The dream had returned to haunt him. Again.
His chamber was quiet and dark, the thick drapes drawn over the windows to block out the blood-red sky. He shifted and realized the bedsheet was tangled with his legs and tail. Ripping the fabric off, he hurled it away, the slightest feeling of being restrained making his skin crawl.
The vision came now whenever he slept, so he avoided sleep as much as possible. He always avoided it, in fact, since it was one of the only times he was vulnerable—a secret he guarded with utmost vigilance.
But even a demon of his great power could not exist forever without sleep, and eventually, the exhaustion would catch up with him. Tonight was one such night. He’d finally succumbed to weakness and paid the price.
Around him, the black-stone castle was quiet. Murmur did not permit his subjects in his tower, and he rarely summoned his souls into his bedchamber. It was the one place he allowed himself to be free of the constant burden of their company.
Always their voices cried in his head. Crying for freedom. Begging to be released.
Always he ignored them.
They had been foolish enough to enter a bargain with the Necromancer, selling themselves to avoid the torment of the Nine Rings. Eternal service was the price he demanded, and it was the price they paid.
Murmur had no mercy for those too weak to face the consequences of their actions, and their pleas for it fell on deaf ears. They would remain in his service until such a time as he saw fit to release them.
Which would likely be never.
Then again, he thought, thinking of the dream,maybe they’ll be free before long. It plagued him more than ever before, rising when he closed his eyes for but a moment, convincing him that the time for its realization was fast approaching.
I am not ready.
There was still so much to do. So much to plan. So much to arrange.
But he was closer than he’d ever been. He had Gamigin’s book in his possession, and he was making progress with his spells.
Unfortunately, he’d also discovered he needed a specific ingredient he didn’t yet have in his possession. Yet another task to add to the seemingly endless list. The tasks spiraled around his mind like a thousand mini cyclones until he forgot how it felt to have a clear, focused thought. And the dream only made it worse.
It was always the same.
He was burning, his entire body aflame with what he assumed was hellfire, though he didn’t know for certain. Everything was white-hot, and the agony was so unbearable, he screamed.
Then he finally, mercifully separated from his body. But his death was not the nothingness that should await a demon—a creature with no soul—as his essence dissolved back into the energy upholding creation.
No, his consciousness remained, and he felt himself being tugged with impossible force into an impenetrable void. He cried out in terror, his voice echoing everywhere and nowhere. It mingled with the screams of the others trapped with him—thehundredsof others.
And then he woke in a cold sweat, fear pounding through his blood.
It was not death that scared him. The bliss of complete nonexistence was like a siren song to an immortal creature such as he.
What scared him was that his death was not theendof his consciousness. And what awaited him on the other side was something that should not exist.
Demons had no souls. Only beings with souls were granted an afterlife before eventual reincarnation. So what was this void he was to be trapped in? How did it exist?
Gamigin’s book contained the answers, and they had not been favorable.
Shaking his head to clear it, Murmur rose from the bed, abandoning further attempts to rest. He had no desire to return to that fathomless void of torment. As he roused, so did his souls, and he felt better knowing they were back on sentry duty.
He crossed his chamber, parting his hair around his horns and winding it back into a long braid. Tying it off, he tossed it over his shoulder and threw a robe over his bare upper body, the long slit in the back allowing his tail freedom.
His fingers had just closed around his bedchamber door handle when another vision rose. His eyes turned white, as they always did when he succumbed to the curse of his seer existence.
Indiscernible images flashed within his inner eye in rapid succession.
He saw a brown-skinned woman of radiant beauty smiling at someone he couldn’t see. He saw a crow fly over the face of the sun, blotting it out until it became night. He saw golden eyes beneath a furrowed brow.
He saw a book. He saw a sigil—dozens of sigils—covering the halls of his lair, every square inch coated in chalk outlines. He saw rivers of blood and severed body parts from all manner of creatures. He saw another woman with sharp eyes and jet-black hair.
