Time was a strange thing within the Dreadlands.

  With no Sun or Moon to differentiate day from night, and my indefatigable mind and body, the only rhythm to the day was that which I made for myself. There were clocks here and there, always seemingly within earshot, that reminded me of the time throughout the day, but even those were little more than reminders that time did, in fact, yet exist in this place.

  As had become the norm, I found myself in the garden some time later — the following day, though it did not feel as such — watering and tending to my plants. They were ever eager to see me, bending my way as one the moment I stepped through the door even before the first glimmer of starlight lit my skin.

  “Good afternoon, my darlings. I trust the night was kind to you?” Making my way to my bench, I trailed my fingers along the petals and leaves of those who had begun to bloom. Though I was not one to play favorites, I smiled just the same when I reached Fair Witherlily, bending down to kiss her gently. “You are looking more vibrant with each passing day, Darling. Your beauty is an inspiration to your fellows, pray do not shirk in your duties.”

  With a self-indulgent giggle, I took my seat at the workbench and perused the prize I’d taken from the library: the map of the continent. It was hard to determine the progress the others might have made in my absence, but if I knew Vasco and Lucien — and I do believe I knew them well despite our thirteen year estrangement — it would be in my best interest to assume the best of them.

  “Now, they likely intend to travel straight north…though, I imagine they lack any distinguishable landmarks by which to ensure their trajectory, no?” I glanced back at the flowers, taking a quill in my hand. “That should be the first order of business, then. Identify those markers for them, along with any hazards along the path.”

  “Let’s start here.” I took a piece of parchment, sketching a rough outline of the continent. Then, I drew a marker where I believed the first campsite to be located, adding the scant landmarks from the map to my own. The feather’s quill brushed my lips, and I frowned. “Now, next comes…”

  But my thoughts were interrupted by a dimming of the artificial moonlight, casting the garden into darkness broken only by pinpricks of light cast by the stars overhead. I turned; a pale light, glittering with flecks of gold and silver, shined down on the central flowerbed. Somewhere in the distance, a fanfare of trumpets and stringed instruments sounded.

  As they played, a thin strip of black appeared in the center of the light, which now rippled as silk curtains. Spindly fingers gripped the edge of the curtain of light, then pulled them apart.

  “Salutations and good tidings to you, Fair Lady!” Belial stepped from the darkness, raising their hands over their head before swooping into an extravagant bow, so low the bells on their horns brushed the floor. “It is I! Your humble servant, Belial, come bearing a gift most marvelous! Oh yes, oh yes! A marvelous gift, indeed!”

  Belial stood upright, and a chorus of voices cheered and applauded. They waved their hands to the unseen crowd, and then, with a flick of their wrist, the room returned to its original state.

  The smile on my lips broke out into a grin at the creature’s expectant stare, and I could not resist the call to applaud as well.

  “It is a pleasure to see you, Good Belial. Might I say, that is quite an entrance…whatever is the occasion?” No sooner had the words left my lips, my heart raced. “You have it then?”

  “Indeed, I do! Indeed, I do, Fair Lady Celeste.” Belial strolled across the air as though it were solid ground, taking a seat at the edge of my desk. Then, they reached into the shadows and pulled free a tome of remarkably compact size.

  Small enough to fit comfortably in one of my smaller hands, but upon opening it, my mouth fell open in a gasp of delight. Though it felt the same, the page appeared larger — large enough to fit even the most troublesome of words or phrases without fail.

  “Fascinating! How does it work?”

  “Quite simple, really!” Belial plucked another book from nowhere and set it down on the desk before me. Then they pointed to the words on the cover. “Simply have the lexicon open and look at the word you wish to understand. Go on, then! Go on, and try it!”

  I nodded and bit my lip, my body thrumming with excitement. Just as the creature promised, as soon as I laid eyes upon a word I did not know, it appeared in the lexicon’s pages translated to fluent Valaean:

  From the Blackest Pit.

  I cast my brightest smile at Belial and reached out, taking the creature’s hand in mine.

  “Good Belial, you are quite the marvel! This will be a most wonderful tool in my research. I truly cannot thank you enough.” My eyes were drawn back to the book. “Though, I must ask, what is this?”

  “A new bit of leisurely reading for you, Fair Lady. You are quite industrious, oh yes! But, a candle that burns at both ends is a candle quickly burned out. Practice with the lexicon as you peruse another favorite from my Lord Master’s collection!”

  Another one of Lord Genesis’s fairy tales? The previous book certainly had proved to be a welcome distraction, and — I could feel Belial’s stare on me once more — I surely owed the creature this one favor.

  “Of course, Good Belial. I look forward to reading it when I have the time.”

  "What’s this? What’s this?” Belial’s head twisted, making a rather loud crack, to look at the map sprawled across the table. They laid a long finger on the map, turning their head this way and that, between it and my parchment. “Ahh, quite industrious, indeed! I see you’re taking stock of the Dreadlands, are you not?”

  The creature had been nothing but kind to me since my arrival, but I sensed a twinge of suspicion in their voices and a cold prickle in my chest. I quickly nodded, pushing that feeling aside.

  “I am. Just as Castle Dreadskull is to be my new home, if this is to be my country, I should like to learn what I can about it.” A pause, teeth chewing my lip. Then, “Might you be so kind as to tell me more? Perhaps any landmarks or areas of interest?”

  Pop.

  Belial appeared on the other side of the table, lying upside-down along the wall with their head and arms twisted to comfortably address the map. Their feet kicked aimlessly, like a child enraptured with a story.

  “Of course! Of course, Fair Lady. I see you’ve chosen a reference point, quite good! The Dreadlands are vast and an easy place to get lost, even for those of us who’ve called them home for millennia.” They pointed to a space to the north-east of the campsite.

  “Here you’ll find the Deadoak Forest. As the name suggests, the trees there are quite long gone! But their corpses remain, home to a plethora of Fellbeasts — rotflies and foolwyrms chief among them, though they have been known to house a dreadtusk or ten.” Belial cackled and drew another line, north-west from the forest. “Here lies the Ashen Sands. A dreadful place even in a dreadful place, really. The land has been so scorched by fellflame that it has turned to sand, a most insidious sand that seeks to devour any who sets foot within.”

  As Belial listed off the various locations, I made note of them on my sketch and tucked away the creature’s warnings in the back of my mind. With this new information, I could plot the safest route possible to lead them to Dreadskull. The only question was how to get that information to them?

  “Ah, but you see here?” Belial pointed to a stretch of black that bisected the Dreadlands, two-thirds of the way between Willowhaven and Dreadskull. “This is the Blightmire Valley. A stretch of rotted ichor so thick and wide that none without wings may cross — and might I add, even those with wings should take care not to draw too close. There is, though…”

  Belial tapped a small, almost invisible, strip of land through the valley. “A single safe passage. If you find yourself on foot — and again, I must stress, most sincerely stress, you do not — you will want to tread carefully or meet a fate most…unpleasant.”

  I nodded, even making a note on my sketch. “Thank you, Good Belial. You’ve been most helpful. Might I also trouble you for…”

  We both paused, hearing the chiming of the clock. Belial’s head twisted around, a full circle before coming to a stop. They stepped from the wall into the middle of the room.

  “I must apologize, Lady Celeste. But I am needed elsewhere. But let us continue this conversation at another time!” They bowed and, in an uncommon act of urgency, vanished before I could respond.

  “Of course, Belial. Thank you again.” I said aloud, turning back to the map. Though I had many more questions for the strange creature, this would be an excellent place to start.

  ***

  My journey from Dreadskull that night was far less harrowing than the previous day. Adrift on wings of starlight, I soared through the Dream, arms outstretched and face alight with joy. Though it was only the second time, flying was already second nature to me, as if my feet were merely a clumsy alternative my body settled on when they failed to manifest in the waking world.

  Eager as I was to reach the others, fearing what Vasco may have told them or what danger may have befallen them in my absence, I took the time to venture to each of the locations of which Belial had warned me. Crude sketch in hand, and promising to make it up to them, I committed each to memory.

  But when I passed over the Blightmire Valley, I knew the creature’s warning was not mere dramatization. A scent so vile, so foul it not merely offended, but assaulted my every sense, swept over me before it was even in sight. Acrid air, like biting poison on my skin, warned me not to linger.

  With only a glance into its inky depths, I flew southward as quickly as my wings could manage.

  The rest of the landmarks were not nearly so imposing, easily scouted, notes taken, and then left behind. Within minutes, I caught whiff of a glimmer of pain — an ache in my forearm, another in my hip — and knew they were nearby.

  By the time I arrived, the fight was reaching its conclusion.

  Vasco met a dreadtusk with a brutal fist, battering it aside into a waiting strike from Lucien. It dropped in two pieces, boiling fellblood spilling into the parched wasteland. Another approached with a roar, and the Heroes reacted in an instant.

  I’d seen them fight — the ironstag and the Fellbeast that attacked Spring Hill — but their coordination was a thing of beauty, a dance more than a martial exercise. Where blows threatened Lucien, Vasco’s fists were there to knock them aside; where tusks rose in retaliation, Lucien arrived in the nick of time to strike them down.

  A rotfly, a buzzing creature with a bulbous body that oozed rotted ichor, came careening from the sky, its mandibles spread wide enough to devour a man’s fist. Over the din of its wings and hissing cry, a bolt whistled through the air, catching it between its countless red eyes.

  “Mother!” In her hands, she held a crossbow, a quiver of bolts on her aching hip. Sweat streaked her face, but though it stung her eyes, she did not blink nor waver.

  “Is that the last of them?” She asked, a sigh following when Vasco nodded.

  “Seems to be. Not a lot of them this time.”

  Lucien shouldered one of his spears and approached Mother with a bow of his head. “Excellent shooting as always, Auntie Dem! We’d be lost if not for your keen eye.”

  Mother rolled her eyes, but reached up to grasp his hand when he laid it on her shoulder.

  “You’re too kind, Lucien, dear. But, I’m afraid that’s the last of the strength I have for today. Shall we set up camp?”

  “Pick a spot and rest easy.” Vasco kneeled by the supply pack and retrieved a canteen, which he passed her way. “With any luck, we’ll get a visit from our Promised Healer soon.”

  But no sooner had he spoken the words, my hands touched his arm and grasped his pain. My lips curled into a smile as his shoulders relaxed.

  “Speak her name and she appears,” He said with a laugh, laying his hand against — and through — mine. “Have you been here long, Celeste?”

  “I only just arrived. Pray forgive my tardiness, it wasn’t my intention to make you worry.” Though I knew he couldn’t hear me, it felt only right to respond.

  “She’s here? Then you haven’t gone mad?” Lucien rushed to Vasco’s side, marveling at the way the bruises on his arms disappeared. “You really are here, Little Star!”

  “I am…though, I may leave you to suffer if you continue with that irksome pet name of yours.” I brushed past him, my shoulder passing through his, to make my way over to Mother. Taking her hands in mine, I gazed into her eyes as the pain was washed away in starlight. “You were quite dashing, Mother. Since when did you become so formidable in combat?”

  Tears swelled in the corners of her eyes. Gazing at her hands, she clasped them together. “Celeste…oh, my sweet Celeste, it’s really you, isn’t it?”

  “It is. I’m sorry to worry you so.” Long after the pain was gone, I continued to hold on to her hands, wishing she could feel me, too. “I wish you could hear me, Mother…there’s so much I long to tell you. Most of all, I wish I could let you know that I am safe, for now.” I frowned and shook my head. “And wish I could convince you to turn back, though I know I could sooner bring down the Moon and stars then change your mind.”

  “Of course it is! Ah, we should have known she wouldn’t go quietly to her end. Why, with her by our side, our victory is all but assured!”

  I turned with a sigh to face Lucien. The sparkle in his eyes, the wide grin splitting his face, even with a burn on his side and bloodied fingers. How could I not relent and smile along with him?

  “Very well…” I took his hand in mine and washed away his injuries. He gasped, breaking into wild laughter, and I laughed along with him. “I am happy to see you as well, Lucien.”

  ***

  I sat with them as they winded down, regaling me with stories of their travels. Though I could not participate, it made me feel at home just the same. No further dangers appeared, and in time Mother and Vasco went to sleep, leaving Lucien to take the first watch.

  This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.

  We sat together, or rather, I with him, as Lucien continued speaking, his voice hushed, but urgent, as if even a moment of silence would be the end of him.

  “— and so, with spear in hand, I drove it into the belly of the beast and cast it into the chasm! Too close, as it turned out. I nearly met my end when the cliff side crumbled beneath my feet.” He laughed and shook his head. “You should have seen Auntie Dem. I think I may have stolen the last bit of color from her hair with that little mishap.”

  “Lucien, you fool.” Despite the harshness of my words, I could not stop grinning. Brash and boisterous as he was, Lucien had a knack for stories that I’d long found fascinating.

  My smile dimmed. What role did I play in the story of the ironstag that he certainly told to the Guardians? Was I a helpless damsel, a maiden to be rescued, or a bothersome child who weighed down the expedition? If I could hear him tell it, would he tell it differently in my presence?

  Those thoughts weighing on me, I looked down at the map in my hand. I had to do more than settle for cleaning up after the fact. They needed me to be more than that. If I could just get this to them…

  I turned to look at Mother and Vasco’s sleeping forms. A thin, shimmering bubble surrounded each of them, a dream within the Dream. Curiosity took hold of me, lifting me to my feet and leading me to kneel beside my brother.

  If I could walk the Dream, did it not stand to reason I could walk a dream?

  “I hope you don’t mind the intrusion, Brother.” I laid my hands on the dome. At first, they passed through as if it were not there. I tried again, imagining it as though it were a door — the same mental image I used for stepping into the Dream — that I could grasp. This time, when I laid my hands on it, it felt solid.

  I took a breath, nodded, and then leaned forward, plunging headfirst into its depths.

  ***

  Like walking through a door, I stepped into the forest at the edge of Spring Hill, shielding my eyes at the sudden assault of direct sunlight overhead. Though it was but a dream, the gentle breeze — fresh and fragrant with the scent of life and nature — and the warm light of the sun brought my hand to my chest to still my racing heart. It had been so long, I’d all but forgotten the simple beauty of home.

  In a daze, I walked along the bubbling stream that ran east from the road, hopping between moss-covered stones with a giddy grin, my wings fluttering every so often to help keep my balance. To my left, I saw Spring Hill in the distance, could almost hear the sound of the children laughing and playing.

  If I traveled to the end of the stream, would I find the lake where Eldwin fished?

  If I ventured into the dark wood, would I stumble upon Hannah in the midst of a harrowing hunt?

  Thoughts racing, I nearly forgot where I was and my reason for coming, until the sound of familiar voices in the distance woke me from my stupor.

  “Vasco?” Though I could have flown to him in a moment’s time, I chose to keep my feet on the ground, navigating the roots and brush, stepping over uneven ground as I had so many times in my youth. It was a small thing, but it brought me joy nonetheless.

  At the edge of a clearing, lit by a wide gap in the Mother Willow’s branches, I found him. But not alone.

  Vasco sat on a toppled log, a bottle of Snakebite ale in one hand, one of Mother’s pastries in the other. Lucien stood at the heart of the clearing, his vibrant hair flowing like fire in the breeze, his eyes shining brighter than the sunlight. He held a bottle over his head, his voice like a song.

  “And so, when we met them on the field, eyes blazing with the hatred only the fellblood could manifest, we were not afraid. Oh no! No, we met them with nerves of steel and fists of iron.” He stretched out his hand, a spear appearing within his grasp. “I said to him, Oh Fiend Lord! Lay down your arms and return to us our Fair Celeste, or face Oblivion!”

  The tone and timber, it was as if I were listening to the real Lucien recounting the end of our tale. It brought a smile to my lips and made me roll my eyes all the same. I stepped into the clearing, hands clasped behind my back, and tilted my head to peer at Vasco.

  “Celebrating our victory rather early, are you not? Or is this, perhaps, a rehearsal?”

  The pair of them turned to look at me. Vasco gasped, the food and drink falling from his hands as he raced over to greet me.

  “Celeste!” His eyes drifted from my face to my wings. “This is really you? I’m not dreaming?”

  “Oh, you are dreaming, Brother.” I glanced past him at Lucien who approached and laid a tender hand on Vasco’s shoulder. The two traded a glance, and my smile grew. “A beautiful dream, it would seem. But, I am not a product of your imagination. I am merely visiting.”

  He took my hands in his, his grip like being embraced by the Earth itself.

  “It’s good to see you. And to know that I’ve not gone mad with worry. Are you well?”

  I nodded. “I am. You needn’t worry about me, Vasco. You are the one in —

  ***

  My words were cut short as I was thrown from the dream, crashing into the wastes. I sat up just in time to see Vasco spring to his feet, moving with supernatural swiftness, the ground split beneath him as he met a charging dreadtusk with a heavy fist that sent it flying.

  “Good of you to join me!” Lucien said with a laugh, running the fallen Fellbeast through with a spear before turning to another. “I was worried I’d have to claim the glory all for myself!”

  Vasco dusted off his pants and deflected a rotfly’s dive, the flash lighting up the dark, before turning the force back on another and reducing it to a spray of black blood on the ground.

  “I’d never give you the satisfaction, Lucien. Your head swells enough as it is.” The pair of them laughed, engaging the rest of the Fellbeasts, slaying them in the time it took for me to return to my feet.

  A bolt struck a rotfly — another stopped a charging dreadtusk. Mother was awake and armed, while I continued to stand and stare.

  The fight was over as quickly as it started, little more than a few cuts and bruises to show for it. I shook my head and hurried to their sides, healing them with a touch and a single breath.

  “Nothing has changed.” I was still the same scared little girl who cowered behind the tree while the others fought the ironstag. Still the dumbstruck damsel at the edge of the fire and fury that had nearly destroyed Spring Hill. If I was to be their Promised Healer, I had to grow, had to become more than a mere bystander.

  “Thank you, Celeste.” Vasco said, turning almost as if he could see me, a smile bright enough to light the Dreadlands on his face. I returned it with one that was meek and mild.

  “I will do better next time, I swear it.”

  ***

  I returned to the castle several hours later, exhausted from exploring my newfound ability to enter the dreams of others. But as I sat up in bed, I was far too restless to relax, my feet yearning to walk the halls after so long without use.

  I swung my legs over the side of the bed, staring down at my toes as they dug into the plush carpet. Perhaps a trip to the garden was in order? My darlings wouldn’t need my light for some time, but they were always good, if silent, company.

  My lips pursed and brow furrowed.

  My time with the others was time I cherished, and being able to speak with them through their dreams was a welcome relief to my solitude. But it also reminded me of how much time I’d spent alone, with only the flowers to hear my voice. Good Belial was never far, and I did so enjoy their company, but there was something between us, a wall constructed, perhaps, by our incompatible natures.

  Belial was a Fiend, a wicked, albeit jovial, creature whose nature, which I perceived as almost-human was but a performance of normalcy for my benefit. I knew not what they did in my absence, only that their every action was to serve me when I called.

  In much the same way, Vasco was a Hero, awakened to magic but still very much a man, one who bled and bruised, who needed to eat and rest and dream. His was a world with clear structure, one that could be delayed or shifted, but never averted.

  The closeness I felt to them both was still a distance I could not cross.

  Was it my nature as the Promised Healer to stand outside both worlds of light and darkness, to be nothing but a traveler passing through en route to my inevitable fate? I reached a hand up to touch my ear. A voice, one I hadn’t heard in years, called out from the depths of my memory: Knife-eared Fiend.

  Belial had no ears. Nor did Lord Beelzebub. Lady Banshee’s, in the brief time I’d seen her, appeared no different from Mother’s save the thin, dead flesh that covered them. None of them was like me, no one was like me, save for…

  Out of nowhere, a crushing, all-consuming pain, like a tidal wave in a stormy sea of fire, crashed into me. It knocked the breath from my lungs and sent me tumbling to the floor on my hands and knees. Beneath me, I felt the castle shake, a violent quake that knocked me over again.

  “What in the world?” The words tumbled from my lips as I climbed to my feet. My fugue was gone, incinerated by that awful, blistering pain. My feet at last knew where they longed to move, leading me out the door.

  My legs were numb with ache, hands clasped over my chest, as I made my way through the dark. Along the way, more quakes shook the castle, always preceded by yet another crashing wave of heat. I held the wall to keep my balance and soon enough, I was standing at the entrance to the throne room.

  The grand doors, which once towered too high to see their tops, were torn from their hinges, shattered into chunks of jagged obsidian that oozed fellblood like an open wound. Within, the throne itself was little more than a smoldering crater, the walls mirroring it, scarred with a spiderweb of elbow-deep gashes. The dark flame that burned behind the throne raged and spilled into the room. It gave off no smoke, but its heat choked me just the same.

  “What happened here? Lord Genesis?” I called out his name. My answer was another quake and a deafening roar that thundered from the other side of the castle.

  I followed the trail of destruction that led away from the throne room, stepping over broken stone and wading through puddles of dark fire. The smoke from my wounds, and the light that closed them, lit the way and shielded me from the worst of it, but make no mistake, as I ventured closer and closer to the source of the blistering pain, it was as though I were delving into the depths of some terrible nightmare.

  It led me through the Hall of Statues, to a doorway in the center of the back wall, the only space not occupied by effigies of the fallen. I had never noticed the doorway in my previous ventures, though I now wondered how it would be covered up again, with the door shattered into debris and strewn across the floor. There was no light within, only an infinite corridor of pitch black.

  Strangely cold, despite the flames that led me to it. With a glance back, I descended the stairs into the depths. My footsteps echoed, soft and cautious, the ground beneath my feet shaking more violently than before as another curtain of pain came screaming out of the dark. Strong enough to slow me; terrible enough to draw me in deeper.

  After several minutes of walking, I came to a hallway at the bottom. Strange glass tubes lined the walls, providing a cold, unnatural light that just barely illuminated the way forward. Along either side were rooms, boxes barely large enough for my slight frame, filled with debris and dark flame.

  The ground quaked once more, rubble and dust falling from the ceiling. I trudged onward, picking up speed as I felt the source of the ache drawing nearer, until at long last, I exited the dark hallway.

  The chamber at the end was enormous, but somehow suffocating. With walls too high to climb that led to rows upon rows — hundreds, perhaps thousands — of stone seats that continued into the darkness beyond where light could reach. The floor was covered in a layer of rock, sharp enough to cut my feet at the first step, that poured into countless crater, some of them appearing deeper than I was tall. A sea of dark fire covered the floor, with but a single thin path leading from the doorway to the center.

  Lord Genesis.

  Hunched over, claws grasping viciously at the air by his sides. His form was shrouded in those same flames, his grand wings stirring up a hurricane of destruction. Within him, a surge of pain erupted, knocking me back a step. He threw his head back and roared, spraying a torrent of dark flame from his mouth into the infinite abyss overhead and shaking the foundation of Castle Dreadskull.

  My hand rose to my mouth, but not quick enough to smother a gasp. His head whipped around to face me, eyes overflowing with emerald flames that reached to his horns, lips drawn back in a frothing snarl, razor-sharp fangs gnashing and grinding with every growl.

  I watched the obsidian scales of his arms and lower body writhe as if alive, bulging, straining to contain his overwhelming wrath. Within his chest, there was a deep, rooted suffering. Thorned vines, crushing, ripping. They squeezed with every heartbeat and an agonizing pulse of heat followed.

  My feet moved on their own, taking a step toward him, my hand reaching for him.

  The heat in his eyes flashed, and his lips came together in a firm line. With visible effort, Lord Genesis slammed his eyes shut and shook his head, turning away from me. Taking a deep breath, he drew his wings back into his body; with another, he rose to stand upright. And after a final breath, he turned to face me.

  The flames were gone from his eyes, reduced to smoldering, dying stars in twin pools of black.

  “Why are you here?” His voice trembled, a barely intelligible growl deep in his throat.

  I waded into the biting rocks and through the still raging flames, pausing only at his warning growl.

  “Are you well, Lord Genesis? You seem to be in a great deal of pain.”

  His eyes flitted to my outstretched hand, lips twitching. No answer.

  I continued, “I felt your wrath from my room, felt the anguish that gnaws at your core, and was compelled to intervene. Forgive the discourtesy of intruding on your privacy, but I, well, I cannot leave it be. May I heal what ails you, Lord Genesis?”

  “No.” A snarl, flames flickering on his breath, black smoke streaming from his nostrils. He flinched when I took a step closer. Just before my hand could touch him, he snatched my forearm in his claws. They tore into my flesh, spilling blood to the floor, his grip crushing my bones and grinding them with excruciating force.

  Despite the pain, I continued to reach for him, the first flecks of starlight glittering on the tips of my fingers. A dangerous light flashed in his eyes and with a simple thrust of his arm, he threw me backward. Though he clearly possessed the strength to toss me from here to Willowhaven, I was surprised to find myself still on my feet, merely stumbling back several paces.

  "Such untamed curiosity will lead you to dangerous places. Into the dark where only monsters dwell.”

  I held my arm, watched my hand regain its former shape, felt the pieces of my shattered bones snapping back into place, and watched my flesh knit shut. Then, I raised my gaze to meet his.

  “Are you threatening me, Lord Genesis?”

  He growled and looked down at the hand that had been holding me. My blood turned to lilac and gold smoke, wafting past his flared nostrils. “A threat is merely a warning issued by one with the power to enforce the outcome. You’d do well to remember your place.”

  Those words. Against my better judgment, my eyebrow lifted. I’d heard those words before, very recently, in fact. I felt the corners of my mouth threatening to curl and tilted my head.

  “A place, I remind you, forced upon me without threat or warning. You speak as though you alone have the power to determine outcomes, but you do not.” I stepped forward and narrowed my eyes. “Make no mistake, Darkling, this is both a threat and a warning.”

  Genesis’s eyes widened, their heat softening to that of a crackling campfire. He nearly smiled — I watched his mouth struggle to maintain his scowl — and replied with a growl.

  “You read it then? From the Blackest Pit?”

  Was that hopefulness in his voice? I allowed myself to smile and nodded. “I did, with the help of Good Belial’s lexicon. They are truly a miraculous assistant.”

  “They are…” Genesis paused, then, “what did you think of it?”

  “I quite enjoyed the bit of banter between Lady Clement and the Darkling. Compared to The King in the Mountain they had a far more interesting dynamic.” I brought my fingers to my chin. “In fact, the scene you so shamelessly stole from was perhaps my favorite between the two tales.” My lips pursed, and I shook my head.

  “Though, I will admit, the conclusion left me feeling rather hollow. So much ink spilled painting such a vivid picture of the Darkling, just for it to be condemned to Oblivion in the end.”

  “What more could you ask from such a story? It ends with the Beast slain and the Maiden saved.” Genesis’s voice was restrained, as though he was holding back a growl. But when I turned to look at him, brows knit, a frown on his lips, it wasn’t anger I saw in his eyes.

  “It does, which is the problem, Lord Genesis. Though the names and places were different, it concluded just the same as the previous book.” I watched his expression closely and asked, “What did you enjoy about the book, my good sir? It portrays a villain, not unlike yourself, laid low by Heroes, not unlike my brother.”

  There was a flicker in his eyes, and the smile he’d been fighting broke through. Not a sinister grin nor domineering leer, but that of a boy recounting a fond memory.

  “The Darkling was an oppressive force, one whose name was feared around the world. It traveled without fear, without restraint, slaughtering those who stood against it until even the bravest among them accepted the inevitability of its wrath.” He tilted his head back and stared into the darkness above. “Such all-consuming violence…ravaging a world that cursed its very name from birth.”

  As he spoke, I could feel the pain behind his words. A brutal, intolerable sensation, one that took all my strength of will to resist reaching toward. I bit my tongue to hold back my thoughts, instead focusing on the way his temper cooled and his expression softened as we spoke.

  The dreamy, almost wistful way he described the final confrontation between Olcyrus and the Darkling.

  “— silenced forever by the One True Magic.” Genesis chuckled and shook his head, looking down at his claws. “Silenced…but never forgotten. A wound that may scar over with time, but never heal.”

  “An ending identical to that of The King in the Mountain.”

  And once again, he ignored me.

  Instead, he held out his hand. “Belial.” A new book appeared within his grasp from the shadows. He held it out to me, pinched between his fingers with a tenderness that stood in stark contrast to the destruction around us. “Read this at your leisure. When next we meet, I wish to know your thoughts.”

  Though I could not understand his reason, there was no hiding the sparkle of excitement in his eyes when I accepted his gift, taking the tome with both hands and holding it to my chest.

  “I will, Lord Genesis.”

  “Good.” He turned away from me and lowered his head. For a moment, my eyes were drawn to his ears, watching the way they twitched as mine did at the slightest change in the sound around us. “Belial, take her away.”

  Snapped from my thoughts, I opened my mouth to protest, but was suddenly deposited back in my room without warning. Glancing at the door, I considered going back, but decided against it. ‘Sweet, not sour’

  Instead, I returned to bed, laying back into the plush downy pillows and reaching for the lexicon on my nightstand. It opened in my grasp, translating the title for me:

  In Brightest Day.

  “This is as good a place as any to start, no?” I asked aloud, turning to the first page. It was hardly an inconvenience. I needed the practice with learning the language, and if I continued reading, perhaps it would lead me to better understanding the Fiend Lord, and help me find the words that might convince him to let me soothe the pain within him.

  If I could manage that…then perhaps we could avoid our inevitable fate.

  Thank you so much for reading!

  Feedback of all kinds is appreciated to help make the story better, improve my writing, and keep me motivated!