“You think I don’t know that?” I snap, my voice sharp and brittle. “You don’t think I understand the weight of this? Everything I do,everything, is for The Grove. I gave myself to the Fae, not caring what it cost me. But this…” My voice wavers, the strength in it cracking as exhaustion takes hold. “I just need this one thing for myself.I need my husband.”
Arax’s expression shifts, guilt and sorrow softening his usually stoic face. He looks down, unable to meet my eyes, ashamed of how deeply my words affect him. “I know I am an unworthy substitute, Princess. But the prince believed hearing this from me would soften the blow.”
I cradle my face in my hands, feeling the sting of unshed tears. “I’m sorry, Arax. I’m just so… tired.”
Arax casts a concerned glance at Solena, worry flickering in his gaze. “The princess is unwell?” he asks quietly.
Solena nods, her voice gentle. “Much has happened since the prince left. We must protect her until he returns.”
Arax’s face hardens, his loyalty like iron. He pounds his chest with a clenched fist. “Always.” He strides to the door, drawinghis sword in one swift motion, the blade gleaming even in the dim light. “I will cut down anyone who dares to pass through these doors until the prince can stand guard himself.”
With a firm thud, the doors shut behind him, leaving me with the knowledge that I am about to spend another night without my prince. Daed knew what he was doing when he sent Arax. The bond between us grew when I felt adrift, long before my connection with Daed became something real to cling to. While I’d give anything for my husband to be here with me now, Arax was mistaken—he’s far from a poor substitute.
He’s the only other Fae I’d trust with my life.
Solena tucks me in, pulling the covers up to my chin, leaving a soft smile with me, but for the first time, she doesn't leave. Instead, she settles into the high-backed chair near the fire, her gaze lost in the flicker of flames as exhaustion pulls at me.
I feel a gentle patter across the covers and soon Ashen is by my side. He circles a few times, finding just the right spot before curling into a ball, his smoky whiskers brushing against my nose. Somehow, in this moment, things don’t seem quite as hopeless as they once did.
When I first arrived at Baev’kalath, I was convinced it would be my undoing. I still can’t say for certain that won’t be true. Despite my best efforts, this place claws at me, trying to unravel me at every turn. But never did I imagine I would find friendship here, among the Fae who despise my kind. Arax’s unwavering loyalty and Solena’s quiet strength are what keep me anchored, sacred threads holding me together in a world intent on pulling me apart. Without them, I know I would not survive this alone.
And then there’s Daed. My dark prince. My husband. I refuse to believe the ghost’s venomous lies. I have seen the good man beneath the warrior’s fierce exterior, felt it in every tender touch, in the way he looks at me when no one else is watching.
I will endure. I will continue to resist the forces that seek to unravel us, to break me. I just need rest. My heavy gaze falls on my bandaged hand, the dull ache there a reminder. But even as I try to will myself to sleep, the ghost’s words slip through the cracks of my thoughts, lingering in the darkness.
Pain is your awakening.
And then I drift away.
I know I cannot dream, yet the weight pressing down on my chest says otherwise, as if I’m caught in some twisted reality between sleep and waking. The soft bed beneath me melts away and now cold stone is at my back, jagged, and unforgiving.
I cannot move. My arms, my legs—they feel like lead, pinned to the ground by forces unseen. Around me, runes pulse—dark shapes etched into the stone, their glow throbbing in time with my racing heart. They snake out in every direction, forming a perfect circle that cages me in.
The air is thick with whispers, faint at first, then growing louder, surrounding me from all sides. My eyelids flutter open, vision hazy, and through the veil of confusion I see them—figures draped in black robes, their faces obscured, mouths hidden beneath dark hoods. Their chanting is low and guttural, words I cannot comprehend, each syllable sending shivers down my spine. They stand like statues, unmoving except for the rhythmic rise and fall of their voices, their words curling around me like a suffocating fog.
I try to scream, but my voice is swallowed by the eerie quiet between their chants. My eyes strain upward, and that’s when I see it—the void. It tears through the ceiling above me, not like a window, but a wound in the world, edges jagged and raw, leading to a darkness so vast it seems to stretch forever. It pulses, slow and menacing, as if alive, the very air trembling in its presence and with each pulse, the robed figures' chanting grows louder, more frantic, pulling me closer to the gaping abyss that threatens to devour me whole.
The void pulses again, and within it, something stirs—something ancient, a presence that fills me with a dread so deep, I can feel it down to my bones. My heart pounds in my chest, the rhythm echoing in my ears as the air around me thickens with smoke. The chanting intensifies, rising to a fevered pitch, a cacophony of voices that makes my skin crawl. The robed figures shift, their heads tilting toward the void as if in worship, and my stomach turns with a sense of impending doom.
I see him then, within the dark maw of the void—a shadow, larger than anything I can comprehend, creeping closer. A beast born of nightmare and smoke, Gygarth, the demon of the void, takes form. His body is a mass of swirling darkness, tentacled arms extending outward in all directions, writhing and twisting like serpents made of smoke. His face is featureless, save for a gaping, jagged mouth that seems to consume the very essence of the void around him, swallowing it whole. And there, at the center of the beast’s face, are two startling white eyes—blinding in their intensity, empty, and cold.
The chanting grows louder, the robed figures swaying as if possessed by the ritual, their hands outstretched toward the creature, their fingers charred black as it looms above me. I want to move, to scream, but I’m trapped, frozen by terror as Gygarth hovers just inches from my face. The weight of his presencepresses down on me, suffocating, and my lungs burn as I try to draw a breath.
Then, slowly, agonizingly, the demon’s mouth opens, a swirling black maw that seems to suck the very light from the air. Thick tendrils of smoke begin to drift from his mouth, curling and twisting toward me. I thrash against my invisible bonds, panic flooding every inch of me, but it’s no use. The smoke snakes its way toward me, reaching for my face, my mouth, and though I fight it with everything I have, I can’t stop it.
The first tendril of smoke slips between my lips, cold and bitter, filling my lungs with a suffocating darkness. I choke, gasping for air, but more smoke pours from Gygarth’s maw, winding its way into me, filling me with his essence. It tastes of death and decay, of something ancient and malevolent, and as it enters me, I feel a searing pain, as though the very fabric of my soul is being torn apart.
I can’t breathe. I can’t think. All I know is the smoke, the darkness, and the demon’s cold, empty eyes staring down at me as he claims me for the void. The chanting rises to a deafening crescendo, the robed figures swaying wildly, their voices echoing in my head as the smoke invades every part of me, dragging me deeper into the abyss.
Panic grips me like a vice, squeezing the breath from my lungs as the smoke fills every corner of my body, sinking deeper into my core. I feel helpless, utterly alone. No one is coming to save me—not Daed, not Arax. No one.
My mind races, but it's too slow, too heavy, weighed down by the smoke, by the pull of Gygarth’s power. The chanting grows louder, the haunting words wrapping around me like chains, and I feel myself slipping, sinking into the dark. But then, through the haze of fear, a memory flickers—blurry at first, but gaining clarity with every heartbeat.
The last time I faced the demon. The moment I escaped. The pain… the pain in my hand. I remember the light, the green light that surged from within me, blasting him away, giving me the smallest window of freedom. My hands clench involuntarily, and I feel it again, the sharp sting of my wound. The bandage tightens around my palm, the familiar throb cutting through the thick fog of dread.
Suddenly, the ghost’s words echo in my mind, clearer now than ever before.Pain is your awakening.
This isn’t the second time I’ve been here. This isn’t a nightmare that I’ve escaped only once.
