For the first time in years, I woke to the sound of laughter.
It rang out from the belly of a child and boomed deep and hearty from the throat of an older man. Perhaps the child’s father—or grandfather. Laughter in its purest, sweetest form. The kind of laughter that could drive out fear and replace it with something warm and beautiful.
The Shadow Bringer loomed above me, scowling.
“Can you stand, or have you lost the use of your legs?”
“Aren’t you demanding,” I remarked, matching his tone. “Perhaps I’d rather rest a moment and not follow your orders, considering they were what got me stuck in the Realm in the first place.”
We were in an empty parlor. Lavish and pristine, its walls and floors were bedecked in patterned rugs, bookshelves carved into trees and horses, embroidered chairs, and several paintings of a happy, beautiful family—a father, mother, and their dark-haired child. I sat up, watching as mist filtered through windows that dotted the room’s length. Its only opening, a towering archway, swirled with more mist, obscuring whatever rested beyond.
“Just come on,” he sighed, stalking toward the arch. “Both of us need to be present for the dream to progress.”
Instead of following, I ruffled through a vase of peonies and wildflowers, dipping low to breathe in their scent. A feeling of dread rose up, unbidden, and I found myself missing my family and worrying for Elliot. If I was with him, I’d feel much better. “I wish Somnus tried to release me. I’d rather face Mithras and his legionnaires than be stuck here with you.”
“Noted,” he said, giving me a withering stare. “But bear in mind that if Somnus released you from the Realm, you’d just find yourself locked within the tomb. Is that truly the better fate?”
“I’m starting to think so, yes,” I muttered, burying my nose in another vase of flowers. The Bringer tipped the vase sideways, forcing my attention back to him. “So does that mean you truly couldn’t get the entrance open?”
“Correct,” he admitted, mouth taut in a grim line. “No matter my efforts, the door would not move, and I had no food or water to sustain my efforts. It was hopeless.”
I drew my arms around myself. It didn’t matter if I escaped the Realm to search for Elliot—not if the Tomb of the Devourer, inescapable and marked by death, was waiting for me when I woke up. A horrible feeling began to sink under my skin. A feeling of sinking, of dirt being shoved in my throat, and walls closing in.
From beyond the mist, laughter rang out, snapping me from my darkening thoughts.
I set the vase down, ready to clear my mind and move forward. “So, where are we? Do you recognize this place?”
He took a quick, cursory glance around the room. “It feels familiar. I may have lived here once.”’
“It looks similar to your castle,” I said, pointing to a landscape I’d seen in the Bringer’s antechamber. “Though yours is obviously darker. And in ruin due to its residents.”
“Residents who are no longer there,” said the Bringer, his voice lifting in false wonder. “A horde of demons unleashed upon the world. What would your Lord Mithras say?”
“The demons wouldn’t have escaped if you didn’t force me to be your sacrifice.”
“Sacrifice? I tried to make you my heir ,” he replied. “You inherited an entire castle and a kingdom to rule over. But how fortunate for you that—”
“Fortunate for me? If it wasn’t for you, my sister would be alive and I’d be home and at peace with my family. Not here with you in an eternal nightmare.”
“I already told you—I didn’t harm your sister. Or anyone in your family for that matter.”
“How can you be so sure? You don’t even remember how Corruption started, Shadow Bringer. You have no memory, even though the tales blame you with absolute certainty.” I crossed my arms. “If I help you through this, you owe me something in return.”
“Your promised freedom should be enough to motivate you.”
“Not when my freedom means a pitch-black tomb with no food or water. Or Mithras deciding I’ve broken our agreement and deciding to hurt Elliot. I want to learn more about this demon—and hopefully it gets us closer to ending Corruption—but it still forces me to place a lot of faith in you.” I sank deep into an armchair, picking at the fraying edge of an embroidered lion. “Faith that I don’t quite have at the moment.”
The Bringer shot me an exasperated look. “You’re overestimating the choice you have.”
Try me, Shadow Bringer.
Sweeping an arm out, I gestured toward the parlor’s several bookcases. Thick, leather-bound tomes sat within each one, some organized by color, others by topic or even length.
“Perhaps my choice could be to first read every single book in this place.” I chose one at random, flipping through its gilt-edged pages, then another, a red monstrosity with an embossed shield in its middle. Each held words—clear, coherent, words. This was the power of a Weaver. To create a vision so detailed and visceral that it existed as reality. “Every single one . Even the picture books.”
Like a warrior drawn to battle, the Bringer approached, armor gleaming wickedly. “Then I will destroy them before you can,” he threatened, shadows darkening the edges of the room and crawling toward his outreached hands. “Or I could pick you up and drag you with me. Your choice .”
There was that flicker again, just below my wrist.
Now wasn’t the time to battle the Shadow Bringer—not when I was pitifully untrained and he looked perfectly capable of strangling me with a single curl of his index finger. But the sword was insistent. It itched underneath my skin, forcing my attention as though it was suffocating on blood and bone.
The Bringer caught the uncomfortable expression on my face.
“You’re afraid of me,” he scoffed. “Fitting. Perhaps I won’t need force after all. You’d follow me regardless, fearful for your life.”
“I am not afraid of you,” I shot back, wincing again as the sword prodded my palm.
“See? You flinch from me.” The Bringer crossed his arms, mirroring me. “So, what would I owe you for your cooperation?”
“What I want is your knowledge,” I began, taking a small bit of satisfaction in the surprise on his face. “Teach me how to use the shadows—or other ways of power in the Realm. And then, when we’re free from this dream, you will do everything you can to stop Corruption and save my family from ruin. Even if that means partnering with the Weavers and treating Somnus with civility.”
“Stopping Corruption isn’t like bandaging a small cut. It’s a centuries-old wound as wide and weeping as a tempest.”
“Your memory is broken. Perhaps you’re just forgetting how,” I said through gritted teeth. “Even if you can’t remember or don’t know how, you will help me try.”
The Bringer pinched the skin between his brow, considering. Then he said quickly, meeting my eyes, “Fine. Yes, I will.”
“Good,” I said, nodding. “And teaching me things? You’re fine with that end of the bargain, too?”
“I don’t understand why you’d want to know the Realm or my power,” he began, the silver in his eyes churning in time with the shadows rising behind him. “What would you do with that power—my knowledge? Is it because it might be your power, too?”
Begging to be unleashed at the most ill-timed moment, the sword launched from my arm, warming with life the moment its hilt met my hands. It thrummed softly, as if it held a soul within. And maybe it did. The soul of a demon so powerful that it could warp mountains and blot out the sky. A demon so mighty that Xander, Theia, and Mithras sought to crush it with the power of three legions.
The Bringer recoiled, staring at me as though I grew a second head.
“You threaten me with a blade you don’t even know how to use.” He dropped his gaze to the sword, mouth thinning. “Did Somnus give you that?”
I gripped the handle tight. “I know how to use it.”
“Good. Then prove me wrong,” he said simply, unsheathing his own blade. It was a brutal, twisted thing; where mine held flecks of starlight that wound toward a handle of ivory and onyx, his was pure, light-eating black. “Show me you’re not afraid of the shadows that bind us.”
With a snarl he pounced, blade raised high and shadows storming in his wake.
Something came over me, then.
The sword unlocked within me some raw, instinctual knowledge about battle, destruction, and war. How to parry and block. How to handle the weight of a blade and prepare for the onslaught of another. How to study an opponent’s body and react accordingly. So when I met the Bringer’s powerful swing with a block of my own, his eyes widened—then gleamed bright with some feverish, unhinged thrill. Shadows ebbed to their corners as the Bringer launched forward again, slinking down into the floor as though he wanted this fight to be us and us alone.
But that’s not what I—what the sword—wanted.
We wanted the dark, wanted the rise of shadow and night under our control. The shadows shifted toward me, responding to my call, clinging to my feet and dancing along the lines of my arms.
“They answer to you,” the Bringer wondered aloud, cutting right and aiming a strike at my shoulder. I deflected easily, intuiting where to position the blade. “But can you control them?”
“That’s where I need—” I ducked under another of his swings, using the rug underfoot to steady my balance. “—your help .” Shadows clung to the both of us now, rising up from our bodies like second skins. Around the Bringer they roiled, reflecting his fury and challenge, but around me they shuddered, quivering between varying levels of opacity. “And you need mine. ”
A strong wind began to circle the room, overturning chairs, shattering glass, and scattering books across the floor. It centered around the Bringer, coiling around the shadows that now wrapped his limbs and towered high atop his back. In a few moments he had transformed completely, wings unfurling from his shoulders and new armor covering most of his skin in dark, sharp edges.
“Do I?” he asked, slamming his blade into the ground. Shadows exploded over the room, sucking away all light and color. “I’ve thought of a different proposal. One that involves ripping this dream apart from the inside—and then doing the same to Somnus. After that, we can end Corruption on our own terms.”
The walls bent in and out, flexing like some giant, breathing creature. They shook under his destruction, rattling as he peeled away their layers. But even as they fell, they resisted—reversed back into place as though their creator, somewhere else, fought to repair each broken piece.
Somnus and the Shadow Bringer, locked in a fierce battle of wills.
But then something changed. I saw it in the Shadow Bringer’s face as it twisted from triumph to alarm; his eyes widened, and his jaw clenched against whatever internal demon he was battling. Underneath us, the floor gave way, collapsing in on itself as mirrors shattered and furniture fell into cracks, disappearing into the void below.
“You idiot !” I screamed. “Stop!”
I staggered aside as a bookcase nearly crushed me, tripping on a globe as it rolled into my shin. Shouting, I fell toward one of the widening cracks, scrambling to grip something, anything , as the void, gaping open like the maw of some ungodly monster, pulled me down. It was just a dream—everything was just a dream —but fear, dark and terrible, jolted through my skin, real as fear could be.
As if roused from a stupor, the Bringer’s eyes snapped to mine.
He dove in a whorl of shadow and raven-black wings, pulling me against him just as the ground dropped away with a final crack .
For a few wingbeats we were silent, staring into the emptiness below.
The Bringer’s breathing was more ragged than I expected, his chest rising and falling in deep, labored pulls. Even his eyes looked pained. Haunted. Guilty. It didn’t make sense. He had tried to rip the dream apart—wasn’t this what he wanted?
What was the point in regret now ?
My fingers clung to his shoulders, desperate for a better grip against the strange, shadow-marked texture that clothed them. One slip—or one change of the Bringer’s mind—and I’d plummet.
“I would never drop you,” he snapped. Still, he made a point to reposition his arms and tighten his grip. “Somnus clearly emphasized that this must be done together. Which can’t happen if you fall into an abyss.”
“Right, well, if this was our first dream, I think we failed,” I muttered.
“I tested the dream’s limit when I was not given the right to,” he agreed, frowning. “I had doubts that it would work , however.”
“You chanced our freedom on an assumption ?”
He grunted in confirmation.
“You’re mad.”
“I’m not in my right mind, no.” And I haven’t been in some time , he seemed to imply.
Debris continued to fall as the room disintegrated around us, swallowing any hope of its restoration. Stone collapsed into vapor, books ripped themselves apart as they burned, and the painting of the family tore itself into shreds. I half-expected Somnus to appear in front of us, shaking his head in dismay at our complete and utter failure.
The Bringer cried out in pain, arching his back as though he were struck by lightning.
Howls lurched from his throat, even as he ground his teeth against them. His limbs shuddered under the weight of whatever was attacking him, and in the chaos his grip slackened. I buried my hands in his armor, but the material was slippery, liquid—
I gasped, barely holding on as his body continued to thrash in pain.
“I’m—my power, it’s—don’t let go, Esmer—! ”
And before he could finish his sentence, the Bringer’s armor faded into ordinary clothing and black leather gloves, the shadows in his eyes stopped dancing, and the wings upon his back melted into dust.
