Page 60 of The Cruel Dawn (Vallendor #2)

I’m speeding through the Aetherium like a dying star, through the dust of realms that used to be and realms yet to come. Pain slices through my core and cuts into my heart, burning up my throat until it fills my body like broken glass.

I want to scream. I’ve never felt pain like this, and I never will again.

I want to close my eyes forever, but in Anathema, I will wander with them open.

I tried to do the best I could for the realm, for my people, but it was never enough, and now…I’m dead.

However…I glimpse a realm that I don’t know. I want to turn my head away, but my neck won’t move no matter how hard I try.

Ithlon Realm.

Heat surrounds me in this new land with its sea of crystal. As the flames around me die, I glimpse a colorful quilt on the seashore.

I see a tall woman bright with light, with glowing bronze skin, her wild curls the color of mulberries and cinnamon.

I see a man, his bare chest covered in the orbs and vines of destroyed realms, his eyes ever-changing pools of golden smoke. Sitting between them: a girl with still-soft knees and pudgy arms, her wild hair and his golden eyes. The girl piles wet sand to form a castle.

The world beyond this beach is a drab shoreline. There are no fish swimming in the sea, no birds flying across the sky, no slick-backed creatures slipping like arrows through water.

A basket filled with honeycakes, wine, and crabapples sits on that quilt. The knife by that spread isn’t meant to slice food. It’s a weapon of war.

Not far away, one raven perches on a boulder while another hops across a fallen, rotted tree. Their feathers are as glossy as the sea.

The man stands and scoops the tot from her piles of sand. He plants kisses on her ruddy cheeks and runs his fingers through her curly hair. He smiles, but there is regret in his eyes.

The woman stands, and the joy in her face melts into fear and worry.

His smile dies and his smoky eyes turn as flat and lifeless as the waters beyond this beach.

She presses her face against his large hand as she speaks.

What is she saying?

He kisses the top of the child’s head. The girl pulls a lock of his thick hair. He presses his forehead to her tiny one.

A raven hops across that quilt and picks through the basket of sweets. The bird finds a small cake but then discovers the knife. It drops the cake, plucks the knife from the basket, and soars back into the dying forest.

For a moment, the woman watches the raven. Then she turns back.

Her loves have started walking along the shore without her, their heads pressed together like old friends.

The second raven swoops from the tree trunk and hops onto the quilt. A third raven joins it, the two birds cackling together like old women.

Why are you leaving her?

Why are they walking away from her?

Why is she running but not catching up to them?

A rock explodes in the sky, trailing a streak of fire.

The meteor crashes onto the beach with an earth-shattering roar, and the land quakes beneath it.

Sharp rocks scatter in all directions. The sky fills with swirling red clouds, obscuring the daystar.

The sea of crystal waters turns murky, and the land of glass grows scorched and brittle from the heat pouring from the crater.

A misty breeze surrounds me. The violet light in the sky— this can’t be the same sky —grows impossibly bright. I’m falling through space again, and in the distance, fast-approaching, I see my mother.

I see Veril.

I tried with my whole heart, wise one, and I failed.

And I sink through a bank of fog that breaks apart, and with a clap of thunder, the sky brightens to maroon and gold.

What a glorious light!

A woman shrieks somewhere beneath me. The stink of human waste and sickness fills my nostrils.

And then I see blood splattering on the hard-packed earth.

Where am I? A coop of chickens: dead birds and diseased eggs.

The rooftops of houses have been ripped away, exposing the people to the heat and icy rains.

The bodies of the livestock and their owners are covered with lice.

Outside of town, corpses are piled like cords of wood, and animals nibble at the lifeless limbs of the dead.

The altars to the Lady of the Verdant Realm have been toppled and smashed. The paddled colures of Supreme—and Syrus Wake as Supreme Manifest—have been broken and stomped upon. These people no longer believe in anything.

There is too much despair. Too much disease and wickedness and…

Too much of me.

I stand in a realm of rain and sky painted in shades of gray.

This is the realm of Melki, once a world of quiet strength.

Its people had thrived under the rhythmic patter of the rain, finding comfort in the gloom, in the life-giving water.

But beneath its surface, corruption had festered: they’d turned to sorcery, twisting the natural order to steal life from each other, in a quest for immortality.

No one lived as they’d been born. No one’s body worked as it should’ve: they’d become upright minulles and worupines, warped and unnatural.

I’d pleaded with the Council for permission to intervene.

“Melki is unraveling,” I’d argued. “The people can’t see the cost of what they’re doing.

” But the Council had refused me, so I defied them only so that I could protect the beings of nearby realms, beings who would be vulnerable to the sorcery unleashed on Melki.

I couldn’t wait for the Council to see all that I saw.

How many would die beyond this already-dying realm if I’d waited?

When the priests of Melki unleashed their final ritual to grant themselves immortality by destroying the realm around them, threatening to siphon the lifeblood of children—who no longer resembled children—I had no choice but to act.

My Mera army, Zephar included, called down a firestorm that consumed Melki until the realm was no more. It was too late to do anything else.

I blink, and I stand in a realm of mountains.

Yoffa had been a fortress of strength. Its peaks scraped the heavens and its mortals were hardy and durable.

But their strength turned to hubris. The rulers all across Yoffa believed themselves untouchable and had carved deep into the mountains to mine forbidden minerals, to feed their deadly ambitions.

I’d watched in horror as the mountains cracked and groaned, as fiery rivers poured from the earth, consuming villages and forests alike.

I’d begged Yoffa’s leaders to stop, to turn away from their recklessness.

They’d laughed, calling me a meddling goddess who didn’t understand the value of their discovery.

And so I shattered Yoffa’s tallest peaks.

The mountains bled fire one last time before falling silent forever.

I blink, and I’m returned to Ithlon, my home of endless green land and clear blue seas.

The mortals there had lived in harmony with the land, tending to its verdant forests and sprawling meadows.

But Ithlon’s beauty had drawn envious eyes.

Dindt raiders and Yeadens from other realms invaded regularly, tearing apart its harmony with war and conquest. Desperate to protect their home, Ithlonians had turned to an artifact discovered by the Dindt in a far-off realm—a Mera relic of destruction meant only for the gods’ use.

I saw what was coming. The artifact’s power would ripple outward, destroying not just Ithlon but every nearby realm.

I pleaded with the senators of Ithlon to give up the relic, to trust me to find another way.

But they were desperate, and their fear outweighed their faith.

That artifact awakened, and its power spiraled out of control, out toward other realms…

I had no choice.

Diminished. Destroyer of Realms. Condemned for my actions. Stripped of my powers. Imprisoned on Vallendor. I was called impulsive, reckless, and deemed unworthy of the trust placed in me. And yet I knew I’d done what was necessary.

I explode past the fog and slam into something unyielding.

I’m no longer moving.

Rain pelts my face, and I wince as each drop rips at my skin. I stare at the sky, and the sky looks bruised. Yellows and purples and grays, and all of it glows bright… I want to close my eyes against the light.

A brightly colored bird hovers above me. She circles in that bruised sky with grace and drifts down to me until she’s just out of reach.

Is it over? Is Vallendor gone?

Will this daxinea find her clan here in Anathema?

I’m still so tired, and I can’t move or speak.

If I can’t speak, how will I speak the word? If I can’t move, how will I punish those who helped bring Vallendor to her end?

One of the daxinea’s tail feathers could save me, but that would kill her. But if I’m now in Anathema, she, too, must be dead. The living do not abide with the dead.

Something heavy lies across my bare stomach. I glance down to see…Cruel Dawn. I didn’t realize that she hadn’t left me—with my body decaying, I just couldn’t feel her presence. This sword…the only gift I have left of my father, proof that someone loved me. Even in Anathema, I must fight.

I need to move.

The daxinea flies closer, lifting her wings, shielding me from some of the rain that tears away my skin.

The air warms because she’s near. My bones and muscles no longer ache.

I close my eyes, but that light still grows brighter and whiter…

I still want to turn my head, but I can’t because I’m dead.

It is my time.

Loosen me from the glades.

Let not the sting

And wonder of death’s blades

Keep me realm-side…

At least I still have my memory of that prayer.

Do I need to use my time here to avenge Vallendor? Is that what’s expected of me? Am I ready to see what’s beyond this realm?

I close the eyes of my mind because I’m ready now. I’m ready with my whole heart.

Maybe my body will help grow a new realm, a place of life and love. Maybe Supreme will take all the best parts of me to seed this place, sprinkle my blood—the Blood of All—to spark new life.

But am I a good seed?

The daxinea pokes me with her crimson beak and bends to peer at me with bright golden eyes. “Arise, Lady.”

But I can’t rise.

The daxinea nudges me again. “I will take you to the healing place.”

But I’m beyond healing now.

The Aetherium moves on, but where are the others?

“You are here for a purpose.”

Tears stream from the corners of my eyes and slip into my ears.

“Come, Lady.” The daxinea prods and pokes and forces me to sit up.

My armor’s gone. Even my bandeau and leather breeches have disintegrated like strips of old skin. In Anathema, one is naked as a newborn again—

My head pounds, filled with tiny explosions.

“Come, Lady.” The daxinea pries my arms apart and drapes one of my arms over her neck. “Come.”

I shift onto my creaky knees as she lifts her wing to roll me onto her back.

With one hand, I clutch Cruel Dawn, and with the other, I hold on to her neck, nestling my face into her soft, shimmering blue-and-gold feathers.

“Where are we going, Lovely?” I whisper.

To see my mother?

To see Veril?

Sybel should be here.

Or have all three spoken the word, choosing to leave this place instead of waiting to reunite with me? Is Father here? If Vallendor is gone, he’ll be here, too.

“Are we going to see my family?” I ask the daxinea.

She doesn’t respond. She drifts up and out of the canyon, crooning a song as she soars.

Dawn only shines

When it shines through the haze.

You, Precious One,

Are the fury and blaze…

I know this song. I know this song because I wrote it just for her.