A beautiful and haunted man, indeed.
“End it,” he said to me, his voice echoing strangely in the cavernous space. “That’s why he brought you to me, isn’t it? Thenendit. Finish what you started. It’s what you’ve always wanted.”
A sound of disbelief escaped my lips. “I’m not here to kill you, Shadow Bringer.”
“Why not? Do you no longer see me as the monster you’ve been taught to fear? All it took was seeing your lord slaughter his loyal followers,” he bit out.
“You are a necessary evil,” I said simply. It was a cold truth and perhaps not the entire truth, but the Shadow Bringer did not so much as flinch. “You harbor demons that would otherwise overrun Noctis. So no, I can’t kill you. But until I know the full truth behind Corruption and how to stop it, I can’t trust you.”
“So, I am not a monster but atool.” He let loose a sigh. It was the only proof he was even breathing. “Leave, Esmer. You don’t belong here.”
“I can’t. The Light Bringer sealed the entrance.”
“You should have escaped while you could.” He stood to his fullheight, and that strange dark smoke rippled around the lines of his body. Within a blink he was looming over me. “Do you know what it’s like to spend life in a cage?”
“I know enough,” I said, meeting his eyes as evenly as I could. Maybe I was clouded by exhaustion, but I did not feel fear when I looked upon him. “A lifelong sentence of Absolver duty to Norhavellis and never being able to leave the village. Corruption destroying families and leaking from the eyes of those too young to even know why. Not having a choice—or the ability—to say no to those with more power than me.” I stopped, frustrated at the emotion rising up my throat.
“My mother once told me that living a caged life is like being a wolf confined to some desolate enclosure,” he began, threading his fingers through some of the shadows that rose from his injuries. “You snarl and howl, desperate to sink your teeth into something tangible, but you have no way to explore the vast wilderness just outside your reach.” He made a fist, squeezing a thread of shadow until it broke apart. “You can almost feel the earth beneath your feet or the wind on your skin, but you’re trapped. You ache for the unknown, where the rest of your life—every possibility, every hope for the future—waits, but you can’t move.”
So, he truly had been mortal at one point. He had amother. The tales never told of such an origin, never humanized him at all.
“I’ve felt that way before,” I whispered. “I desperately wanted to escape my life for something better, but I never could. And now I have nothing.” I brushed my hand across a shadow as it moved to touch my shoulder. “It’s a horribly accurate comparison.”
“It is, isn’t it? Ironically, my mother used to make that comparison to encourage me to dream. Whenever I was facing some challenge in reality, she’d tell me to escape to the Realm and let the Weavers guide me.” He looked away, swallowing hard. “If only she knew I’d spend most of my life imprisoned in the Realm, never having a choice.”
“Did your mother pass before you were locked away, then?”
“My mother and father both died when I was a child. They never knew what I would become. And now you’re here facing the same fate.”His eyes slid to mine, gazing at me intently. “I know your pain, Esmer. I know what it feels like to grieve so deeply that it changes the essence of who you are.”
He was suddenly too close, too overwhelming. Had the Shadow Bringer been a normal man, perhaps I would have felt the heat diffusing from his skin. Instead, his nearness felt like a cool, tantalizing brush of midnight air. He searched my eyes, breath hitching at whatever he found in them, and then spun on his heel to walk to the obsidian slab, pieces of his ragged clothing sliding across the floor.
“What is that?” I asked, following.
“A means to an eternal slumber,” he answered. The slab, its edges curling upward, was surprisingly pliant to the touch, its surface reflecting the light from above. “If you fall asleep here, the tomb will anchor you to the Dream Realm. But being physically joined to the Realm has its consequences. Your mind will slowly distort, and your memories will fade—all while you lie comatose.”
I nodded. “The tales say that Weavers took precautions against such a fate. They’d periodically wake so as not to lose themselves to the Realm.”
According to the tales, Weavers once rose from their sleep to attend the most extravagant and pivotal moments in Noctis’s history. They were present for the crownings of kings and victories in war. They were honored guests at citywide celebrations, deity-like in the fanfare they caused. Though waking from the Realm was a risk—it made the Weavers susceptible to death and aging—they were protected and beloved by the people.
“Weavers be damned,” the Shadow Bringer snarled. “For five centuries I lay upon this stone, waiting for a release that never came. Death would have been preferable.”
A shiver coursed across my skin. He had been locked inside this tomb in an eternal sleep forcenturies. I couldn’t imagine what he had lost during those years, what he had forgotten. I shuddered to think what I, too, would lose or forget if the Light Bringer chose to never release me.
“Do you honestly believe you were wrongly imprisoned?” I asked, lowering my voice. It felt as though I was broaching something forbidden. “Only your wickedness is recorded in the tales. There’s no trace of goodness in the stories we are told.”
“I don’t know.” The Shadow Bringer placed his forehead into the palm of his hand, clenching his jaw as though his thoughts physically pained him. “Threads of memory, broken moments in time—that’s all I have. And they don’t always tell me what I’ve lost or what life was like before.”
“That doesn’t seem like much, then.”
“No. But I do feel a deep hatred toward the Weavers and Mithras. That I know to be true.” He looked at me again, long and hard, as though he was considering a decision. “I slept here for centuries as my soul withered. Perhaps I was good once, and perhaps I can change Noctis’s fate, but I don’t know that there’s anything good or worthy left in me. You need to understand that.”
Something didn’t feel right. It was in his eyes; in the way they shifted, lowering.
“You look as if you could use some rest,” he murmured, his voice a soft caress. His words felt like silk or velvet—a deep, rumbling purr. “Come, lie on this stone. Let me ease your burdens.” His words had an irresistible pull, and I found myself surrendering to the exhaustion that was weighing me down. As I lay on the slab, the stone seemed to soften and embrace me, soothing my weariness.
I nodded in agreement, thanking him.
Didn’t I?
