Demon.
“The good parts of the dream never last,” the boy lamented, throwing his fists into the ground. He didn’t seem to notice the demon. The cottage started shaking, its dirt-covered walls leaking something dark and foul.“Why does nothing ever last?”
The boy didn’tseemlike a threat to humanity. He was vulnerable, ordinary. Not the Shadow Bringer, not the Devourer, not an enemy of humankind. But perhaps he had more power than he let on.
The Shadow Bringer stiffened. “I think I remember what happens. I subdued the demon myself.”
“Really?” I asked. The boy hadn’t even noticed the demon yet. The monster continued to drag itself to shore, working its fangs as it tasted the mist. Everything in me screamed in resistance, battling our silence. Our stillness. I wanted to say something,dosomething. The boy, alone and visibly helpless, didn’t stand a chance. “You don’t even see it yet.”
The demon was at the shoreline now, pulling its body from the water.
“I…” The Bringer paused, visibly working through something. “Any moment now.”
The young Bringer looked up then, finally aware of the monster in front of him.
“And what are you doing here?” the boy asked, gray eyes unflinching. “Are you here to mock me? I’ve seen you before. I am not afraid.”
“You should be afraid, human,” the demon growled, rising up to show its full height. “Do you think me some feeble part of your imagination?”
“Everything here is from my imagination,” the boy said simply. His face scrunched in concentration, almost as if he were willing the demon away. “It is time for you to leave.”
“How prideful,” responded the demon.
The boy laughed. “Just wait. You will be gone before your next breath.” But as he stared, focusing on the beast’s every distorted feature, nothing happened. The demon was still there. When the boy spoke again, his voice cracked. “You’re still here. Why are you still here?”
“From the lake I have watched you, observing your failures. You will never save your mother. You will never save your father.”
“Shut up.”
“They will starve, they will wither.”
“I said,shut up!” the boy screamed.
“They will die.”
“You don’t know that!” The boy ground his teeth, glancing at his mother and father. They pressed against the grime-stained windows. Tears fell from their eyes, curving down their cheeks only to fall into their screaming mouths. “You knownothingof me or my family.”
A pit formed, heavy and horrible in my stomach. This dream was not intended for my eyes—this was private, fragile, raw. Dreams always held pieces of reality; a dream’s composite parts might be fantastic or bizarre in nature, but the core of it, the very deep and innermost core, was tied to the dreamer’s reality.
If this dream was an indicator of the Shadow Bringer’s past, it revealed a life riddled with fear, poverty, and hatred. And a hopeful, imaginative boy trying to make everything better.
“They will hate you, even in your dreams. You will never be loved again,” the demon said.
“You can’t know that,” the boy protested. But his words were weaker now, aching. Doubting. “How can you know that?”
“You have no purpose. What do you live for?”
“What kind of question is that?” The boy swiped a tear from his eye, the skin underneath blooming red with frustration. “And you never answered my question.” Behind him, the voices of his parents rose in anger and bite. “Why are you still here? Why can’t I erase you?”
“Because I am not of your kind, human.”
“Then what are you?”
“I am no one,” the demon divulged, “but I can become you. I will ease your hardships. I will right your injuries.” The demon slid forward. The growl in its voice softened, contrasting with the violence pouring from the cottage. “Let me free you from your miserable life, child. Come forth and I will gift you eternal rest.”
Beside me, the Shadow Bringer cursed.
I whirled to face him. “You said youkilledthe demon. That’s a little different than letting it devour your soul.”
