Page 104 of Cursed By the Dawn

But as we reached the source, Erebus and I froze.

Mithras—not Raelion, butMithras—floated in the middle of the golden pool, limbs slowly dissolving into light as it trickled from his skin. His skin was gray, his blond hair nearly white in its pallor. Mithras’s eyes cracked open, and when he finally spoke, it was like a dried-out skeleton speaking for the first time since the end of its mortal life.

“You came,” Mithras said hoarsely. Tears slipped down his face, disappearing into the shimmering liquid. He did not move his body—merely tilted his head to better observe us. “You must first know I never intended for this to be our fate.”

Erebus’s face was contorted in a riot of emotions: cold fury, abject disgust, and also something shockingly close to devastation.

“‘Never intended’?” Erebus bit out. “You speak as if you had no choice. You made this our fate. You betrayed me, banished me forfive hundred years, locked an innocent person in my tomb—then you willingly allied yourself with a demon so powerful and so cruel that he tore an entire world apart.”

Mithras looked shattered. “Erebus—”

“You were theonlyperson who could have made a difference.” Erebus waded forward. “You had the world in your hands, Mithras, and you chose to extinguish every good and beautiful thing. For years, all I craved was your death. Do you know that? Surely you know that.”

“I do,” Mithras whispered, tears continuing to trickle down his face.

“But then Esmer showed me that there was more to life than revenge. That there was purpose in the darkness we shared.” He held himself rigidly—too perfectly straight—as he looked down upon the man who had once been his friend. Who had once been his brother. “You and I could have righted this worldcenturiesago. Instead, you threw me into a cage and expected me to contain demons that weren’t demons at all.”

“I know,” Mithras said simply, his voice becoming difficult to hear.

“How do you know?” Erebus demanded, grabbing Mithras by theshoulders. Mithras didn’t so much as flinch; instead, he slowly placed a hand upon Erebus’s left wrist. “If you knew—if youknewand yet still chose to damn thousands of innocents, then why…?” He trailed off, overcome with anguish.

“Was it for glory? Greed?” I asked, still holding on to Erebus’s arm. I refused to let him go, refused to even take that chance. “What riches are possibly worth the demise of an entire world?”

“And look where it got him,” Erebus bit out. “Disintegrating into a void. How fitting.”

“I did it for you, Erebus.” Mithras’s face contorted in grief. His cracked mouth tensed. “Everything I did was to keep you safe, Shadow Weaver. And Esmer, too, once I knew her purpose.”

“Lies. Utter lies,” Erebus spat. “You’re the villain of this story. And don’t you dare say that Raelion tricked you.” His silver eyes were a storm, his hands like vises upon Mithras’s frail shoulders. “Tell me, damn it. Tell me why you did this so I can use your corpse as a light to find the other dreamers.”

Mithras groaned as something began to play out in the void around us.

Echoes of memories from a different time.

Mithras’s lonely childhood as heir to the throne. The moment he met Erebus, the king’s newly appointed dream interpreter, who quickly became his one true friend. His time with Erebus at Citadels Firstlight and Evernight, honing their abilities. Their shared plan to save the Dream Realm from the demons. And then the moment everything unraveled—King Gabriel, infected by Raelion, confronting Mithras beneath the castle in a shocking betrayal. Raelion rising from the king’s corpse, turning his hunger toward Erebus. Mithras distracting Raelion, begging to be claimed instead.

And more.

So much more.

505 Years Ago: Theia’s Domain in the Dream Realm

Mithras sprinted down a narrow hall, its numerous windows open to the elements.

If it was cold, he couldn’t feel it.

His head throbbed with excruciating pain. He cursed, loud and angry. If he didn’t find her, and find her soon, he’d—

He slammed to a stop.

Delicate curtains, airy as clouds, framed a floor-to-ceiling window at the end of the hall. Beyond was a brilliant landscape of snow and ice, the Weaver’s preferred element.

Theia.

She was sitting on the windowsill, partially hidden by one of the gossamer curtains.

“My father is dead,” Mithras bit out. “He told me everything. How you persuaded him to bind himself to the king of demons. To sacrifice himself—”He choked back an angry sob. “He killed his guards, made me stab him, then destroyed the entrance to your tombs. He’s dead. And now his demon is inside of me.”

“I—I—” Theia stammered.