"There we were, surrounded on all sides by abominations. Exhausted from our five hour march through the wastes, our beloved Healer yet hours away from arrival, it seemed as though our luck had at last run out.”

  I held my breath, watching rapt as Lucien leaped onto the table. Arms spread, a wide grin plastered on his face, he let the silence hang heavy in the air for a beat. A beam of light streamed in front the second-floor window, casting a spotlight on him at the heart of the Emerald Sundrop. Never had the tavern felt more empty than in that long pause.

  “Suddenly, they struck! Hurling themselves at us in a thoughtless wave! Without concern for their comrades, beady, hate-filled eyes locked on but one thing: our certain destruction.”

  He jumped from the table, summoning a silver spear with a twirl of his hand. It swept through the air with a crack, cleaving phantom recreations of his foes. Around him a low roar of bestial growls rumbled, illusory bolts soaring past his head into the buzzing rotflies. A steady rhythm of thunderous booms shook the floor beneath us, larger dreadtusks tossed weightless at his feet.

  “But tired though we were, our wrath was swift and brutal. Cutting them down two at a time, fighting with such urgency the beasts could not match. We knew we were alone, knew that our victory needed to be clean and certain lest our beloved Little Star fret over our safety.”

  Lucien turned to me with a smile. I met him with a sigh and a shake of my head.

  “Oh but there was one among them,” he raised a finger, “one who was crafty and clever. It lurked in the shadows, biding its time. A foolwyrm! Fat with power, its slithering hide thick and nigh unbreakable. It shrugged off Auntie Dem’s arrows and even my fiercest strikes as though they were nothing.”

  Another pause, an expectant glance.

  “How then did you defeat it, dear Lucien?”

  He beamed, tapping his finger to his head. “By being craftier, my dear Celeste!” He raised his hand, summoning another spear. “I called out to the creature, ‘Stand and face your end, beast!’ and hurled my spear at it like lightning.”

  A phantom of the Fellbeast appeared in the air. Lucien reared back and flung his spear. Crack! The air split, the floorboards blown back by its sheer force. At the moment before impact, the beast swerved out of the way, cackling and hissing.

  What it didn’t see was the colossal shadow of my brother behind it. Vasco raised his arm, deflecting the spear with a flash of cobalt. Then, his other fist lashed out, striking with their combined force to reduce the creature to a spray of fellblood and broken bones. The Phantom Vasco raised his fist, and Lucien returned the gesture. Then, the scene faded.

  Lucien took his seat at the table across from me, a mug of ale waiting for his eager hand.

  “Well? Surely a tale for the ages, don’t you think?”

  I laughed, accepting the offered mug, and nodded. “Riveting as always, Lucien. Your gift for storytelling is second only to your unearned confidence.”

  “Unearned?” He laughed. “I take offense to that, Little Star. I like to think my actions have more than proved my sincerity.” Lucien took a long swig of his ale. “I’ve been keeping count.”

  “You have, have you?”

  “Mmhmm. I’ve slain twenty-two more Fellbeasts than our Vasco. You’re more well read than I, so tell me, is there anyone who can claim to have slain so many and lived to continue fighting?”

  Smug though he was, I could not argue his point. He had, in just over two months, cut down a greater number of the beasts than most would see in a lifetime. And that was only the surplus that exceeded my brother’s sum. The total was surely nearing a hundred each.

  An unthinkable achievement. Entire armies had fought and failed against lesser odds. But I would never give Lucien the satisfaction of hearing me say so.

  “Perhaps.” I replied after a long sip of my drink. “It is a modest number.”

  “Ah, lying does not suit you, Little Star. You cannot hide the twinkle in your eye as you wound me so. Would it be an awful thing to recognize my achievement?”

  “I do recognize it, my good sir.”

  He sat upright and groaned. “Now you’ve truly wounded me, my good lady.”

  My lips quivered, but I was powerless to resist giggling at the sight of his frown, harder still when it gave way to a toothy grin.

  “My apologies, Lucien.” I said when my laughter subsided. “You’ve both grown so strong, and in such a short time. It truly is a marvel.”

  “Strong enough to defeat a Fiend, then?” He asked with a notable lack of playfulness in his voice. His countenance grim, a solemn frown pleading with me for one answer only.

  “A Fiend…” I bit my lip and set my drink down. I’d yet to see the full extent of Lord Beelzebub or Lady Banshee’s power. But even our brief encounter in my garden led me to believe that the stories of the Fiends’ power were true. And I’d seen the results of Lord Beelzebub’s power in Belial’s vision: a nation more advanced than the whole of Willowhaven reduced to smoldering rubble.

  “Celeste?”

  I wanted to lie. To tell him what he wanted — nay, needed — to hear. But when I looked up into his eyes, my frown deepened.

  “If you were to encounter Lord Beelzebub or Lady Banshee…I would advise against confronting them. As you are now…I am not certain you would be victorious, even with my aid.” I pushed aside my drink. “I’ve not learned enough in my investigations, though I did discover that I can heal Lord Beelzebub’s rot quite recently. However, doing so takes a great toll on me.”

  I flinched, feeling his fingers wrapped around my hand. Calloused and leathery, dirt and blood still caked beneath his nails. They were hands I’d known my whole life, hands that once held mine in the dark when I was afraid. Powerful though they were, they brought me no comfort. They were too soft, too gentle to unravel the twisted knot in my stomach.

  “Have they hurt you? Did…did he hurt you?”

  “No.” The answer was instinctual. Like retracting my hand from an open flame, or closing my eyes when buffeted by heavy wind. It was a lie — my throat yet tingled from his grip, my skin stinging from his searing heat — but a lie I told truthfully. Though he had damaged my body, he hadn’t hurt me. “No, he has not. I’ve not seen Lord Genesis for two weeks now.”

  Lucien breathed a sigh of relief, and my heart raced.

  What would he think if he knew what troubled me? Would he think me mad for longing to feel the sting of his claws? Would he shout at me, call me a fool for the way I touched my neck, wishing to be in his grip once more?

  If he did, he would not be wrong.

  A flame was not mad for burning all it touched.

  It was the moth who abandoned reason, watching it burn and chasing it still.

  ***

  Upon my return to Castle Dreadskull, I felt compelled to hasten my search for something that might aid my family in the near future. They were approaching the Blightmire Valley, through which there was only a single safe path. It was not if, but how my captors might use that choke point against them.

  Weeks of study had helped me understand the Fellbeasts better, but I was no closer to understanding the Fiends than when I first began my investigation. On that topic, Belial was oddly elusive, refusing to answer, instead pointing me to yet more works of fiction. Tales the same as the others. Heroes and Monsters. Good and Evil. Vices and Virtues. Sometimes a different beginning, but always the same inevitable outcome.

  Time was running out. Desperation stirred me to act, and before I knew where my feet were taking me, I found myself in the labyrinthine corridor that led to the dungeon.

  “Lady Banshee…” Of my companions, she remained the most mysterious. I’d seen her but a handful of times in the months I spent in Dreadskull. But every time our eyes met, she vanished in the blink of an eye. Did she know something more, and if so, would she share it?

  She hadn’t seemed antagonistic in our brief encounters. Unlike Lord Beelzebub, hers was a forlorn countenance.

  I had to ask her.

  If there was anything that could be gleaned from the Fiend of Madness that might save my family in the coming battle, it was worth the risk to seek it.

  My ears still insulated from the Lady’s screams, my feet followed the vibrations in the floor to their source. A single door, heavy and trembling. I reached for its knob, but paused, half-expecting that Good Belial would appear again to dissuade me. When they didn’t, I remained frozen.

  “Perhaps there’s a safer way.” A smile lit up my face. “Yes! That must be it.”

  If speaking in the Waking World was an impossibility — either due to the Fiend’s broken jaw or my inability to withstand her voice — would it not make sense to visit her in the Dream? We were both Dream Walkers, surely she would be more amenable on neutral ground? And if she proved as dangerous as her counterpart, it was a simple enough thing to wake myself to escape to safety.

  I settled against the wall across from the door. Drew my knees up to my chest and wrapped my arms around them. Then, I laid my head back and closed my eyes.

  ***

  I realized my folly the instant my eyes opened to the Dream.

  Rather than step from my body, I fell through the floor, landing on a dislodged piece of stone. All around me, Dreadskull shifted and churned, an ocean in a storm. The walls stretched and waved, as if pulled too thin to contain what lay within. Rooms of disparate design and material, cut like a child carving their first cake with a rusted knife, floated haphazardly through the void. Chunks of broken ground formed an asymmetrical spiral staircase descending into the ink black depths below.

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  Below.

  The darkness beneath me formed a shrieking maelstrom. Light, even the copper glow of Dreadskull’s ever burning fellflame, sucked into its depths with no escape. My stomach churned with the shifting platform, my throat shrinking to hold back bile.

  I was no longer in the castle, but set adrift on a sea that could not exist.

  “I have — have to — wake up — please — wake up!” My voice, disconnected from my body, echoed in the air around me. Fading in and out, its timbre changing with each word.

  As if responding to the sound of my voice, another from below cried out. Slicing. Splitting. Like metal scraping metal, or glass wedged in my ears. It shook the void. Then, it stirred another voice, different yet the same as the first, from a different floor.

  Then another.

  And another.

  Another.

  Soon, the formless plane of the Dream was cracking from the pressure of a chorus of voices, off-key and competing to be heard over the others. My hands — no longer attached to my body — flew to my ears. But the sound continued, echoing throughout my very being.

  Loud.

  Louder.

  Louder still.

  Colorless blood leaked from my ears, seeping through my fingers as I pressed them tighter to my head. My nose and eyes bled. Head splitting.

  Splitting.

  Down the middle, but not quite. It was off. Everything was off kilter. Unaligned. Disconnected.

  Louder still.

  Louder.

  Loud.

  Another

  And another.

  Then another.

  Drowning without lungs to breathe. Screaming without a mouth to speak. Falling with nowhere to go. Dying without a life to —

  ***

  As my own screaming voice reached my ears, I scrambled away from the sound, backing into a corner and clutching my face. It took longer than I prefer to admit to realize I was awake. The walls were still; the floor solid beneath me. A slender hand lay on my shoulder, its light, squeezing touch a comfort to my racing heart. Eyes wild, I followed the arm to its owner, a tearful smile on my face at the sight of unblinking porcelain staring back at me.

  “My, oh my! What an experience, Fair Lady! What an experience, indeed. Whatever possessed you to set foot into Lady Banshee’s realm?” Belial’s voices were softer, the higher voice a breathy whisper, the lower, a crooning sigh.

  “I just — it was but — I didn’t — “ My words ran together, voice broken, teeth chewing my lower lip. With a whimper, I threw myself at them, embracing them with all the strength my arms had. Trembling, I couldn’t answer with more than a shake of my head.

  Belial stood stiff for several seconds. Then, a hand touched my head; the other, my arm. Another pause to deliberate with a quiet “Hmm?” and then the creature returned my embrace. Their long arms enveloped me like ropes to tether me to reality.

  “Oh my, oh my…Fair Lady, I did warn you, did I not?’ Belial tutted and shook their head. “If it brings you some comfort, know that what befell you was not Lady Banshee’s intention. Why, its unlikely she even realized you were here.”

  It did. Lord Beelzebub’s disdain was one thing, but to oppose the nightmarish power Lady Banshee seemed to command was unthinkable. My grip on Belial tightened. I buried my face in their shoulder and nodded.

  “Thank you, Good Belial.” I sat back and rubbed my eyes. The sight of the door behind them sent a shiver down my spine. “Wh-what — excuse me — what was that?”

  “Ah, yes…Lady Banshee’s domain.” Belial strolled up to the door and rapped it with their knuckles. “A rather troublesome place both in and out of the Dream, I’m afraid! Yes, yes, Lady Banshee’s mere presence has a distorting effect, but in the Dream?” Belial shuddered and shook their head. “Why, only a fool would venture in!” They cackled and appeared beside me, resting a hand atop my head.

  Were it Lucien, I’d have found the gesture patronizing. But Belial’s whimsical nature instead brought a smile to my face.

  “You’re quite the fool, Fair Lady! Quite the fool, indeed. But, aren’t we all? Why, it was I who went in after you!” Belial cackled again. Despite my lingering discomfort, I laughed as well.

  “I merely sought to speak with Lady Banshee. To ask her how it was she came to be here.” What I didn’t tell the creature was my reason for doing so. In learning of Beelzebub’s past — how he sought to end the Fiend Lord and failed, resulting in his ascent to Fiendhood — a concerning new idea had gripped me regarding my stay in Dreadskull. If I could learn the Fiend of Madness’s past, perhaps the answer would be more clear…even better if it were less so.

  “Ah! A story! A story it is!” Belial reached for the air, unraveling it as one would a spindle of thread. They gestured for me to follow them through the doorway and, wanting to get far as I could from Lady Banshee’s reflection, I followed.

  We appeared in the library. With a great sigh, I collapsed into my favorite chair. My body went limp, sinking into the plush leather. I thanked Belial when a cushioned stool rose from the floor to prop up my feet.

  “Are you comfortable, Lady Celeste? Yes, yes?”

  “I am, Good Belial. Please, if it is not much trouble, I would like to know Lady Banshee’s story. I believe it key to unraveling this mystery you’ve thrust upon me.”

  “As you wish, Fair Lady! As you wish!” Belial cleared their throat. Waving their hands, the room cleared — bookshelves, tables, and chairs alike pushed to the side by the expanding floor below — and the lights dimmed. The creature took a deep bow, stretched out its arm, and the light and shadows took a new shape.

  ***

  “Once upon a time, there was a great continent of such expanse that two of our own could comfortably fit within its walls. It was a land of Heroes, called Sorcerers, who pushed forward the understanding of Soulsparks and their application.” The room fell away, leaving behind only my seat and footrest. At first, my fingers dug into the chair’s arms, but as the scenery moved to Belial’s every gesture, I breathed easier.

  We soared across the ocean to the continent in question. To call it “great” was an understatement. As we sailed across its length, I marveled as rolling sand dunes gave way to lush, overgrown jungles, to a colossal mountain range dividing it down the middle, and finally to white fields of snow. Along the way were settlements big and small, some as modest as Spring Hill, some great as Beelzebub’s steam-powered metal city, too numerous to count.

  “They were an ancient and cautious people. They’d plumbed the depths of the Soul and knew it something to treat with care. After a dreadful encounter with a foreign enemy, the mightiest of their defenders constructed a great magical barrier to separate them from the outside world. Safe beneath their magical blanket, they were content and at peace.”

  On cue, a shimmering shell of mauve surrounded us on all sides. Stretching from the sea to the sky, it engulfed the continent, turning the light dim and ethereal. We arrived at a small village in the snow, on the steps of a cottage. Through the window, I saw a woman, younger than Mother, with long, unkempt dark hair. She wore thick spectacles, the lenses of which made her nervous, flitting eyes look too large for her face.

  Her nails were chewed to the quick, fingers bleeding. Her gaze locked with mine, and her frantic pacing grew quicker.

  “No…no, no, no! No, it can’t be, can it? But it must…but it can’t! Oh, what should I do?” She spoke in a low, stuttering voice, words running together ahead of her thoughts. She sat on her bed, just to stand up again and start pacing once more.

  “But there was one person in this great kingdom of magic who was not content to hide under the covers. She was a Dream Walker with an insatiable curiosity. At night, she stole away through the curtain, soaring through the clouds to explore the greater world. But it was on one of those journeys that she saw…him.”

  The scene changed. We were in the Dream, floating above a ravaged, burned land. A terrible shadow, larger than Castle Dreadskull, towered over the wreckage. Its eyes, like venomous stars, locked with hers. With a scream, she fled, soaring back to her home. But when she looked back, the shadow’s wings spread, its titanic frame blotting out the sun as it lazily pursued her.

  “In her haste to escape, she had unwittingly led the beast back to her home. She knew — knew beyond the shadow of doubt — that their shell could not keep out this beast. But what to say? How to make those in charge believe her?”

  The scene faded to show the woman standing in front of a group of hooded figures. Their faces distorted and their voices garbled, both lost to time. Though I knew not their words, the meaning was evident in the furious finger pointing to the exit and the river of tears streaming down the woman’s face.

  As she left, the room gave way to her home. She sat in bed, cradling a patchwork doll in her hands. Mumbling words too soft to hear, she laid back, curled up, and closed her eyes. On the other side, her reflection awoke with a grimace of terror and determination.

  “But though she was a coward, she would not sit idly by and let her kingdom fall. She alone knew the threat the beast posed! She alone could stop it! If she did not…no one else would.”

  My throat tightened. A hand moved to my chest to settle my pounding heart.

  The woman met the shadow above the ocean. It stared at her with hateful eyes, but made no move to attack. When she reached out to it, it even bowed its head, allowing her to touch it.

  “She possessed a Soulspark. The power to step into the hearts of others and face their truest self. There, she could win any argument, impart any change she so desired with trickery and clever dialogue. A frightening power. One she considered using against her leaders, if not for the fear of being caught.”

  When her hand met its head, hers shot back, eyes and mouth open. The Dream haze around them turned violet, then black, then copper. Darkening until a bloody sky surrounded them. The beast’s eyes opened and burned. The woman’s tears fell, and she began to scream.

  The Dream faded.

  The continent was in ruin. Land pocked with smoldering craters, forests burning, cities collapsing as men and women, children of all ages, screamed and cried and fought in the streets. Though the great shadow loomed above the highest mountain top, the barrier shattered and gone; it was not the source of their destruction.

  A woman flew near the beast, her nails drawing blood from her face, her mouth wrenched open at an impossible angle, a constant scream pouring out and over the burning land. Dancing to the sound of her anguish, the people tore their cities down brick by brick with their own hands, just to smash them against one another.

  “If only they’d listened! If only they knew! The great sorcerers of those ancient people bemoaned their lack of foresight. But in their madness, they saw a way forward. A way to spare future generations the destruction they now faced. Pooling all of their power, they conjured a storm of magic so great —”

  A blinding flash. Silent. Colorless. It lasted for several minutes, and when it faded, the land was gone. Every speck of dust, every leaf, every drop of blood, and every snowflake. Gone. A gaping hole in the ocean was all that remained.

  “But then…” I asked aloud as the answer formed before my eyes. A ripple ran through the empty sky, growing until it reached the horizon. The air vibrated. The ocean quaked. Another ripple, and with this one came a thunderous roar.

  A skeletal face formed, followed by a matching claw. One step at a time, the beast walked through the distorted sky until its frame was complete. Within its empty chest, a clump of gnarled black roots thumped like a heart. With the first pump, thorned vines spread the entire length of the creature. With the second, boiling fellblood enveloped its shape. And with the third, the shadow’s eyes blazed anew.

  Three heartbeats. All the kingdom’s magic amounted to three heartbeats of reprieve.

  ***

  With a final bow, Belial returned us to the library.

  “And that is the tale of the Fiend of Madness! Was it to your liking, Lady Celeste?”

  Speechless, I could do nothing but nod, my lips a thin line. The details — location, means, and players — were different, but the story was the same.

  A Dream Walker.

  An encounter with the Fiend Lord.

  A desperate but heartfelt attempt to stop him, ending in failure.

  I choked down the lump in my throat and clutched my breast. My fingers alight with starlight, I reached out to it with both hands, but my heart refused to settle. The reason behind my captivity had become all too clear. Mine was to be yet another tragic tale in his collection. Where else could this road upon which I walked lead, if not to Castle Dreadskull?

  Like the books, the ending was always the same.

  “Good Belial.” But perhaps not. Perhaps there was another way? “How did…you become a Fiend?” I turned my gaze up to the strangely quiet creature.

  They tilted their head. “Me? Why, Lord Genesis asked me, and I accepted his offer!”

  “Do you…Did you —”

  My question would go unanswered as Belial’s head twisted the other way. Their shoulders sank, and with a sigh, they shook their head.

  “Fair Lady, I apologize, but I’ve news you’ll surely wish to hear.” Belial waited for me to nod, then continued, their voice uncharacteristically solemn. “Lord Beelzebub has engaged your family in the Blightmire Valley. He means to end them now.”

  “What?” I rose to my feet so quickly my head spun. Still overwhelmed by the creature’s story, I doubled over, clutching the arm of the chair and gasping to breathe. “He — what does — why would?” My eyes widened, and I looked at Belial. “I have to go to them.”

  Belial nodded. “It would appear so.”

  “You won’t…you won’t stop me?”

  “No, I will not.”

  “Even if it means one of us must…”

  Belial’s head tilted the other way. Their unchanging grin seemed wider suddenly. “Sweet dreams, Lady Celeste.” The creature raised its hand and pinched the air. Pulling it down, the fellflame torches in the room dimmed. “I eagerly await your return.”

  “Thank you, Good Belial.” I nodded and took several deep breaths.

  Then, settling once more into my seat, I shut my eyes.

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