A rhythmic sound echoed over the pit.
The edges of the pit began to flatten, shivering down until the landscape was smooth and uniform. The mist cleared, as did the shadows that had flowed from the demon’s body. An army was revealed, led by a man surrounded by floating swords, a ghostly woman draped in silver and white, and a man armored in crimson and gold.
Xander, Weaver of the Present; Theia, Weaver of the Future; andMithras.
“Stay close,” I said, motioning for Elliot to step away from the demon. It gasped out irregular, shallow breaths, releasing a finalwheezeof air as the sword slid out from its stomach and back into my palm.
“Your report was lacking,” Xander, Weaver of the Present, intoned to a soldier at his left. Hundreds of soldiers, faces obscured by masks, stood behind their respective leaders, each marked by the color of their leader. Xander’s were in iron, Theia’s in diamond, and Mithras’s in gold. “This ‘threat’ is merely a pup,” Xander noted.
The ironclad soldier bowed his head. “I’m sorry, my lord. Perhaps the demon moved dreams.”
“Enough. It is done,” Xander responded, commanding and clear.Chestnut hair swept back from his temples to rest under an iron crown, framing a strong, shrewd face and bright eyes.
The Light Bringer kicked the demon’s lifeless body, knocking loose one of its twiglike horns. “‘A face wild as a storm, body protected by the Maker’s stolen armor.’ A false report, indeed. Pathetic creature,” Mithras said, making a face.
“I wouldn’t let it sully my boot,” Xander said, mouth twisting in displeasure. The ground was stained heavily by the demon’s blood, and he stepped to avoid it. “Come, let us return to the citadel.”
“Ahem,” Theia said, gesturing delicately at Elliot and me. Her pale eyes were wide, her silver hair glossy and full of light, but her form felt false in its perfection; she seemed a sculpture, an animated painting—not living, not breathing. “The dreamers are here. They appear to be lucid.”
Their attention snapped to Elliot and me, instantly wary. But the more they examined us, the more they grew uninterested. It was clear we were of no importance. Still, Mithras strode over to us, his golden eyes showing boredom and vague curiosity—but not recognition.
“Is it true? Are you aware, dreamers?” the Light Bringer asked, looming over us. “How rare.”
“I can’t believe it’s you!” Elliot exclaimed, completely ignoring his question. “Fighting demons and stuff—wow!”
I gripped Elliot’s shoulder, pulling him back a step.
Theia’s pale lips drew into a smile. “Just as I said. Lucid.”
Mithras’s gaze grew distant. Then he placed a single gloved finger against Elliot’s brow.
“What are you doing?” Elliot asked innocently, a version of his younger self once more looking from Mithras to the Weavers, then to me. “Your finger’s cold.”
And just like that, Elliot disappeared.
“No!”I lunged forward, unthinking, and swung my fist straight into Mithras’s jaw.
Stunned, he fell backward, slamming into the pool of demon blood.For a second, he was silent, disbelief and rage boiling in his eyes. Then he roared, scrambling upright.
“I merelywokehim. I should take your—”
“Have grace,” Xander admonished. “A hunt, no matter its length or success, does not warrant such base behavior.”
Theia nodded, crossing her arms. A row of bracelets trailed up her forearms, linking sporadically to her gossamer sleeves. “He speaks the truth. We must save our energy for what matters.” She turned toward her legionnaires, headpiece gleaming. “Ensure that one’s memory is adjusted.”
Mithras’s eyes bore into me, cold and shallow despite their honeyed color. I watched as he readjusted his expression, masking his hate with something resembling indifference.
“My apologies, dreamer,” the Light Bringer murmured, giving a short bow. “It has been an arduous day.”
I nodded and gave him an understanding smile, willing myself to hide the emotion warring in my veins. “Forgive me for striking you,” I offered weakly. “I was merely overwhelmed by your presence.”
“You are forgiven,” Mithras said, lifting my chin. “It is rare for us to come across a dreamer who is lucid.” He smiled sadly, as though he felt pity for me. “Your memory of this dream will fade, but you needn’t be afraid. The demon you faced today will no longer haunt you.”
No wonder Elliot never told us about seeing a demon. The memory was taken from him before he ever had the chance.
“Why are the Weavers hiding themselves from Noctis?” The question stumbled out of me, uncertain but decisive. “We’ve been waiting—begging—for the Weavers’ return. For all we knew, the Shadow Bringer killed them all.”
“You know nothing, dreamer,” the Light Bringer snapped, looking at me as though I were an insect. “Why don’t you take your elixir next time?” he added angrily, leaning over me. “Your brother, too. Continue sleeping in blissful unawareness of the demons that lurk just beyond your subconscious. It is better that way.”
