I shake my head, confusion and denial mingling within. I have no idea what place she speaks of, where the answers lie waiting. As my uncertainty mounts, the forest begins to transform. It’s not merely changing; it’s melting away. The trees contort, the landscape shifts transporting us, and my mind struggles to grasp the surreal vision.
Once the world settles, Ryella smiles and points behind me. I turn slowly, and there they stand—the gates. Drawn by an inexplicable force, I approach them, each step resonant with foreboding. When I’m close enough, I extend a trembling hand and let my fingers caress the cold bars of the gates.
As soon as my fingers brush the cold iron, a force from within awakens, resonating deep in my core. My hand clasps around the bar uncontrollably, gripping it as if magnetized by some ancient, unseen power. The pressure intensifies until suddenly it ebbs away, leaving a tingling echo in my palm. With an eerie creak that pierces the heavy silence of the forest, the gate slowly begins to swing open.
I bolt upright in bed, my sudden movement startling both Chepi and myself. A sheen of sweat covers my skin, and I glance down at my hand, which still feels icy from the touch of the iron bars. Midnight mind visions aren’t supposed to occur in Zomea, unless they’re meant to lead youfurther—beyond the gates my father once said. And Ryella, she was there in my vision, responding to my call.
“Come here, boy. It’s okay. Go back to sleep,” I whisper, pulling Chepi to my chest as I settle back into the bed. His warm presence is comforting against the chill that lingers. “Tomorrow, I think we finally have to visit the one place I’ve been avoiding.” Chepi licks my cheek and nestles into my neck with his wet nose.
After a restless nighthaunted by visions, I stand before the ancient gates, Chepi by my side. “Well, boy, are you ready for this?” I murmur, his eager yip grounding me slightly. These gates—towering structures, entwined with gnarled roots and decaying branches that seem to pulse with a life of their own, dripping a dark viscous substance—loom before us.
I had thought to avoid this place forever, to bury its memory deep within the recesses of my mind. But it seems the fates have other designs. The gates have infiltrated not only my waking thoughts but also my deepest, darkest dreams.
Now, as I confront them once again, a surprising calm settles over me. There’s an inexplicable rightness in standing here, as if these ominous barriers were meant for me all along.
Upon closer inspection, the gates are a marvel of foreboding artistry. The dark iron from which they are crafted is not merely shaped but seems to be alive with a haunting animation. The bars themselves are twisted and contorted, their surface wrought into intricate, swirling patterns that resemble the agonized movements of souls ensnared in perpetual torment…it’s slightly horrifying to gaze upon.
Each swirl and twist of the metal tells a silent tale of despair, the patterns flowing into each other like a river of lostspirits. The designs are unsettlingly organic, as if the iron itself had once been living entities now transformed and bound into this eternal, metallic form. Shadows seem to flicker and move within the crevices of the designs, as though the souls themselves are still writhing under the gaze of any onlooker.
If this is truly where the gods live like Euric believed, then perhaps these gates stand as a grim testament to the ultimate price of ambition—the tortured souls of those who dared to ascend to divine heights, now forever bound in this iron tapestry of agony. Among these writhing figures, could my father’s soul be entwined?
I step closer, driven by a force I can’t quite understand but cannot resist. This time, as my fingers trace the cold, foreboding metal, there’s no fear, no hesitation.
The gates creak sinisterly, the sound echoing like the world cracking open, as they swing open slowly, inviting—or perhaps daring—me to step beyond.
With a deep breath, I lift Chepi into my arms, and we cross the threshold.
Chapter 23
Nyx
I must have readthrough my father’s journals and all the letters several times now, each reading filled with a vain hope that the words might somehow change. I shudder to think about the revelations they contained—the secrets kept from me and the grim path of my future. Everything has fallen apart, and now I see only one way forward. I resolve not to speak of the journals until I can discuss everything with Lyra. She must know what I’ve discovered, but with her still in Zomea, I’m compelled to take action.
I find myself knocking at Colton’s back door, because unlike him I maintain a semblance of courtesy—even in urgency. My patience wears thin as he fails to answer after the initial knocks, prompting me to bang harder on the door. I know he’s here, likely brooding in Lyra’s absence—he’s the fool who let her venture back to that cursed place alone. Had she been with me, I would never have allowed her to return to Zomea without company.
“Not used to anyone knocking on your door the properway, are you?” I remark as he finally pulls the door open, his expression amused.
“No, I had a feeling it was you,” he replies, and I chuckle.
I follow him into the living room, and when he doesn’t inquire about the reason for my visit, I make my way to sit in front of the fireplace. “Are you going to offer me a drink?” I demand, a reminder of my rank—after all, I am his king.
“Get one yourself. I’m not in the mood, Nikki. So why don’t you tell me why you’re here,” Colton retorts, his tone dismissive.
I rise, pouring myself a glass of whiskey from the drink cart. The alcohol, I decide, will be necessary to swallow my pride. After taking a long sip, I set my glass on the mantle, my gaze fixating on the flickering flames as I contemplate my next words. Perhaps I should handle this without him.
“What is it, Nyx? If you’re here to ask about Lyra, I haven’t heard anything,” he interjects, now reclined on the couch, his casual posture underlining his lack of concern for the gravity of my visit.
“I may not have started this war, but I fully intend to finish it. Tonight, we begin our plan of attack. I’m not waiting any longer for Samael to make his move. I am taking the men to battle,” I declare, pacing in front of the fire, feeling the energy for the impending battle building inside me.
“War hasn’t started. What are you thinking?” Colton rises to his feet, his confusion apparent.
I shake my head at his naiveté. “The first attack may not have taken place yet, but make no mistake—war has been brewing for far too long. Don’t pretend you don’t know. Don’t tell me you can’t feel it,” I insist, locking eyes with him, seeing the recognition of the truth in his gaze.
“I thought you didn’t want to discuss any of thiswith me. You cut me out when I tried to help,” he counters, his voice tinged with a mix of resentment and challenge.
He’s not wrong. He is one of the best fighters we have, and though I may not want to admit it, I need him on my side. “Things are different now. Lyra would want us to work together, so I’m willing to make an exception,” I say, opting for pragmatism over pride.
He scoffs, skepticism written all over his face. “You want to wage a war against her realm while she’s in fucking Zomea,” he accuses.
