5. Rhett
Rhett
The hoofbeats are louder now.
Not just sound—pressure. Each one reverberates through the obsidian floor, up through my worn boots, into my bones. Rhythmic. Relentless. Like a heartbeat that doesn’t belong to anything living.
My fire responds before I can think, heat prickling under my skin in answer to the wrongness of it all.
“They’re here,” Stellan says quietly.
I look at him, standing perfectly still at the edge of our makeshift circle around Bree and Seth. His expression is calm—too calm. Like he’s bracing for something he both dreads and needs.
“You sure about this?” I ask, voice rougher than I mean it to be.
He doesn’t answer. Just watches the darkness beyond the silver flames flickering in the sconces.
Gray lifts his head from where he’s curled at Bree’s feet, ears flattening against his skull. A low growl rumbles in his chest—warning or fear, I can’t tell. Maybe both.
Wes shifts closer to Seth’s unconscious form, dark eyes tracking something. “Something’s wrong with him.”
I follow his gaze.
Seth’s chest still rises and falls in shallow breaths, but there’s something else now. Faint tendrils of black smoke seeping into his skin—so thin they’re almost invisible.
“What the hell is that?” Jace breathes .
Theo steps closer, eyes going distant the way they do when he’s Seeing. “Two energies. They’re not fighting.” He pauses, frowning. “They’re… feeding him.”
“Feeding,” I repeat flatly.
What the fuck .
Stellan kneels beside Seth, careful not to touch him. His gray eyes track the silver and black weaving through Seth’s body with clinical precision.
“He’s bonded to her,” Stellan says quietly. “The bond formed in the Void. It adapted him.” He looks up at Thane. “He’s feeding from both sources now. Her Ether and the Void itself.”
Silence.
“That’s not possible,” Thane says, but there’s uncertainty in his voice.
“It shouldn’t be.” Stellan’s gaze returns to Seth. “But the Void doesn’t follow rules. When a bond forms there, the magic changes. Adapts to survive.” He gestures at the black threading through the silver. “He’s feeding on Void energy the same way we’re feeding on her Ether.”
My stomach turns. “So he’s feeding the same way we are? From what’s already been taken?”
“Yes,” Stellan says quietly. “We’re all drinking from the ambient power soaking the air, the veins pulsing through the walls. It’s passive. Automatic.” His gaze shifts back to the black smoke seeping into Seth’s skin. “But Seth’s feeding from both—her Ether and the Void itself. ”
He pauses, watching the black and silver weave through Seth’s unconscious body. “No one survives that kind of balance for long. Light and shadow don’t share a body without cost.”
The hoofbeats grow louder. Closer.
The silver veins pulsing through the floor flare brighter, and I feel the temperature drop—sharp enough to make my breath fog.
Gray’s growl intensifies. He’s on his feet now, hackles raised, positioning himself between Bree and whatever’s coming.
“Easy,” I murmur, but my hands are already heating, blue flames dancing across my palms.
My eyes find the chamber entrance—the threshold we crossed to get here. We walked right into his space. His territory.
The thought comes slower than it should. A year of exhaustion catching up all at once.
“Is no one worried about this?” I ask, voice tight. “We’re in his chamber. What happens when he comes back?”
Stellan doesn’t look up from Seth’s unconscious form. “He knew we were here the moment we stepped through the threshold.” His voice is flat, matter-of-fact. “He would have been here already if he was coming.”
The words should be reassuring.
They’re not.
Because if Ethos isn’t coming, it means he doesn’t need to. It means whatever’s happening here—whatever he’s doing to her—he’s already won.
Jace’s blade appears in his hand, reflecting the silver light. “How many Nightmares are we talking about? ”
“Enough,” Stellan says, and there’s something hollow in his voice. Something that sounds like grief.
The hoofbeats crescendo.
Then—silence.
The kind of silence that makes your ears ring. That feels like the world is holding its breath.
The silver flames in the sconces gutter and die, plunging us into darkness lit only by the veins pulsing through the floor and the faint glow of Seth’s corrupted bond.
I feel it before I see it.
A presence. Massive. Wrong in a way that has nothing to do with magic and everything to do with instinct screaming predator.
Then the darkness moves.
Shapes emerge from the black—tall, powerful, graceful in a way that makes my skin crawl.
Nightmares.
The name fits.
They’re massive—easily seventeen hands at the shoulder. Black as the Void itself, coats so dark they seem to absorb light rather than reflect it. But when they move, silver shimmers across their flanks like moonlight on water.
Two horns curve back from each skull. Not delicate like a unicorn’s—brutal, elegant, deadly. Their eyes glow molten silver, tracking us with intelligence that’s too knowing to be animal.
Smoke curls from their hooves with each step, dissipating into silver mist that clings to the ground.
There are seven of them. Maybe more in the darkness. It’s hard to tell where one ends and the next begins .
My fire flares hot enough to make the air shimmer, but I hold my ground.
The lead Nightmare steps forward, and I get my first clear look at it.
Bigger than the others. Scars across its flanks that shimmer silver against black. Eyes that burn with something ancient and patient and terrifying.
It moves toward Stellan first, those molten silver eyes fixed on him.
When the voice comes, it bypasses sound entirely—flowing directly into my mind like cold water.
You called, Master. We answer.
Stellan’s breath catches. His hands shake.
Then the Nightmare’s gaze shifts.
Past Stellan. Past all of us.
To Bree.
The creature goes utterly still.
The Source.
It’s not a question. It’s recognition, reverence.
The massive head lowers, and its front legs fold, bowing to the obsidian floor.
One by one, the other six follow—massive creatures bending their forelegs, horned heads dipping low in perfect synchronization. Smoke wraps around Bree like a shroud, and the veins pulse brighter in response.
The first in generations. We felt her waking across the realms.
The lead Nightmare’s attention returns to Stellan.
You called. But not for you. For her.
Stellan’s composure shatters .
His breath comes in ragged gasps, shoulders shaking. He sinks to his knees like someone cut his strings, and the sound that tears from his throat is raw—years of control breaking all at once.
“Please.” His voice cracks. “I’ve kept them alive this long. I’ve kept them moving. But I can’t—” He presses both hands to his face. “I can’t save her. Please. Help her.”
The words come broken, desperate. Nothing left of the elegant, controlled man who’s led us through a year of hell.
Just someone who’s finally, completely, out of options.
I move before I think, dropping to one knee beside him. Not as a rival. Not as someone competing for Bree’s attention.
As someone who just watched another man break.
The lead Nightmare is silent for a long moment, silver eyes fixed on Stellan’s bowed head.
Then, quietly: We will guard what remains.
“Can you stop what’s draining her?” Stellan asks, voice barely above a whisper.
We cannot break what feeds the Void. But we can hold the line until you find a way.
“That’s not good enough,” I snap, fire flaring.
The Nightmares shift, smoke curling thicker from their hooves.
But Stellan holds up a hand. “It has to be.” He looks at the lead Nightmare. “Just… keep her safe. Keep the darkness from taking her until we can get her out.”
“Please,” he whispers.
The single word lands like a prayer.
The Nightmare inclines its massive head. For you, we hold the line .
The Nightmares move as one, forming a perimeter around Bree and Seth. Their presence fills the chamber—not threatening exactly, but absolute. Like they’ve claimed this space and nothing will move them from it.
“You really think they can save her?” I ask quietly.
Stellan’s hands are shaking. “No.” His voice is barely audible. “But they can keep the dark from taking her before we do.”
The hoofbeats have faded to a slow, steady rhythm—matching Bree’s heartbeat. Matching the pulse of the veins.
I look at her, then at Seth, then at the black smoke still seeping into his unconscious body.
“What happens to him if we shatter the Void?” I ask.
Stellan’s silence is answer enough.
He doesn’t know.
None of us do.
But the Nightmares have formed their circle, and the darkness feels just a little less absolute than it did before.
For the first time since we fell into this hell, hope has a shape.
It’s just wrapped in smoke and shadow, carrying debts we don’t understand and a cost we haven’t paid yet.
The lead Nightmare’s silver eyes find mine across the chamber.
And I swear I hear a voice—not words exactly, but meaning—whisper through my mind.
Fire cannot burn what’s already ash. But it can light the way home.
My flames gutter, then steady.
Yeah.
We’re getting her out of here.