I was right to have feared the Dream.

  Before my eyes could open, the oppressive atmosphere of Castle Dreadskull’s reflection assaulted my senses. Blistering heat upon my skin; the roar of a raging flame in my ears. It was as if I’d awoken while drowning, my lungs screaming as a terrible pressure weighed down upon my chest. With a gasp, I sat up, my ephemeral form drenched in sweat.

  The comforts of my room were gone, replaced by sizzling stone and engulfed in blinding copper. I swung my legs over the side of the bed and rose, my skin hissing when my feet touched the ground. Darkness thrummed at the edge of my vision whichever way I turned my head. Thoughts and heart racing, I pushed them both to the side and scrambled to the balcony. I threw open the doors and stumbled outside.

  What was a gray, stale land while awake became a writhing sea of sorrow in the Dream, teeming with the shadowed reflections of Fellbeasts. The landscape crumbled and writhed, shifting ?from one form to another, as though it could not bear its own grotesque shape.

  “Brother…Lucien…” My trembling voice helped to ground me. It was something solid to latch onto. Something familiar. “I have to reach them…”

  But how?

  They were months away. And although I could surely run to them without tiring, the thought of trekking through the wasteland by foot made my stomach churn. For the first time, I cursed my lack of creativity and complacency. I’d walked the Dream since I was a babe, but my imaginings had always been too practical. Summoning tools or books, rearranging my workspace, maybe, on occasion, bringing myself from one room to the other with a blink.

  A blink…I could surely travel to them, if only I knew their location. But vast as the Dreadlands were, and brief as my visit had been, I could neither picture any one location with clarity, nor trust that whatever my mind conjured would be anywhere near them.

  “Walking would take too long, but…perhaps if I flew?” My memory of that journey — cradled in Lord Genesis’s arms, soaring at speeds unimaginable by the grace of his mighty wings — returned to me. A five-month trip, covered in no more than two hours.

  I gazed toward the South, trying to imagine myself in the air. But try as I might, I couldn’t do it. My mind drifted to questions I truly wished I could be satisfied without answering. How would I propel myself forward? How would I stop? What if I soared too high, too fast? What would hold me aloft in the first place?

  “Mighty wings…” It was not some unseen magical force that carried Genesis through the air, but wings black as night and twice as fearsome. I could not imagine myself wielding such magnificent, frightening appendages.

  But with wings of my own, I could surely soar as he did. All I needed was to visualize it in my mind and make it so.

  My eyelids fell shut, my head lowered. Brow furrowed, I brought my clasped hands to my chest and envisioned myself wrapped in starlight. A chrysalis, translucent and ethereal. Its silken threads attached to me, flooding my body with its magic. Light poured out in thin streams as the Chrysalis broke and melted away.

  When my eyes opened, I felt the change, turning to observe my reflection in the glass door. Not the wings of a great and terrible beast, that conjured storms and scattered debris. They were as I was, or at least, as I saw myself. Slight, fragile, but aglow with my starlight. They resembled moth wings, pale, translucent, patterned with swirling cosmic patterns.

  I reached out to the glass, touching it with my fingertips, lips parted, curled into a breathless smile. With a thought — flexing a brand new muscle — they flapped. Although they were new, it felt as natural as curling my fingers or taking a step.

  One question remained…could they carry me away from this place?

  Yet again, I thought back to our trip through the sky, recalling the movement of his wings, the tension in his muscles with their every use. Then, I pictured the butterflies and moths that graced my garden in Spring Hill. How they soared ?on wings much smaller than mine.

  My knees bent. I jumped and flapped my wings. They carried me a few inches higher, a few inches back. When my feet touched the balcony again, I couldn’t resist a girlish giggle. Another jump. Another flap. A bit more height.

  “It works! I can — I can do this!” In the distance, I imagined my brother waiting and nodded my head. “Worry not, Vasco. I’ll be there shortly!” At the edge of the balcony, I climbed onto the railing. Drew in a breath.

  Then took a leap.

  My worries vanished as the wind whipped past me. Though delicate, my wings carried me as if I were weightless. Another, giddy giggle escaped my lips. Twisting, dipping, and rising, I flew around the courtyard as if I were a child given a new toy. Faster than my feet had ever carried me; fast enough that even the wind struggled to keep pace.

  Much as I longed to enjoy my newfound freedom, after a week locked away within the castle’s oppressive black walls, the dutiful part of my mind reminded me of my goal. “Of course…to Vasco, then!” I fluttered into the sky and escaped the pit.

  As I prepared to take off, I glanced back.

  Dreadskull was engulfed in a fellflame so great it filled the very pit with its rage. Even from a considerable distance, I could feel its heat as though I were next to it.

  Malice. Hatred. Anguish.

  So much malevolence in its every blazing finger.

  My vision swam, my throat tightened. I turned away to get my bearings. Then, I took off as fast as my new wings could carry me.

  ***

  In the brief time I was alone with the wind, the ground racing past me faster than my eyes could perceive, I felt the first genuine spark of joy I had since my abduction. Higher than any hand could reach, faster than my despair could follow. Oh, the rush I felt while flying with Genesis was but a shiver compared to the full-body exhilaration my freedom brought me.

  Were it a dream and nothing more, I’d have braved the dense cloud coverage to greet the kindly Moon with a kiss and embrace her twinkling stars. But my swiftness was both a blessing and curse. Just when I started to relax, a three-party harmony of hurt — why three? Had Hannah come along? — brushed my left side. Nothing more severe than bruises and aches, but bruises and aches just the same.

  My smile vanished beneath a frown, and I chased after that feeling.

  Within minutes, I came across a sight more dreadful than my darkest imaginings. Vasco sat awake at the edge of an impromptu campsite, hidden in the shade of a gnarled tree. His was the greatest source of hurt. A bruised arm, aching hands, a three-pronged gash in his side, and a burn on his cheek.

  Two more lay behind him. Lucien, laid out on his back and softly snoring, his leg and ribs throbbing. But most troubling of all, was the unexpected third in their merry little band. Our mother, her soft features hidden beneath a heavy brown cloak, lay between the two of them. Her brow furrowed, a frown on her face. Hers was the lightest suffering, nothing more than a sore back and aching joints.

  “What is she doing here?” I asked aloud as I landed and stumbled over to them. Closer now, I could see Vasco sipping a Sunspire Tonic and flexing his bandaged fists, his knuckles bleeding through. “Oh, Vasco…what have you done, Brother?”

  My fingers twitched, hands reaching out just to pass through him. His form was ?defined, while the other two were obscured by shimmering haze, the indication that they were dreaming, but not walking. The relief I felt at finding them so quickly was ?replaced by frustration.

  What could I do now? My body was still in Dreadskull. I couldn’t touch them, nor could I speak to them from here.

  But before my thoughts could give into helplessness, I recalled my first meeting with the Fiend Lord. Not in the Dream, but the garden. Though he was but a ghost in the reflection, his presence had somehow affected Hope’s Bloom, blackening its petals.

  Then, I recalled how Castle Dreadskull burned within the Dream, a roaring flame that heated the walls and lit the corridors of the keep even after waking.

  “It never worked before.” I said beneath my breath, stroking my chin as I settled in next to Mother. I’d spent half my life in the Dream, but never had my notes or actions affected the waking world. But, if he could, then surely?

  I reached a hand out, placing it on hers. I imagined she was solid, visualized it with such clarity that it became so. My hand rested atop hers, firm and as real as it could be here. Then, I breathed out starlight and reached into her, touching her aches and pangs. I grasped them in my hands and let my magic flow into her, massaging them with warmth until they faded.

  Mother breathed a sigh of relief and visibly relaxed.

  “Magic can reach through the veil.” My words tumbled from my lips; my body moved next to Lucien. Hands laid upon him, I gave him the relief he needed. “There…rest easy, Lucien. I’m counting on you to be Mother’s spear.” The easy work finished, the true test of my newfound capabilities lay before me.

  “May I sit beside you, Brother?”

  Vasco groaned and downed the last of his tonic. He set the bottle down and massaged his knuckles. The bleeding had ceased, but the ache would grow worse before it got better.

  Sitting beside him, I reached over and placed my hand on his. “Breathe, V. I’m sure you’ve just cause for bringing Mother along, though I’ll hear none of it. But if I can do nothing to make you turn back, then allow me to do what I can to aid your foolhardy endeavor.”

  The glow of my magic enveloped the both of us. It spread through his knuckles, up to his face, then down to his side. Vasco’s eyes widened. He raised his hands — mine chased after them to keep a firm grip on him — to his face.

  “Celeste? Is that you?”

  “It is, Brother. I fear our conversation may be a rather lopsided one, unfortunately.” I laughed, but my mirth was soon replaced with a frown and narrowed eyes when Vasco removed his bandages and slit his hand with a nearby rock. “Must you test me?” I shook my now stinging hand and mended the cut. “Can you not simply trust in me?”

  He laughed, tears prickling in his eyes and emotion thick in his voice. “It really is you. Titania above, I don’t know how, but it must be you.” Vasco leaned back on his fully-healed hands and looked to the black sky. “I don’t know if you can hear me. Elysium knows how I long to hear your voice, Sister. But, even still…knowing you’re with me now brings me peace.”

  A tear trickled down his cheek; one soon followed on mine. I laid my head on his shoulder.

  “As it does me, Brother. To be damned to never again see your face, nor hear your voice, was a fate most unbearable. How…how I’ve missed you so. They’ve not hurt me, you needn’t worry about that. Lord Genesis, the Fiend Lord, has been a most distant host. Not kind, but not cruel.” I shook my head and sighed. “I know not what he wants with me, Vasco. But, I promise I intend to confound his machinations as best I can.”

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  “I’m sure you’ve come to call me a fool, and Lucien a fool’s fool. But…surely you could not have expected that we’d stand idle knowing that you were in danger?”

  “No. Much as I wished to believe you’d prioritize your own safety, it was a ridiculous notion to entertain. You’ve never run from a fight, V. I should have known not even the Fiend Lord, himself, would be your first.”

  “Mother insisted on coming. I swear, Celeste, I fought tooth and nail to make her stay. But, damn it all, she’s every bit as stubborn as you. Before the sun had even risen, she was already packing her things and making arrangements. Had we not joined her, she’d have journeyed alone to wrench you from the Fiend Lord’s hands. ”

  We both laughed. I hesitated before speaking again.

  “I discovered a monument to Giulio in the Fiend Lord’s castle…it would seem we both come by our pigheaded recklessness naturally.” Glancing at him, I offered him an unseen, sad smile. “You’re the very image of him. You’d be proud, I think, to know that though he was no Hero, Father’s spirit was so fierce even the Fiend Lord deigned to remember it.”

  “I promise, Celeste. I’m going to save you.”

  There was no uncertainty in his voice. Nor was there any doubt in mine when I embraced his arm and held it tight.

  “I promise to keep you alive so that you can, Brother.”

  ***

  When I awoke, I washed quickly and made a beeline for the library. If I could only be with them in the Dream, then I would do everything I could to fulfill my promise. To stand against the Fiend Lord from within his keep. To start, I needed to pinpoint where they were to the best of my ability. With that knowledge, it would be possible to estimate their path and distance, such that I could reach them at a moment’s notice if needed.

  The map on the back wall depicted few landmarks — few existed within the desolate wasteland, as I discovered last night while taking stock of their campsite — but what it did show was quite helpful. A forest of dead trees, north from the border of Northswain, some distance southeast from a bottomless canyon.

  “Here…” I drew a line from the probable campsite down to Spring Hill. “As of last night, they’ve traveled, at most, eight days. It’s unlikely they spent the entire time moving, but with Vasco and Lucien’s speed and strength, carrying Mother and their supplies would hardly slow them.”

  Based on their approximate speed, the journey would take them three and a half months. However, that calculation relied on them being able to maintain a steady pace with no additional obstacles or breaks. The hostile nature of the wastes and the army of Fellbeasts that lay between us would surely prove troublesome.

  “And that’s assuming my enigmatic companions do not interfere…” I took a seat and brought my fist to my chin. “If there were some way to get them information. Perhaps some weakness of the Fiends or the beasts? Mayhap that would soften their journey?”

  Of the two, the latter would surely be an easier inquiry.

  “Good Belial, might I trouble you for a moment?”

  Pop.

  “How might I be of assistance, Fair Lady?”

  I turned to greet Belial with a smile. It was hard not to. The creature had been the one constant in my captivity, and though they were strange and unnerving in their mannerisms, they seemed earnest and, somehow, delightful in our exchanges. If anyone were to have the information I sought, it would be them.

  “Where might I find information about the Fellbeasts of the Dreadlands? Do such tomes exist?” As the words left my mouth, the room distorted and folded into a new shape, moving my seat in front of an isolated bookshelf. Many books lined its shelves, labeled with only numerals. I thanked Belial and picked one from the shelf.

  It was written with a most impressive penmanship. A swooping, curved style that traded efficiency for elegance. Unfortunately, as darkly beautiful as the letters were, they were unknown to me. I flipped through several pages and checked three more in the series, but only found the same strange language.

  There were images, though. Sketches of the various Fellbeasts, including several that I’d never seen before. These were drawn in a scratchy, heavy hand, with jagged lines and visible inkblots. Though they depicted abominations fresh from a nightmare, I found them somehow charming.

  “Is this not to your liking, Lady Celeste?” Belial asked. Their voice was next to my ear, one hand resting on my shoulder, tapping its spindly fingers against my arm.

  I chuckled. “Good Belial. As I’m sure you’re quite aware, I cannot read these.”

  “Is that right? Oh, of course! Of course! I suppose you wouldn’t be able to read such an ancient tongue. Why, this particular script has been lost longer than some kingdoms!” Belial threw their head back and cackled.

  The room bent back into its original shape. The books I’d taken from the shelf lay on the table before me. Belial sat in the seat opposite me, leaning halfway across the table, chin on its upturned palms.

  “Would you like me to alter the text for you, Fair Lady? It would take but a snap!” Belial leaned to the side and raised its hand, fingers poised to demonstrate.

  It was a tempting offer. My use of the library had been severely limited by my inability to understand the books within. And while there was no doubt the jovial creature would be pleased to repeat the process for every book I sought, there was a stubborn part of me that yearned for a permanent solution.

  “If I may, Good Belial, is there not a way that I could learn the language myself? A glossary or lexicon, perhaps? I’d hate to trouble you every time I pull a book from the shelf.” I watched the creature’s head twist one way, then twist back, like the hands of a broken clock.

  Belial’s fingers touched their chin. “Perhaps, perhaps! Yes, such a thing is possible. It would take me some time though. Ah! I’ve got it, I’ve got it!” Their head snapped back into place. They pulled their hand away, arm disappearing into a distortion in the air. When they pulled it free, it held a book written in the same language.

  “Allow me the time to make such a gift. In the meantime.” They snatched the tome from my hand and replaced it with the new book. Then, dusting their fingers across the cover, the letters changed to Valaean:

  The King of the Mountain

  “A children’s tale?” I asked, opening the cover and perusing the first page. It was written in a simple script, like something Mother read to us in our youth. The sort of story that filled me with wonder so very long ago.

  “A classic! Beloved by all in the lost kingdom from whence it came! You’ve been toiling without end since arriving, I thought you would benefit from a break. Yes, yes! Please…” Belial gestured toward the door. “Read this little story and relax your racing mind.”

  Sensing my unease, the creature vanished and reappeared with a pop, hands resting on my shoulders. “I assure you, it is worth your time, Lady Celeste. And as a reward for your indulging this request of mine, I’ll prepare for you a lexicon that will unravel the mysteries of every forgotten language within this place.”

  Belial held their breath, fingers tapping on my arms. When at last I relented and nodded, they clapped their hands and giggled. Space distorted, they appeared in front of me again.

  “Now, away with you, Fair Lady. Shoo, shoo! I’ve work to do and you’ve a book to read!” And though they could have sent me from the library with a snap of their fingers, Good Belial waited patiently as I rose from my seat and shuffled to the door.

  I looked back. They stared back, waving. With a tiny smile, I nodded my head and took my leave. It was time to tend to my garden, regardless. After everything the strange creature had done for me, I owed it this simple favor.

  ***

  “There we are, darlings. I apologize for my tardiness, but I made a most incredible discovery last night.” I finished watering the saplings and set aside the watering can. Then, I put on my glasses and went about the tedious, but rewarding task of checking each of them for signs of injury or blight. The air within my garden was less oppressive than the rest of the castle, but Belial assured me that, too, was a mere illusion. Left in artificial light and breathing artificial air, I’d come to expect some degradation to occur between visits.

  At first, I endeavored to only grow what I needed to recreate Hope’s Bloom. Stillroot, Sunspire daisies, and Wildekin vines, just a single sapling each. But by the time I’d finished sewing them, I realized my profound loneliness, one I did not wish to spread to my darlings. And so one seed became two, then ten. Good Belial fetched more seeds, and my garden grew.

  Now, a week later, it was a small field of saplings of various shapes and sizes. Though the work was tiring and slow, it fulfilled me. And thinking of the future when I could bask in their splendor gave me something to strive toward.

  “It would appear that my magic can reach through the Dream. Isn’t that fascinating? Though I remain trapped within these walls, I can leave in my sleep to aid my brother. You remember, I told you of him, yes?”

  My audience was quiet, hanging on my every word. Whenever my fingers glowed with starlight, they bent toward me as much as their tiny stems would allow.

  “How did I find them, you might ask? Why, that is an even more fantastic tale. You see, I learned how to sprout wings and fly! Yes, I know it sounds ridiculous, but…oh, if only you could see them.” I picked up my copy of The King of the Mountain and sat on the edge of the center bed. My shoulders rose and fell in a heavy sigh. “It was strange, Fair Witherlily,” I said, addressing the eldest of my darlings. “Though it was an act of desperation, they felt…so wonderful. As though they’d always been there, waiting for me to spread them and take to the sky.”

  I chuckled and shook my head. “I’m sorry, dears. Let us delay no further. You’ve been most patient.” Breathing in fake moonlight, I breathed out magical starlight. My skin glowed, a gold and lilac aura surrounding me. It grew, spreading until it touched every corner of the garden. “There, darlings. Drink up and grow strong.”

  With no single target on which to focus my magic, it spilled out of me in gentle, radiating waves, like the surface of a lake in the rain. The act of doing so put great strain on me. Sweat on my brow, fatigue resting like a plump cat on my shoulders. I struggled to keep my breathing slow and steady.

  “Now, let us see what about this book fascinates Good Belial so.” I opened it on my lap and began to read.

  The tale was a familiar one. A Beast. A Maiden. And a Hero. Easy enough for a child to understand. The Hero’s travels took them to the far reaches of the kingdom, chasing off bandits and cutting down the Beast’s servants. All building to an inevitable confrontation between the Hero and the Beast atop the titular mountain.

  It was simple, but well-written. A fun distraction, but little more.

  Why would Belial be so insistent that I read this book? And why was such a book in the library of the Fiend Lord? The question plagued me from the first page, with no answer in sight as I read the last. Yet more questions for the strange creature, ones I hoped it would not evade so deftly as my inquiries into the purpose of my captivity.

  ***

  I returned to the library once my flowers had drunk their fill of my light, but the creature was nowhere to be found. In the back, I heard the rustling of pages disturbing the silence. Thinking that I might find Belial in possession of my lexicon, I made my way toward the sound. What I saw brought me to an abrupt halt, hand flying to my lips to stifle a gasp.

  Seated at the table I used earlier was the Fiend Lord. He held in his hand a book, not unlike the one Belial had given me. There was a looseness in his posture. His eyes were eager, drinking in the words on the page. The scorching pain that followed him like a shadow was muted, buried so far beneath his enthusiasm that I could scarcely feel it myself.

  He turned a page. His gaze rose to meet mine by happenstance. Genesis’s mouth fell, eyes growing wide. The look passed in a flash; the book slammed shut and the Fiend Lord was on his feet. The distance between us disappeared in two long strides, and suddenly he was towering over me.

  While a wiser woman might wilt beneath his fiery stare, I hadn’t the mind to be fearful as the missing pieces fell into place. My head tilted.

  “This room is yours.”

  The corners of his mouth twitched. “It is.”

  “Why?”

  Hesitation. Brief, but palpable. Then, he turned and gestured at the bookshelves. “To keep a record of all the cultures and civilizations brought to an end by my hand. Their histories. Their tales of heroism.” Genesis turned to me with a fanged grin. “Just as the Statue Hall immortalizes the individuals worth remembering, this room serves as a monument to the destruction I’ve wrought.”

  “Tales of heroism?” My eyebrow raised. “Perchance you’ve mistaken fairy tales for histories?” I said, showing him the book in my hand. Again, I saw a flash of emotion on his face. The fire in his eyes had changed. Not dimmed, but like that of a crackling campfire than a raging wildfire.

  “They are legends, not fairy tales.” Genesis took the book from my hands. There was an unfamiliar tenderness in his touch, and in his gaze as he dusted off the cover. His mouth twitched, lips pulling back to show a hint of his fangs. Then, after a pause, he asked, “What were your thoughts on this one?”

  The question, and the earnestness with which it was spoken, took me by surprise. I answered without thinking, “It was entertaining, though the ending was dreadfully predictable.”

  “As reality often is.” He snapped back. The light in his eyes flickered. “Legends recount history’s greatest deeds. They form the foundation for imagination itself.” With a growl, a predatory grin replaced his glower. “Do you not see how that which you call predictable is merely the inevitability of fate? Are you not the Maiden of this chapter in history?”

  “Is that how you see me?” My face flushed, and fists clenched. “Is that the role you intend for me to play? To be kept and helpless until a Hero arrives to save me? If you think to insult me, you’ve failed, good sir. The Maiden is kindhearted and steadfast in the face of Oblivion. Even in her darkest hour, she refuses to give into despair. And she never once considers surrendering to the Beast.”

  My emotion overwhelming my reason, I took a dangerous step toward him. Rose onto my tiptoes and glared into his burning stare. “Do you intend to play the role of the Beast, Lord Genesis? Need I remind you that the Beast is slain at the story’s end?”

  Pain.

  All-consuming, heart-stopping pain struck me as though I were in the path of a rampaging ox. I tumbled backward, clutching my chest, a cry caught in my throat. Fighting against the urge to vomit, I raised my eyes to his.

  Genesis gazed back at me. Unreadable. Unmoving. Then, he chuckled and approached with slow, heavy footsteps. He brushed past me, muttering as he left, “Such is the way stories are meant to end.”

  I stood frozen, listening to his retreat. Smothered by an ache that ripped and tore at my very essence, sharp as a thousand glass shards, hot as a branding iron pressed upon my heart. It wasn’t until his footsteps faded I regained the ability to breathe. His words continued to weigh heavily on me. As my heart settled, my lips pulled into a thin line.

  “I misspoke, Lord Genesis.” I said in a quivering voice. “I rather hated the story’s ending.”

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