Page 27 of Gods of Prey (Parallel Prey #3)
Sienna
T he transition from the mortal realm to Umbraeth always feels like drowning in reverse. Like I’m being pulled from suffocating light into the cool embrace of shadows. My spectral form solidifies as I materialize in the obsidian halls of my home, feeling more myself than I have in weeks.
Umbraeth stretches around me in its familiar glory—towers of black stone that pierce a starless sky, Duskvein Rivers flowing between buildings like liquid moonlight. The air hums with the energy of souls in transition, a symphony I’ve conducted for millennia.
Home . Even after more time in the mortal realm, this place calls to my very essence.
But something feels wrong.
The balance that should flow seamlessly between Life and Death stutters like a broken heartbeat. I can feel it in my bones, in the way the shadows seem to lag behind my movements, in how the souls awaiting judgment cluster uncertainly at the threshold between realms.
“Erebus,” I call, my voice echoing through the corridors as I make my way to the throne room.
I received his summons just after Revel finally fell asleep. The events of the past few days have exhausted him so much, I wouldn’t be surprised if he stays near-comatose for the next two days. All three of them likely could.
But I can’t let them waste precious time like that. Not when there’s so much to do. I knew as soon as the messenger crow arrived from Umbraeth that I should return home while the others rested.
Erebus appears before I reach the massive doors, materializing from shadow with the fluid grace that marks him as a true child of darkness. Where Sebastian and I inherited our divine nature, Erebus was born to it—crafted from the very essence of peaceful endings and gentle transitions.
“Sienna.” His voice carries relief and concern in equal measure. “Thank you for returning so quickly. How are things in the mortal realm?”
I pause, studying his face. Erebus has always been beautiful in the way that darkness can be beautiful. Sharp cheekbones, pale skin that seems to absorb light rather than reflect it, eyes like polished onyx. But now I see strain there, exhaustion that shouldn’t touch someone with his power.
Something is wrong. He wouldn’t have called me here unless things grew out of his control.
“He remembers,” I say simply. “Sebastian knows who he is.”
Hope flickers across Erebus’s features. “Then he’ll return? The balance?—”
“He refuses.” The words taste bitter. “He won’t leave the mortal realm without conditions. Won’t leave Jovie.”
Erebus’s expression darkens, and for a moment, the surrounding shadows deepen in response to his mood. “Sienna, we don’t have time for his mortal entanglements. The realm is?—”
“I know what the realm is,” I snap, then immediately regret my tone. Erebus doesn’t deserve my frustration. In a softer tone, I add, “I can feel it. How bad has it gotten?”
He gestures for me to follow him toward the viewing alcove that overlooks the Soul Processing Centers. What I see makes my divine heart clench.
Souls crowd the entry points, confused and directionless.
Without Sebastian’s life force to properly guide the newly deceased, they’re backing up like water behind a dam.
Some flicker between realms, unable to find their proper destination.
Others begin to fade entirely, their essence scattering into nothing.
“It started a few hours ago,” Erebus explains, his voice tight with controlled worry. “Small disruptions at first. But now...” He waves a hand, and the view shifts to show the border between our realm and Aurelys. “Look at the boundary.”
The normally clear division between Life and Death wavers like heat shimmer. Patches of Aurelys’s golden light bleed through into our silver darkness, while tendrils of shadow creep into the realm of Life. The sight makes me nauseous.
“The Divine Council has noticed,” I guess.
Erebus nods grimly. “They’ve been sending inquiries. Subtle ones, at first—asking about processing delays, questioning why certain souls haven’t moved through the system. But yesterday—” He turns to face me fully. “Yesterday, Lady Myelle arrived unannounced.”
My blood turns to ice.
Myelle rarely leaves the Divine Sanctum. She’s got to know something.
“What did you tell her?”
“That Sebastian was conducting a deep review of life force allocation in the mortal realm,” Erebus says. “That you were assisting him. I bought us time.”
I begin pacing, my mortal anxiety bleeding through despite my divine form. “How much time?”
“It’s impossible to guess, but not much.
” Erebus moves closer, and I can see the genuine concern in his dark eyes.
“Sienna, they’re going to discover what Sebastian has done.
When they realize he’s been manipulating timelines for a mortal and we’ve been hiding it—” He doesn’t finish the sentence. He doesn’t need to.
Timeline manipulation is forbidden for exactly this reason. It creates fractures that can destabilize the entire cosmic order. The punishment for such a transgression isn’t exile or additional mortal lifetimes. It’s complete erasure from existence.
“There has to be something we can do,” I say, though even as the words leave my lips, I know how futile they sound.
Erebus reaches out, his fingers ghosting along my arm in a gesture that’s meant to be comforting. “I’ll do what I can to protect you both. You know that.”
I do know that. Erebus has been my second-in-command for centuries, but more than that, he’s been my friend. One of the few beings in any realm who’s never judged me for the mistakes that led to my punishment. Who’s never looked at me with pity or disappointment, only empathy.
“Why?” I ask quietly. “You could have reported Sebastian’s absence immediately. Could have gained favor with the council by exposing us. Why are you helping?”
It’s the same question I’ve asked Revel so many times, because none of it makes sense when they stand to gain so much.
His smile is soft, tinged with something I can’t quite identify. “Because you matter to me. Because what you and Sebastian have endured...it’s enough. I’ve thought it for some time. You deserve happiness.”
The sincerity in his voice catches me off guard. In all our years working together, he’s maintained professional distance. Respectful, efficient, loyal—but never personal. Never intimate.
“Erebus . . . ”
“I know my place,” he says quickly, stepping back. “I’m not presuming anything. But I care about your wellbeing. Both of you.”
I want to say something, to acknowledge what I hear beneath his words, but the weight of our situation crushes any personal thoughts. “What happens when the Divine Council comes for us?”
“I’ll stand with you,” he says without hesitation.
“My testimony might carry some weight with them. I’ve served faithfully, maintained the realm alongside Revel without issue.
But Sienna...” His expression grows grave.
“My power has limits. I’m an interim, not true-born to the role.
If they decide to make an example of you and Sebastian?—”
He doesn’t need to finish. We both know what happened to the last divine who defied the council’s will so blatantly. Lux, the former god of chaos, was unmade so thoroughly that even speaking his name is forbidden.
“How much longer can you maintain the balance alone?” I ask.
“I’m already at my limit,” he admits, and I can see the exhaustion he’s been hiding.
Shadows beneath his eyes, a slight tremor in his hands.
“The realm needs both Life and Death to function properly. Without Sebastian’s active participation or Revel’s help, I’m essentially doing the work of three gods. ”
Guilt crashes over me. While I’ve been in the mortal realm playing games with Revel, wrestling with my feelings about Sebastian’s happiness, Erebus has been holding our entire domain together through sheer force of will.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper. “I should have?—”
“You should have brought your brother home by now,” Erebus says gently but firmly. “That was your mission. But I understand why you didn’t.”
I look at him sharply. “What do you mean?”
His smile is knowing. “I’ve watched you for centuries. I know when something changes you. And whatever happened in that mortal realm—whoever you encountered there—has changed you.”
Revel’s face flashes in my mind, followed immediately by Jovie’s. The two who’ve somehow worked their way under my divine skin, making me question everything I’ve believed about duty and sacrifice.
“It doesn’t matter,” I say, more to convince myself than him. “Personal feelings can’t override cosmic necessity.”
“Can’t they?” Erebus tilts his head. “Your brother seems to think they can.”
“Sebastian is being selfish. There’s no room for the both of us to get what we want.”
“Is he? Or is he being human?” Erebus moves to the great window that shows the mortal realm below. “You’ve both been mortals for thirty-three lifetimes. You’ve felt human love, human loss, human hope. How can the Divine Council expect you to simply switch that off when you return to divine form?”
His words hit too close to home. I join him at the window, looking down at the tiny lights that represent mortal lives—each one a story, a love, a dream.
“What would you do?” I ask quietly. “If you had to choose between duty and love?”
Erebus is quiet for a long moment. When he speaks, his voice is barely above a whisper. “I think I’m about to find out.”