Chapter 26

  This time, I did jolt awake in a cold sweat. My breathing was sharp, shallow. My hands trembled as though the nightmare had followed me out of sleep, its claws still clinging to my spine. And in my mind, two sentences repeated over and over like a cursed mantra: “I’m disappointed in you” and “So very, very clueless.”

  Clueless. Clueless about what? Sure, I didn’t know who—or what—the voice in my dream truly was. That alone could qualify as dangerously ignorant. But it wasn’t just the mystery of the entity that rattled me. It was the way it had spoken... casually, mockingly, about me becoming the “slayer of the Crytomancers.” As if it wasn’t a matter of if, but when.

  Of course, we had planned to confront them tonight. It was expected. But the creature hadn’t spoken like someone predicting an outcome—it had spoken like someone who knew.

  And that... that was terrifying.

  Was such knowledge even possible in Tirros? The answer was both yes and no. I’d read about certain branches of time magic—ancient, dangerous stuff. Not widely practiced, not understood by most, and certainly not taught. There were rumors of two types. One type operated on raw magical manipulation, warping the threads of time directly; the other used impossibly refined mana control to simulate potential futures. Not to show what will happen, but what could.

  I didn’t know which was more terrifying.

  Both disciplines belonged in the realm of the masters. Grandmasters, actually. And if this... this thing inside my mind wasn’t simply some hallucination or nightmare—but a real presence—then perhaps I had just been contacted by a being that wielded true time magic. A being so ancient, so practiced, it no longer questioned whether a future would come to pass. It simply watched it arrive.

  The thought made my skin crawl.

  Should I ask Simon? The idea flickered through my mind. Yes, he had lied about his past—but maybe that didn’t matter. Maybe he had his reasons. And as long as those lies didn’t endanger the mission or the others, I had no right to pry. No obligation to trust, but no cause to accuse either.

  Still... the thing had called us a “ragtag little band.” The words echoed now with a venomous clarity.

  I let my gaze drift across the room, taking in the stillness of our group—four completely different people, bound not by loyalty or belief, but by necessity. And honestly? That voice from the dream—or whatever it was—had nailed it. We were a mismatched band of strangers, forced together because none of us could afford a private room at the inn. Thrown into a murder investigation just because we happened to share that same room. And somehow, we’d stumbled into uncovering the beginnings of a summoning ritual—one so large it could very well shake the entire continent.

  And through it all, they’d looked to me. From the first day, they’d followed me, trusted me, like some self-appointed leader. But why?

  "BECAUSE OF ME!" a voice suddenly roared—not in my ears, not from within my own mind, but through it. Real, intrusive, undeniably telepathic.

  I tensed, not out of fear, but frustration. A direct mental connection—this wasn’t just a memory or a dream this time. Someone—something—was reaching out to me. And unfortunately, I knew enough about telepathic communication to respond.

  "First of all," I snapped mentally, "you don’t need to scream." I pushed back with my own thoughts, sharpening them into a focused beam. "Second—are you the thing from my dream? The one that wore my mother’s face?"

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  The answer came not in words, but in a low, malicious laugh. It rippled through the link like cold poison—mocking, amused, and completely unashamed.

  "Oh, the rage. That pure, delicious fury."

  I growled. Or at least I tried to—was it even possible to growl telepathically?

  "Get out of my head. Leave me the hell alone."

  The presence didn’t flinch. If anything, it seemed more amused than ever.

  "You know, Luken," it cooed, voice rich with sadistic pleasure, "I could. I really could." I felt its grin—smug, wide, vile. "But I adore your anger. It’s intoxicating. If you ever really want me gone..." Its tone twisted into something deceptively kind, like a snake offering a lullaby. "...maybe try some meditation. Breathe deep. Count stars. That sort of thing."

  Smug bastard.

  I wanted to scream. Instead, I severed the connection—or at least tried. But even as I pushed the thing out, I could feel it linger, just outside the edges of my mind, like smoke in the rafters after a fire.

  Still watching.

  Still smiling.

  So be it. If I couldn't get rid of it, then I'd do the only thing one does when dealing with demon-like beings.

  A deal.

  "Fine," I said inwardly, my voice like cold iron. "Feast on my anger, if that’s really what fuels you. Enjoy it. But in return, you will never, ever try to influence or control me. In no form, no whisper, no suggestion. Agreed?"

  I didn’t move a muscle, but I heard the crisp snap of a handshake echoing in my head. The thing chuckled darkly, voice slick with amusement.

  "Agreed. I shall not influence you. In exchange, I am free to savor your wrath. Every drop."

  There was a shift in the air—like a cold draft leaving a room—but just before the presence fully withdrew, I caught it, sharp and demanding.

  "One more thing."

  "I’m listening," it said, now sounding genuinely curious.

  "When you said because of me... did you mean that literally? Are you really the reason they accepted me as their leader on the first day?"

  That damn grin again. I could feel it behind its words, stretching too wide, too pleased. I don’t know how I knew what it looked like—some twisted, impossible expression—but I did. I felt it. Like something cold brushing against my spine.

  This time, it didn’t deny anything.

  "Oh, Luken," it said, oozing pride, "you must understand—I’m only trying to help you. I want you to succeed. I need you to burn so brightly that the gods flinch. Your path to vengeance is so very... entertaining."

  "Because it fuels my anger," I stated, my tone flat, disgust barely restrained.

  "Yes, that too," it purred. "But more importantly—well, in this frozen place of blizzards and blades, I thought you might need a little push. So, I gave your aura a slight... adjustment. Nudged the scales, so to speak. Lowered their doubts. Softened their pride. And look how well it worked."

  Its voice began to slow. Cautious now. It knew what was coming.

  I was boiling.

  "So they followed me," I hissed in my mind, "not because of respect, or instinct, or trust—"

  "—but because I silenced their doubts," it finished gently, almost sheepishly.

  I didn’t scream. I didn’t throw anything. I didn’t lunge or shout or curse.

  But I felt my fury rise. Controlled. Contained. And yet white-hot beneath the surface, like the moment before metal liquefies.

  "You stole that choice from them," I said coldly. "You took their free will. You made their loyalty a lie."

  "Ah, ah," it whispered, now trying to sound innocent. "Not a lie. Just a... boost."

  I didn’t answer. I didn’t need to, because it wouldn't matter.

  Because from now on, it would feast on my fury—and tonight, I’d give it plenty.

  But I decided to speak to him one last time—for the coming days, or hopefully weeks.

  "Do you have a name?" I asked, keeping my voice neutral. "Something I can call you?"

  The response came instantly, smooth and confident.

  "Call me Gravor," it said. "Or Grav, if that’s easier."

  I raised an eyebrow—a gesture he no doubt felt, the same way I could always feel his twisted grins.

  "Gravor," I repeated thoughtfully. "Hmm... Sounds a bit too harmless, don’t you think?"

  "Who ever said I was dangerous?" Gravor replied with a mocking laugh, feigning innocence with that same irritating smugness.

  "Alright, Gravor," I said, the words clipped and firm. "Here’s to us never speaking again."

  "To us never speaking again," he echoed, tone light, amused, and entirely insincere.

  And just like that, the connection snapped shut. The pressure in my mind eased, the phantom grin faded, and I took a long, steady breath. In. Out. Again.

  The matter with the wrath-hungry monster was settled.

  Hopefully.