Instinctively, I reached for the castle doors.
Knock.
Knock.
Knock.
The castle doors quivered in time with the echoing knocks, rippling as their smooth surface suddenly changed into thousands of meticulously detailed sculptures. I tried to examine the images, but they escaped me, flitting from my vision like spinning grains of dust.
The shadows stained everything. I couldn’t see.
I can’t see.
I woke in a panic, kicking at the blankets knotted around my legs. The layers of bedding felt like arms, legs, fingers. Barely suppressing a scream, I stumbled to my mirror.
Breath lodged in my throat as I examined my hands in the early-morning light, too terrified to begin the inspection with my face. The earliest sign of Corruption was bruised skin under the eyes. Delaying the inevitable was pointless. Still, I searched every finger for purple skin clinging to my nails. Then my wrists, the inner crooks of my elbows, and the sore skin of my neck.
I forced myself to meet the eyes in my reflection.
Dark, sleep-tangled hair; arched eyebrows framing bloodshot eyes; lips raw and red from biting them in my sleep. But the skin under my eyes was clear.
Clear.
I took the elixir vial from my nightstand and examined it. It didn’t taste, smell, or look any different, but how else had I been able to dream so vividly and for so long? Was something wrong with the elixir, or was there something wrong withme? I clutched my throat, the ghost of my mother’s fingertips bruising my skin.
I crumbled, knees hitting the floorboards.
“What’s wrong?” Elliot cried, scrambling from his bed. He knelt by me on the floor, peering up at me with exhausted, red-rimmed eyes. Eyesnochild should have.
“Woke up nauseous, is all,” I offered weakly, wrapping my arms around his shoulders and pressing my chin to the top of his head. “Thought I was going to be sick.”
“Please don’t lie to me,” he begged. “I know something isn’t right.”
I hesitated a moment too long, unable to wield the right words in response.
“That’s…,” he began, squinting at the vial still in my hands, “village-marked.”
“It is,” I said, slowly turning the vial around in my hands. Sure enough,Norhavelliswas written in Mother’s scrawl down the side. It didn’t taste or smell any different, but what about the elixir inside? The glass was tinted, obscuring the full effect of the liquid’s coloring, but it appeared slightly paler than usual. Surely I was just imagining things; surely it wasmewho was wrong. “My vial ran out last night, but our personal supply was empty. I would have asked Mother or Father…” I trailed off, barely suppressing a sob at the back of my throat.
I couldn’t lose it now. Iwouldn’tlose it in front of Elliot. He needed me to be the strong older sister, as Eden had been to me. Stronger than I was capable of being, perhaps.
“Oh. Right,” Elliot said matter-of-factly. Then his face bunched up, contorting into grief as he let out a hopeless cry. “What’s going to happen to us? If Mother and Father are both Corrupt, what happens to us?”
“I don’t know,” I said softly, trying to make sense of what our future would be. My chest felt tight at the idea of forging ahead without our parents to guide us. “But I don’t think we can stay in Norhavellis anymore. We need to make a new path for ourselves. Maybe travel to Istralla with the provisions Mother and Father put together.”
Elliot squeezed his stuffed cow to his chest, considering this possibility. “Maybe we can.”
Maybe we can.
The Light Legion arrived in Norhavellis that afternoon.
By the time they surveyed the Corrupts’ holding cells in the village, the sky was growing dark and the air had chilled, creeping in from the depths of the lengthening shadows. They emerged from the Visstill, the sprawling, shadow-drenched forest that separated Norhavellis from Istralla, dressed in their golden finery and led by our holy Light Bringer. The revered Lord Mithras was, as usual, a sight to behold.
The Light Bringer’s clothing was immaculate, interwoven with layers of ivory and gold, and his cloak, as brightly hued as his horse’s white hide, swept across his back in a brilliant drape. A gilded mask, far more ornate than those of his legion’s, partially hid his face, leaving only his mouth, tan jaw, and golden hair exposed. The Kingdom of Noctis’s immortal ruler and Maker-blessed savior—the lord who fought tirelessly to save his people from the Shadow Bringer’s desperate clutches.
He was so radiant and good that it made my chest ache.
With a quick gesture, he motioned for the torches to be lit, and the flames—redder than usual—sparked crimson light into the space. Some legionnaires entered our storehouse, dragging out medical supplies and burlap bags filled with seed; others ransacked our home, pulling out vials of elixir, books, papers. They burned some items and packed others away.
