Page 52 of Cursed By the Dawn

“I didn’t forget anything. I—”

“You forgotme!” Her voice cracked in anguish. “You don’t get it,” she cried, shaking her head. “You buried me out of shame. Tore me out like rot. But I’m still here. In every shadow. In every fear you hide. I’m the one who dared to dream when no one else would. The one who walked into the Dream Realm and return unscathed, even when her own sister died.”

Mist drew around the corpses, curling toward her as if it was drawn to her rage. I felt it clearly, then—the throb of power behind her eyes. Chaotic. Unchecked. The storm I had once been.

“We were reckless,” I said, voice tight with grief. “Eden died becauseof us. And then after she passed, Mother and Father were never the same. Her death destroyed them. Destroyed Norhavellis, too.”

The girl’s eyes lowered, lingering on Eden’s body. On Mother’s and Father’s.

Don’t look, Esmer. Don’t look at their bodies.

I struggled to keep my chin high.

She suddenly drew closer, gripping my hands. “You think you’re better now with Erebus by your side. With your armor and your title and your perfect castle. I didn’t have any of that. I had only me. And now you look at me like I’m something to be ashamed of. But you know what? You’re still reckless and selfish. Just. Like. Me.”

I reeled backward, stunned by the depth of her hatred, while memories bubbled up. The memory of how I had begged Eden to dream without considering the consequences. The memory of how my magic had once lashed out uncontrollably, leaching from Erebus’s in an unrestrained burst as it attacked his demons—whom I now understood to have been dreamers trapped in demonic bodies. The lack of control when I demanded to show Raelion to the dreamers.

“I’ve grown since then,” I said, trying to tamp down the tremor in my voice. “I’ve learned and trained. I can’t lose control like that anymore.”

A bitter laugh exploded from the girl’s lips. “Why not? You’ve already lost everything. Just let your power go, Esmer. Let it rise. Let itdestroy. If you don’t, you’ll never win. You’ll end up here, with me.”

Her words stung, but I refused to let her undermine me. I held her gaze, steady and resolute. “Power without control is nothing but chaos.” Shadows swirled at my fingertips, calm and focused. Control didn’t make me weak. It made me strong. “And I didn’t abandon my power. I refined it. I’m a Shadow Weaver now.”

A scowl twisted her lips; I saw a familiar fury in her glistening eyes.

A need to beseen.

Without another word, she lunged for me.

A fight, then.

Shadows burst from her hands, swiping at me in erratic blasts. I countered, calling forth my own shadows, weaving them into a shield that absorbed her onslaught. We clashed again and again, each of her attacks met with a controlled, calculated response. She fought like a wildfire, her power unrestrained and destructive. I met her with precision, each move designed to protect, not to harm. Slowly, my past self’s rage began to falter, her frantic attacks losing their bite.

In a final surge, I called my shadows, gathering them with every ounce of control I’d learned. I struck hard and fast, a single focused blow, and the younger version of myself fell to her knees. Her rage was extinguished, doused as if by water. She hunched over, sobbing into her skirt. She was so small. Only a child.

I wanted to hold her.

Dazedly, I walked forward—just as the bodies faded, her form dissolving into smoke. I felt a weight lift, but there was no relief. Only the lingering bitterness of old wounds reopened. I stood alone again in the void, but I knew the trial was far from over.

The chamber shifted, bending as if distorted by time.

I squeezed my eyes shut, shielding them against a rising wind. When I opened them again, I was standing in the center of a dark whirlpool. Its shadows pulled at my feet, my arms, my hair. The rushing vortex towered over me, rising taller than I could see.CRACK!The air sizzled around me, zapping over my head in a distorted halo. And there, standing in the heart of the chaos, was my present self.

I tensed, instantly wary.

It was like looking into a mirror. She wore a somber black dress that covered every inch of her skin, long sleeved and high collared, as if she was preparing to mourn something not yet dead. Shadows wreathed her like loyal pets, growing in power as they tugged at her skirt, but she kept her gaze straight, ignoring them.

“Look at you,” she said, eyes sweeping over me with disdain so precise it felt personal. “You wear your power like it’s silk. Wrap it around your shoulders, lace it into your spine. But you’re rotting underneath.”

“I’m not,” I said flatly, standing my ground.I won’t fall for this again.“I know who I am.”

She tilted her head. “Do you? Do you also know that the Seven won’t ever respect you? That your dreamers whisper behind your back?”

“They have far better things to focus on than me.”

“They wonder what kind of Weaver would tie themselves to a monster like the Shadow Bringer,” she insisted. “They also wonder what kind of girl would embrace shadow magic and expect not to be Corrupted.” I winced, not expecting her words to wound so deeply. She barreled on, sensing my discomfort. “The dreamers only follow you because of their circumstances, when in reality they wish they’d been tethered to any other Weaver domain. Theyhateyour shadows.”

“The shadows are an important part of us.”