Dream by the Shadows (Shadow Weaver Duology Book 1)

Am I dead ?

For a time—too long—there was nothing but stark, blinding light.

It surrounded me with its fullness, swallowing my screams. I searched for a shape, a shadow, a movement, anything . But the light persisted. It existed on its own, overwhelming despite its emptiness. It reminded me of the void in the demon’s pit.

Only instead of a deep, relentless black, it was white.

Hair curled to the sides of my face, fluttering along the edge of my cloak. Slowly, I began to feel light. Free, even. But it was wrong. It was suffocating, this light. This silence.

If this was death, I didn’t want it.

And what had happened to Erebus? I glanced at my hands. They were empty, missing the boy’s brave, reassuring grip. He had wanted us to escape the pit together. A thought slammed into me: maybe I didn’t make it—maybe I really was dead or lost, stuck in some eternal Realm afterlife. But maybe Erebus did . Maybe he was out there, past the light. Maybe he was changing the world on his own accord. Vaguely, I felt something brush my fingertips.

It was nothing—it should be nothing.

I reached through the light, grasping for what I had felt. If it was Erebus, I wanted him to know that he wasn’t alone. But as I stretched, the light expanded outwards, drenching my face and crawling into my nose. I squeezed my eyes shut.

I’m dying.

My throat was full, bubbling over.

I’m dying—

The light stilled, dampening into grey. Just as something—someone —finally reached back. Their hands were armored and as cold as ice, but they held on. My eyes flew open.

And for a moment, the world stood still.

The Shadow Bringer, more statue than man, was suspended in a pool of silvery water. His eyes were closed, lashes resting atop frozen cheeks, and his hair pooled about him in a ghostly crown. Gone was the lifeblood from his skin; he was pallid as a corpse, lips drawn together in a pale line. It struck me again, how beautiful he was. And separate, somehow, from anything one might imagine a man to be.

But, as I now knew, the Bringer was once just Erebus. A mortal, a boy , with fear, hope, and dreams in his bones. And he had a name.

Erebus.

My eyes drifted lower, noticing the ripped clothing at his chest. The demon’s horn had been thrust through his ribs, pinning him to the bottom of the pond.

No—

I shuddered, imagining what it would feel like to be impaled like that. To be left to die, speared to the mud like an insect. How long had he been down here, frozen and alone? What had the demon done to him after I left?

I grabbed for the horn, hoping that I would be able to dislodge it from his chest. Death and life in the Realm were mysterious, fickle things. The Bringer looked dead, but he also didn’t have a heartbeat. And neither did I. My chest was empty, motionless as his.

It was then I realized I hadn’t been breathing. And I didn’t need to.

Something dawned on me, then. Before, when I thought I was drowning in the Bringer’s cavern, perhaps it was only because I believed I was drowning.

Maybe there was hope after all.

Gritting my teeth, I held the horn and pulled . I groaned at the weight of it; bubbles poured from my mouth. But it was useless. The horn was too heavy—too slippery under my hands. I couldn’t lift it, even as I tried to imagine it as light, weightless, and brittle. Suddenly, my attention snapped to something lurking in the distance.

A large, misshapen body moved through the water. A thing that looked very much like the red-eyed demon.

No—this can’t be happening. The demon can’t still be here.

I wrapped my arms under the Shadow Bringer’s shoulders, moving closer to him than I had ever dared. A few strands of his hair, silky and ticklish, brushed against my face. If I couldn’t lift the horn, maybe I could lift the Bringer from it. I just had to angle him correctly, pull him up before the—

I stilled, panicking.

The demon was close—too close. It kicked up sediment from the bottom of the pond, clouding the water and obscuring its body. Just a few seconds more and it would be upon us. Holding the Bringer tight, vaguely noticing how cold and how empty his body felt, I swam up with all my strength.

The demon lunged toward us, stretching its mouth wide.

Too late—it’s too late—

Its body circled us, breaking through the sediment. I looked on, horrified. We were weak. Powerless.

We failed .

And the cost was devastating.

Because of this demon, I would be imprisoned to the Realm forever, never able to return home. Never again would I see a sunrise—or breathe fresh autumn air as it whistled through our home in Norhavellis. Because of this demon, I’d never again taste my mother’s stew, fragrant with spices and herbs. I’d never again hug my brother. I’d never watch him grow up.

I buried my face into the Bringer’s chest, shutting my eyes as its teeth closed around us. The Shadow Bringer wasn’t a monster. He wasn’t some creature in the dark worthy of being hated and feared. Not like this demon was.

But just as its jaw began to squeeze shut, surely sealing our fates, it broke. The demon disintegrated into black dust, melting back into the water.

And just like that, everything changed.

The pond’s waters shifted from murky and threatening into something pure and crystalline. I could nearly smell it. Taste it. Floral and crisp—mint, wildflowers, and fresh air. Below the water, the pond floor, slick with mud and decay, solidified, hardening into a slab of dark sapphire. Any debris—anything other than pure, sparkling water—dissolved. Golden light, filtering down from above, washed over it all, hinting of a radiant sunrise just beyond the surface.

Though I wasn’t breathing, I wanted to. I wanted to drink it in; I wanted it to fill my lungs.

Even the Bringer was changing. His skin warmed, lips shifting from deathly grey to a pale pink. The demon’s horn disappeared, too. It left nothing in its wake, through his ripped clothing, the Bringer’s chest was smooth and whole.

With the horn no longer pinning him, we began to rise.

As soon as we broke the surface, the change in the dream was evident. The cottage was gone, as were the scum-lined cattails and perpetual haze. Instead, a field of flowers swept as far as the eye could see, each glowing as if they held a candle within their petals. Trees curled over the field, immensely tall and impossibly magnificent; their bark was iridescent and their leaves glittered like precious jewels. A sunrise shimmered above it all, glowing plum and gold.

And the middle of it all, shadow and light spinning from his hands, was Erebus.

He was smiling—beaming— as he worked, forming rolling hills and emerald rivers, clouds of silver dust, and a million stars to rest within his golden sky. From the ashes of his family’s cottage grew an obsidian tree, its many branches filled with the same glowing flowers in the field. I had never seen a boy so happy, so free . Even Elliot, ever the sweet, brave optimist, never truly looked like Erebus did now.

Without demons or Corruption, was this what dreams had the power to be?

It was carefree joy and endless possibility. It left me longing for something I didn’t quite understand. Like I had missed something important—something critically significant to my happiness and purpose—my entire life.

Still damp from the water, I scarcely noticed as tears slid down my face.

I pulled the Shadow Bringer to the bank, setting him in the flowers. They fluttered against his body, an array of glowing colors swaying gently in the breeze, and their light, mingling with the sunrise, softened his edges and hollows. He looked as though he was one breath away from opening his eyes.

And surely he was breathing.

Right?

The Bringer had said that breathing was a habit—that dreamers did it regardless, despite not having a true heartbeat. I knelt over his chest, waiting for a breath’s telltale rise and fall. I gave it a moment, then another, counting my own breaths in the meantime.

Thirty seconds passed. Sixty. One hundred.

His chest remained motionless.

Strangely, I felt irritated. He was the almighty Shadow Bringer , for Maker’s sake. Yet here he was, drowned, freezing, and powerless, defeated by the very monster we needed to overcome. It made me feel angry and anxious.

“You’re not dead, and the demon is gone,” I said, wanting to grab him by the shoulders and shake him. “You’re going to miss the rest of the dream, Bringer. Wake up.”

Beyond us, Erebus continued to weave new creations. A great bird, its wings a blanket of midnight. A cloak of stardust, onyx, and velvet, which he threw over his shoulders to trail along the ground. Sometimes he flew, sometimes he jumped, sometimes he simply stood within his flowers and smiled.

For a moment, I thought he looked my way.

“Erebus!” I waved my arms, straining so that he could see me. The flowered meadow was wide, and its iridescent trees partially obscured the Bringer and I. Erebus started to move toward us, but another moment passed and he turned, walking away. “Erebus, I made it out! You did it—we—”

A hand grabbed me by the sleeve, pulling me down to land half-draped across the Shadow Bringer’s chest.

“Don’t say that name,” the Bringer rasped. He coughed, struggling to find his voice as his hand dropped from my sleeve to my thigh. He didn’t seem aware of the touch; his shadowed eyes weren’t fully focused. “I am no longer that man. It shouldn’t be spoken.”

Deep, soul-rending relief washed over me.

It felt like a pressure had been lifted from my chest; no longer did I hate, fear, or doubt this man. I don’t know when it happened, but I did know that I felt something inexplicable when he was near. Felt something inexplicable—but had never given myself permission to consider what that might mean.

“You are him, though,” I said, throwing my arms around his shoulders. A laugh slipped out, bubbling into tears before I could stop them. “You’re more like him than the monster called ‘Shadow Bringer’.”

Surprisingly, the Bringer leaned into my touch. He wrapped his arms around my back, holding my hips with one and my shoulder blades with another. Though his arms were armored, they weren’t uncomfortable. In fact, I was surprised by how comfortable they felt.

“I’m so glad you’re here,” I whispered, leaning back so that I could see him. Shadows slowly spun in his eyes; they were more beautiful than I’d ever seen them. “I’m so glad you’re alive.”

With a low, anguished sound, the Shadow Bringer slowly brought his hands to my jaw, pressing against the line of tears that still slipped down my skin. “I remember the rest of the dream now,” he said, drawing me back into his chest. “You pulled me from that dark place. It’s rare for the Maker to allow a lasting influence on the past, but it was you . My anchor.” He cursed, almost as if in disbelief. “And to think I used to consider you my enemy and my ruin.”

“Likewise,” I said softly. “And for that, I’m sorry.”

“I wasn’t in my right mind when I left you alone in the castle,” he murmured, breath ghosting my cheek. “In my delusion, I thought I’d make a difference. But what is revenge if it means to lose yourself and the only person alive that—” He swallowed, cutting himself off. “I only mean to say—thank you. That’s what you need to hear. Not anything else my imagination conjures up.”

Warmth burned from where his hands ghosted my skin; I’d never felt such a sensation before. I wanted more of it.

I wanted him .

But the Bringer was oblivious to what I was feeling. He looked past me, his gaze settling on the flowers and trees instead of the flush racing across my face. “Where are we?”

“We’re still in your dream,” I answered. He instantly tensed, scanning the sky. He thinks the demon is still alive. “The demon is gone,” I added, waiting for him to relax. But the tension didn’t ease from his bones.

Instead, he looked even more agitated.

He peered down, noticing the gaping cloth at the center of his chest. “Ah. Now I remember.” His voice dripped with venom. “I was staked to the bottom of the pond and left to rot.” The shadows in his eyes sharpened around his irises. “If that demon is still hunting us, we need to find it again. And soon.”

I swallowed, the intensity in his gaze made my neck burn. “You should try speaking to your younger self. We might be able to learn more about why the demon was hunting you.”

The Bringer closed his eyes, slowly shaking his head. “The past self cannot communicate with its present or future self. But perhaps you can.”

I waved at Erebus, hopeful that he could see me. He was so close to us—looking our way, even. Surely he’d be able to talk, just as we had done in the demon’s pit. But the more I waved, the more it was apparent that he couldn’t see us. We were hidden from him, just as we were at the start of the dream.

“Give up. He can’t see you.”

Ignoring his dismal tone, I asked, unable to hide my wonder, “Can all dreamers do what you’re doing?”

“Do what, exactly?” He was looking at Erebus, too. “Spin in circles? Grow a flower? That is nothing.”

“How is any of that nothing? You’re creating a world of your own from that nothing . It’s amazing.” The dream was gaining life and depth; different sights, sounds, and scents continued to bloom around us. It felt far more vivid than a dream should be. “And you look so happy. Like you finally found your purpose.”

“Is that what you see?” The Bringer shifted so that he was mostly sitting up, hands slipping from my back. He watched Erebus for a few silent moments, pain spinning from the shadows in his eyes. “You’re wrong. I never knew my purpose.”

“Maybe you forgot it,” I challenged. “But that doesn’t mean you never had one. Or that you still don’t.”

Erebus had a future. A fire for life. A heart .

What happened to him that he lost it all?

“And if I asked you of your purpose, what would you say? Would you tie it with happiness? Family?” His jaw clenched as his tone turned spiteful. “Or perhaps self-righteousness. To justice . To ridding the world of evil—and of monsters who belong better in the dark. ”

Of people like me , his eyes seemed to add.

“That’s a ridiculous thing to say. The dark isn’t the end. What you manage to create out of darkness—” I motioned wildly around us. “—is what matters.”

“So you have sympathy for my fate and hope for my future?” His upper lip curled. “Careful. You’re almost making me believe it.”

I was mad. Fuming. He was impossible . “I might have hope for you, but I definitely don’t have sympathy or pity,” I snapped, lifting myself from the ground. The sudden movement made me dizzy, but by standing, I could see so much more of what Erebus had created. It was overwhelming. “Unless you want to talk about how pitiful your castle is—”

The Shadow Bringer laughed, not entirely disagreeing with me.

A mist descended over the sunrise as Erebus looked on, settling over his creations. From the mist, a lone figure appeared. The figure’s hair dragged through the flowers as he walked, dusting over robes made of feathers and dark, plated silver. An ivory crown, rising up into sharp, blade-like points, adorned his brow. His face was skeletal, black eyes listless and wise.

Somnus .

Erebus didn’t move. In fact, he stood taller, facing Somnus without fear.

“Erebus,” Somnus said in greeting. If Erebus was surprised Somnus knew his name, he didn’t show it. “Your creations echoed throughout the Realm. It is no small wonder for a dreamer to create without a Weaver’s guidance.”

“A Weaver’s permission, you mean,” Erebus remarked. Despite the bite in his words, his tone was flat.

“That is because the Realm is dangerous, dreamer. Particularly when it is stretched by your own hand.” Somnus selected a flower at random, holding it up to the rising sun. “One slip of your mind and something innocent grows fangs.”

The flower burst into flames; he closed a fist over it, sending smoking tendrils into the air. When he next opened his hand, he offered it to Erebus.

“What is this?” Erebus asked, incredulous. He stared at Somnus’s hand, neither taking or refusing it.

“The Seven have been watching you, Erebus. Join us at Citadel Evernight.” Softly, he added, “You are worthy.”

The Shadow Bringer launched himself forward. He half-ran, half-staggered to where Somnus and Erebus stood, a weak shroud of shadows trailing his shoulders. They couldn’t see him—they didn’t so much as blink in his direction as he approached—but that didn’t deter him.

Though weakened, the Bringer, mantled with the ghost of his power, moved with violence in his blood.

“They can’t see you!” I shouted, running after him. “What are you even—”

“You say you have hope for my future,” he began, charging for Somnus just as Erebus stepped forward, “but this is the moment that my past begins to rot. If there’s a chance I can stop it, I need to try.”

Erebus was going to accept Somnus’s hand—there were embers of power and pride in his eyes. It was the expression of a boy who had finally been seen —but not without trials and hardships. A boy who knew the value of what was being offered, despite his distrust of the Weavers.

“Don’t take his hand! ”

The Bringer crashed into Somnus, but it was like hitting a wall.

A wall that could also explode .

He flew backwards upon impact, skidding wildly through a patch of Erebus’s brightest flowers. A tree halted his momentum; he crashed to a stop against it, head slamming sideways into its jeweled bark. If he cried out in pain, I didn’t hear it.

Erebus placed his hand in Somnus’s. And just like that, the dream collapsed.