Mithras was flying above the Nocturne, ringed by all seven Weavers. Erebus almost shouted for him, but the words died in his throat. Mithras’s eyes were hateful as they beheld Erebus, and the Seven’s power rumbled around their immortal shoulders. Mithras and the Weavers weren’t here to help him; they were here tofighthim.
Mithras’s betrayal clawed down Erebus’s chest, callously ripping him apart.
Somehow Mithras had known this would happen. Erebus wouldn’t purge the Nocturne’s darkness like a hero. No, he’d be caught summoning demons from the Nocturne like an infernal villain. With a roar of rage and despair, Erebus tried to escape the Revel by forcing himself awake.
But he couldn’t. He was trapped.
And so he fled.
Erebus escaped to his castle, his haven, his palace of shadow that had been his personal training ground. The only place he knew where he might be able to defend himself.
The Weavers charged him at his castle. Mercilessly attacked him in a swell of grief and fury.
“Shadow Bringer,” they cried, damning him. “Demon lord. Devourer.”
Rock crushed his outstretched arms; his left dropped, useless. But even mangled and broken, trembling and bloody, Erebus’s right hand held, commanding the dark as it threaded together the final stitches of his domain.
“You will not take my soul!” he roared.
And the Realm roared back.
Years later, the shadows in his castle curled toward him, rolling around his shoulders in a hideous cloud. Perhaps a minute passed. Perhaps a century. How could he tell? His senses were cut off, his hands heavy and numb. But it did not matter.
Nothing mattered anymore.
He was no longer Erebus; he was the Shadow Bringer.
At first, the Shadow Bringer had counted the days. Scraped them into his bedchamber walls. Etched them in the pages of a book. But the living shadows—the monsters, the creatures, the demons—began to infest his castle. He wasn’t sure how they appeared, only that they were trapped here as he was. Some could haunt the surrounding forest, but most, like him, were bound to the castle’s walls. They curled around his soul as if they owned it.
And perhaps they did.
Their unholy power was clearly his, too; they were sated by his shadows and desperate for their release. The Shadow Bringer shuddered as a demon outside his door screamed.
His eyes were heavy, and his heart was full of hatred.
Centuries later, the Shadow Bringer felt the knock before he heard it.
Felt her walk up the castle steps as if she crawled over his skin.
He snarled, charging through his castle’s broken innards. After all this time, they had finally sent someone to kill him. He scarcely remembered who “they” were, but he knew she did not belong in his domain. Did not deserve to see him like this.
Enemy. Enemy. Enemy.
The Shadow Bringer stood at his mirror and wiped blood from his throat, his chin, and his lips. It soaked into the cloth, staining it black. She had used his power—too much of it—to sate the demons in the water, and somehow caused him to bleed.
He had forgotten he even could. And it was all because of her.
How dare she enter his castle, his fortress, and try to manipulate his power? He had sensed it when they had first met. The shadows had bent to her will, loosening around her chest when he had meant to keep them taut. A vision of her drifted to the front of his consciousness. Her, standing in the middle of that cold pool, starlight pouring through the cracks and gleaming in the water, in the stone of the cavern walls, in her eyes. Her dark eyes, filled with—what was it?
He wasn’t certain, couldn’t recall what those emotions were named.
How dare she disturb his peaceful agony?
And he didn’t even know her name.
The Shadow Bringer blinked hard, clearing mire from his thoughts. He did not feel the cold from the Tomb of the Devourer as it seeped into his bones, did not feel the hollows under his eyes growing tighter and deeper. For days he had tried to escape the tomb, but it was useless. The door wouldn’t open. He shook his hands through his hair, kicked the ground with the heel of his boot. Darkness, everywhere.
He avoided the bones at his feet as he descended farther into the dark. And he tried not to think about Esmer as the walls drew nearer around him. But it was impossible.
