“Succumb to Darkness?” Alice asked, scoffing. “As if. You already gave that your best attempt and failed. You’re out of tricks, scar-face.”
“You would like to think so, wouldn’t you, Dark Eater?” Jormungand asked, sneering.
“Where are our sisters?” Isabelle asked, glaring at Dullan.
“They will be along at the proper time,” Dullan said. “Don’t be hasty, child. You can join them soon.”
“No one here is joining the Darkness,” Marcus said, tapping his staff against the floor. Two bells rang out, harmonizing beautifully, but their tone was somewhat deadened. They didn’t resonate and echo like they usually did.
“Your power is not so potent here, is it?” Jormungand asked. “And coming with such a paltry crew. You really don’t stand a chance, not here, not where we are strongest.”
“Tock, try and get your bearings as best you can,” Delilah murmured softly. “Do your best, guide us, and if we mess up, that’s okay. Just get us closer to the Key, one step at a time.”
“Right,” Tock said. “He can’t have moved the Key’s pedestal, I can guarantee that much. And he can’t have sealed it off. The only seal that could possibly guard it is down now thanks to Revue’s song. Take whatever passage you can and I’ll try to guide you in further.”
Delilah took a breath, got her bearings, and surveyed the situation. Jormungand and Dullan. Just the two of them, alone for now. The Furies, the heartbreakingly transformed Princesses of Solitude, must be here somewhere, and there was no doubt the Lingering Will would make its move at some point.
But for now, they had a chance. If they acted quickly, there was still hope for them to complete their objective before it was too late.
Shana’s out of contact, but she’ll be going for her Key as quick as she can. Fae and her team still have a ways to go, and Wasuryu’s complicated things for them.
But the faster we all get to the pedestals and turn the Key, the less time Caleb and the others have to hold out against Sal. We don’t want to put any more strain on them than necessary.
So. Which way do we start?
Jormungand stood on the lower level of the laboratory, in the middle of the floor, nowhere near anything meaningful. So Delilah’s attention was drawn to Dullan, who loomed before a passageway. It was the one opening they hadn’t checked, the one exit they hadn’t tried.
“We’re breaking through,” Delilah said. She looked up, met Maribelle’s gaze, and the two nodded to each other.
A moment later, they were all in motion, perfectly in sync. Nekoma, Redmond, and Reginald stayed with Terevalde and Emmeryn, while Felix, Rabanastre, Maribelle, and Alice darted forward, straight at Dullan.
Their enemies weren’t idle. Jormungand leapt to the attack as soon as Delilah’s team did, but Marcus struck his staff against the floor, three bells chimed, and Jormungand was flung back.
Maribelle stretched out her hand, and the fabric of reality tore open. Through that tear came Takina, Maribelle’s golden katana, her treasured sword, and wielding it, she led the charge against Dullan. Takina met Dullan’s wicked scythe, the weapons clashed for one moment, and then a shockwave of force erupted from the impact.
Maribelle and the rest of the attackers held their ground.
Dullan was sent flying, crashing against the corner of a wall and tumbling down to the lower level. Maribelle leapt atop the railing, raised her free hand, and blasted a dazzling ray of white light at Dullan. With their obstacle removed, Delilah, Felix, Alice, and Rabanastre led the way through the opening, Maribelle swiftly following with the others. They went as quick as they dared down the passage, leaving Dullan and Jormungand behind for the moment.
“Nice one,” Alice said, grinning.
“It’s only the start,” Maribelle said. “Dullan isn’t so easily slain. And there are more foes here, waiting for their opportunity.”
Delilah nodded, peering through the darkness as she ran down the narrow corridor. “They definitely have the advantage here,” she said. “Stay alert and be careful.”
“I really want a piece of scar-face if I get the chance,” Alice murmured. Jogging along beside her, Rabanastre gave a quick, decisive nod.
“How’s everyone else doing?” Delilah asked, a hand held to her ear.
“Complications on all fronts,” Deirdre said. “This was never going to be easy, but they were more ready for us than we’d hoped.”
“Hang in there, everyone,” Delilah said, softly, more of a prayer than a statement for others to hear.
——
“Caleb, it’s time!”
Mister Midnight’s voice brought a halt to Caleb’s efforts in the ongoing assault on the Lord of Night. On either side of him, Chelsea and Lorelei kept up the attack, part of many other long-ranged attackers pouring all they had into putting an end to Sal’s schemes.
Sal, for all that Blaise had done to sever his power and grievously wound him, was still more than up to the task of this fight. All alone on his throne, he took some hits, sure — Bronn hit him full in the face with a massive fist, and Chelsea completely enveloped him in fire once — but he could take those hits better than anyone. All he had to show for the blows he’d received were a small cut on his lip, and some lightly singed clothing.
And though all he did was sit there, he truly was the Lord of Night. He wasn’t invincible, he couldn’t ensnare their shadows and force them into immobility, but he commanded the Darkness. And this was the Throne of Night, with Darkness all around them, above, below, everywhere. Sal didn’t call forth monsters to fight for him, no. He fought them directly with the Darkness itself, sending forth vicious waves, forming shocking explosions, lashing at them with swift strands and spiked tendrils that could come from anywhere at any time. The few Guardians who had come with the strike team were working overtime to keep everyone safe, and even then, it was often up to individual fighters to evade or defend themselves.
But now was the time for Caleb and Midnight to make their move.
“The framework’s in place,” Midnight said as Caleb alighted next to him. They were towards the top of the Throne of Night, on one of the many massive stone pillars and other ruinous remains that floated through the air. “You ready?”
Caleb nodded. “Ready,” he said. They’d put together a strategy, combining Caleb’s transformation and new use of Time Magic with Midnight’s extensive knowledge and mastery over Time Magic to create a different type of Locational Time Magic. When Caleb had trained with Midnight, they’d made it so that, within the sphere formed by Locational Time Magic, time ran more slowly inside than out. One year inside was just six hours outside.
But here, they were trying to do the reverse. Inside this “Time Prison,” every second would be a minute outside. A minute in here would be an hour out there. And so on.
They’d buy Delilah and the others all the time they needed. And they’d be able to shorten the fight against Sal, make it so they didn’t have to hold out quite so long. Even wounded, Sal was a force to be reckoned with.
Midnight and Caleb reached out their hands for each other. Physical contact was necessary to create the link, to allow them to enter a shared Time-state and form the Time Prison.
But a soft, wicked breath of laughter made them pause. A childlike giggle, but sadistic and cruel in a way that chilled Caleb to the bones.
He knew that laugh.
“Move!” Midnight said, leaping back. Caleb did the same, just as an ever-changing monster of writhing black darkness shattered the pillar in half, slicing through the space where teacher and student had just been standing with an arsenal of sword-like claws.
This wasn’t a creature of the living Darkness. It was a Summon, the Beast, and its Summoner…
“Oh, did I give myself away?”
There she was. On the high platform where the strike team had entered stood Nyx, a new obsidian staff in her hands, topped with a black jewel. Her face was twisted in a cruel sneer, her eyes glittering with feral delight.
“Is there no being rid of you?” Midnight asked, landing on a Mobility disc Caleb made for him.
“And here I thought you’d sworn to kill me,” Nyx said, pouting slightly, perching a hand on her hip. “You can’t honestly say you want me to leave, can you, Lancelot.”
“Nyx!” Sal said from his throne in a tone of sharp command. “What are you doing here? You’re supposed to be with Valgwyn.”
“And I told you, I’m not leaving the Time Mages to someone else,” Nyx said, rolling her eyes. “I know you feel it’s your time to hog the spotlight, but you always knew I wasn’t one to follow orders. Don’t worry, I’m only going after the ones I want.” She grinned wickedly, her attention turning to Midnight and Caleb. “Now, then. Let’s see if I can finally kill the two of you.”
The Beast launched into a vicious onslaught, but it didn’t operate alone. Nyx leapt from her high perch, diving straight for Caleb. Midnight leapt to his defense, but the Beast rose up to block him off. Caleb leapt off of his disc to a new one, bouncing away from Nyx’s attack. He came to land on a floating pillar, but Nyx was too fast, she was coming straight for him.
Until a dart of emerald flame came streaking towards her. On contact it exploded in a fiery blast, the heat of which singed Caleb’s cheeks. Nyx went flying, landed in a tumble on a pillar across from Caleb’s, twirling her staff as she rose to dispel the remaining flames.
Chelsea landed lightly next to Caleb, eyeing Nyx with a fiery glare. “You mess with him, you mess with me,” she said, firing another explosive dart.
Nyx twirled her staff, and as the explosion cleared, she was unharmed save for smoldering embers smoking at the tips of her bangs. She blew on them, extinguishing the embers and getting her bangs out of her eyes. “Hmph,” she said, raising an eyebrow. “You worked my darling Beast over in our last meeting. And you destroyed my Talisman. I was hoping I’d get a shot at you.” She looked from Chelsea to Caleb and back again, raising a mocking eyebrow. “You’re awfully protective of your boy. What is it? You don’t think he can take care of himself?”
“We’re a package deal,” Chelsea said. “You want him, you get me.”
“It works both ways,” Caleb said, smiling. “You go after her, you’ll have me coming for you, too.”
“Adorable,” Nyx said. “You can die together, then.”
——
Outside of Alexandra’s home, Adelaida sat. Watching. Waiting.
Something wasn’t right.
Before the complications had arisen with Shana and Fae’s groups, before they’d even begun this final mission, Adelaida had felt it. So had her sister. But neither of them were sure from where this trouble originated. So Andrea patrolled inside, while Adelaida had, for a time, patrolled outside.
Now, in the grand park that sprawled out before Alexandra’s mansion, she sat on a bench, and observed.
There were few people in the park right now. It was the middle of the day in Sunset Square, so adults were at work, and children at school. There was an elderly couple walking amongst the flowerbeds across from Adelaida, and farther down she saw a few young adults walking and talking. A central walkway cut a straight line through the park down its length, a mile long, and three fountains were situated equidistant from each other along it. Each of them rippled and bubbled pleasantly. Birds sang, and just a few feet beside Adelaida, a pair of small blue birds made happy use of a birdbath.
It was a lovely day. Peaceful, calm, beautiful.
And underneath it, a simmering dread. There was danger here. But where? What was the source? What form would it take?
It was extraordinarily unlikely that the danger could appear first inside the walls of Alexandra’s mansion. That was why the sisters, handmaidens and bodyguards to Alexandra, had sounded no alarm. That was why one patrolled inside, while keeping quiet about it actually being a patrol, and the other sat outside.
The danger was likely to come from here. But it was important to be aware of any potential danger inside.
The Endless Night hadn’t made its encroaching presence felt here in Sunset Square. The sun cast its golden beams across the city as it always did. The water dazzled with a warm, glittering reflection. Adelaida had no special attachment to this city, but she couldn’t deny its beauty.
But in this beauty lurked a shadow. Adelaida had to find it. If the enemy had found Alexandra’s mansion, they still would be hard-pressed to breach the walls. It was no easy feat to enter the mansion uninvited.
A whisper in the air, a sudden chill in the warm afternoon. Adelaida shot to her feet, hand outstretched. The air shimmered, and her staff appeared. She grasped it, whirling, and laid eyes on the intruder — a man in a dark suit, striding across the lawn. Half of his face was smooth, half his hair slicked back neatly and professionally. But the other half was horribly scarred, his hair scorched away, burns twisting that languid expression into something grotesque.
On his back was a quiver of arrows, and in his hand he carried a dark bow.
Valgwyn was here.
He didn’t stop, but his eyes focused on Adelaida, and he sighed. “I was supposed to have assistance from Nyx,” he said wearily. “But my mission is clear, and I will see it done. You aren’t going to try and stop me, are you? That would be disheartening. I’d like to get this over with, you see.”
Adelaida thrust her staff forward. At the end of her staff, a weighted metal cylinder about six inches long detached, shooting out on the end of a silver chain. The weight slammed into Valgwyn’s face, hitting him right in the nose with bone-crunching force.
Only, no bones crunched. Valgwyn didn’t even flinch. He just kept on approaching, and when Adelaida snapped her chain back, she glared at the nonexistent impact her attack had left.
“They always feel the need to fight,” Valgwyn said with a sigh. “It would be easier for everyone if you didn’t put in so much effort.” He stopped, a dozen or so paces from her, halfway through the park.
Halfway to Alexandra’s.
With a slow, languid movement, he drew an arrow and nocked it to his bowstring. The few people who had been enjoying the park saw the commotion, saw the weapon, and began to clear out as quickly — and as quietly — as they could. The arrow Valgwyn drew was pitch-black, and seemed to writhe along its shaft. Instead of a singular arrowhead, the point was made up of three spikes, like a pitchfork.
He raised his bow and drew his arrow back to his jawline. The wicked three-pronged point aimed directly for Adelaida.
“You could make this easy and stand aside,” Valgwyn said. “Or I can move you myself. The choice is yours.”
As if I’d be moved by the likes of you.
Adelaida stood her ground, staff at the ready. “You will not harm my Lady,” she said.
Valgwyn sighed. “They always say things like that,” he muttered. “Well, I did warn you.”
The arrow was loosed seemingly before Valgwyn released the string. It was a strange experience, seeing it firsthand — but Adelaida was ready for it. She’d heard the stories from Chelsea and Lancelot, the way in which Valgwyn loosed his arrows with deceptive timing, what one saw and one heard failing to match up to reality.
She didn’t watch Valgwyn. She watched the arrow. And when it came flying straight for her heart with astonishing speed, it never struck her. She parried with her staff, slapping the arrow into the dirt ten feet away. The arrow had come with stunning force — she could feel its impact through her staff still thrumming in her fingers — but she had blocked the first shot far more easily than she’d expected.
“Ah,” Valgwyn said, releasing a heavy, tired sigh. “So you’re a competent one. That makes things more frustrating. But you’ll only delay the inevitable all alone.”
“She’s not alone,” said a voice, a young man’s voice. A moment later, three people rushed over to stand with Adelaida. Hayden, Camellia, and Botan, Paladins of the Astral Wall. They had mostly recovered from their injuries that the Lingering Will had inflicted upon them, but none of them had been quite recovered enough to join the strike team on the Throne of Night, and had ended up remaining at Alexandra’s mansion, in case their skills were required here.
“Three Paladins,” Valgwyn said, sniffing the air. “It is more dangerous when you are in my presence. My full powers can be released.”
“That’s also the only form in which you’ve been hurt before,” Hayden said. He held out his hand, and in a blaze of red fire a sword appeared, its blade gleaming scarlet in the sunset. “We’ll take our chances.” Camellia and Botan also brought forth their weapons. For Camellia, in a dazzle of gleaming cerulean water came a shimmering bow, an arrow forming on the string when she set her fingers to it. For Botan, a pair of blue and silver tonfas emerged from a crackling nexus of electricity. The trio took up positions beside Adelaida, who gave them a brief nod, grateful for the assistance.
She had no fear of fighting this foe alone. But if help was offered, she wouldn’t refuse.
Valgwyn took a step back, black wings sprouting from his back, stretching wide, darkening the air around him. His dark suit turned to black, segmented armor.
Adelaida led the attack. The battle to defend Alexandra’s mansion, and those working tirelessly to coordinate the final mission, began.
——
“What… what is this?”
Shana gaped in horror at the stormy skies above. She’d taken her team to the Palette in the Clouds, to that marvelous city of artists where the Key in dreams was kept.
But this wasn’t the beautiful city she’d visited before. It was dark here, now. Magenta clouds and golden sky were gone, replaced by thick, violet clouds crackling with black lightning, swirling rapidly in what looked like the prelude to a cyclone. Winds howled, chill and biting, tossing Shana’s hair wildly, whipping at her face and clothes. It was too loud to talk to each other, she had to yell to be heard, and yet even when she did…
She realized she didn’t hear anyone else. The city’s inhabitants were quiet. She didn’t see anyone on the streets. Hopefully that was a good thing. Hopefully that just meant they’d all battened down the hatches of their homes and taken refuge from the storm.
But she had a sinking feeling that there was a different reason behind their absence, and the storm itself.
“I don’t know,” Heart said, shaking her head. “Something has gone terribly wrong, but…” She shuddered, and Shana felt her dread.
They both had the same thought. And they both desperately hoped they were wrong.
“Where do we go?” Kathryn asked. “We know where the Key is, but we can’t turn it yet, can we? It’s way too soon.”
“Let’s see if the Artisan knows what’s going on,” Shana said. “We’re not too far from his house.”
“And it’ll be good to get off the streets,” Rae said, as Brutus sheltered her from the wild winds. “I don’t like the feel of this place.”
Yes. Something had gone terribly, horribly wrong.
Shias, where are you?
But Shana couldn’t linger on her brother. He had to be okay. If he was awake, and he didn’t go back to sleep, then maybe…
Maybe he needed to be awake. After all, that’s where he always was, right?
He was always right where Shana needed him to be.
That was his uncanny ability, his secret superpower. And while Shana yearned to have him by her side when faced with such fear and dread, she had to trust him.
He never let her down.
“Come on,” she said, starting forward. They headed out of the alley they found themselves in and into a wide plaza. Empty. A fountain stood at its center, but the fountain, too, was empty. No water sprayed from its multiple fluted nozzles. No water filled its basin.
It had been full and clear when Shana had been here. Had the wind swept all that water away? But why would it have run dry? And no, the basin was too dry, like it had been dry forever, for eons, cracked and barren for time immemorial.
What had happened here?
Shana looked up just in time to see a face duck down from a window, to see shutters slam closed. Someone had been watching them.
She could worry about that, in time. Right now, she needed to see the Artisan. She needed to know — if anyone knew — what had gone wrong here. What was this storm? They walked huddled close together, and yet the winds alone threatened to tear them apart from each other. Thunder boomed overhead, though the lightning remained threatening, not striking, high above. The center of the dark, swirling clouds looked to Shana almost like a vicious, predatory eye. Watching them, always watching them. And waiting.
For the right moment to strike.
From the plaza they climbed a set of stairs up to the Artisan’s house, situated at the highest point of the city, gazing out on the rest of it, as if it could see all that transpired within these streets in the clouds.
Shana tried the doorknob, but found it locked. So she slammed her fist against the door. “Artisan? Tio? It’s Shana, the Dreamer. Please, let me in! I need your help!”
The door swung open almost before Shana finished, and she nearly tumbled inside. Kathryn and Rae caught her, and they all looked up to see Tio gazing at them with wide, frightened eyes. “Inside!” he said quickly, in a hushed whisper, frantically waving them in.
Tio shut and locked the door as soon as all were inside, and then breathed a heavy sigh. “You’ve finally returned,” he said. “I only hope it’s not too late.”
“What’s going on here?” Shana asked. “What happened? Why the storm? Where is everyone?”
“Everyone…” Tio started, then lowered his gaze.
“Waiting for you,” came a voice from the back of the house. Shana turned, looking out across the scattered paintings all along the floor, to a darkened shadow at the farthest corner of the house. Slowly from that shadow emerged the Artisan, haggard and worn, paint-stained hands trembling. “They’re all… waiting for you, Dreamer.”
“Master, please!” Tio said, holding up a hand. “You don’t need to push yourself.”
“What’s wrong?” Shana asked, rushing to the Artisan, she and Rae taking him by the arms as he stumbled and nearly fell. He had been a thin man when she’d first met him, but now he was gaunt, all skin and bones, the taut musculature he’d had before atrophied. He seemed to have wasted away, aging decades since Shana had last been here. “What’s happened here? What’s gone so wrong?”
“It’s —” Tio started, but the Artisan shook his head.
“Inevitable,” the Artisan said. “The sketch was being formed before you arrived. Those who threatened you… they live on fear. The worst sort of fear, because they are convinced that they fear nothing. They believe their fear is not fear, that it is resolve. That it is strength. That it… oh.” The Artisan swooned, and Shana and Rae lowered him gently to sit on the floor. He remained conscious, slowly recovering.
“It’s a storm born of fear?” Shana asked. “But a fear that they don’t believe is fear?”
“Which only lends it more strength and fury,” Tio said. “We… don’t know how to stop it. All of us who have no part in this, who want no part in this, it’s all we can do just to stay in our homes and stay safe.”
“As if safety can last like this,” the Artisan murmured.
“Wait, then where are the people behind it?” Ben asked. “If the people who don’t want any part in it are the ones who cleared the streets, then where’s everyone else?”
Tio’s face fell. It was the Artisan who answered, after a long, tense silence. “They gather where the Dreamer wishes to go,” he said. “Yuryo and her people stand before the Key’s chamber.”
“Waiting for us,” Ben said. “If they’re there first, they’ve got the entrance blocked. And we said we wouldn’t hurt them, and we shouldn’t, I know that, but how do we get past them, then?”
“Brutus could probably clear a path peacefully,” Rae suggested, though it was clear she didn’t love the idea.
Shana didn’t like their options, either. Because she knew who could clear a path quickly, easily, and safely.
And he wasn’t here.
So what did they do now? How did they get to the Key if Yuryo and her group were blocking the way already?
Yuryo…
Shana couldn’t forget her. The fire in her eyes, and the fear, when she’d confronted Shana at the Key’s chamber. She’d had a posse at her back, and had told her never to return, to never even dare turning the Key of the World.
She didn’t want to go back to the Waking World. Whatever it took to remain in the Dream, she would do it.
And Shana had vowed that she wouldn’t harm Yuryo, or anyone else in this city. They were frightened, and resisting the awakening they needed out of fear. It wasn’t right to punish them, to prey on their fear by causing them the very harm they feared would come.
“We still have time,” Kathryn said. “There’s no way Delilah and Fae are ready to turn their Keys yet.”
“I mean, I guess,” Ben said. Kathryn raised a questioning eyebrow. “Technically, we have time to turn the Key, sure. But I don’t like the way that storm looked. If we take too long… I think that storm is going to make some choices for us.”
“It might strike the city,” Annabelle said in a taut whisper. “Their fear will end up hurting their neighbors. Destroying their homes.”
“So what do we do?” Kathryn asked. She was fighting to stay positive, Shana could see it, but clearly she was running out of ideas — and running out of hope.
“I wish I had answers,” Tio said. “This storm is beyond anything we expected.”
“Anything you expected,” the Artisan said. He looked around, his head bobbing strangely, as if it was an effort to keep his head up. “It’s around here… it is. Somewhere, I know it. Tio!” At the sudden, sharp, strong voice, Tio jumped, gazing at the Artisan in shock. “The painting. The one you named. ‘The Dreamer Returns.’ Where did I put it?”
“The Dreamer… oh!” Tio walked carefully across the floor, here and there, finding what patches of clear floor he could so as not to step on any of the canvas. “It was… no, not over here… I think you moved it, and then I… here!” He leapt across a particularly wide stretch of paintings, landed neatly on a small open floor space, and knelt, retrieving a large sheet of canvas. He held it high, looking at it for himself first, and he gasped. “I see, now. You knew. You saw this coming.” He turned the canvas around so that the others could see the painting.
It was, like all of the Artisan’s works, wildly impressionistic. But for once, Shana could see a method to the madness.
Great, slashing streaks of dark purple coated the top, in the center curving, intertwining. The storm. And below, haunted lanes of muted pinks, the empty streets of the city.
But in the midst of that, a light. Golden, with magenta, and a core of blue, almost like fire.
Shana understood. And, after checking that the Artisan could sit on his own, she stood and looked to her team. “We can’t turn the Key yet,” she said. “But we have other work to do — Dreamer work to do.” She smiled, feeling her heart come alive, knowing that she was exactly where she needed to be. “Let’s go show them that they don’t need to be afraid.”