“They would have to kill us both for that to happen,” I snap, my voice laced with mockery, “and I welcome any who think they have the courage. I’ve swatted flies more menacing than these cowardly lords.”
My father exhales, long and heavy, his breath thick with the weight of his endless frustration over my refusal to wed. “House Merrin of Mor’Thravar has bred strong warriors, especially for a thrall house. Modok’s sister, Nyraxes, has her... charms.”
I arch a brow, searching his face for any trace of humor. “She is insane.”
He smirks. “I thought you might enjoy the challenge.”
I don’t dignify that with a response, but I don’t have to. The queen is even more repulsed by the idea than I am.
“They may produce capable warriors, but the Merrins themselves arevile,” she spits, as if merely speaking their name taints her tongue. “And have you forgotten, Kaelus, the trouble their youngest sibling has caused?”
My head snaps toward her, the sharpness of my gaze enough to wound. But she does not relent.
“It is fortunate this human was not Awakened,” she continues. “Has there ever been a time in history when two have existed? Though I would welcome aFaewitch over ahumanone.” She shudders. “Abomination.”
“Zema isnota witch,” I say, my tone cutting. “And she has nothing to do with this. Leave her be.”
My father and the queen exchange knowing glances. The unspoken weight of their meaning settles in my chest like a stone.
“You cannot still be sentimental, Daedalus,” my father muses, leaning forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “Regardless of the friendship you once shared, Zema is Awakened. That seals her fate.”
I glare. “You give my heart too much credit. The fate of Zema Merrin does not trouble my sleep.” My teeth grind behind my scowl. “If that is all, I can think of an infinite number of places I would rather be.”
My father opens his mouth, likely to rebuke my insolence, but before he can speak, the air in the throne room shifts.
Darkness slithers from the corners, stretching and coiling like the creeping fingers of dusk swallowing the last light of day. With it comes a cold so sharp and biting it turns my breath to mist, yet the air is too still,the tendrils of white fog barely curl before hanging motionless.
Then, the world holds its breath.
A glimmer of silvery black flickers at the center of the room, no larger than a pinprick. It twitches, pulses, then stretches, widening into a yawning maw.
A portal.
Within is the void. Black and fathomless. So endlessly, impossibly dark that just looking at it feels like falling. Forever.
But the void is only the veil between the realms. It is not where the demons dwell.
Like a tear ripped through the skin of shadow, a city forms in the darkness, its skyline jagged with spires of rock that claw into a sky of endless gray. Winged terrors scream as they circle above, their cries shrill and blood-curdling, sharp enough to rattle bone.
The landscape below is ash and ruin. Barren. Cracked. No place for life to take root.
And at its center stands a fortress, high and grim. A temple fit for a god of death. Pillars rise into the gloom, endless steps crawling up toward blackened gates, each one flanked bypyres that burn with ceaseless flame. The stone is etched with the faces of fiends, snarling, shrieking, immortalized in agony.
This is the temple of Gygarth. The city of An’kel.
Here, the demons of the void gather. Here, they kneel. They serve. They worship.
And I stand frozen, powerless to move, breath caught in my throat, forced to watch as Gygarth’s most lethal harbinger steps forth from the abyss.
A heavy, tattered black robe drapes over him, the hood drawn low, concealing most of his face. The sleeves hang long enough to shroud his hands, the fabric pooling and shifting as if darkness itself clings to him. He does notwalk, norstep,heglides, soundless and unburdened by weight, an eerie movement that sends unease crawling down my spine.
Then, his head lifts.
Two stark-white eyes glow beneath the hood, casting sickly illumination across his face. His skin is blackened and dry, stretched taut over the bones like ancient, desiccated leather. Torn flesh mars his cheeks and brow, revealing glimpses of the skull beneath and below his mouth, writhing and twisting with a mind of their own, dangle several grayish tentacles, curling and shifting around his throat like sentient, grasping limbs.
The air thickens, pressing down on my lungs, filling me with dread.
A name forms at the edge of my mind, crawling through my skull like a whisper from the void.
