. The Shadow Bringer. You always have been.”
“You can say his true name, and you can say it with respect,” I replied coldly. “I saw what you did all those years ago. You locked away your only hope of saving the Dream Realm. A sickening betrayal that was also a catastrophe.”
“I did it to protect him,” Mithras seethed.
“You did it to ruin him.”
He glanced behind himself, clearly shaken by something I couldn’t see. At the charred willow tree, then somewhere beyond it. Willow tree? With a jolt, I recognized where I was. Erebus had shown it to me before in his memories. The Evernight Dream Temple.
A chill snaked down my arms. Of all places, why was Mithras here? Citadel Evernight was festering with darkness—with true demons—as the Nocturne became more poisoned every day. Raelion was thought to be here, too.
If I saw Raelion again, I wouldn’t survive.
Not by myself.
“We’re running out of time,” Mithras said, jaw clenching.
“I know what you and the other Weavers are plotting. You wish to infiltrate Citadel Evernight and purge it of its demons. But you must do nothing of the sort.” His voice cracked, beginning to fray.
“I demand—no. No, I beg of you. Keep the Weavers—keep Erebus—away from Evernight. If you bring them here, all will be lost. They will die horrific deaths.”
“Die horrific deaths, you say?” I spat. “Like what you did to your legionnaires? Like what you tried to do to your closest friend?”
Mithras’s mouth grew thin. “Far worse than that. Keep the Weavers away from Citadel Evernight, Esmer. There is something you must do first before you can even attempt to purge the Nocturne of its darkness.”
“Where is Elliot?” I countered, matching the severity in his tone. “I won’t entertain anything you say before you tell me where he is. Give him back to me, or—”
Mithras lunged forward, clawing my shoulders. I cried out, trying to shake him, but he was too powerful.
“The Tomb of the Devourer has been opened again. You have all the supplies you’ll need,” he said quickly, eyes blazing.
“Travel to Istralla—to Citadel Firstlight. Elliot will be with my legionnaires, with Silas. And I will be…” He drifted off, jaw twitching.
“I will likely be in the throne room. I need you to—”
“I’ll never—”
“Listen to me!” he raged, and the edges of his voice trembled with something familiar. “Noctis is overrun by demons. Survive your journey to Istralla and—and—”
“And what, Mithras?”
“And kill me,” he said with a shudder, voice cracking. “Only then will it be safe to attempt overtaking Evernight. I tried everything—everything—but in the end, it wasn’t enough. I need you to drive a sword through my heart.”
I blanched, a hasty string of curses ripping from my throat. “What?”
“I’m sure you can muster the motivation to do the deed. And if you can’t stomach it, Erebus surely can.”
Mithras looked over his shoulder again.
“You will see what I’ve seen. And you will know.”
Demons suddenly shrieked from beyond the chamber, their terrible cries reverberating harshly in my ears.
“Leave!” he shouted, pushing me away. “Get away from this place—now!”
I noted Mithras’s command, but something was wrong. It wasn’t just his voice. There was a second layer beneath his words, wicked and cruel, pushing to the surface. I had heard this voice before. Had shuddered under its red, horrible gaze.
Raelion.
It was as though they were one, bleeding into each other.
And then, in a flash of clarity, it hit me.
I knew this voice. The harsh, mocking tone, the regal undercurrent of authority.
It was the voice I’d heard in my head, the one that had named my darkest thoughts, the one that had driven me to hurt Erebus.
Their voices, combined, were the demonic presence that had haunted me all this time.
“M-Mithras,” I stammered, taking a step back. “Are you—”
But before I could finish my sentence, Mithras sent an explosion of light at my chest, forcing me back to my own domain.