“Such a rebel,” he says, and his lips curve into a smirk as he turns from Ari to me, drinking me in with his emerald eyes. “Just like your sister.”
“Anyway,” I say, “we must get you home.”
Ari’s shoulders slump. “So soon?”
“Mother will murder me if she knows I brought you here.”
She rolls her eyes. “I am twenty years of age and old enough to meet suitors. I can leave the house.”
I lick my dry lips. “I agree but save your reasonings for her.”
Drake’s eyes lock onto mine. We both know I didn’t sneak out tonight to just attend the Night Market. Tonight, the entirety of Ennismore is distracted, and it is our only chance to destroy it all.
His stare drops to Ari. “We’ll walk you home. Cali’s going to stay out a little late with me.”
Ari shoots me a knowing look, then presses her lips in what I assume is an attempt to suppress a smile. “Oh, I see. In that case, I’ll cover for you, Cali,” she says, though I’m certain Mother won’t notice my absence until we’re due to make a public appearance, like at The Choosing ceremony.
My gaze flickers from Drake to my sister. Tonight changes everything. If we succeed in our plan, then we will have committed one of the greatest treasons in Dahryst. I look up at the star-speckled sky, grateful that Death has long since abandoned us.
TWOAzkiel
The dead are so needy.
I lift my stare to a group of mortals as they’re dragged deeper into the caverns of The Darklands by my reapers, begging for salvation as if they deserve it. They know nothing of repentance. Especially with the God of Judgment missing. Although, that last part is my doing.
A concave of gray stone surrounds us as I watch from the towering window of my castle. Wisps of dim light dance against the dark backdrop, each mortal’s soul a fleeting echo of who they were when they were alive.
The small group falls into hysterics as they gaze upon the bleak, rocky landscape stretched out before them. A sea of shadows creeps over the ground below, hiding layers of jagged cliffs.
I shift position and place one arm against the stone, leaning forward. Every day is the same, watching from this window as more are brought here, an afterlife where hope is snuffed out in place of sorrow and regret. Here, they will suffer, just like the rest of them.
One soul falls to his knees, and a woman sobs into her translucent hands next to him as if they’ve been told a lie. As if life was supposed to have a happy ending.
The group scatters, and the cloaked, skeletal beings of my reapers walk back into the caves, sealing it behind them with their scythes.
A smile curves my mouth as a howl sounds in the distance. My Phovi are preparing to hunt the newly harvested souls. They have no idea what awaits them.
The seven souls stand upon a scarred rock looking into the abyss, unaware of how deep the cliffs go. As they glance around them, a haunting symphony of whispers fills the air, carried from the gnarled trees that make up the forest of remorse behind them. From here, I can discern the skeletal branches interwoven with skulls and bones in the distance.
One mortal points at my castle, and two press their hands together in prayer as if they may have found a haven.
A chuckle leaves my lips as the overlapping, distorted voices of my Phovi sound from the depths of the caverns. My shapeshifting, shadow creatures will drag the souls into the darkness before they can make it here.
It is a beautiful irony to witness souls gradually transform into the very beings they once feared, shedding their humanity until they barely resemble the witches or warlocks they once were.
I glimpse a flutter of iridescent dark blue in the corner of my eye, then step back as a flurry of ebony feathers crowds the view. The crow lands on the narrow ledge of the window, balancing on the stone before hopping inside.
“Well done,” I praise as she tilts her head, her intelligent, beady eyes meeting mine. I retrieve the rolled-up parchment, which she fetched from a threader in the mortal world, from her pointed beak. She flies onto the top of my bone-white dresser and watches as I carefully unravel it.
My heart stammers as the inked words sink in. The witch is alive. The prophecy will come to fruition.
Shadows whip from my hands like ribbons as the prophecy lingers in my mind, words written by my sister, the Goddess of Destiny. The crow takes flight, likely fearing becoming collateral to the anger that quakes through my muted chambers.
Words that have appeared in countless dreams circle my mind: Death shall betray his family and seek to prevent his fate. For one hundred and fifty years, Death shall hide, and all monsters and gods will be left in a slumber. Until the lost ones are reborn and on the fifteenth harvest, a daughter of creation, doomed with death, shall free those trapped and destroy Death’s domain.
A throbbing pain spears through my skull. If only I had a single memory before finding myself back at The Darklands. All I have are elusive dreams and a cryptic note I left myself one hundred and fifty years ago: Never let them awaken.
Since then, I’ve only learned dregs of information through my crows in the mortal world: I trapped the gods within my domain on Tenenocti island, a place we once called home.
No matter how much I’ve tried, my memories linger out of reach, like hazy smoke that can never be grasped. Yet, the emotions remain intact. Whatever caused me to leave and imprison my family was rooted in heartbreak and betrayal.
I have picked apart the prophecy countless times, carefully deciphering each phrase. My sister loved nothing more than giving double meaning to her words.
Daughter of creation.
As we cannot have children, it must mean the witch was born into Essentria’s coven.
I mull over Nyxara’s next words.
On the fifteenth harvest.
The sacrificial tournament—The Harvest—closes the last days of my one hundred and fifty years. From what I discovered while in the Darklands, I had used sacrificial magic to bind the magic spelling them to sleep. Therefore, if the prophesied witch is killed on that island, then it will undo the spell.
A daughter of creation, doomed with death, shall free those trapped and destroy Death’s domain.
The witch will be amongst them, this Harvest. She will free them.
Draperies of silk woven from shadows cascade from the pillars that surround the chamber, their threads glistening with silver as if they were cut from the night sky.
