chapter twenty-three #3
Another agonizing scream, raw and full of pain, rips through the night.
Drawing down the very darkness of the surrounding night, Astēr twists it into a swirling vortex of black tendrils.
I see it for what it is: an embodiment of his grief—a physical manifestation of his despair, a black storm of pure anguish.
It keeps growing as I stare at him, transfixed, both in horror and awe, as the tendrils writhe and twist, matching the tangled mess of his emotional despair.
His powers are immense.
It’s as if he’s pulling down not only the night sky but whatever darkness lies beyond.
Does that strength come from consuming other souls, like mine?
Stones and debris swirl around him in a maelstrom of death.
Beads of sweat form on his forehead, a testament to the immense amount of power he’s wielding.
Then an ear-deafening burst blasts through the ruins.
Rocks and glass are slung in all directions, hitting the lifeless bodies strewn about him.
So, this is how they were killed. And you are next, I remind myself.
You should hate him, not feel sympathy. Truth be told, I shouldn’t feel anything at all for such a monster.
But I don’t have it in me. I may fear him, but I can’t bring myself to hate him.
He’s grieving the death of his mate, killed by his brother’s hand.
Instead, having felt the intensity of their love for myself, my heart shatters at his pain.
The way his body trembles uncontrollably as he covers Nana’s smaller one with his, holding her limp body tight.
How his breath comes in ragged gasps, shallow and erratic, as if there’s not enough air for him to breathe now that she’s gone.
His usually vibrant golden eyes are bloodshot and swollen from the endless streams of tears running from his eyes.
“You are a pathetic excuse for a god.” Casimir steps from the shadows.
Astēr turns at the sound of the voice, his eyes hollow as he stares at his brother.
“Why?” Astēr’s voice is so weak that it’s barely a rasp.
“What do you mean, why?” Casimir sneers.
Astēr appears lost. “You loved her too. At least, you did at some point.”
“And now you know how it feels to have lost what you love. How is that for a why?”
Astēr only stares at him. The pain of his loss is etched into every line and crease of his still-beautiful face, as if carved into his very soul. And maybe it is.
“If you felt even a fraction of my love for her . . .” He doesn’t have to say the rest of what he’s thinking.
This would never have happened. You don’t kill the one you love.
Astēr takes a deep breath. “Can you not see how the Void is corrupting you, brother?” His voice is softer, as if he’s trying to calm a frantic animal.
“Wanting that power for yourself too, brother?” Casimir spits the word back at him. “Can’t stand to watch me being the more powerful for once?”
Confusion crosses Astēr’s features. “We were always equal.”
“Equal? Is that what you call it? I couldn’t change a damn thing in this world without your fucking consent, could I?”
“There’s a good reason two gods are needed to change the fates,” Astēr snaps.
“What you can do through the Void . . .” He runs a hand through his messy midnight-blue waves, frustration written all over his face.
“It is just not right. No one should hold power like that by themselves.” He doesn’t sound angry, only exasperated, as if talking to a child who refuses to listen.
“Jealous, are we?” Casimir smirks at Astēr. “You are welcome to join forces with me.” He tilts his chin toward Nana’s dead body. “She refused, and look where that got her.” He plasters on a pretend sad smile, and I can see Astēr’s internal fight to control himself.
Why? I expected him to rage against Casimir, but it seems as if he has no fight left. Only despair, if even that. Or has he worn himself out already? Maybe he knows challenging Casimir now will be futile.
“Never.” Astēr’s voice is firm.
“It will free you of your pain.” Casimir tilts his head, studying Astēr. “There is only peace within the vacuum of the Void.”
“Peace? Is that what you call the raging emptiness inside you?” Astēr pushes to his feet and takes a couple staggering steps toward his brother.
“I’d rather have a mountain of agonizing emotions than none at all.
” He holds Casimir’s gaze, his own eyes unwavering.
“And what you call envy, I call pity.” With that, he pivots and walks away, oblivious to the burning glare of pure hatred Casimir sends him as he lifts Nana’s limp, lifeless frame into his arms.
“I would have killed you too if I could.” Casimir’s voice is cut from ice.
Astēr turns slowly. “And I would have let you.” He casts a glance at the dark maelstrom still swirling around the site. “Eternity is nothing if not a curse.”
Wrapping the very air around himself and Nana, he disappears.
Casimir stands still, his jaw clenched, his fingers opening and closing as he stares at the spot where Astēr disappeared.
“Not even when she’s dead will he allow me to keep her.
” He hurls a dagger, its blade piercing the very spot Astēr was standing in.
“I hate you!” His voice booms through the ruins.
Then his gaze snaps to mine.
“Look who’s come to visit. Again.” He tilts his head. “Can’t stay away from me, can you?”
I gasp as cold dread seizes me. He can see me?
Seemingly well aware that I have no control over myself in this state, he walks toward me—where my dream body hovers in the air—at a leisurely pace.
My breath hitches. I need to get out of here. Out of this dream. Now. Panic surges through my whole body, heart pounding in my chest as I scream at myself to wake up.
“You are more resilient than an ashcrawl,” he murmurs in a chilling tone that causes shivers to creep down my spine.
With a sinister smile, he extends his hand, and from it burst writhing tendrils of darkness.
“He’s not even aware of what he’s done,” he whispers, his black tendrils caressing my skin. Their greasy touch makes me flinch, and his features tighten into a grim, unyielding mask. “You don’t enjoy my touch.” It’s a statement, not a question. I have upset him.
Having witnessed firsthand how unhinged he can be, I fight to break free from his grip, but it is unyielding.
He clicks his tongue. “It’s because of him, isn’t it?” He palms one of his daggers, a cruel smile gracing his lips. “What is it that makes him so irresistible?” He cocks his head. “Please tell.”
My gaze flickers from his face to his dagger. Is it possible for him to kill me here in my dream state?
“The answer is yes.” He flicks his wrist, and the dagger flies toward me.
With sheer will, I wrench myself free of his tendrils, tearing away from his dark claws the very moment the dagger hits the lower abdomen of my dream body. Surprise washes over his face, and then he’s gone.
I gasp for air as I emerge from the depths of that unsettling dream, my body drenched in cold sweat. I may have gotten away—at least for now—but his chilling presence lingers.
Then a searing pain engulfs me, consuming my senses.
A blazing fire has ignited within my abdomen.
The pain pierces through my flesh, leaving a lingering, throbbing ache that refuses to subside.
I gasp, bringing my fingers to the wound, then curse as warm liquid coats my hand.
It’s so dark that I can barely see, but lifting my hand to my face, the metallic scent of blood is unmistakable.
I run my fingers over the cut in an attempt to determine the extent of the wound in the darkness.
It extends from just above my left hip bone up toward my ribs, and although it has opened up my skin, it’s not too deep, half an inch at most. Nevertheless, there’s a significant amount of blood flowing out.
I clench my teeth. Did I manage to elude several umbra and a horde of Kabarians only to be fatally stabbed while dreaming?
Lightheaded, I clutch the wound, holding it together with one hand while searching the ground around me for my pack. If only I had a flicker of light.
When I finally find it, I pull out the torn Kabarian robe and tear off a piece to use as a makeshift bandage. I need to clean the wound, but that will have to wait for the morning. There’s no way I can find my way to the creek in the darkness.
I settle back onto my bedroll. Though the urge to escape this place is strong, I recognize the impracticality of navigating these woods at night.
The soul stars, barely visible through the treetops, extend their radiant beams toward me.
The sight of their golden strings never ceases to amaze me.
The way their countless delicate threads dance and intertwine, creating a beautiful display in the dark night, is almost enough to make me forget my wound.
My wound. I shake my head, and the enchanting illusion dissipates.
Placing a hand on my makeshift bandage, I breathe a sigh of relief as I confirm it remains dry. “How did this even happen?” I say out loud to Maeve. “It shouldn’t have been possible to wound someone in a dream.”
I now regret that I never shared these dreams with anyone.
Not the most intimate parts, of course, but the fact that I’m having these strange dreams. I should have asked Vilder when I had the chance.
He would have known. I sigh. Reāns and their magic remain largely a mystery to me, and tonight, my ignorance nearly killed me.
Clearly, these dreams are not as innocent as other dreams.
I stare at the soul stars. “Do you know why?” I whisper toward them, but they’re as silent as ever.
I roll over onto my side, pulling my knees up toward my chest. What I witnessed in the dream must have taken place at least a millennium ago.
From the bits and pieces I’ve gathered, Nana’s death was right before the Darkening.
So, how is it that Casimir could still hurt me?
Can he somehow enter my dreams, or—a chill moves down my spine—am I moving through time?
“Were you watching whatever played out from a distance, or were you in the dream?” Astēr’s deep voice rings through my head. Clearly, there’s a difference. Does that mean the dreams where I’m outside watching are not dreams after all, but something else entirely?
The intricacy of it all has given me a headache.
I close my eyes. Is something like that even possible?
I have no idea. What I do know, however, is that I don’t want to go back to sleep.
I’m well aware I need to if I’m to function as a human being, but I don’t want to get accidentally killed while doing it.
At some point, my eyes must have glided shut, because the next time I open them, the few rays of sunshine that make their way through the thick canopy of the trees wake me with a gentle caress on my face.
I hold up the hand that’s been clutching the wound through the night. It’s soaked in blood, and stars blur my vision when I push myself up into a seated position. Void, I’m lightheaded. I close my eyes again, focusing on my breath. “You’ll be fine,” I whisper to myself. “You always are in the end.”
An ashcrawl, Casimir called me. Let’s hope he’s right.