Nyx’s lips curled sharply, like a cat staring at its dinner. “Even if it meant you could end this war?” He tilted his head. “Not even to save your precious kingdom?”
The air between them tensed.
“Being a servant of Vidaris won’t make any power I gain worth its price,” Daimon hissed.
Lightning crackled in the air, causing the hair on Daimon’s arms to rise. Shadows gathered around Nyx, slithering up his ankles in two strands like twining snakes. They gathered at his waist and crossed over his chest, flickering against his neck.
Nyx had always been so calm, so confident and unbothered during their meetings. One could almost forget that he was a god.
But now Daimon was reminded of who he truly was. The God of Fear and Dreams, the god who crafted the first Nocturna, the one from whom they derived their shadows. Their shadows were watered-down and dampened compared to Nyx’s. His were unbridled, wild, untamed.
“Do not underestimate the gods.” His voice was different—darker. It was a low hum that rumbled like thunder. “Zenovia is the last big battlefront left.Thinkabout it. If you ruled the Shadow Realm within the mountains,youwould have full control over the border.”
Daimon’s blood turned to ice.
“If you take up this helm, you could end this war.”
His thoughts raced with the possibility of being able to change the tides of the war on his own. It was too good to be true, too obvious—right in front of him the entire time.
“I’m not falling for your tricks.”
“Not to mention the Shadow Realm is rumored to be the resting place of Nightfall,” Nyx added, ignoring Daimon. He was taunting him, dangling the things he wanted most in front of him.
“That blade is a myth.”
“Is it?” Nyx smiled. “What if you could find it and not only close the border, but kill Moros once and for all?”
Daimon stilled. Nightfall was a blade of the gods, a storytold around a fire about the mighty weapon strong enough to pierce any darkness.
“Think it through,” Nyx said lightly, the shadows dispersing. His light and easy tone had returned, offering no sign of the power he had just displayed. “Though timeisrunning out.”
A threat lingered behind the words. If Moros and his forces made it far enough into the border before it could be fortified, it would be too late.
All Nyx cared about was using Daimon to get him closer to stealing the Vale from Vidaris. He didn’t care about Daimon—nor did he care about saving this realm.
But Daimon cared. More than he ever had.
There wasn’t any room for Daimon tothink it through.He could save them all.
Nyx smiled, pleased. “I warned you about this day.” He drifted upward, now looking down at Daimon from where he hovered. “It would’ve been easier on you to cut these ties long ago.”
Daimon didn’t want to think about the ties he was about to cut. The family he was leaving behind.
“How do I accept?” he asked, his voice rough.
Nyx’s smile turned feral. “You go to the Zenovia Mountains and pray to Vidaris. She will lead you. If you accept her deal, you will become the Lord of the Shadows, made to usher lost souls into the Vale and keep watch over the Shadow Realm. Your shadows will be at their greatest strength, though you will be bound away forever from the realms of light.”
Daimon swallowed. He would be giving his soul to shadow, ferrying the fae punished to an afterlife away from the light of Caelum to their eternal torment in the Vale. He had spent his whole life hiding his shadows, terrified of what it meant to have such a power—but it all came to this.
“But be wary of crossing into the Vale,” Nyx warned. “You may rule the Shadow Realm, but to cross into the Vale is to give yourself over fully to Vidaris. Darkness would consume you.”
The god disappeared into the clouds with no final parting, leaving Daimon to make the choice alone.
There was so much more he wanted than to be bound to that wretched realm. He wanted more for his life, more than what his father planned for him.
But he would do it. For the realm—for Evelina—he would give himself over to Vidaris and rule the Shadow Realm.
Fate was cruel that way.
