Chapter 23
Chapter
Twenty-Three
I’m standing in a vast library that would give the Library of Congress a run for its money, and I turn in a circle, trying to figure out how I got here.
I remember leaving Chase. I remember taking the stairs to my room. I remember gossiping with Tia about holding hands with Riley—and the uncertainty of whether that handholding was of the platonic variety or a lead-in to potential smoochies.
I remember going through my ritual to ward off dreaming.
And now here I am, looking around at shelves that stretch endlessly in all directions, reaching toward a ceiling lost in starlit darkness.
The air carries the scent of aged parchment and something warmer—amber and cedar, with hints of spice that make me think of expensive cologne.
Golden orbs float overhead like captive stars, casting honeyed light that turns everything dreamlike.
Because it is a dream. Of course it is.
What I don’t know is if it will turn into a nightmare. I hope not. There’s something special about this room of infinite quiet that seems to hold the whispered promise of secrets waiting to be discovered.
“You came.”
The voice sends shivers down my spine, and my breath catches when I turn to see Adric.
He’s standing beside a reading table carved from what looks like black marble, one hand resting casually on its surface.
The moment I see him, that familiar recognition crashes over me—the same pull I feel with Chase, and yet different.
Like seeing the same constellation from a different angle.
It’s confusing and thrilling and utterly wrong all at once.
Gone is the Adric I’d met in the garden.
This version of him is devastating. Elegant in a way that makes my pulse stutter.
He’s dressed in a black suit that seems to absorb light, fitted perfectly to his tall frame.
A deep burgundy shirt shows at his throat, and the light makes the silver at his cuffs gleam.
But it’s his face that stops my thoughts entirely. Those silver eyes hold starlight flecked with gold, and, like Chase, the scar on his cheek only enhances his beauty, like a signature on a masterpiece.
“Where am I?” I ask, relieved my voice doesn’t shake.
“The Great Library of the Oneiroi.” A grin tugs at his lips. “The ancient ones,” he says. “Not that feeble society in your realm.”
He moves toward the shelves, every step deliberate. “This library is the repository of all knowledge across the five realms. And this particular manifestation exists only in dreams.” He tilts his head. “It is my gift to you.”
“Oh,” I say, fingering the herb pouch in my pocket.
“Your Hunter’s protection,” he says. His lips curve in what’s not quite a smile. “This isn’t a nightmare, Cora. I created this space for us—somewhere we could speak without interference, without fear. Somewhere beautiful.”
“What do you want?”
“Only to show you the truth.” He pulls a tome from the shelf, bound in midnight-blue leather with silver clasps. “It’s time to tell you what the Hunter never has—the complete story.”
Despite every warning—despite my own common sense—I find myself drawn closer. The book seems to pulse with an inner light, and when he opens it, I gasp. Tiny figures move over the intricately drawn landscapes, and I can almost hear the whisper of wind through painted trees.
“It’s the original text,” he says reverentially, “inscribed when the realms were one.”
He turns to a page that steals my breath. It shows what can only be described as paradise—all five realms connected, with no barriers between them. Humans walk alongside creatures of impossible beauty, magic flowing like visible light between realms.
“This is what we were,” Adric says, his voice heavy with reverence. “This is our first reality.”
I lean closer, drawn by the beauty of what I’m seeing. “It’s incredible.”
“The Hunter would call it dangerous. I call it home.” The pain in his voice when he says home catches me off guard. And I have to resist the urge to move closer and comfort him.
When he turns the page, I wince at the new image—that incredible paradise being torn apart, realms violently separating, that perfect harmony dissolving into chaos and fear.
“What happened?”
“The Sundering.”
I tilt my head to look at him, totally clueless.
“All we know is that some ancient catastrophe forced the realms apart and made the barriers necessary.”
“Why?”
He shakes his head. “If it was ever known, that knowledge has been lost to time. But whatever it was, it forced the Emperor—your ancestor—to tear the realms apart for their own protection. Then to create barriers and set the Guardian to maintain them.”
“You,” I whisper. “And your brother.”
“The Hunter,” he says, a chill in his voice.
He opens a second book, this one showing a more recent scene—the same golden figure with his crown, but older now, standing with a being that seems to have no solid form, but is somehow stunningly beautiful.
Then I see its two eyes—one silver, one gold—and know that this is the unified Adric and Chase.
“For millennia, the Emperor maintained the separation, waiting for the realms to heal from whatever had threatened them. Until they found him.” The image shifts to show the golden figure surrounded by snake-like creatures formed from shadows, as if the illustration itself refuses to render them clearly.
As I watch, the Emperor fights valiantly, but he’s overwhelmed, and his crown shatters when he falls.
“What are they?”
Adric shakes his head. “Unknown entities. Beings powerful enough to kill an immortal,” he adds, his voice dropping to a whisper. “They struck without warning, without explanation. To this day, no one knows who they were or where they came from.”
I shiver, thinking of the serpent slithering through Eden.
The page turns, now showing scenes of chaos as the Imperial family flees in terror, the bloodline scattering like leaves in a hurricane.
“His bloodline—your bloodline—didn’t try to claim the throne. Instead, they ran. Went into the deepest possible hiding to preserve what remained of the Emperor’s legacy. Because they knew that if entities that powerful were hunting the Emperor, they might come for his heirs next.”
His fingers trace the illustration with something like reverence.
“But the Emperor’s death created opportunity as well as tragedy,” he continues, turning another page to reveal another image of the Guardian.
I see a flash of silver, and then the Guardian is no more.
Only Adric, kneeling by the remnants of the Imperial crown.
As I watch, the figure on the page reaches for the largest piece of the shattered crown, and it reshapes the gems and metal into a new crown, simpler but still radiant with power.
“Worthy of a king,” he explains. “When the Emperor fell, someone had to step forward. Someone had to bring order from chaos.”
“You.”
He tilts his head in acknowledgement. “When I split the Guardian, I became my own being. And I knew what needed to be done. I understood power, ambition, the necessity of strong leadership.” His eyes meet mine. “I took responsibility for what others abandoned.”
He flips through several pages as he speaks, and I see the realms joining his growing kingdom.
“I ruled first only over the Nightmare Realm. It was lawless after the Breaking—the splitting of the Guardian. So many creatures were starving and desperate. I gave them structure. Purpose.”
He flips more pages. “The Realm of Others came next. They craved structure after centuries of chaotic amalgamation. The Unseen welcomed me because I could see them and acknowledged their existence. Even those in the Realm of Retribution recognized the need for a unified rule.”
The images are seductive, showing not conquest but adoption. Realms choosing to join him, to be part of something bigger.
“Four realms,” I breathe, understanding dawning. “You rule four of the five realms.”
“I’ve unified four-fifths of existence,” he confirms with genuine pride in his voice. “I’ve brought prosperity and purpose to billions of beings. Look.”
I glance down at another page, showing thriving cities, the population moving through gates from one realm to the other, magic flowing freely.
I look up, confused.
“My brother sees what he wants and believes what he wants. I see clearly, Cora.” He takes a step toward me, then brushes the pad of his thumb over my lower lip, and I have to force myself not to whimper. “I see very clearly, indeed.”
His voice is soft. A promise, perhaps. Or a challenge. I don’t know. Right then, all I know is his touch. And a terrible, soul-wrenching flood of confusion.
He uses his fingertip to gently lift my chin. “Do not dismiss me, my Queen. Not until you understand me.”
I glance toward the book. “And my realm?”
“Ah, yes. My white whale.”
I shake my head, not understanding.
“Do you think I wish harm to befall the homeland of my beloved? I do not. I will not. And yet my brother and his band of Merry Men…” He trails off, clearly frustrated.
“It is my brother who withholds unity from your realm, and all because of his stubborn refusal to even consider that the realms can co-exist.”
The words twist something inside me. What if he’s right?
He closes the book and moves closer to me, so close that I expect him to draw his arms around me and pull my body to his. He doesn’t, and I’m not sure if I’m relieved or disappointed.
Since I don’t have to think about that disturbing conundrum, I go back to the truly important question of the barriers. “Chase says the barriers are needed to protect humanity.”
“From what?” His laugh is soft but bitter. “From prosperity? From magic? From the chance to be part of something greater than one small, dying realm?” He’s close enough now that I have to tilt my head to meet his eyes. As I do, the room seems to spin, my head going suddenly light.