Page 53 of Cursed By the Dawn

She scoffed. “Important? You regard them like they’re yourgod. You’d feast on the shadows if you could. You’d lap them into your mouth and swallow them whole,” she accused, stepping closer. “You like the way the power makes you feel. The control. The fear in your dreamers’ eyes. You lead them like they’re your puppets. Esmer’s little playthings.”

She was wrong, but it still hurt. “I lead them because I must. And they follow because they believe in what we’re fighting for.”

“They follow because they’re afraid,” she said sharply. “And what’s that voice in your head? It speaks your name like it owns you.”

I said nothing, just shook my head.

Her brown eyes glittered like two round jewels. “Lately it’s been louder, hasn’t it? Asking you to let go. Tounleash.”

“You’re just trying to make me doubt myself.”

“No. I’m trying to make you remember yourself. Your place.” She crossed her arms, regarding me seriously. “The Shadow Bringer was locked in his castle for a reason. If you stand by his side, wielding your dark power as his twisted queen, you’ll damn us all. Just like you did everyone who once loved you.”

“My power isn’t a curse. And Erebus is far more noble than either of us.”

“Of course he is. That’s why a demon lurks insideyourhead and not his. Tell me, what do you think the voice wants from you? And, more importantly, why do you listen?”

Her words echoed in the whirlpool around us. The shadows thickened, smothering me. I began to kneel, groaning under their weight—just as she moved to strike. Our shadows collided, each hit sending shock waves through the tumultuous vortex. She fought as I did, every move a perfect reflection of my own imperfect strength and skill. But the more we fought, the more I realized that her power was fueled by fear. It was in her eyes, the way she flinched from me.

I couldn’t win using calculated strikes.

I’d have to bestronger.

“You’re afraid, and you should be,” I said, growing even more confident when her mouth twitched. “You think I should restrain myself. Deny the power that was made for me. But you’re merely hiding behind your false sense of control. That won’t help us win.”

I shifted tactics, drawing upon a deeper well of power—the resolve that had driven me to protect others, to lead them. With every attack, I reminded myself of my purpose, my connection to Erebus, to the dreamers, to those who believed in me. I wasn’t fighting for myself alone. I was fighting for them. Gradually, the chaos of the storm began to subside, and I felt my present self’s resistance weaken. She faltered, her own shadows flickering, and in that moment, I struck hard, not with anger, but with determination.

She dissolved into the storm, her cries smothered by the shadows.

For a brief moment, the void around me was silent again, calm. The whirlpool had melted into nothingness. But that peace shattered as the shadows shifted once more and I found myself facing someone I struggled to recognize.

My future self.

This Esmer stood tall, her posture rigid, exuding a chilling, untouchable power. Her face was an unfeeling mask, her silver eyes cold and devoid of compassion. Even her hair was drained of color, no longer dark brown but pure white. This future self was terrifyingly distant, a bastion of absolute control.

And she was utterly alone.

She wore a gown I didn’t recognize, an armored dress formed from pure, light-eating obsidian, and multiple sharp adornments that looked like horns. Her white hair, perfectly smoothed into a simple twist, rested at the nape of her neck. Delicate pins held it in place, glimmering like captured starlight, and a spiked crown towered above it. Her arms and legs were not corporeal; instead, they were made of writhing, living shadows.

“Is this what I become?” I whispered in disbelief, clutching my arms to my chest.

Future Esmer’s gaze bored into me, unfeeling.

“This is what it takes,” she intoned, her voice as unyielding and lifeless as stone. “You are meant to stand alone, untouchable. Attachment is weakness. Compassion will only make you vulnerable. You say you fight for them—the dreamers, Erebus, Elliot. But you need to fight foryourself.”

“No,” I said hoarsely. “Power is meaningless without them. I have people I care about.”

“They drain your potential,” she said icily.

“No, they give me purpose.”

She laughed, a cold, derisive sound that echoed through the empty void. “And what happens when you lose them? When they fall, and you’re left to bear the weight alone? You’ll realize, as I did, that attachments are chains, dragging you down. The only path to true power is cutting them loose.”

My future self raised her hand, made from shadow, and the ground beneath us warped, reshaping into a desolate landscape. Hundreds of silhouettes rose shakily from the earth, shadows of lost allies, of sacrifices made for the sake of her ascent.

I stood my ground, furious. “I won’t let that happen. I won’t become you.”

She smiled, though it was more like a fractured grimace. “You already have, foolish girl.”