“Who are you?” I dare to ask.
“Silvermist.” The raven’s head bobs as it flares its wings with a cry.
A showy little thing it seems.
Silvermist… aninteresting name for the creature.
“Not an elder god?” I ask, not taking my sight away from the bird.
“Serve Aether,” it cries. “Aether’s eyes.”
Not an elder god then, but the eyes of one.
The night the creature died—its wounds—I knew it couldn’t have been the crows who caused them. Somethingelsedidn’t want an elder god’s eyes watching. And that something could have been in either the living realm or the veil, this raven is capable of traversing both.
Snow cascades to the ground from branches as the ground vibrates. It’s a quick, low rumble and the raven hops to a higher branch.
“Must go. Must meet,” it cries in a series of sharp barks. “Mend veil.”
Green skitters across the snow, racing in my direction. As I step back, a vine shoots forward, unfurling itself at my feet. It’s a flowerless thing, more rope-like than veilflower vine.
“It’s time we meet.”The sound ofmycold voice rings in my head. But the words, the thoughts, they’re not mine.“I must meet the monstrosity Netharis created.”
Monstrosity?
Netharis?
The vine darts at me and I stumble backward, the snow catching my heel. As I careen backward, the vine snatches my throat, wrapping itself tight. With little care and great speed, the snow rushes to meet me as I’m yoked onto my back.
Cold white snow surges over my head and shoulders as I’m dragged through the drifts, gasping as I grapple to free myself. I claw at the vine, tearing away at the green flesh with my nails—bearing little impact. It tightens in retaliation.
The first of the evergreen boughs appear above, blocking out the sunless blue sky. And by the divine grace of the gods, my shoulder meets the base of a tree—filling my ears with a gut-wrenching crack.
White hot pain sears down my arm, tingling my fingers, and races up my neck, rendering my left hand weak and my vision blurry. Clutching my arm, the vine chokes my cries as it continues to drag me along the forest floor. Each vibration sends waves offinger-numbing pain through my left arm.
Gritting my teeth, I adjust my arm, and discover a nauseating, grinding sensation I both feel and hear. I snake my wrist through my lowered cowl, turning it into a poor makeshift sling—it’s hardly enough to keep my arm secured against my chest. I have to reach my dagger. I have to sever this vine and reset my shoulder—if it’s not shattered.
Snow becomes dirt and evergreen needles, the ground jostling my back and tearing at my armor. Fabric rips and my black cloak behind, torn from its shoulder studs.
The thick evergreen branches above grow sparse, giving me glimpses of a boundless night sky. Gone is the blue sky. Instead, a dark void hangs overhead filled with countless stars. A blanket of deep violets, striking magentas, and darkened navy grows as the trees fall away.
As I reach for the dagger strapped to my thigh, the dirt becomes tall grass whipping at my face and eyes. Stifling the cry in my throat, I swing the black blade overhead and skitter to a halt.
The grip on my throat loosens, the vine falling to the grass, and I drop the dagger, curling onto my side to cradle my shoulder. It clicks and grinds with the motion, sending relentless conscious-stealing pain coursing through me.
“I should have expected the demon to have claws.” Again, my voice, but not my words, and a resounding,ancientpower resonating in my chest—like the soil of Illa Ysari.
Her words… they don’t sound like common tongueorMalbolge.
Yet somehow, like the raven, I understand them.
The sound of shifting grass has me launching myself upright and recoiling with pain. The bloodstone dagger lies near my knees, partially hidden by the tall grass, but easy to grab should I need.
A figure stops several feet away, her head tilting. Silver hair cascades over a shoulder, reaching the ground in soft waves. Silver eyes filled with contempt stare at me, set in a faceidenticalto mine.
It’s her.
The other half of my soul.
