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Draven stared into the room like he expected something to be there with him.

There was nothing. No one.

An apprehensive prickle trailed up the back of his neck.

Did Kyer return?

Or was it someone else?

Quietly, he gathered the belongings and placed them back in the bag. He climbed to his feet and crept toward the doorway, peering into what he could make out was a long hallway.

He neither saw nor heard anything. Not even rocks crumbling off the wall.

The feeling persisted.

He’d been wallowing within the bounds of the Reatian Empire. Valen’s territory. What if it was him? Or someone else? A member of his military? Alister?

Draven wavered, unable to tell if he wanted to face anyone from his past at all. He glanced down, imagining the filthy state he was in.

Not like this.

The Serpent’s energy made itself known again, this time a gentle reminder, filling his legs with strength to carry himself and his arms to lift the supplies. He reluctantly allowed the invasion, hitching the bag over his shoulder.

He crept through the hall, eyes adjusting to the dark, finding room after room containing cylindrical chambers of varying condition. Long, glass-encased tubes connected to mechanisms and pipes he didn’t understand, all designed to house dreamers inside.

Some were shattered, some in one piece.

All were empty.

Draven remembered the unveiling of the Coffers. He had stood at Valen’s right, Caine at his left, and Chiman Romon ahead of them all.

A bitter tang filled his mouth. The King of Failen and Imordial for the Vulpes Flare represented curiosity and creation perfectly, but the man was a pretentious ass. Valen mentioned in passing the vessels chosen by the Flares were all similar in appearance and personality to their predecessors, so Draven supposed it wasn’t his fault.

At least the man had brilliance in his favor. The concept of the Coffers was unbelievable, and yet here it was. All thanks to Failen’s alliance with Reatia. Segregating the territories from the rest of Eizreth allowed Chiman’s imagination to run wild without the restraint of the other Imordials’ opinions. Chiman had the freedom to put technology like the Coffers above advancements that seemed so simple in comparison, like funding electricity for the public. All that mattered was what satisfied Valen’s feverish need to extend the life of his people.

Except saving lives in what Draven equated to cold storage seemed no different than the perpetual rest of death. Not that he would tell the Eternal Sovereign something like that. It was best not to question his father’s authority and never in front of Chiman’s never-ending ego.

As he made his way through, dried flowers, parchment, and coins littered the tunnels. He followed the mess to a passage not completely encased in darkness. Crude, dark paintings curved along the wall—

A thin, insect-like hum filled his ears. Draven recoiled, shock gripping him by the neck.

One by one, the lights lining the ceiling switched on.

The Serpent burst from its cage, drowning out all sensation. His own shadow spread around him like oil over water.

He dropped his head and slammed his eyes shut.

Dark. I need it dark!

His thoughts flashed to the room he awoke in. The lights shattering. He wanted the Serpent to drown him in darkness once again.

The Serpent obliged. Swallowing him. Consuming him.

The heat from the lights died down. He peeked his eyes open, and his heart jumped.

He wasn’t in the hall anymore. He was in a different room.

The one he woke up in.