In the belly of the demon, I found the young Shadow Bringer.
He knelt in a shroud of mist, framed by a void of black. There wasn’t much to him, really. Just a tangle of skinny limbs and too-large clothes, eyes wide and sad under curls of raven hair. A far cry from his future self—what he would one day become. His hands grasped at the mist, as if he wanted to squeeze it into submission. Or maybe it was simply to ground himself to something. Anything.
I approached him, surprised when his gray eyes lifted.
“I thought I was alone,” the boy whispered. He sounded distraught that I was there with him. “Did the demon devour you, too?”
“I think so,” I croaked. My throat was surprisingly raw and painful. Had I been screaming?
I took a moment to study the demon’s pit. It sloped up on all sides, globe-like, and a dark fog crawled over the ground. Time, light, and color didn’t exist.
There was only the young Shadow Bringer and me.
It was disturbing that I hadn’t woken up—that I was trulyhere, rotting inside a demon’s stomach. I let out a tense, frustrated breath. This was the Bringer’s childhood dream, but it also felt real. Present.Alivesomehow, and not just a memory.
Turning back to the boy, I asked, “Are you hurt?”
“I don’t know,” he admitted, frowning as he examined his arms and legs. “I don’t feel anything.” He didn’t appear to have any physical injuries, but his expression told of a different kind of pain. His real wounds were hidden, sharp, suffocating. He met my eyes again, as if he wanted to say something but wasn’t quite sure how. “The demon said I would never feel pain or be lonely again. So why do I—” Suddenly, his face crumbled. He turned away. “I don’t know why.…”
Without thinking, I put a hand to his back. It was how I comforted Elliot when he was sick or scared; a touch to remind him that he wasn’t alone. The boy flinched at first, hesitating, but a breath later, he relaxed, slumping forward to rest his chin atop his knees.
In an instant, the young Shadow Bringer had become what he truly was: a boy. And I realized I didn’t even know his name.
“I’m Esmer,” I offered quietly after a few moments had passed. “You don’t know me, but I want to help you get through this.Wewill get through this.”
The boy lifted his head. “Esmer,” he echoed, testing the word. “I have a unique name, too. I am Erebus.”
Erebus.It was a lovely name.
“Did the demon promiseyouanything?” Erebus asked intently. “It told me I would find where I belong. My purpose.”
I think I preferyouto the willful child inside my stomach. A truth, for one of your pretty teeth.
I could almost feel the demon’s dry, rotting breath on my face.
“The beast seemed more interested in how I would taste,” I said, shaking my head in disgust. “We didn’t get to the part where it promised me riches or good fortune.”
“The demon said it knew me, but it never even said my name. Isn’t that strange?” he asked.
“Demons are liars,” I answered. They were parasites, too, desperate to become what they consumed. And I had unleashed hundreds of them upon my kingdom. “Maybe the demon had a few of your memories or guessed what you were feeling. But it didn’t know you. They never truly do.”
I placed a hand on the pit’s wall. It resisted my touch; something on the other side was pushing back. “I think this pit is one of their tricks. An illusion, maybe. We just need to figure out how to break it.”
Erebus watched me with a mixture of curiosity and dismay. “It’s rare to speak of demons so boldly.” He drew closer. “Are you from Citadel Evernight?” He must have seen the genuine confusion in my reaction, because he continued, adding quickly, “Never mind. Someone from Evernight wouldn’t be here. Weavers don’t care whether we live or die.”
A distrust in the Weavers, even five hundred years in the past? I couldn’t help pressing the boy: “Why won’t the Weavers come? Aren’t they supposed to be protecting dreamers?”
Supposedly, the seven Weavers prospered before the Shadow Bringer rose to power, gifting humanity with handcrafted, Maker-blessed dreams. It would be years until the first outbreak of Corruption. So whywasErebus left to face a demon by himself? Weavers protected the world from demons, hunting any that slipped through their veil. Would they not go after this one?
“You really think that?” Erebus spat, clenching his fists. “Theynever protected me. Not from this nightmare. Not from the demon. Not from anything. Theyabandonedme.” I began to hear the similarities between his voice and the Shadow Bringer’s. The hatred and the deep, burning sorrow. “Everyone else dreams like we’re meant to. Everyone else can fly and do magic andseethings. My dreams turn into nightmares, and they end with my parents dying. And it’s always my fault.”
Erebus placed his hands next to mine. Instead of pushing into the demon’s strange, globe-like stomach, he pulled. The substance melted into shadow as it stretched, clinging to his hands. Several handfuls of shadow later, the globe still held firm. Huffing from the effort, he turned to me.
“My mother and father thought I was special. Funny, isn’t it? They said the Weavers would take me to Evernight, and we’d never go hungry again.” Shadows danced in his irises. His face, elegant despite his youth, was caught between calculated fury and something more desperate. Colder. “But then they died, and no Weaver ever came. The demon told me the dark was my purpose. You said it doesn’t know me, but I think you’re wrong.”
As if in response to Erebus’s proclamation, the dark deepened around us, encroaching on the mist. It moved over the boy who would grow up to be the Shadow Bringer with shadows dancing on his fingers and sorrow swimming in his eyes.
An image of the Shadow Bringer flashed before me. Was he still in the dream, crushed under the weight of the demon’s horn? Again, as if in response, the demon’s stomach began to change.
