He looked nearly the same as his image in the book of Weaver tales.
Somnus, Weaver of the Past, introduced himself and bowed. “A pleasure.”
What a wretched condition this castle is in,” Somnus observed, inspecting the Shadow Bringer’s chamber with a scornful eye. He lifted the edge of a ruined painting, its canvas ripped into long, oily shreds. Silver light ebbed from his fingertips and illuminated the paint. “A shame, considering the hope and wonder that were imbued in its mortar.”
He trailed around the broken pieces of the room, pausing every few steps to examine a shredded book or gouges clawed deep into the walls. His every movement was smooth, careful, effortless; refined over the course of centuries, his body carried itself with perfect precision.
Somnus was a ghost formed into life, a living specter of a man.
It was said Weavers created everything in the Dream Realm, blending landscapes and simulated realities like they, too, were the Maker of their worlds. Some dreamers could alter pieces of their dreams, adding context or adjustments as their minds saw fit, but most dreams were the direct creations of the Weavers behind them.
“You speak as though you built this place,” I said. At Somnus’s inquisitive expression, I worked to retract my statement. “I mean—”
“No. It is not of my creation; my domain rests elsewhere.” Somnusdropped the jeweled tapestry he was examining. It gleamed as it fell, curling over his pointed boot. “But you think it is beautiful, do you not? I forget how grandiose the Realm appears to a dreamer, even in its ruin. And this castle is merely one thread of the Realm’s entirety.”
I didn’t respond, holding my arms close.
“Dreams have become fickle, shadowed things. To truly dream—” He paused, his depthless gaze narrowing. It was clear he wasn’t satisfied with my silence. “Surely the experience is exquisite in your eyes.”
“It is beautiful,” I admitted, reluctant to specifically acknowledge the beauty of the Bringer’s castle. The Shadow Bringer was a mortal enemy of the Weavers; any affiliation with him here—beyond my chance appearance in his castle—was an enormous risk. I pretended to examine a flameless candelabra. “Though I’d prefer a bit of light.”
“Beauty can be found in darkness, dreamer. You needn’t be afraid of acknowledging your affiliation with the Shadow Bringer, even though he did cause quite the turmoil some five hundred years ago.”
Oh hell.
I whirled on Somnus. “You know what I’m thinking,” I observed accusingly.
He shrugged. “I merely witness impressions. Small shivers of emotion and belief.” He stared at me, all knowing. Dangerous. “But I am experienced enough to know what they mean.”
Realization crashed against me, heavy as the sea; Somnus wasn’t here to make small talk, to comment on the beauty of the Realm or the state of the Bringer’s castle. No—his eyes spoke of something deeper, deadlier. His posture reeked of bloodlust even amid its grace.
“You’re here to kill him, aren’t you?”
Somnus considered me for a moment, assessing the way I stood, the clench of my jaw, the shaking in my hands. “Not yet, dreamer. I merely bore witness to the darkness escaping his castle, shattering what was left of his domain’s boundary. I thought I’d find him here, but all I see is you.”
“That’s because I was tricked into taking his place. He isn’t here.”
“Is that the sole purpose for your presence here, then?” Somnus motioned around us—at the Bringer’s crumbling chamber, at the night leaking in through the uncurtained wall. “Because you took his place in the mortal world?”
“What else would I—”
“That is not the only reason you are here, dreamer.” Somnus pulled a weapon from the fold of his robes. It was a blade forged from the night sky, its handle carved from onyx and ivory. Tiny stars danced along its edge. “Your purpose is beyond that.Hispurpose is beyond that. But a thousand demonic souls, freed? A transgression of incredible concern, considering they were contained here for nearly five hundred years prior.”
I swallowed back the fear rising in my throat.
Where had they gone? What had Idone?
“I couldn’t stop them,” I whispered miserably.
Somnus approached, gliding silently across the stone. I thought he was positioning his body to attack, but he instead offered me his sword. It was a twin to the Shadow Bringer’s, pure black and deadly sharp.
“A token from the Maker Himself.” I tensed, watching as the weapon rippled with power. Weaver or not, I had no idea what his intentions were. “Use it to channel the gifts you were given.”
When I made no move to take it, Somnus gently placed his hand over my own.
“Why do you hesitate?” he asked.
“Because I don’t understand why you’re offering it to me.”
