Shana walked tall beneath swirling storm clouds, amidst the rumble of thunder and howling wind that bit at her skin with sharp frigidity. The temperature was dropping fast, and there was a strange metallic scent in the air.
Those threatening storm clouds wouldn’t remain merely threatening for long.
Shana couldn’t say she was perfectly brave, unafraid of anything that might happen. But she could put on a front, she could display confidence and courage. In all that she’d fought through as the Dreamer, all she’d faced and struggled with, she’d gotten good at that. Fear was not something she could banish from herself.
But it was something she could rise above. It was a fight, a fight inside her heart, and one that she was so well-acquainted with now that she could confidently win it every single time.
The fear always came back. But Shana knew how to repel its influence.
And she knew now that she would need that strength more than ever before. She’d faced her own fears, and the fears of her friends. She’d faced the trials that Nightmares could throw at her, sometimes with others, sometimes all by herself.
But she’d never faced something like this. A collective fear, powerful enough to create a storm, powerful enough to threaten this entire city? There was no one answer to this, no simple solution. But she knew who’d be at the center of it.
Yuryo.
She’d promised Yuryo that she’d come back. Now, it felt like she was coming back too late.
Stop that. You’re not too late. You’re just in the nick of time.
And along with this new struggle, this new type of danger greater than any she’d faced before, she was without Shias. Without Altair. They’d been such steady beacons for her, holding her fast, lighting her way, giving her strength when she couldn’t find the strength on her own.
But she had Kathryn, Rae, Annabelle, and Ben. She had Heart, and she had the Eternal Flame burning warm and bright in her heart.
She wasn’t alone. She was never alone. Even separated, Altair and Shias were in her heart, too. She could faintly feel them, Altair supporting Shias, Shias defending her from some unknown darkness.
You’re always where I can count on you. If you’re not by my side, you’re defending me from greater dangers.
Thank you. I won’t let you down.
Shana reached the stairs down to the chamber where the Key was sealed, and she paused there with her team. There was no one in sight, but the stairs went down for quite a ways, spiraling round and round out of sight.
No doubt Yuryo, and all those aligned with her, waited at the very bottom.
“We’re not here to fight,” Shana said, putting out her hand, palm downward. “We’re here to help them see.”
“That they don’t have to be afraid,” Kathryn said, smiling as she placed her warm hand atop Shana’s.
“This storm is from their hearts,” Annabelle said, reaching up to place her hand on the bottom, beneath Shana’s. “They’ll try to fight us. We can’t let them push us to act in kind.”
“We won’t fail,” Rae said, placing her hand atop Kathryn’s.
Ben placed his hand on top, looking around at all of them. “It hurts to not have Shias,” he said. “But we’ll make him proud.”
Shana looked over at Heart, who looked back at her with surprise in her eyes. “You… oh,” Heart said, smiling, a rosy hue blossoming on her magenta cheeks. “I see.”
“You’re part of this, too,” Shana said. “Part of the team, all the way.”
“And I thank you for that,” Heart said, placing her hand atop Ben’s. A warmth radiated from her, down through their hand-stack to Shana’s, and her heart suddenly felt light and confident.
“Dawn Riders,” Shana said, looking to each of her teammates in turn. “Let’s go.”
Down the stairs they went, and soon reached the bottom, where the stairs forked left and right to meet the circular walkway that wrapped around the chamber where the Key of the World resided.
Yuryo was waiting. And she had dozens behind her, possibly a hundred-strong or more if the crowd went all the way around the walkway, which Shana was sure they did. Yuryo’s dark eyes smoldered with a simmering rage, but there was something familiar in it, something Shana recognized.
Protectiveness.
She was determined to protect something greater than herself. Shana had seen that same fierce protectiveness in Shias, in Caleb, in Delilah.
This dream meant that much to her. Losing this dream, returning to the Waking World, would be the worst thing that could happen to her and her people, in her mind. She wasn’t alone in that fear, or that determination. The people behind her, all of them were united in this singular cause.
That’s what it is. The storm isn’t just because their fear is so powerful. It’s because they’re all united in the same fear.
“I told you never to return,” Yuryo said, her voice hard.
“And I said I’d be back,” Shana said. “I can’t leave the Key unturned. My world’s at stake, and my family’s counting on me.”
“Then we have that much in common,” Yuryo said. “But there is no more to be said. You will turn back, or we will make you.”
Shana took a deep breath to steady herself. The wind was fierce, the thunder rumbling and crackling more threateningly than before. Every face in the crowd had the same gaze as Yuryo, a mix of rage, fear, and fierce protective instinct.
How do I reach you? How do I convince you to stop this?
“It’s okay,” Shana said. “There’s nothing to be afraid of. Your city was once part of the Waking World. And I won’t just abandon you after turning the Key. Fae won’t, either. You must know about her, Sonya, and Olivia, too, right? The Artisan said there are tons of reproductions of that painting of them all throughout the city. They’re going to help guide you to the Waking World. You don’t think they’ll just take you there and leave you behind, do you?” She shook her head. “No way. We know it’s going to be challenging, and we won’t shrink from that challenge. We’re going to help you, every step of the way. Getting back to the Waking World is only the first step of a much longer journey.”
“Enough,” Yuryo said.
And then she lunged for Shana. No warning, no preamble, no extra threat. She just leapt to the attack. Immediately Kathryn was in motion, leaping to protect Shana, hand outstretched. But from Yuryo’s hand blossomed a dark light, and that same light burst from all of those gathered behind her. Violet, consuming light filled the air, and Shana could see nothing.
And then…
She was alone.
The stairs were gone. The clouds that surrounded the city were gone. Yuryo and her crowd, Kathryn and all of Shana’s team…
They were all gone.
But Shana didn’t find herself in some Nightmare, some conjuring of fear and fright. No, she was in a city that was strangely familiar. Details had changed, but there was a beautiful light in the sky, and the streets were still made of magenta clouds, fluffy and beautiful, a bit of a bounce in each step.
The Palette in the Clouds. As it should be, bright and clear and beautiful. For a moment Shana was alone, taking it all in, astonished at the sight. Then she shook her head, feeling somewhat dizzy. This wasn’t right. Was it? She’d been… she’d been about to…
But her memories were hazy. What had she been about to do? What wasn’t right? What could possibly not be right about this? The city was beautiful, bright, clean. Not a hint of storms in the sky.
And a moment later, a little girl stepped out onto the street. When she looked at Shana, Shana instantly knew who she was. For a moment, Shana felt that same sense of wrongness about the girl, like she couldn’t possibly be the right age, like she was supposed to be…
But no. That was silly. The girl held out her hand, and Shana took it, shaking it. The pair smiled at each other.
“Hello, Shana,” the little girl said. “My name is Yuryo.”
——
Shias flinched back, ever so slightly, as Sen’s sword skittered along a magical shield and came far too close to Shias’ face for comfort. He didn’t take a full step back, or even a half step back, but his foot shifted, slid back, ever so slightly, and he cursed himself for it.
There was no room to give ground here. He was all that stood between Sen and his sister, and every inch he lost would be a mile he granted his foe. No, he couldn’t give ground. More than that, he forced himself to take a full step forward as recompense, even as Sen spun around in a new attack. A white shield materialized to meet the attack, to angle it, to redirect it. And mingled with that gleaming white glow of Shias’ shield was a calming blue aura that wrapped around his body, originating from the lovely blue dog that stood right behind him.
Altair.
Shias didn’t have to stand alone against Sen. Altair’s simple Support Magic lent Shias strength and confidence, bolstering his abilities and his attitude in the face of the Lord of Night’s greatest champion.
Sen’s shield was skated away, redirected, deflected once again. But Sen had a second attack prepared right on the heels of that one, punching straight for Shias’ face.
So Shias raised a new shield. Not right in front of his face, not to catch the attack at the last possible moment, no. He formed it in place so that Sen’s punch met it when the punch was only halfway complete. Sen recoiled, kinetic energy rebounding on his arm, and then leapt back, giving both of them a breather.
I see that look in your eyes. I read you right. That punch was supposed to be a feint. I caught it before you faked out of it.
Shias didn’t smile, though a part of him wanted to. There was incredible satisfaction in that sort of success. But it was a success that he’d anticipated, because he understood what kind of fight this was. He didn’t just understand his own abilities, he understood what Sen would do to try and get past his defenses.
He had to trick Shias. He had to get Shias to commit to the wrong action, to read him incorrectly, to block a false strike with such focus that he failed to see the true strike. Sen couldn’t shatter his defenses through sheer force. Shias was confident in that, now. Though that only held true if Shias kept his composure.
If he messed up his angles, if he screwed up the placement of his shields, then Sen’s sword would go skittering away directly in Shias, or worse yet, would meet one of those shields head-on when it should have been deflected, and shatter it.
Shias’ shields, he knew, couldn’t hold up strength-to-strength with Sen’s attacks. Of course not. Hagen Rook, the most powerful Guardian Magic wielder anyone knew, couldn’t block Sen’s attacks head-on alone.
The methodology and style that Shias had learned from his grandfather was absolutely the perfect tool for fighting Sen alone. But it was also far more dangerous, and far more delicate, than Hagen’s strength-to-strength approach. It took incredibly quick reflexes, excellent spatial awareness, perfect timing and positioning, and nerves of steel. Because against a foe like this, the most successful deflections would nearly always leave Shias inches away from death’s door. Success looked a lot more precarious than it actually was. If Shias couldn’t keep his nerve, everything else fell apart.
What augmented this style was that Shias didn’t just use Guardian Magic, didn’t just use what his grandfather had taught him. He built upon that, added to it, by watching his mother.
Divination Magic. Deirdre Greyson’s specialty, and a type of magic that Shias also trained in. He was far from a master, nowhere near the strength and skill of his mother, but he had enough to help him. He was already naturally inclined towards tactical and analytical thinking, but with Divination Magic aiding him, he could read and predict Sen’s movements better than he ever could with his eyes alone. For all the ways in which Sen varied his attacks, his rhythms, his movements, Shias was already noticing patterns that the swordsman favored. Divination Magic was the perfect augment for his particular style of Guardian Magic, one that left him so very close to danger no matter who or what he faced.
This dance with death was what Shias had trained for, what he’d prepared for. He’d never faced something like this, and yet in his mind, he’d faced it a million times.
He’d always thought ahead. To the worst possibilities, to the most dangerous foes. Just like Shana, he had an active imagination, and he’d put it to work. Planning, imagining, envisioning. Why train as a Guardian if he was only training for the known? He could train for Hollows, for so long the only danger Grimoire’s mages ever knew. But from very early on, he’d been training with a mind for other mages. Just in case.
And over time, that training, and that envisioning and planning, had gone further. How would he defend people from the strongest mages he knew if those mages suddenly became foes, or if someone with ill intent came along with similar powers and skills? What if more dangerous and powerful monsters appeared, what if the Hollows grew or changed or transformed?
When he and the Dawn Riders had found Annabelle in the grove and been beaten by Neith’s giant spider Summon, Shias had realized the limits of his training to that point.
And he’d realized just how far his imagination needed to go. There were powers and monsters in this world that he’d been unprepared for. So he’d promised himself:
Never again.
One after another, he’d come up against new threats, and grown stronger. Training was valuable, but there was nothing that could take the place of real experience. Against Dullan, against the Royal Guard, he’d learned so much about the kinds of powers he would have to be prepared for.
And again and again, he’d successfully defended Shana. So as Sen came at him with a series of feints, extraordinarily fast and complex maneuvers, Shias held true to his promise. He repelled Sen, again and again, standing his ground. Once, he took another step forward, but no more than that. He couldn’t stray too far from Shana, couldn’t leave too much space between them. He had to be mindful of where he was, to be in the perfect place to guard against any attack Sen threw at him.
Twice, Sen tried to use his blinding speed to dash past Shias, to take advantage of the large chamber and charge around the perimeter. Twice, Shias repelled him, proving to his foe one vital truth.
To get to Shana, you have to go through me.
Sen paused a moment, though Shias wasn’t sure why. The Son of Night didn’t even look winded — which was unfortunate for Shias. Though Shias maintained an appearance of calm composure, he knew that there was one way that Sen could defeat him.
Time.
Shias had more stamina than most mages, and he also developed a style of combat that was very energy-efficient. He phased his shields in and out of existence, never leaving a magical construct in place when it wasn’t serving a purpose. Every use of magic took from the mage, drew on their own mental, physical, and emotional stamina. Conserving that energy, making the most of it, was vital to stay in a fight like this.
But even with his excellent efficiency, Shias had been pushed harder than ever before already. He was feeling the effects of fighting back Sen’s assault, and this brief pause was actually a boon for him. Holding back such a fast, tactically competent foe took an incredible amount of mental focus. If Shias could give his brain a break, even just a tiny breather, it helped.
So why did Sen stop?
The dark swordsman stared at Shias, as if studying him. He cocked his head to the side, then held up his sword, gazing along its great length.
“You have a remarkable talent, child,” Sen said in his dark, smooth voice. “But you cannot hold out forever. Surely you see that.” He turned his eyes back on Shias. Shias held that eye contact, not looking away. “You fight for the Dreamer. Wake her. Wake her, and take her home, and this fight need not continue. You can leave, not just with her, but with all of your friends.”
Shias’ eyes narrowed. Interesting. It was an awfully generous offer.
It also revealed a great deal.
“I refuse,” Shias said. “If you want her to wake, then that’s the last thing she should do. And if you’re offering this, then time is the most important factor for you. You don’t know how long this fight will last, so you’re trying to make me give up and walk away. Which means that’s the last thing I should do.”
Sen cocked his head to the other side. “I have a great deal of respect for you, child,” he said. “All of Grimoire’s greatest warriors could not quite defeat me. But here you stand, alone holding me back from my mission. And you defend her with such composure. I must admit, I am impressed.”
Shias said nothing — but he’d gained a level of respect for Sen, too. Dullan sought to manipulate, to corrupt, to work wicked plots from the shadows. Valgwyn planted seeds of Darkness and nurtured its corruption. Kaohlad had been the worst of them all, possessing a little girl’s body as his own, keeping her locked in an endless torment until Caleb rescued her. Even Sal, leader of them all, was a terrible man. He’d helped Wasuryu create the wicked device, had helped spring the trap, to transform Fae’s body and leave her nearly helpless to his wicked designs.
But Sen, for all that Shias had heard and now seen, was something different from the other champions of Darkness. He was straightforward. He seemed almost to enjoy the fight itself, to test his strength and speed, to put it all on the line right up front. No emotional manipulation. No shadowy plots of wicked machinations.
He was just a fighter. The best fighter. Plain and simple. Better yet, he didn’t sneer at him, didn’t mock him, didn’t try to get an emotional rise out of him. He offered this one generous choice, but that was all.
That style, that straightforwardness, made him the perfect foe for Shias. He could focus on the fight, could focus on his foe, and could focus his emotions towards the promise he’d made, towards the one thing that meant the most to him: protecting his sister.
“You will not yield, then,” Sen said, adopting a new fighting stance. “Very well.”
Here he comes.
Shias flicked his Talisman, and Sen’s very first attack was rebuffed before it even happened. Shias read him perfectly, stopped him as he was taking his first step, bounced him back so that he rocked back on his heels. A flicker of surprise glittered in Sen’s eyes, and then he dashed forward, evading the next shield Shias created to bounce him back. The great sword came swinging, and Shias used a pair of shields, one deflecting it to the next, and that next one deflecting it back towards Sen. Sen twisted away, barely avoiding cutting his own arm off, then dashed aside, seeming to vanish for all the speed he had.
Altair let out a bark of warning, and Shias ducked. Sen’s sword slashed overhead, the air from its wake ruffling Shias’ hair. A shield bounced Sen out from behind Shias, up into the air, and then a trio of more shields sent Sen back to the ground, back in front of Shias.
That was closer than I’d like to admit. Thanks, Altair.
Sen launched into a barrage of attacks, and Shias fought him back, wincing inwardly as he took half a step back. He struggled under this assault, but half a step was all the ground he gave. He caught a blindingly fast kick with a shield that absorbed and reflected the kinetic energy back on Sen, and Sen leapt back, standing on one foot, keeping his now-injured leg off the floor.
Shias let out as quiet a breath as he could. He didn’t want to show just how relieved he was to get this bit of breathing room, this brief reprieve. Maintaining his composure, even acting calmer than he was, helped him to stand up against such an overwhelming foe.
Into this reprieve, Altair let out a softer bark, one of reassurance. Shias felt the little blue pup’s confidence in him, and the suggestion that came with it.
You think it’s time, huh? Try that out…
This’ll be the first time I’ve attempted it in actual combat. It’s gone well in training but…
Oh. I see.
It made perfect sense. Not only was Sen a Son of Night, a warrior of the Darkness, but this nearly barren chamber was dark as well, and Shias could see the inky blackness of the living Darkness at the edge of the one doorway leading out of the room.
In the midst of the dark of night, what better weapon was there than light?
Okay. Here we go.
Sen’s leg healed rapidly, something Shias had noticed, to his chagrin, of all of Sen’s injuries. His arm had been practically shattered, twice, by the rebounding force of his own punches, and yet it healed to perfection both times in seconds. The same now went for his leg. So Shias couldn’t hurt him, not easily at least, and definitely not the way that his father or Chelsea had, leaving lasting scars, wounds that would never heal.
But maybe the new technique he’d devised would be just the right way to turn the tides of this fight. He was a Guardian, a defender…
But he had a way of attacking.
He twirled his pen once, and Sen readied his sword. But when Sen launched his next attack…
He was met by a dazzlingly white brilliance. He flinched back, darted away, but another beam of light shot towards him, following him. More and more erupted from their places in the air, emerging from new magical constructs that Shias brought forth.
Not shields, no. This was something different. Something Shias had worked long and hard on.
The air was filled with magical mirrors. And from these mirrors came light, light from a daybreak far from this dark place.
Light to banish the darkness, once and for all.