Cursed by the Dawn

Book 2: The Shadow Weavers Duology

by Logan Karlie

Genres: YA Dark Fantasy; YA Romance; Sword & Sorcery

Synopsis

This captivating sequel to the New York Times-bestselling Dream by the Shadows is filled with revenge, romance, and redemption. Perfect for fans of Adalyn Grace.

Esmer Havenfall thought freeing Erebus from his five-hundred-year imprisonment would end her nightmare. Instead, it has only just begun. Now bound by fate and darkness, Esmer and Erebus are no longer just dreamers—they are Shadow Weavers, wielders of a power both divine and damning. And something is already clawing its way through the Dream Realm’s cracks. 
 
Raelion, the demon king lurking within Mithras, is poised to destroy the world. His corruptive curse spreads like a plague, twisting dreams into nightmares and turning humans into monsters. If Esmer and Erebus are to survive, they must achieve the impossible: forge an army from the broken and unravel ancient horrors before it’s too late. But when Esmer and Erebus are abruptly cast from the Dream Realm into a kingdom teetering on the edge of ruin, they quickly learn that something monstrous has already slipped through—and their love might be the first thing it devours.

Release date: August 4, 2026

Publisher: Little, Brown Books for Young Readers

Print pages: 352

Sample

500 Years Later

If looks could kill, Somnus would have been dead on the ground, tangled in a web of his own silken hair.

“Shadow Weavers,” Erebus and I both bit out, echoing Somnus’s shocking declaration.

Shadow Weavers.

Plural.

The onyx crown atop my head suddenly felt heavy and strange. A symbol meant for someone else. Not me. The boots on my feet, laced up to my knees, seemed too tight; my dress, layered with scales and satin, too heavy. I was in a costume fit for a queen. But who was I, Esmer Havenfall, to command such a title?

Erebus’s claw-tipped hand found mine, giving it a firm squeeze.

He’s just as uncomfortable as I am, I realized.

Our palms, covered by thin leather instead of the brutal metal that protected the rest of our bodies, met easily, just as a thread of shadow slid around my shoulder, caressing the nape of my neck. I wasn’t sure if the shadow was from Erebus, myself, or our shared power made sentient, somehow. Perhaps it didn’t even matter.

I squared my shoulders.

A wicked king and queen who can perhaps use their darkness for good.

But how?

“Yes. Weavers,” Somnus, Weaver of the Past, answered, black eyes glittering in amusement. “Lord Erebus and Lady Esmer, Shadow Weavers of the Dream Realm. The Seven owe you a warm welcome.”

“Is this some twisted farce?” Erebus asked. Where Somnus had spoken with triumph, eager to declare us Shadow Weavers, Erebus’s question dripped with violence. His eyes were silver blades, eager for Somnus-shaped prey. “Esmer, the rest of these innocent dreamers, and I are finally free,” he continued, enraged. “We are not about to crawl back into one of your cages.”

Somnus muttered under his breath, “With that attitude, your welcome will be lukewarm. Perhaps even cold.”

I’d grown up reading tales of the immortal beings who ruled over the Dream Realm. The seven Weavers had trained legions of talented dreamers, gifted humanity with prophetic visions from the Maker, and fought valiantly against the darkness that threatened to consume both the Kingdom of Noctis and the Dream Realm.

But the demons had won.

For five centuries it was assumed the Weavers were either in hiding or had perished under the demons’ might. Their physical bodies, along with their manifested dream selves, had not been seen since the dawn of Corruption. Only Mithras the Light Bringer, the holy sovereign of Noctis, kept the kingdom in balance, granting his people the gift of elixir to ward off both dreams and Corruption. But over time, Corruption had worsened. The elixir had grown scarce. And after Mithras had accused me of allying with Erebus, he’d left me for dead in the Tomb of the Devourer. But not before slaughtering his own legionnaires in a brutal surprise, all to keep the tomb’s location a secret.

And then he took Elliot.

A lump formed in my throat as I remembered the last time I’d seen my brother. His scrawny body had looked like a rag doll in Silas’s arms, brown curls falling messily over his face as Mithras’s trusted Light Legionnaire prepared to take him away. He’d looked younger than ten years old, so helpless and strange without light in his eyes. He needed me, and yet I was still stuck in a dream, unable to reach him in reality. I’d thought freeing myself from Erebus’s castle would bring me closer to saving him, not further away. But so much was still out of my control.

Wait for me, Elliot. Please.

“I’d counter that the Seven owe us more than a paltry welcome. An apology, for one,” Ceveon said with a bitter laugh. “There was the minor inconvenience of us being trapped in the bodies of demons and all.”

Ceveon stood as tall as he could manage, but it was clear he was still getting used to his new body. Even though he no longer looked like a demon, there was something in the way he held himself that was reminiscent of his monstrous form.

Still, he was strikingly handsome. Both of Erebus’s comrades were.

Ceveon was all strong, magnetic energy. A scar split the light brown skin of his nose and wrapped around his face to where it hid underneath waves of caramel-brown hair. His green eyes were in stark contrast to Sorren’s, which were a piercing ice blue. Sorren stood in Ceveon’s shadow, his pale, angular face perpetually scowling. I noted he was adorned in ornate silver earrings and silver rings. Every piece felt sharp and calculated—a dagger under his smooth black hair, a snake over his thumb, a thorned tendril across his throat. Ceveon wore jewelry, too, but his was more subtle: A silver band around a wrist. A silver buckle across a boot. No longer clad in demon fur and ragged clothes, they both appeared as two young knights in their prime.

They were Erebus’s truest allies. His friends from another life.

And they still burned with loyalty, even after centuries trapped inside demonic bodies. It was admirable—selfless, even—and I wondered if I’d act the same. If I could muster such determination after being caged for so long.

“For five entire centuries,” Sorren added, lip curling. “The Weavers should have intervened.”

“And why would we ever deign to lift a finger in your direction?” Somnus asked, his tone incredulous. He tilted his head back in thought, black hair falling like a curtain across his shoulder. “After we banished Erebus, his domain was perpetually locked away from the world and haunted by scores of demons. We thought we were doing our part by keeping the Dream Realm safe from a demon king.” At Erebus’s murderous glare, Somnus added, “Presumed demon king. As for a warm—or lukewarm—welcome and an apology, petulance will get you neither.”

If Erebus weren’t holding my hand, he’d surely be strangling Somnus’s pale throat. I found myself growing similarly frustrated, fingers tightening around his. “I know better than to take you at your word. If Esmer and I were Shadow Weavers, there would be signs.”

“Signs? Do you need the Maker Himself to break free from the heavens to anoint you?”

As a matter of fact, yes.

“Actually, that would be quite reasonable,” Sorren snapped, mirroring my thoughts and making me like him even more.

Somnus sighed, impatient. “If you all refuse to believe my word, then believe in your actions. Banish me from your domain, Shadow Weavers. It would excite me to see you try.” He waved a thin, skeletal hand, a dismissive gesture meant to both antagonize us and remind us that dreamers were watching. Hundreds of dreamers, newly freed from their demonic bodies. They likely wanted to see proof of our worthiness, too. “Go on. I shall survive.”

“Banish him? What is he talking about?” I whispered to Erebus.

He let loose a tense breath. “If we are indeed Weavers in control of this pocket of the Dream Realm, then hypothetically we should be able to do something to remove him.”

“How?”

“With our minds.”

I racked my brain, pondering what might cause the almighty Somnus, Weaver of the Past, to flee.

“We could turn his hair into shadow,” I suggested, trying to imagine the powers a Shadow Weaver might have. Or that any Weaver would have, for that matter. I didn’t have the faintest idea beyond what the tales explained. And the tales were cryptic at best, fictitious at worst. “Or transform him into something small and ridiculous. Dream him into a snake that worships its own tail.”

“Clever.” A sly grin tugged at Erebus’s lips, but just as soon as it appeared, it was gone. “When I was a scholar at Evernight, we were taught that Weavers had complete control over the inner workings of their domains. They could allow dreamers in or force them out with just a thought. So if we are Shadow Weavers, removing him should be a simple feat. No conjured snakes necessary.” Turning to Somnus, he added, “But if he’s toying with us—if this is just some test—then we will make sure he understands this domain is a place for those who wield the dark. And those who test us will find their nightmares more merciful than our shadows.”

Somnus yawned. “How utterly terrifying.”

Erebus is going to make him regret that.

Something nudged the edge of my consciousness, caressing my mind like a soft, sentient feather. It curled around my temples, circling my thoughts as if awaiting permission before it found a place to settle. I met Erebus’s eyes, sensing that he felt it, too. He nodded almost imperceptibly, jaw tense and mouth set in a tight line.

There.

Light burst from behind my eye sockets, warming my skull and flowing down my limbs. My crown felt lighter, my dress more radiant, my boots firmer, my vision sharper. And then I felt them. Every soul. Every dreamer in the courtyard. Ceveon, Sorren, Somnus. Each one was a tiny thread winding into a much larger map only Erebus and I could see.

I could sense every emotion they felt, too.

Their pain, their confusion, their relief. And at the edges of their fractured minds, even a faint, meandering hope. Several dreamers openly wept, scarcely more coherent than they had been in their more monstrous forms. Somnus’s thread differed from the dreamers’; his was bone white while the dreamers’ were tinged with small shadows.

Is this what it feels like to be a Weaver?

Erebus examined Somnus’s thread, plucking it with the end of a claw-tipped gauntlet. One white thread in a sea of interconnected dark.

“Sever it,” he urged, only to me.

“Gladly.”

I drew my blade from where it magically hid inside my palm and cut without hesitation.

The thread snapped as easily as a hair; Somnus scarcely had time to roll his eyes before his body slammed backward through the iridescent trees, melting into a void of shadow. The dreamers froze, jaws slackening at the wake Somnus left behind.

“You killed him,” Ceveon said in awe.

My eyes widened. I didn’t kill him.

Did I?

“No one can kill a Weaver that easily,” Sorren scoffed. “He’ll return any second now. If Esmer and Erebus decide to let him back in, that is.”

A faint knocking could be heard—or felt, rather—in the distance.

“Can you hear that?” Erebus asked.

Sorren glanced around. “The dreamers whispering that you’re gods? Or did you mean something else?”

Knock.

Knock.

Knock.

“There’s someone knocking,” I clarified, much to Ceveon and Sorren’s confusion.

I focused on the sound, trying to discern who it was and what they wanted. Slowly, the knocks grew louder, and I could see their origin in my mind’s eye. A faint outline of a man appeared. Long hair, black robes, skin the color of bones, and a face wearing a frightening smile.

Somnus was at the edge of our domain and was requesting entry.

“We should let him back in,” I suggested.

“No, we shouldn’t,” Erebus snapped, crossing his armored forearms. “Not until he gets on his knees and begs.”

“He’s not our enemy, Erebus. At the very least we need to hear him out.”

Erebus turned so he was fully facing me, ignoring the hundreds of dreamers staring at us as though we had just commanded the sun to rise and the moon to set. He let out a terse breath, considering. Trying to understand me, but struggling.

His eyes alone spoke of what his lips did not.

This is too much. Our newfound freedom, demons turning into dreamers, and the reality of our destiny as Shadow Weavers spun before us in a riotous circle. It was dizzying.

“For centuries I sought revenge on Mithras and the Weavers for what they did to me,” he said. “Revenge is a calling carved into my bones. Into my very instincts. It is difficult to consider a different enemy.”

He didn’t say it, but we both knew what he meant. The powerful demon with red eyes.

I touched his cheek, willing my gauntlet to disappear. He closed his eyes as his white hair spilled over my wrist. For a moment, all the world slipped away. The dreamers faded, slowly going out of focus. It felt like a wall of water separated us from them—as though we were standing on the banks of a crystalline river and the dreamers were rippling under its depths.

“I know,” I said softly. And I meant it. I wanted revenge, too. On someone—or something—for all the horrors I’d faced. The deaths of Eden and my parents, being taken from my home, and Elliot’s abduction—it was all a festering wound, leaking poison into my lungs. Even though I didn’t have a heart in the Dream Realm, I often found it hard to breathe. “But we’ll need the Weavers’ help to defeat our true enemy. You remember your promise to me, don’t you?” I asked, recalling the first of three dreams Erebus and I walked through. “You agreed to do everything in your power to help me stop Corruption after we broke free from your castle.”

“I agreed to help you stop Corruption. I didn’t agree to partner with seven fools.”

“But if we’re Weavers now, that changes everything.”

“We aren’t Weavers,” he murmured, pressing his mouth into my palm. His eyes were still closed.

“Then why do things bend to our will? Why are we able to control and influence both the landscape and their souls? Erebus, look.”

He heeded my command, observing the dreamers and the darkness that connected us all. Shadows lingered around the dreamers’ bodies, obscuring them from our sight. It didn’t feel as if they were searching for or missing us. It was simply as if the dream was holding its breath, waiting for us to move. The sheer power, all at my fingertips, was terrifying.

Intoxicating, too.

“For years I craved freedom from the shackles of the Dream Realm. I wanted my vengeance, and then I wanted the autonomy to do whatever I pleased.” His mouth slackened, then tightened. “This is another form of imprisonment, Esmer. Our lives will never again be the same.” His eyes slid back to mine, overwhelming in their beauty. Everything about him was achingly beautiful. He was tall, intimidating, and glorious in both his brute power and his cunning spirit. But there, simmering like fire, was a well of rage and fear. “When we finally wake from this dream, we won’t be able to live freely in Noctis. We’ll be caged in our tomb—and in this domain—for the foreseeable future.”

“Weeks? Months?”

“Not months,” he said, shaking his head. “Decades. Centuries. Millennia. Weavers are immortal unless their mortal bodies die. And that’s only possible if they are murdered or die of old age from too many years spent awake instead of dreaming.”

The intoxicating well of power under my skin suddenly felt cold. What would it feel like to be alive for centuries? Not so long ago, I had simple hopes and dreams. I longed for freedom outside of Norhavellis, but not the freedom of an immortal. I longed for safety from Corruption, but not safety within the confines of a tomb. I had wanted a life without demons, shadows, and fear; but now I was at the heart of all three. Distantly, I wondered what Elliot would think. He’d grow up. He’d grow old. He’d die. And I’d still be in the Dream Realm, years slipping through my fingers like sand in a towering hourglass.

Dread rose up like a dark tide, threatening to drown me.

“Perhaps it wouldn’t be permanent,” I offered quickly. “Once the demons are defeated, we could ask the Maker to anoint someone else.”

“If only it were that simple.” Erebus turned away from me, beholding the blur of dreamers who encircled us. “To be anointed as a Weaver is to be given a direct command from the Maker Himself. If we don’t heed his call, we will be culled from existence. Cast out to the Beyond—that endless pit of darkness in the underbelly of the Realm, where demons make their nests.”

“So, we become Weavers, or we succumb to eternal darkness?”

“I’m sorry, Esmer.” He clenched his fists, arms so tense they were shaking. “This is nothing you’d ever want for yourself. You shouldn’t have to shoulder this impossible burden with me.”

His voice cracked on with me, as if that—our shared fate—was the part that pained him most.

I considered what we’d been offered.

Perhaps we hadn’t been given a choice, but we still could decide how to respond. Would we cower from what had been thrust upon us? Or would we rise, even after everything we’d endured? On one hand, it meant I’d never live a life of quiet normalcy. Never walk within Noctis as just another mortal. I might see Elliot less than I wanted. Might never have the chance to start a family of my own, to settle into some peaceful corner of the kingdom.

Shadows prickled at my fingertips, stirred by the storm inside me.

Weavers were heroes in the storybooks; protectors forged by the Maker to guard against greater evil. But they were more than heroes. They were power incarnate. And power, I realized, was something I needed. Not just to protect, but to destroy. I wanted to defeat the demons, and I wanted them to hurt.

Perhaps our fate was not an unbearable burden but a miraculous opportunity.

“You’re wrong,” I said, placing my hands over his clenched fists. “I do want this.”

His eyes narrowed. “You want—”

“To become a Shadow Weaver.” The words tasted prophetic on my tongue. A declaration of assent despite my lingering fear. “I want the demons to pay for what they did to my family, to me, to all of us.” His jaw worked as if he wanted to argue but couldn’t. I stepped closer, until our shadows tangled beneath our feet. “And if this is the only path that gives me the strength to fight back, then shouldn’t I take it?”

His expression cracked. “Be wary, Esmer. Revenge carves deeper than you think.”

“So does grief,” I countered fiercely. “And I’ve grieved for much in this life.”

He reached for my face, tracing my jaw with a slow brush of his clawed thumbs. The shadows around our feet curled upward, drawn to the tension racing between us. “Once we step into this, there’s no going back.”

“I know.”

“No soft ending. No quiet life.”

I leaned in, our foreheads almost touching. “I know that, too.”

We locked eyes and the illusion shattered, bringing everything into motion. We acknowledged Somnus’s call, opening an invisible door to allow him entry into our domain, and within a breath he was back by our sides.

“When did we become Weavers?” Erebus immediately demanded, crossing his arms.

If it was even possible, Somnus’s thin mouth slid into a more self-satisfied smile.

“So, we all agree that you are Weavers. Wondrous,” Somnus said, beaming as he drew near. “I have reason to believe your destiny locked into place the moment you both stepped free from the castle. Now, onto business.” He motioned toward Erebus’s castle. It was still half-deteriorated and barely clinging on to life. As if to further emphasize that point, one of its spires collapsed with a resounding crack. “You need to attend to that.”

“I’m not going back inside,” Erebus growled, his tone positively vicious.

Somnus raised an eyebrow. “Why not? You are free now, Shadow Weaver.”

“I will not be tricked again.”

“Suit yourself. Rule over a kingdom of dust, debris, and trees the colors of beetles.” Somnus’s eyes hardened. “But your acolytes would surely prefer a comfortable and decent home—especially since they have no physical bodies to return to in Noctis. Let me remind you that these dreamers are deceased in the mortal world.”

“They’re all… dead?” I asked, blanching.

“See for yourself. Ask them to try waking up. They can’t.” Somnus’s face was impassive. “My theory is that if a person’s Corrupt body dies before Mithras can purify their soul, they don’t go into the afterlife. They come here instead.”

“That’s unheard of, Somnus,” Erebus bit out. “The Dream Realm isn’t filled with corpses.”

He shrugged. “These are strange times, Erebus. And it is stranger still that, as their Weavers, you and Esmer are responsible not only for their training but also for the quality of the lives they will live. You’ll need to make this domain a home.”

“Laughable advice from you, Somnus,” Erebus snapped. “You rule over a pit at the dredges of the Realm.”

Somnus smiled again, ever pleased with himself. “True. It is a pit. But it is a magnificent pit of darkness with a castle at its heart built from the finest bones. Every room is meticulously carved, as though we share the body of some great fallen creature. It brings my acolytes both pride and joy.”

“Does it, now? Because that sounds absolutely wretched,” Ceveon remarked, making a face.

Sorren nodded sagely. “Lord Erebus’s castle is horrible, but it sounds like a sanctuary compared to Somnus’s.”

“You’re not listening to me,” Somnus said, sighing into his hair. “You need a central structure, Shadow Weavers. Castles exist within each Weaver’s domain because they act as anchors. If the anchor is abandoned, the domain risks collapsing. Remodel yours as you please, but it must be kept. Don’t let your fear of the dark keep you from rising above it.”

His logic made sense; if this domain was to be our home, why not design it to feel like one? I found myself aching to create something beautiful out of the fractured castle and the vast unkempt grounds filled with nothing but iridescent trees. Something that made me feel safe and hopeful the way I’d felt years ago in my shared bedroom with Eden. Back before I’d begged her to dream with me.

“Anything else?” Erebus snapped, nearing the end of his whisper-thin patience.

“Oh, yes,” Somnus answered, as if casually remembering something vital. “When your castle is rebuilt and your domain suitably stabilized, I will summon the Light Bringer and the other Weavers to gather around your table. Fenrir, Nephthys, Ceres, Lelantos, Xander, Theia—we must all discuss what needs to be done to save Noctis and the Realm. The Shadow Weavers shall host a civilized banquet.” He cast a withering look at each of us in turn. “Emphasis on civilized.”

“It will be our honor,” I said with what I hoped was a confident smile, ignoring the glare Erebus shot my way.

“One of you, at least, shows promise,” Somnus sighed. Then he glanced at the stars as if ascertaining what time it was. “Oh, and you have one month. Perhaps less if the Dream Realm shatters and the demons overtake us before then. Good luck, Shadow Weavers.”

Somnus quickly disappeared into a swirl of black.

“Smug bastard, isn’t he?” Ceveon quipped.

And then the hundreds of dreamers erupted into chaos.

A rock slammed into Erebus’s shoulder, narrowly missing my face.

Without warning, the dreamers surged. Some scattered into the woods, while others raced toward the demon-infested dream sea just beyond the castle. The Nocturne’s powerful waters had receded slightly, no longer threatening to devour the castle whole and lock us in the Dream Realm for eternity, but it was a terrifying reminder of what had almost befallen us. I felt the blood rush from my face as I was overwhelmed by the dreamers’ conflicting emotions. They knotted around me like a fearsome net, impossible to untangle.

Fear.

Fury.

Rage.

“Enough!” Erebus roared, shielding me as a second rock bashed his chest. The domain shook with the sheer force of his voice. Dreamers stopped in their tracks, his command dragging them back to the courtyard. Erebus’s chest heaved, silver eyes blazing as he beheld our new acolytes. “I know what it is you feel. Your resentment. Your sorrow. Your rage. I, too, was sacrificed. I, too, suffered, just as you did. We cannot continue in chaos.”

The dreamers’ frustration swelled; they were not sated. I anxiously considered what any other Weaver might do in our situation. Would they demand loyalty in a show of power? Or would they be empathetic, seeking to understand what drove their dreamers to hysteria in the first place? I bit the inside of my cheek, considering. Maybe it was pointless to hypothesize. Our situation—as confusing as it might be—was our own. Erebus and I were in uncharted waters. We had only each other to rely on.

I stepped past Erebus, lowering his arm even as he tried to urge me back.

“Tell us your grievances,” I pleaded, hoping the dreamers would recognize the sincerity in my voice. “I understand you might be angry that I’m a Weaver now, since Erebus has been with you for much longer, but—”

“We are not angry with you, Esmer,” a girl, similar to me in age, supplied. The other dreamers nodded, agreeing. “Our rage belongs to him.”

My stomach dropped.

Him?

Erebus’s lips parted, a hasty retort silenced on his tongue.

“Why?” I pushed, cautious of the dreamers’ rising anger. “What has he done to you?”

“Erebus did not suffer as we did,” the dreamer continued. “His soul was not caged inside the filthy body of a demon.”

“He didn’t experience the horrors of Corruption,” another dreamer, a woman, cried.

“He kept us here against our wills,” a third dreamer, an older man, grated out. The dreamer’s hands clenched and unclenched at his sides. As though he wasn’t used to even having hands after being locked in the body of a demon for so long. “We begged him to let us out every single day.”

“Our hearts and minds wasted away in the woods, the water, and the halls of your castle,” a fourth snarled, baring his chipped teeth. “You should have freed us. You should have recognized we were more than mere demons.”

A fifth acolyte took a few steps forward, shoulders straight and face raised. Her wrinkled chin trembled; she was struggling to remain upright. “We screamed and begged, and yet he did not listen, he did not see—”

“We all presented as demons! Or have you already forgotten that?” Sorren snapped, interrupting the dreamers’ tirade. “What would you have had him do? Unleash you upon the Dream Realm simply because you begged? Most of us couldn’t even talk. Our minds were too fractured.” Sorren shook his head, placing his fingers over his temples. “I, too, felt as you did. I wanted out; my captive existence was utter hell. But it is not Erebus’s fault that our voices were taken from us.”

“You’re channeling your rage into a man who does not deserve it,” Ceveon added. “A man who would brave the depths of the Beyond to avenge what was taken from him. Taken from us. This man is your protector now. Not your enemy.”

For a moment, the dreamers were silent. Weighing what they’d been told.

Then one finally spoke, his voice like the crack of a whip. “Then who deserves it? Against whom do we rage?”

Every dreamer looked at Erebus and me, expectant.

I opened my mouth to tell them about the red-eyed demon, but Erebus spoke first. “We should free them,” Erebus said urgently, just to me. “If we cut their threads like we did Somnus’s, we may be able to release their souls to the Maker. It’s the truest liberation we can grant.”

The dreamers’ threads, though invisible to the dreamers themselves, quivered at Erebus’s suggestion. Each thread vibrated with life. With shadows. If we were to remove our shadows from the threads, they’d likely weaken and snap. I shivered, not liking where this was going. We needed every dreamer—every fighter—we could get.

“They’re hurting, Erebus. Cutting them from our domain won’t heal them in the way you’re imagining.”

“Wouldn’t it?” Erebus mused, mouth set in a grim line. “Then perhaps we give them a choice. They can stay here and fight with us against the demons or return to the Maker. If they stay, they will help us vanquish the demons. But if they choose to leave, they will likely never be able to return to the Dream Realm.”

“They’ll choose to leave, Erebus. Then we’ll have no one.”

He turned fully to me, eyes blazing. “Then what would you have us do, Esmer? Chain them here indefinitely, deny them the freedom they deserve? Just like what happened to me?” He looked away, jaw clenched. “I’m sorry, but we cannot hold them against their will. We would be no better than the Weavers who left me here to rot.”

“The demons will destroy the world if Corruption continues,” I urged, desperate for him to understand. I didn’t want dreamers fighting for us against their will, but we couldn’t afford to lose what might be our only chance at destroying Corruption for good. “Give them a choice but first let them know what is at stake. What it is we must fight. Let me show them.”

“Show them?”

“The demon we saw. I think I can re-create it.”

Erebus slowly nodded, relinquishing control to me.

Very wel. . .