Page 13

His skin was already graying, and there was a certain…

slackness to his face made more noticeable when he talked—the muscles too relaxed in death to properly form words.

Yet he spoke remarkably well. There was a slight slur, but underneath it, Taly detected traces of a polished, if somewhat old-fashioned accent.

“Well, well, well…” the corpse drawled with unsettling brightness. “ Finally, we get a chance to—”

In one swift, fluid movement, Taly raised her gun and fired. A blast rocked the tavern. The bullet slammed into the corpse’s chest, sending him flying back mid-sentence, chair tipping.

His body thudded against the tavern floor.

Luck stared at her, eyes rounded, smirk frozen.

“Damn shades,” Taly muttered. A faint hum lingered in the air as her pistol cooled, the runes along the barrel fading from vivid blue to a soft silver. “They never get less creepy.”

A hand slammed onto the table hard enough to rattle candlesticks.

“ What the— ”

Taly fired two more shots in quick succession. The first caught the corpse in the shoulder as he struggled to push himself up. The force wrenched him back, opening the way for the second.

It barreled into his chest—into the shadow crystal powering his unholy reanimation.

His body toppled for the final time.

Taly raised her pistol in salute. “It’s been weird, kid. Remember—kneecaps.”

She heaved open the heavy oak door. A gust of frigid wind swept in.

But instead of the forest, there was nothing. Only a vast emptiness—a yawning, bottomless abyss, blacker than anything she’d ever seen.

“Oh no!” Luck cried, pressing both palms to her cheeks in mock horror. “Did I forget to mention that door doesn’t lead anywhere?”

The blackness had a suction to it. Taly stumbled forward. Her aether flared, what was left of it, and she thrust the magic outward, reaching for something— anything —solid enough to grab onto.

But all she felt was hollowness.

The Weave was there, but thin and trembling, stretched to the breaking point.

It clicked then. A strange sense of clarity settled in the back of her mind.

“I’m dreaming,” Taly whispered.

At the realization, the doors slammed shut on an invisible wind.

None of it was real. Not the tavern, not the gun in her hand—not even the pain in her lungs, which eased with each breath now that she knew it was nothing but shadows in her mind.

“Luck, here, has the ability to pull others into her dreams.” The corpse was back on his feet, standing beside the table. Not dead after all.

“That’s impossible,” Taly murmured, rubbing her chest. “Humans don’t have magic.”

“You did,” Luck countered. Taly’s brows flicked up.

“Humans have their own unique talents,” the corpse explained.

“They just don’t surface except under very limited circumstances.

Exposure to certain energies, specific locations, even traumatic events…

these can sometimes awaken the dormant potential.

Our Luck here is a prime example. A confluence of factors, you might say.

” He smiled, a chillingly possessive expression, like a collector admiring a rare specimen.

Taly didn’t know if she believed it. Humans with magic? It shattered everything she thought she knew. But it didn’t matter right now. Whoever created this dream, it didn’t change what she had to do.

Her body was still back in the woods, defenseless. She needed an escape.

Luckily, she knew a thing or two about dreams—how they worked, how to find their cracks and weaknesses.

“You think this is enough to keep me here?” Taly raised her pistol. “Dreams break just like anything else. Calcifer, get ready.”

There should have been movement, a shift of weight at her side.

There was only silence.

No claws on the floorboards. No steadying breath.

“Calcifer?” She reached for him, but instead of fur, her fingers met something else—something cold and slick, like leather left out in the rain.

She recoiled, snatching her hand back.

The blue of his eyes flickered, then warped. His form twisted, teeth jutting out at odd angles. His body shrank, curling in on itself, becoming gaunt and gnarled.

Taly yelped, stumbling back.

The goblin-like creature cackled before scurrying off.

Luck’s grin turned feral. “Got ya,” she gloated. “Shit, you really are stupid enough to think I’d pull the mimic in with you?” A scoff. “Typical Fey, always underestimating human ingenuity.”

Taly really hated that kid.

“For the record,” the corpse drawled. “I am not a shade, and I am not dead, despite the ghastly pallor.” He gestured down at his body. “Truly, I don’t know why Luck chose this particular form?”

Luck flashed a grin, clearly proud of herself. “Come on, it’s symbolic. I don’t know if you’ve taken a look at your army lately, but they’re, uh, a little past the expiration date.”

“And the strobe lights? Are those entirely necessary?” He gestured at the arches, still flashing erratically.

“Strategic ambiance,” she said sweetly. “Psychological priming. Flash ‘em until they flinch. Works on time mages and small animals.”

Taly stared at her. Yep. Definitely a psychopath .

The corpse gave the illusion of a sigh, a slow release of something that wasn’t breath. He leaned against the table, hands flat . His fingers curled against the wood, deliberate, controlled. As if restraining himself from flipping it.

“Remind me,” he said, each word measured in a way that promised consequences. “What, exactly, were my instructions?”

Luck opened her mouth like she might answer—

His fist slammed into the table. Luck jumped.

“Make a good impression. That was it. No theatrics, no stunts. Just a quiet, respectable exchange between future friends.”

He exhaled sharply—a forced motion, performed rather than felt. His gaze cut back to Luck, flat and cold.

“And instead, you give me a rave.”

He waved a hand at the strobing lights, blinking as if they physically pained him.

“And this?” He cast a disdainful glance down his body. “I requested approachable sophistication. A quiet authority. Maybe a hint of danger. How do you get from that to—what, exactly? Am I a sponge for her bullets? Was that your intent?”

“You have to admit, she does seem a bit calmer now that she’s shot you a few times,” Luck pointed out.

The corpse’s stare didn’t waver, his gaze darkening as the silence grew heavier. Luck shifted on her feet, her earlier smirk fading as her eyes dropped.

Taly clenched her jaw. She really, really didn’t like this girl—but she also couldn’t shake the feeling that maybe she had a responsibility to keep a child from being murdered right in front of her. No matter how obnoxious that child happened to be.

She was still deciding when the corpse smiled, the tension snapping as he let out an exasperated sigh. “Oh, I can’t stay mad at you.” He ruffled the girl’s hair. “A unique talent for lawlessness, this one. In addition to other abilities, obviously.”

A gesture around the room.

“Still, Luck, darling—perhaps you could kill the lighting. Also, get me a better suit. You know how I feel about possessing the dead. Convenient, to be sure, and unnerving,” he added with a wink at Taly.

“But honestly, the lack of proper… circulation… is rather distracting. One needs all one’s faculties for a negotiation of this magnitude. ”

Luck sighed. “You’re no fun.”

“I know. But how about this? Help me finish here, and you can choose what screams next.”

Luck perked up at that, then snapped her fingers. The arches cut off instantly, the light evening out over the room.

And the corpse—he also changed. Flesh melted, limbs stretched. The rough, gray skin softened, becoming pale and flawless. Long, dark hair spilled down his back.

“You’ll have to forgive her,” he said, gesturing toward the girl.

With each word, the roughness in his voice smoothed, slipping into something almost musical.

“She’s been cooped up far too long. I probably should’ve taken her for a walk first to get out some of that pent-up blood rage before unleashing her upon the world. Ah, well, live and learn.”

“Who are you?” Taly whispered.

“Why, my dear, isn’t it obvious?” With a winning smile, he spread his arms. “I’m him .

The commander of the undead legion. Vaughn’s…

employer, if you will. And this is the part of the story where our intrepid hero finally comes face-to-face with the ever-charming, dashingly enigmatic, profoundly misunderstood villain—none other than yours truly. ”

He straightened his jacket—now free of bullet holes—before bowing, flourishing a hand with practiced drama. “Aneirin, at your service. Aneirin of the Ash-Shallayn.”

He presented it to her like a gift, as if she should be dazzled by the mere sound of it.

But Taly wasn’t dazzled. She wasn’t afraid.

She was angry.

This was the man who had defiled her home. Who had sent his armies to carve through her island like rot through wood.

And now he stood here—calm, composed, expectant. Like he deserved civility.

She had none left for him.

Taly tilted her chin up, meeting his gaze. “Vaughn’s dead,” she said lowly. “I killed him.”

She wanted him to know.

But Aneirin barely blinked. “Oh, yes,” he said, voice smooth as silk. “I figured that once the poor bastard failed to check in.”

“That’s it?” Taly’s voice rose, a question and an accusation all in one. “He worked for you, followed your orders. Don’t you care at all?”

“Care?” he echoed, like it was a joke he didn’t get. “My dear, if I cared for every fool who sacrificed himself on my behalf, I’d have nothing left to give. And besides, I sent him to you as a gift.”

Taly blinked. “A gift?”

“Yes. Don’t get me wrong. I was hoping he would succeed this time and manage to deliver you to me unharmed and unsullied.

But, barring that, I wanted you to have the kill.

The man tried to assault you in the worst way.

I do not pride myself on being good by any means, but even I do not condone rape . I’m sure it was… cathartic.”