Page 90 of Cursed By the Dawn

But despite the splendor, the room was unsettlingly empty. There was no sign of the Weaver of the Future—no ethereal presence, no warmth in the air, only the cold gleam of glass and diamond.

Not even her bones.

Erebus’s voice, almost hesitant, broke the silence. “She’s not here.”

I shook my head, unwilling to believe it. Because if Theia was gone, then that likely meant the other Weavers were, too.

“But sheshouldbe here, right? Is there another place she could be sleeping?” Cold fear washed over me. “Could she have been taken?” Dead. She’sdead.

His brow furrowed as he studied the room. “If she were captured, there would be clues. But…” He trailed off, continuing to sweep his gaze over the pristine space. “Everything is in perfect order. There are no signs of a struggle. It’s as if she simply vanished.”

I didn’t like this at all. Something about the stillness of the room didn’t sit right, as if time itself had paused here. Even the mirrors reflected an unsettling perfection.

“We should search the rest of the tombs. There must be a reason for this. A sign, a trace—something.”

The next tomb was Xander’s. As with Theia’s, the door opened easily.

But unlike Theia’s, there was a body still inside.

Xander’s tomb was simple and regal, much like the man himself.

Iron adorned every surface, shimmering with silver filigree. On the ceiling, painted in painstaking detail, were two maps: The Kingdom of Noctis was on the left, and the Dream Realm was on the right. I lingered on Norhavellis, the sight of it twisting something soft in my chest. I wondered if I’d ever see it again. If I’d even want to.

Xander was lying on top of an enormous bed, unnaturally still under a crimson blanket. His chiseled features were serene, perfect; not a single chestnut hair was out of place. It truly did look as though he’d been slumbering here for centuries, frozen in immortal sleep. His shrewd brown eyes were closed, unmoving. They did not so much as twitch.

“Do you think he’ll wake up?” I asked, voice low.

“We’re not leaving here until he does,” Erebus answered, determined. “Do you feel the remnants of our shadows? They’re responding to the slumbering Weaver magic. Let’s try to reach him.”

We moved closer, placing our palms on his chest. Xander wore a striking gray doublet embroidered with gold and red thread. It was difficult to feel if he was still breathing. He felt distant, untouchable—asthough he was trapped in another plane entirely. Erebus’s hand closed over mine, steady and warm.

Together, we sent our faint magic, bolstered by the tomb, into Xander.

The connection sparked faintly at first, hesitant. But then it burst with the force of a thunderclap. Xander’s chest rose sharply, a gasp tearing from his lips as his eyes snapped open. His gaze darted around the room, sharp but disoriented, before landing on me.

My breath hitched, expecting the worst.

“Esmer?” he bit out, clutching his chest. It was exactly where Raelion’s chain had pierced him. “And… Erebus.” His eyes welled. “You came for us. We’d lost all hope.” Then, frantically, “Maker, it still hurts. It shouldn’t still hurt.” He doubled over, groaning in terrible pain. “Go. Please. Leave me to acclimate.”

Erebus nodded. “We’ll wake the others.”

Xander gritted his teeth, movements slow and deliberate as he swung his legs over his bed. Even now, weakened and shaken, he exuded an air of quiet authority. If only he’d been made king instead of Mithras.

Each of the other rooms told a story of its inhabitant, the echoes of their personality carved into stone and fabric alike.

Somnus’s chamber was predictably unsettling. The walls seemed to shift and breathe underneath a ceiling of curved bones—really,reallylong bones—their surfaces alive with shadows that whispered unintelligible secrets. The air was sweet with the scent of incense, a rich mixture of sandalwood and petrichor. Somnus lay sprawled on an elegant divan, draped in flowing black robes. He wore jewelry carved from more bones—human?—which adorned his ears, neck, and pale hands.

He woke slowly, happily, lips curving into a smirk as his depthless eyes found us.

“To what do I owe the pleasure of this glorious awakening?” Somnus drawled. Then he winced, doubling over as he, too, clutched his chest. “Ah, that is right. I owemyselfthe pleasure. Since it wasIwho welcomed Erebus to the Dream Realm all those years ago.Iwho found Esmer and encouraged her power.Iwho helped free you.”

“Don’t start,” Erebus said, his tone clipped. But he was smiling.

Maker, he wassmiling.

“It’s good to see you again, Somnus,” I said, unable to stop myself from smiling, too. “Truly.”

Somnus’s nose wrinkled as he eyed our bloodstained clothes. “I’d call this touching and give you both a hug, but I fear it would sully my good robes.” He gestured for us to leave his chambers, offering a smile of his own. “Be off, then. Rouse the rest while I gather myself.”