In the Kingdom of Noctis, to dream was to die.
Dreams weren’t golden reveries, decadent celebrations, or flights with soft, outstretched wings into a sea of clouds. Dreams were death, decay, rot. A wicked haze of illusion in the hands of a devil. But I, either bravely or foolishly, was unafraid of what I couldn’t see. And it was all because ofhim.
The Shadow Bringer.
For years, he had been a phantom in my head. A menace under the floorboards. A ghost in the cellar. A creature who haunted others, lurking in the shadows of every dream but never daring to hurt me. The Shadow Bringer and the fantasies he ruled over had been a temptation. A promise of adventure in the darkest, loneliest of nights.
Until my sister died.
“If you follow Eden’s path, you’ll become a monster, too,” my mother warned, cradling my face in her too-cold fingers. “Remember this day and what happens when the elixir isn’t taken. To dream is to die.” Her thumbnail was chipped; I tried not to flinch as it scratched my cheek. “Eden’s soul is with the Maker. Spare no tears for the demon lying in the coffin.”
The demon.
But what did a demon look like? Feeling nauseated, I peered down at Eden’s body, trying desperately to convince myself that my sister’s soul was, in fact, somewhere else. That the thin body in my sister’s coffin wasn’t actuallyher. There were no flowers in her tangled dark hair. They didn’t blanket her in white, nor did they try to conceal the fading shadows under her eyes. Her coffin was a crude box of splintered wood, her burial clothes dirty and torn. There was blood in places I couldn’t help staring at—under her nails, seeping from the corners of her mouth, and lining the edges of her bare feet. Her lips were upturned in the parody of a smile, her unfeeling hands clasped in the mockery of a prayer.
Villagers from Norhavellis surrounded us, eyes bright with both curiosity and condemnation.
“Corrupt,” they damned.
“The Shadow Bringer killed her,” they hissed.
“So young. Just fifteen.”
“Poor thing.”
“What a shame.”
Mother steered my little brother and me away from the growing mob, shielding us from the worst of the comments. Her face was a pale, emotionless mask, but her hand trembled atop my shoulder. Villagers often maligned her as too rigid, even heartless. But where they saw something hollow and unfeeling, I saw strength. While her tears had dried hours ago, my father’s had not. Right by Eden’s coffin, Father sank to his knees, tears streaming into his unkempt beard.
“My girl,” he wept, clawing his fingers into the ground. He tore up pieces of grass, crushed them between his hands, and threw them senselessly into the wind. “Maker save us.”
Elliot looked up at me, lower lip quivering.
“It’s going to be okay,” I whispered, giving my brother’s hand a reassuring squeeze. “I promise.”
It’s not going to be okay. It’s never going to be okay again.
Still, he nodded solemnly, believing me.
Before Eden’s coffin was lowered into the late-spring ground, the Light Legion commenced their questioning.
“When did the shadows first appear?” a sharp-tongued legionnaire asked. His golden armor, adorned with a sweeping crimson cape, was a bright mark against a lifeless sea of gray. He wore a metal mask, as the other legionnaires did, and only his eyes and close-cropped hair could be seen. “And how long was she afflicted?”
“The shadows first appeared last week,” Mother answered simply. “From what we gather, she was afflicted for less than ten days.”
I bit my tongue. Eden had carried the marks for over amonth. She had convinced us she wasn’t sleeping well and simply covered them with a bit of pressed powder. By the time the Light Legion arrived, the marks were ink black under eyes bright with malice.
“What crimes were committed?”
“She took a dress from the tailor.” Then Mother added, mouth in a tight line, “It was promptly returned, however.”
“Is that all?”
“Yes, that is all.”
Eden had stolen a dress, but she’d also destroyed our remaining elixir vials, slammed a pillow over my mouth while I was sleeping, wandered Norhavellis in the depths of the night, and been caught eating a rat from our cellar. She’d been imprisoned shortly after that, locked in the village’s makeshift holding cell with vermin blood still dribbling from her chin.
The legionnaire continued with more troublesome questions. Questions my mother and father stumbled over.
