28
Citadel Firstlight had transformed overnight.
Masked Revelers, dressed in finery identical to ours, crowded the halls as they hurried toward a great ballroom.
It was a blur of movement and excitement, of radiant hope and joyful celebration.
Inside the ballroom, there was dancing, singing, laughing; a celebration filled with people genuinely elated at the day’s significance and what it would bring.
They chattered excitedly about dreams—what they hoped to see and do.
It reminded me of my childhood. Of how Elliot, Eden, and I would curl up under a pile of blankets and speculate about what dreaming felt like.
How we wished, desperately, for the chance to safely try.
Above us was a domed ceiling that was segmented into several panels.
The central panel was an enormous mural of the Light Bringer raising a scepter in front of a golden sun.
From it hung strips of red fabric that crawled across the painting and the ceiling’s panels and draped all the way to the glossy floor.
I wrinkled my nose.
The curtains reminded me of bloody entrails.
I held my chin high and plastered a bland smile onto my face, trying not to appear vindictive or unhappy.
The gravity of what we were about to do was not lost on me.
Killing Mithras would likely be a very public affair, and we were in a room filled with hundreds—if not thousands—of faithful citizens.
Silas swore we’d have the allegiance of the Light Legion.
Theia promised the citizens of Noctis would recognize the Weavers and accept the truth.
Still, slaying the glorious Light Bringer would be an irreversible disruption.
A raging fire that would surely force a chain reaction of grim events.
Fortunately, the Revelers seemed unaware that the couple they’d demonized upon their citadel’s tapestry were walking in their midst. They barely spared Erebus and me a glance as we circled the room, trying to blend in.
But even masked and in matching golden finery, the other Weavers were difficult to miss.
They were simply too beautiful—too otherworldly.
Fenrir and Nephthys were dancing, laughing into each other’s necks.
Ceres and Lelantos were lingering by the food, balancing plates stacked with various confections.
Theia was alone, snaking through the crowd on her way to Mithras.
She would command the room, decrying his treachery while the rest of us prepared to strike.
And Somnus and Xander were near the gilded platform at the center of the room, likely engrossed in a thrilling conversation about the details of Mithras’s demise.
Xander advocated for a quick, clean death.
Somnus insisted on something more creative.
The ultimate decision, however, would fall to Erebus and me.
And after Mithras was slain, we’d hastily descend upon the Dream Realm and finish Raelion in his incorporeal form. He’d be weak after his physical host was killed; it would be no different than fighting a regular demon.
Erebus tensed beside me.
“There he is,” Erebus growled.
Mithras was atop the central platform, unmasked and garbed in silk that gleamed like fire.
The cape he wore, impossibly long and glossy, mirrored the one I’d seen within the citadel’s tapestry, and his pauldrons, carved with lions and suns, seemed almost identical to the ones King Gabriel’s skeleton still wore.
His hair flowed in perfect, shining waves to just above his shoulders, complementing his tanned, almost glowing skin.
He wore a large golden crown, and his teeth were white and pristine as he smiled at the Weaver who had just joined him on the platform.
Theia?
The Weaver of the Future was also garbed in gold, though her dress’s fabric was more translucent and floating than the thick silk Mithras wore.
It shimmered as she moved, reminiscent of sunlight.
Her pale throat, arms, and ankles were adorned in jewelry, and it chimed pleasantly when she lifted her hands or bent her feet.
Mithras murmured into her silver hair as though they were close confidants.
Or lovers, even.
My stomach dropped; Erebus’s entire body began to shake.
A Reveler stepped in front of us, blocking our view.
“Silas,” I said quickly. “Why is Theia—” I clamped my mouth shut. Silas’s eyes, normally a warm, friendly brown, were tinged with red.
“You’re a demon?” Erebus snarled, drawing me behind him. “How many others are there?”
A smile slithered across Silas’s mouth, impossibly cold and cruel.
“Soon we will all be demons,” Silas growled. “Do you know how many powerful demons are eagerly awaiting their hosts?” He gave a short, barking laugh. “The entire kingdom will soon bear witness to an incredible transformation. You cannot stop it.”
“I recognize you now,” Erebus said, his voice laced with dawning horror. “You were a dreamer at Evernight—a dreamer without an assigned Weaver. You had a sister, didn’t you? A twin.”
My heart sank.
Aris?
“Don’t speak of Aris,” Silas roared. The red warred mightily with the brown in his eyes; if his soul was still within, he was fighting.
“And don’t look at me with your disgusting pity.
I am no longer that foolish mortal who bartered his own life to save his sister’s.
I am Raelion’s second-in-command. Estaroth. ”
BOOM!
The domed ceiling began to unfurl on all sides like the petals of some great flower.
Cold morning air whipped around us as the ceiling and then the walls peeled back, exposing us to both the rising dawn in the east and the enormous crowd watching below the citadel to the west. For a breath, all was quiet.
It was as though all Noctis had gathered in Istralla to witness this moment—the victory of their glorious Light Bringer against the encroaching dark.
The crowd appeared endless, a radiant sea of gold banners, hopeful smiles, and clasped hands.
They were ready for change.
They were ready to dream.
“Welcome to the Revel of Dawn,” Mithras declared, throwing his arms wide as he greeted his adoring subjects.
The silence magnified his voice. It echoed over the shimmering buildings as though he were the Maker Himself.
“We are here today to celebrate the end of Corruption. No longer will you endure the pain of watching your loved ones suffer. No longer will you be denied the right to a peaceful slumber.”
I squinted, trying to see more clearly.
The crowd’s hands weren’t clasped—they were each holding something.
A small vial.
Mithras held up his own goblet of sparkling liquid. “To Noctis. To our great and glorious future.”
The crowd mirrored him, holding their vials high.
“This will be the last elixir we shall ever imbibe. The Dream Realm has been restored at last.” He made a quick gesture to his nearby guards.
At once, they forced the six Weavers forward.
Theia joined them, standing by Mithras’s side.
“I have rescued the Weavers from the chains the wicked Shadow Bringer thrust upon them. But I was not alone in the good work.”
Rough hands grabbed me by the shoulders, shoving me forward.
I squirmed under their grasp as they brought me to the raised platform, but I didn’t dare do anything else—there were simply too many eyes on me.
Too many hopeful, curious eyes. Mithras’s assassination wouldn’t be fulfilled with a dagger to the heart in a dark corner.
Our only chance would be a very public demonstration.
But could I really kill him in front of the eyes of so many?
Theia had betrayed us; she was following Mithras, not paving the way for his execution.
Erebus and I wouldn’t stand a chance.
The citizens would riot, and the entire might of the Light Legion would strike us down.
But wouldn’t I do anything to save Noctis? Even if it means my own demise?
“Esmer Havenfall, hailing from Norhavellis, has valiantly fought to seek out the Shadow Bringer and bring him to me. He tried to bend her to his foul will, but she did not falter in the abyss.” With a quick swipe of his blade, my dress’s neckline was cut.
I cried out, trying to cover myself, but my arms were wrenched back.
Raelion’s cursed mark, two black claws shaped in the mockery of a necklace, was now on display for everyone to see.
“Look at how he marked her!” Mithras shouted.
“But Esmer is a model for how all citizens of Noctis should be. She bravely faced his evil, seized it, tamed it, and stood triumphant. Let none deny her glory, for she has earned reverence beyond measure.” Mithras turned to look at me then, smiling warmly as he placed an adoring hand underneath my chin.
His eyes were no longer a rich, golden honey; instead, they were bloody rubies. “Isn’t that right?”
Erebus shoved himself to the front of the gathered Revelers, fighting to take his place by my side, but he was immediately overcome by a swarm of legionnaires.
They wrenched his hands behind his back as he struggled, and a sharp kick to his stomach forced him to his knees.
He snarled, but Silas’s—or Estaroth’s, rather—armored elbow quickly slammed into his face.
Blood gushed from his nose, splattering his lips and soaking his chin, a crimson trail pouring unchecked down his neck.
I surged forward, desperate to help, but he caught my eye and mouthed no.
The other Weavers’ eyes widened in distress.
There were more legionnaires surging forward now, hands on their weapons.
The message was clear: If we resisted, we’d receive the same treatment as Erebus.
“What you see here is the monster who ravaged our kingdom for five hundred years,” Mithras declared, leveling a look so full of hatred—so full of disgust—at Erebus that it made me physically ill.
Then he ripped off Erebus’s mask. How dare he?
I was shaking now; my hands were cold, and my head felt close to bursting.
“The devil who sought to devour your mothers, fathers, sisters, brothers. Your neighbors. Your children. Your friends. And now, even your holy Light Bringer.”
The crowd gasped. Some even took a few steps back or averted their gazes altogether.
“So let us drink. Let us toast to the monster whose death will finally end Noctis’s Corruption. Let us drink to the first shared dream in over five hundred years.”
All the citizens drank from their vials, cheering when the liquid was completely gone.
There was a small fight as the Weavers raged against the Light Legion—but they were quickly overcome, the contents of the vials shoved down their throats so forcefully that some gagged.
It took four men alone to pry open Erebus’s jaws.
The drink tasted different from the elixir I was used to; this substance was bitter and sickly.
A thick, possessive syrup that clung to my throat as it slid into my stomach.
The legionnaires themselves followed suit, drinking from their cups.
Citizens immediately began to collapse, falling to the ground in heaps.
“What is this?” I cried. “What did you do to them?”
“I am merely continuing our Revel the proper way,” Mithras drawled, ruby eyes gleaming in the rising dawn.
“Soon you will see. Soon you will know. And I think you will enjoy what I have planned.” I shuddered as I felt Raelion’s voice lurking within Mithras’s.
It slowly crawled up my spine and settled in my head, hissing in my ears.
“I know how much you lust for power, Esmer. It is in your blood. You’ve felt so helpless for so long.
” He twisted my face to meet his. “Wouldn’t you like to become a god? Elliot is already waiting for you.”
Erebus wrenched himself free from his nearly unconscious guards, staggered to the pedestal, and shoved a dagger into Mithras’s chest. I expected Mithras to scream in agony or snarl with revulsion.
Instead he simply laughed—a brutal, violent sound echoed by Estaroth—and quickly drew his own blade.
I saw it a moment before Erebus did. I tried to push away his arm, tried to angle myself in front of Erebus—
But Mithras still managed to strike true.
The world spun.
A sword was in Erebus’s stomach.
A sword was in his stomach.
“No!” I screamed, dropping to my knees and cradling Erebus to my chest. He groaned, shuddering in agony. Blood soaked through his clothes, dripping from his face and blooming across his stomach.
“You were right, Theia,” Mithras chuckled, gripping the dagger that was still in his chest. With a sickening crunch, he drove it deeper. “This was entirely worth the delicious wait.”
The rest of the Weavers were unconscious, but Theia still managed to stand.
She gave me and Erebus a brief remorseful glance before averting her eyes.
“They will be the perfect hosts, my lord. With their shadow magic and your demonic might, you will be unstoppable. No one will be able to harm you now.”
“Good,” Mithras murmured. “Good.”
Theia whispered the next part: “The Maker will surely be watching your triumph.”
And then she fell, jewelry rattling across the ground as pieces of it shattered.
Erebus slumped in my arms, unconscious.
Sleep tugged at me, too—it pulled at me from within, tearing me down with sharp claws, even as red-hot rage seared through every vein in my body.
It wasn’t fair—none of this was fair. Everything had been taken from me.
My sister, my parents, my brother, my lover, my life.
I tried to reach for Mithras and strike the hideous, triumphant grin from his mouth, but my hand wouldn’t listen.
It wouldn’t move.
“Let us celebrate a new dawn,” Mithras said. “Let us celebrate a new world.”
His teeth were all I could see as everything faded into black.