The Darklands stretched beneath Darkeus like an endless tapestry of midnight and despair. Nothing else could make him feel more at home. Black sand undulated in waves that seemed to breathe, a living entity exhaling the sighs of forgotten souls.

  The dunes shifted restlessly, as though the very ground remembered the weight of every life that had ever passed through its domain. Above, the sky burned perpetually dark red, a wound in the heavens that wept no light, only the eternal twilight of a realm untouched by sun or stars.

  He stood on his obsidian balcony—the most bountiful element in the underworld—fingers curled around the railing, cold, polished stone biting into his flesh. His deep grey face was barely distinguishable against the gloom, his long black hair a river of shadow cascading past his shoulders.

  His eyes, twin voids darker than any abyss, absorbed the dim glow of the realm rather than reflecting it. He had heard it said that to gaze into them was to stare into the heart of the chasm itself. Darkeus had never really known how much he liked that description, since he himself tried to stay away from the Chasm as much as possible.

  The Darklands was the northernmost realm in the underworld, with its edge giving way to rivers flowing northward. Those very rivers eventually led to the Earth realms.

  Below him, the souls drifted.

  They moved in silent procession, translucent and formless, their features blurred as though seen through frosted glass. Some flickered like dying embers, their essence fraying at the edges. Others pulsed with a stubborn luminescence, clinging to the echoes of who they had once been.

  Darkeus watched them with detached fascination, as he always did. Each soul was a story—some epic, some tragic, most forgotten. Such was the fate of mortals great and insignificant. His realm was the land of the dead, as he was the Origin of the very concept of death itself.

  A gust of frigid air coiled around him, carrying the scent of damp earth and something metallic—blood, perhaps, or the memory of it.

  The Darklands were never silent, not truly. The wind carried voices, fragments of pleas and laughter, the last words of the dying tangled with the cries of the newly departed. Many a man would have feared to live here, yet this was his home. He loved it no less than other Origins loved theirs.

  Possibly even more than some.

  The thought often flickered through his mind whenever he considered his brother Permeus, whom he admittedly had next to no love for. Most of the time, he could simply block out thoughts of his most careless of siblings, but sadly, the upcoming meeting of the Union of Origins was approaching fast.

  As usual, they would hold it in Titania, even though Darkeus honestly believed Permeus did not deserve such an honor. He even questioned his brother’s validity for being on the council. He didn’t get the chance to expand on the thought, though, since a enormous flash of light interrupted him.

  A searing burst of golden light split the shadows, a violent intrusion in a realm that knew only darkness. Darkeus didn’t flinch. He knew who it was even before the radiance took shape. In fact, this was how she always traveled here.

  Desia materialized beside him, her arrival sending ripples through the stagnant air. The fabric shimmered making her violet dress a shock of color. She looked like she had rushed here without pause, which made her light brown hair slightly disheveled. Her sky-blue eyes, wide and unsettled, locked onto his with an urgency that was rare for her.

  “Unexpected visitor, I see,” Darkeus murmured, his voice a low, velvety rumble. “How delightfully spontaneous of you...I mean in all honesty, it is a bit predictable but delightful regardless ”

  Despite the abruptness of her appearance, he reached out, pulling her into a brief but firm embrace—a gesture reserved only for her, as she was one of the few of his siblings he actually liked. In all true fairness, though, saying she was one of the few siblings he didn’t dislike was a better measurement of their relationship.

  Desia exhaled sharply, as if she had been holding her breath for miles. “I need to talk.”

  Darkeus studied her for a heartbeat longer before nodding. Without another word, he guided her inside, his study swallowing them whole. The room was a mausoleum of shadows. Obsidian walls drank the light greedily, leaving only the faintest glow from the bioluminescent veins threading through the stone.

  The furniture—if it could be called that—seemed carved from solidified darkness, its edges indistinct, as though it might dissolve if touched too roughly. A massive desk dominated the space, its surface littered with scrolls etched in silver ink, their contents indecipherable to any but him.

  Desia sank into a chair, her fingers tracing the armrest’s intricate patterns—whorls and spirals that pulsed faintly beneath her touch, reacting to her presence.

  “Something troubles you,” Darkeus said. It wasn’t a question.

  Desia hesitated, then spoke.

  This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.

  She told him everything. The dream first, of course—the castle wreathed in flames, the sky bleeding crimson as it usually did in the underworld, the monstrous crow with eyes like dying suns. She described the white dove, its wings engulfed in searing light as it shielded her, its sacrifice burning itself into her memory. Then came the encounter in the Mystia fields: Aurea’s apparition, the claim of motherhood, the warning of a coming darkness.

  Darkeus listened, his expression carefully unreadable. When she finished, he leaned back, allowing a sardonic smile to curl the edge of his lips.

  “Have you spoken with Adelia?”

  Desia blinked. “Our sister, the Origin of Dreams?”

  “I prefer the Origin of Nasty Pranks, Insufferable Shenanigans and Poorly timed jokes” Darkeus said, pretending not to catch her sarcasm.

  “You know, she is also one of my closest companions?” Desia said, not minding his terrible attempt at humor, especially when she least needed it.

  “And you are getting at?” Darkeus asked, still paying no mind to her sarcasm.

  She shot him a withering look. “Of course I’ve spoken to her.”

  “And?”

  “She claims no involvement.”

  Darkeus arched a brow. “You believe her?”

  “I admit Adelia is many things—a trickster, a nuisance, occasionally insufferable—“

  “Occasionally seems a bit too generous.”

  “—but she’s never lied to me. Not about something like this. Besides, our sweet sister has never denied a prank after being caught.”

  Darkeus opened his mouth, then closed it.

  “... That’s true.”

  He paused.

  “And I would not call Adelia sweet. I personally cannot forget the one time she robbed my realm of gravity. Worst day of my life.”

  “Fair enough,” Desia admitted.

  He then paced around the room, stroking his chin as he ruminated on the subject at hand. The implications were troubling, though he wouldn’t voice that concern—not yet. If Adelia wasn’t behind this, then what force was powerful enough to breach his sister’s dreams? And why show her visions of a coming darkness?

  “So how do we proceed?” he asked, returning to his desk.

  “Perhaps I should mention this at the meeting,” Desia suggested.

  A heavy silence settled between them. The mention of the upcoming 50th-anniversary gathering of the Origins’ Council hung in the air. Darkeus felt his jaw tighten almost imperceptibly—his distaste for the event, especially its host, was something he struggled to contain.

  Desia noticed. “Are you all right?”

  “Yes.”

  He clipped the word, forcibly reassembling his composure. He couldn’t let his personal feelings toward Permeus cloud his judgment, not when Desia needed his support.

  “You sure?” she asked.

  “I am sure,” he replied this time more convincingly.

  “You should mention this at the meeting,” he said, repeating her idea.

  It was the logical course of action, even if it meant enduring Permeus’s presence.

  As he watched, Desia searched him for deception. He had noticed this behavior of hers lately. He could also see relief trickle through her expression when she found no deception in his words.

  “That’s it?” she asked, quite surprised.

  “What’s it?” Darkeus said, taken aback by the question.

  “You don’t think I’m losing my mind?” Desia asked, clearly expecting him to say he did.

  Darkeus scoffed. “If you were, I’d be the first to know.”

  A weak laugh escaped her.

  “What about the coming darkness?” Desia asked once more.

  “What about it?” Darkeus replied, though internally, he was already calculating possibilities. What darkness could threaten the Origins themselves?

  “I was expecting you to be more afraid of this prophecy,” Desia admitted.

  A low chuckle rumbled in his chest. “The Underworld is nothing but darkness, Desia. If I were to fear it, I’d have gone mad ages ago.”

  Yet beneath his casual response, he felt it—the barest tremor of unease. A fissure in his usual icy control. The vision troubled him more than he would admit. If something was coming for them, for the Origins themselves, then the natural order of existence could be at stake. Still, he wouldn’t burden Desia with his concerns. She needed strength from him, not more fear.

  “Well, I hope the others are as receptive as you’ve been,” she muttered.

  Darkeus smirked. “Don’t hold your breath.”

  “Meaning?”

  “Some of our esteemed siblings wouldn’t care even if the sky tore and all the heavenly realms came falling on top of us.”

  “Are you speaking of anyone in particular?” Desia asked, and he could tell she had the same Origin in mind.

  “What if I were?”

  Desia sighed. “You’re not looking forward to the council, are you?”

  “That’s the understatement of the century.” The mere thought of sitting through Permeus’s grandstanding made his jaw clench.

  “You do remember there has only been one so far”

  “That is how bad of a take it is”

  “Still upset it’s being held in Titania?”

  “I dislike the host more than the location.”

  “Well, you can’t change either.”

  “That is why I was thinking about being absent.” The idea had genuine appeal—he could send a representative and avoid the entire ordeal.

  Desia rolled her eyes. “Great mercy of fate, Permeus isn’t that bad.”

  “You sound like Helus.” The comparison wasn’t meant to be a compliment.

  “Permeus is the host. And by the Loom’s threads I’ll need you there with me.”

  Darkeus tilted his head. “Why not one of your own?”

  Surely, her advisors could support her more effectively.

  “My own advisors look at me like I’ve sprouted a second head.”

  “Have they admitted such?”

  “Actions speak louder than words.”

  A beat passed. He could see the genuine need in her eyes, the way she relied on his presence for strength. Despite his personal feelings about the council and its host, he couldn’t abandon her.

  “Fine. I’ll endure Permeus’ smugness for one more gathering. I shall simply grit my teeth, smile politely, and resist the overwhelming urge to provide him with a detailed critique of his leadership style. For you, dear sister. For you.” Darkeus said. “Though I doubt I will actually smile or do anything I have actually promised for that matter”

  Desia grinned. “I have no doubt of that.”

  “Really,” Darkeus pondered with some thought, “Why is that?”

  “You’ve had practice swallowing your pride in front of the council for years.”

  The two shared a laugh—genuine, unrestrained. For a fleeting moment, the weight of their responsibilities lifted. They weren’t Origins or rulers of realms, but simply siblings, bound by something deeper than duty or family obligation.

  Yet even as warmth bloomed in his chest at their shared humor, Darkeus’ mind churned with darker thoughts. What were the true implications of Desia’s nightmare? Could they uncover the source before it was too late—or were they already too late? The vision of a coming darkness, coupled with Aurea’s mysterious appearance, suggested forces at work beyond their understanding.

  He would need to be vigilant. Whatever was coming, whatever had the power to breach the dreams of an Origin, it would not catch them unprepared. Not if he could help it.