“Come now, just a little more…” The drop of Belial’s fellblood splashed against the surface of my latest mixture. It sizzled, releasing a scent most vile, before expanding outward. Gnarled roots sucking all color from its surroundings. Not a second later, I held a blackened phial in my hand and wore a heavy frown on my face. “Even worse than before.”

  I emptied the phial and sat forward against my workbench, head in my hands, resisting the urge to scream into the Dream. The haze simmered and prickled around me, reflecting my darkening mood.

  It was no surprise to me that Hope’s Tears was a fragile mixture. That I’d managed to wrangle the secret of the witherlily’s vitality free in so short a time was, itself, a miracle. One not so easily repeated, let alone improved upon. But to see my efforts so thoroughly thwarted time and time again, all the while hearing the voices of everyone I knew and loved whispering in my ear, reminding me of the futility of my endeavors, was a harsher punishment than even the heaviest blow.

  “You are my final hope, my good sir.” I said, turning to a beaker of snakebite plum juice. Beside it was my greatest failure, a flower I’d endeavored to keep far away from Dreadskull upon learning of its fatal potency.

  The bloom I once believed to be the Answer.

  Hope’s Edge.

  She resembled her mother, Hope’s Bloom, but with petals that faded to venomous purple, and a thorned stem whose spikes glistened with its lethal toxin.

  I bit my lip, retrieved my tweezers and plucked a spine from her stem. It grew back in an instant, the quickest of its lineage. She was a fearsome thing, born for a purpose she was eager to serve. I laid the spine on a slide and peered at it through Beelzebub’s microscope.

  The crystal clear violet liquid lay in wait, undisturbed by my movements. Still chewing on my lip, I took a dropper of Good Belial’s blood and let a drip come in contact with the Answer.

  The fellblood attacked immediately, stretching its roots with an unearthly hum. But as they dug into the Answer, they were met with violent resistance. The liquid shimmered, filled with dark purple glitter that attached to the fellblood. It sizzled, changing at the root.

  Black turned to deep purple, to soft lavender, then to white. The color spread back to the source, filling it entirely. At the heart of the droplet, the glitter gathered into a spark, then concentrated into a seed.

  Just as quickly as the fellblood consumed the other mixtures, the Answer pierced through it, creating diminutive Hope’s Edge seed the size of a droplet of water. With my new understanding, courtesy of Lord Beelzebub’s research, I now understood the difference between Hope’s Tears and the Answer.

  The Tears welcomed the fellblood, absorbing it as nourishment.

  The Answer attacked it, infecting it as it infected others.

  An embrace, or an assault.

  “If I could just find a way to strengthen the Tears without making them hostile.” I sat back and sighed, tapping my lips with my finger. It was possible. That much I’d proved with Hope’s Bloom. A witherlily, purged of corruption and retaining its supernatural properties.

  Was there a way to cure the rot at the heart of the darkness without destroying it?

  “Rot…” My finger paused. “To cure…the rot…” My lips parted, my finger slipping between my teeth. With only a moment of hesitation, they sank into my flesh until I tasted blood.

  Knowing I had mere moments before the wound healed, I grabbed a phial and squeezed a few drops of blood into it, corking it just as the first whiff of incense hit my nose. The blood within quivered, crawling up the sides of the phial to try to return to my body. Its efforts failed, it slid to the bottom, lifeless, once the puncture was gone.

  My own healing factor was something I’d yet to truly experiment with. I had no need to harm myself, and most of the damage I’d taken had come while assisting someone in greater need. But now, gazing at the drops of blood in phial, perhaps my complacency had been a grave error.

  It took no effort to heal myself. Even with my magic fully spent and more, my body returned to its original state as effortlessly from having my flesh melted off by Lord Beelzebub’s rot as from a splinter.

  The rot.

  My ascent to Beelzebub’s tower had been near effortless. A simple push back and a spiraling tower of rot gave way to my starlight. What would happen if I were to try the same with the fellblood?

  With reckless abandon, I plucked a large bowl from the Dream’s haze and set it upon the table before me. Then, I emptied the rest of Good Belial’s blood into it. It sloshed around the edges, warping the inside of the bowl slowly but surely.

  Before my cautious mind could catch up to give me pause, I plunged my fingers into the thick, black liquid and released a burst of starlight. It resisted, violently in fact, churning and bubbling, and my fingertips ached as if I’d plunged them into a thicket of thorns. But with focus and a slow exhale, I pushed more starlight free, until it pierced through the fellblood’s surface in a dazzling dance of gold and lilac light.

  That same color surged through the black, driving it away until it glowed and the pain subsided. When I retracted my fingers, the glow remained for a moment longer before fading. Left behind was a clear, colorless liquid.

  Even the innards of the bowl had been renewed.

  “I can purge it with magic, it seems. But, that doesn’t work on Fiends…” At least, not a Fiend so powerful as Genesis. In the week that passed since our recital in the dining hall, I’d visited him nightly, throwing every ounce of starlight I’d accumulated against the rooted pain in his core in an attempt to wrench it open. My efforts proved fruitless, not leaving so much as a dent in the darkness. If anything, his ache only grew with every failed attempt.

  On a whim, I drew a sample of the clear liquid with a dropper and spritzed it onto the Hope’s Edge seed.

  Nothing.

  My brow furrowed, and I reached for another, a Sunspire daisy sapling, and added a drop. Then another. And another. It remained a sapling — happily glistening with a fresh bit of moisture — even once the dropper was emptied.

  I reached for my notes. “My starlight can cleanse the fellblood, but in doing so removes its magical properties. It’s unable to do so while the blood is within a Fiend, however, suggesting its nature differs when part of a living being or not…” My lips pursed and I set my notes aside. In the distance, the clock chimed. It was nearing midnight.

  ***

  I opened my eyes in the garden. As I peeled off my gloves, I imagined the warm blood pumping just beneath the skin of the finger I bit. My brow furrowed, a memory flashing in the back of my mind.

  My last conversation with Lord Beelzebub. Desperate to assure him that I never meant him harm, much of what he was saying made little sense at the time.

  But there was something. Just a single statement, subtle and easily ignored.

  The roots must reach all the way to the real me

  “What did he mean by that?” I said aloud, taking my place at the heart of the garden. As the starlight poured from my body to nourish my darling plants, I stroked my chin in contemplation. Thinking back to the how Hope’s Edge seeped into the fellblood, chasing it back to its source. Then, I thought back to what I’d seen in the fall of the other Fiends.

  Lord Beelzebub’s weapon had inflicted a devastating wound upon the Dream, close to shattering it with its intensity. In the aftermath, Genesis had been a barely stitched together specter, but one that was ultimately unharmed.

  The sorcerers of Lady Banshee’s homeland had sacrificed their entire continent, obliterating Genesis in the Waking World, leaving behind not a speck of dust. And yet, he returned unharmed.

  Neither the Waking World nor the Dream held the power to destroy a Fiend. At the time, I merely thought it a case of synchronism — that to slay a being that held power over Dream and Reality, both would need to die in unison — but something in the phrasing Lord Beelzebub used in his final moments led me to believe that was not the case. My attempt to heal him would seem to support that theory in hindsight. I could heal the Body and the Reflection as one, so if the damage were only Dream deep, it would surely be within my power to undo.

  My eyes opened wide. Was that why I couldn’t heal Lord Genesis’s pain? I could touch his body, reach to his reflection, but if the pain — the true Genesis — lay somewhere deeper, mayhap it was on a plane my starlight could not reach?

  “Good Belial.”

  Pop.

  “Yes, Fair Lady?”

  I turned to face Belial when they appeared. We had not spoken since our last heavy conversation. Upon seeing them before me, emotion swelled in my breast and, without thinking, rose from my seat to embrace them. The strange creature jumped at the touch, their slender form going limp as a rag doll, yet weightless even in my weak arms.

  “I’ve missed you, Good Belial. Please accept my apology for driving you away with my hurtful words.”

  Firmness returned to the creature’s form and — arms moving with clockwork stiffness — they returned my embrace. Uncertain, but quickly emboldened as their long, lanky arms wrapped around my smaller frame.

  “I…” They spoke in a single voice. Quiet and childlike. “I missed you too, Fair Lady.” Belial’s grip on me tightened, their cheek pressed against mine. “Very much. Yes, very much, indeed.” Just shy of a whimper.

  Urgency lurked in the back of my mind, whispering the question it knew I ought to ask, but I allowed myself this reprieve. There was something faint deep within Belial, buried so far beneath flamboyance and theatrics that even the creature itself seemed unaware of its presence. Nestled in my arms, the ache — a heaviness in the gut, like a dense pebble — made its presence known. Bathing in my starlight, it lightened in the slightest, but refused to be undone.

  I drew back from Belial with a faint smile and touched their face. The porcelain surface was cool beneath my thumb, with an absolute smoothness that defied possibility. Their body composed of competing textures, the amber half like velvet, the black like rippling water that retained its form.

  “Did you have need of me, Lady Celeste?” Belial asked in a meek, discordant voice. The higher register a whisper, the lower a purring rumble.

  “I did.” I said, releasing my hold on them and returning to my seat, patting the spot beside me. Once Belial joined me, I crossed my leg and laid my chin upon my upturned palm. “Good Belial, before he passed, Lord Beelzebub made a most curious statement. He said, quote, ‘the roots must reach all the way to the real me.’ Would you happen to know what he meant?” I glanced at Belial, laughing at how the creature mimicked my posture.

  “Why of course, of course!” They tilted their head to the left until it twisted upside down. “Though, I must admit, I do not fully understand it myself. It is quite confusing, quite confusing, indeed.” With a flourish of their free hand, the room around us fell away, replaced by a blank, white space. Two silhouettes of Belial appeared in the void, one amber, the other black.

  “Fiends are magical beings, not wholly of this world. Our Reflection,” the Amber Belial waved, ”and our Body,“ the Black Belial took a bow, ”exist in tandem, but neither is our true self.” Belial snapped their fingers, and the white void around us condensed into a box. Beyond the box was a black void, and within that void was a colorless silhouette of Belial, larger than the entirety of the white box, holding it between its hands, with strings attached to the smaller silhouettes within.

  “Whether you snuff out one,” the Amber Belial screamed and turned to dust, “or both,” the Black Belial melted into a gurgling puddle, “you’ve left our true self untouched. The magic will simply reform into the shape of the true form.” The Colorless Belial cackled, and strings stretched out from its shape, into the white box. The Amber Belial and the Black Belial reformed at the end of the strings.

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  “I see…” I murmured, rising from my seat and pacing the room. Everywhere I moved, the Colorless Belial remained within my field of vision, but when I reached out to touch it, my fingers came to a halt against the edge of the box. Furrowing my brow, I tried to push through it with my starlight, but even as I burst into radiance, it remained contained within the white box.

  I turned to Belial. “Good Belial, would you be able to open a doorway to the plane where your true self lies?”

  To my disappointment, Belial sighed and shook their head. “Unfortunately not, Fair Lady. Quite unfortunately not. Only my Lord Master knows the way into that deeper space, the Shadow beyond the Dream. I’ve been there — oh yes, I have! — but only by following Lord Genesis’s footsteps.”

  “Is that so?” I stroked my chin once more, staring up at the Colorless Belial. “Then Hope’s Edge reached to that place, the Shadow, and once there it snuffed out the true form of Lord Beelzebub?”

  Belial nodded. “So it would seem! So it would seem, Fair Lady. A monumental achievement, indeed!” Their shoulders sank, and they slouched to the ground upon seeing the frown on my face. “My apologies, Lady Celeste.”

  I shook my head and flashed the creature a smile. “Not at all, Good Belial. Your explanation was most enlightening. I feel with my discovery today and this new piece of information, I might crack this mystery yet.” Belial suddenly leaping to their feet startled a laugh from me, then another when they appeared before me, holding my hands in theirs.

  “Is that so? Is it, Fair Lady? Why, then I am happy to be of assistance! Quite happy, indeed!” Belial cackled and threw their head back. “If you’ve need of anything else: blood,” they produced a filled phial of fellblood and placed it in the ringed holder on my workbench, “seeds,” they swept their arm over the table, filling my seed collection to full, “or parchment,” they dumped a fresh stack atop my notebook, then filled my inkwell, “you need only ask! I am, as always, your humble servant.” Belial finished with a grand bow.

  “You are far too kind, Good Belial. A more helpful assistant I’d not find if I searched the world over a hundred times.” The clock chimed — another hour past — and stirred a sigh from my lips. “But, for now, I must retire to my room. Eager as I am to pursue this new lead, I am late for my nightly engagement.”

  “Yes, of course! Of course, your family awaits.” Belial stepped to the side and opened the door to my room in the air. “Rest well, Fair Lady.”

  Before I left, I stopped to place a gentle kiss on Belial’s cheek. “I will. And thank you again, Good Belial.”

  Then I stepped through the door.

  ***

  And stepped out of the Emerald Sundrop.

  Spring Hill was eerily quiet that night, utterly unlike the raucous excitement that had filled the tavern all evening. There was a chill in the air, a breeze sweeping by that rustled my dress at my knees and forced me to reach for my bonnet to keep it on my head. The sound of a branch cracking caught my attention and drew my eyes to the Serpent Oak at the center of the square.

  Genesis stood there, towering beside the short tree. He clutched a snakebite plum between his claws, their razor edges piercing the peel, hissing juice trickling down his scales. There was a simmering heat in his eyes — intense in a way that brought my hands to my flushed cheeks — and the faintest hint of a smile on his lips. Peering directly into my eyes, he bit into the plum, devouring half of it in a single bite.

  The juice glistened as it spilled from his lips, leaving behind light trails of burned flesh that smelled of ash and healed in moments. The sting touched my parted lips, stirring a moan deep within my core.

  He finished his snack with a second bite, burning the whole way down his throat until it came to boil in his stomach. Then he turned to me, and the wind went still.

  “Celeste.” He spoke my name as if it were a secret, dragging it out in a serpentine hiss.

  “G-Genesis.” I spoke his name as if seeing a ghost. My fingers clutched at my cheeks, hoping I could hide their crimson glow from his all-seeing eyes.

  He took a step forward, and the hill shook.

  I blinked. Now he was before me. With tenderness unfitting the Fiend of Violence, he took my hands — my gloves were suddenly gone — in his, claws slicing my skin. I flinched, but fought the urge to step back. Not that I could, my back now pressed up against the door of the Sundrop.

  “What…” I bit my lip. He licked his slowly, my blasphemous eyes transfixed on his mouth as it curled into a predator’s grin. “What is it you wish from me, Lord Genesis?”

  The space between us was gone. So was my dress. In nothing but a thin chemise, sticking to my slight, blushing frame, I could feel the fellflame within his bare chest. Fighting against his grasp, a token gesture, I touched his scars and illuminated them with starlight.

  A growl rumbled in his throat. “I’d ask the same of you…are you a Maiden, Celeste?” He pressed upon me with his mighty frame. “Or a moth ever drawn into the embrace of an all-consuming flame?”

  A line from one of his books.

  I swallowed my nerves and pushed back, rising onto the tips of my toes to reclaim some of the distance between us. “Is it wrong to seek out the light in the deepest dark?”

  His grin grew dangerous; his eyes burned brighter.

  “Not all light is a comfort. That which warms can also destroy. A fragile thing such as you should take care not to burn before your appointed time.” He released my hand, trailing his claws across my cheek, then down my neck.

  I shivered as the biting touch nicked my throat and continued down my shoulder. Blood trickled and reversed each each slicing caress, but there was no turning back. No denying how I so craved the sting. How it heightened my senses and awakened that unnameable feeling within me. A feeling that burned, yes, but burned so sweet it brought tears to my eyes.

  “How fragile must I be to throw myself into the fire, yet walk away unscarred?” My response was a high, breathy gasp, the fluttering in my chest too fierce to breathe any deeper.

  The hand holding mine tightened, pinching my flesh and grinding my bones. He pinned it to the tavern door and leaned forward, his fiery breath searing my dry lips. The other claw found purchase on my hip, holding me steady as I started to shake. Blood ran down my side, incense burned in the air around us.

  “Are you unscarred?” Those lips traced my cheek, branding me with a trail of tender kisses until he reached my neck. “Or were you changed, the old you left behind as mere embers in the wind?”

  The first prick of his fangs on my shoulder brought a whimper from my pursed lips. Clenching the fingers of my free hand, I beat it against his chest; a delightfully futile act that did nothing to slow him.

  “I am still — oh, Elysium’s grace…” His claw brushed my leg, drawing a thin, stinging line up the length of my thigh. Then it clasped my wrist and both hands were pinned, the last of my resistance stolen.

  No. Freely given as I sank into the sensation spilling out from my core with every press of his lips on my skin, every kiss, every cut. Lost in lilac and golden haze, my eyes fluttered shut. My hips moved by instinct alone, pressing my body to his.

  Hot enough to burn me, but a burn I relished more with each one that faded.

  Genesis growled — oh, how the sound made the fluttering in my chest run wild — and brought his lips to mine, pausing a breath away from claiming them for himself.

  “What is it you want, Celeste?”

  What I wanted.

  “I…”

  A different end; a kinder end. Some way to avert this inevitable collision between darkness and light.

  “What I want…”

  To burn. My soul screamed back at me, its voice tired of being ignored. The Dream around us pulsed warm shades of pink, crimson, and violet. The flush on my cheeks, my blood painting his claws, the bruises his grip left upon my wrists. Heretical thoughts swirled in my brain. I yearned to be the moth consumed by dark fire, broken down and reborn again, and again, and again until all my fears and doubts were purified by the flame. To see who and what I really was.

  And then, when at last I’d been smelted to the soul, I could reach that deeper place where he waited.

  “What I want is…“ I moved against his unbreakable strength, pressing my hands against his chest. I opened my eyes and starlight consumed us both.

  ***

  I awoke with a start. Gasping and drenched in sweat, I sat up and looked around with wide-eyed bewilderment. I was in my room at Castle Dreadskull. The fellflame fireplace crackled and flickered, casting waving shadows on the walls to greet me.

  “Titania’s mercy, what was that?” I fell back onto my pillows and covered my face with my hands. When I laid down, I had every intention of seeking my family and tend to their wounds. Not act out some forbidden fantasy with Lord Genesis with Spring Hill as our backdrop.

  Genesis.

  I knew for certain he was present in the castle this time. There could be no denying this time that he was the mastermind of this strange encounter. No one but a Fiend could snatch control of the Dream away from me, and I had no reason to believe Good Belial or Lady Banshee would have conjured such a scenario.

  No. It bore too many similarities to our recital in the dining hall, an event for which neither was present.

  An indignant fury filled me. It carried me from my bed and to the door, paused only by the realization that I knew not where the Fiend Lord was at present. Drawing in a deep breath to settle my pounding heart, I licked my lips and called out, “Good Belial.”

  Pop.

  “Yes, Fair Lady?”

  I did not dare to turn to face them. My body was still too flushed, slick with sweat and shivering despite the castle’s heat. Instead, I kept my eyes closed and head down.

  “Make this door —“ I paused and took another breath. Then, I spoke again in a softer tone. “Would you be so kind as to make my door lead to where Lord Genesis is currently?”

  “Of course, Fair Lady, of course! He also wished to see you when you returned. A most joyous coincidence, wouldn’t you agree?”

  “Thank you, Belial.”

  The creature snapped their fingers, and I flung open the door, storming out into the courtyard.

  Night and day were no different in the Dreadlands, the light and heat of the Sun smothered by the perpetual coverage of dark clouds. But in the months I’d lived here, I’d come to learn the subtle differences throughout the day. From the slight — it would be imperceptible if not for my damp gown and flushed skin — chill in the air and the absence of rotfly buzzing in the distance, I surmised it was the early hours of the morning.

  Genesis was seated at the entrance, the drawbridge down, and gazing out across the canyon. His elbow rested on his knee, the other leg stretched out. There was a new creature at his side, its head resting on his lap, his claws scratching its large, fluffy ears.

  It was the creature’s presence that stayed my wrath and slowed my approach.

  It was a Fellbeast. That much was obvious from its prickly, blackened fur and the scaled claws on its front paws. A mane of quills surrounded a catlike face, eyes closed, a purr rumbling within its chest. On its back it bore two great wings, scaled and leathery, and its tail was covered in a thick carapace, long enough to curl around its body, and tipped with a stinger that could run a man Vasco’s size through with a single thrust.

  When I drew close enough to catch its attention, it cracked one eye open. Black sclera like its master, with wide circles of gold at the center. Rather than be bothered by my presence, the Fellbeast stretched its pawns and returned to sleep with a long, loud yawn that showed off the fearsome fangs lining its great maw.

  Genesis turned to me with a crooked half-smile. “She approves of you.”

  “I should be so honored.” My answer bore more venom than intended, and I quickly cleared my throat. “My apologies. She’s rather elegant for one of your creations…is there a massacre somewhere that needs my attention?”

  He laughed and shook his head. “Nothing of the sort. Like you, she’s not left Dreadskull since arriving.” His chuckle tapered off, and he gestured to the space across from him. “Won’t you join me?”

  My anger wilted at the sound of his low, crooning voice. “Yes. Thank you.” I settled to the ground and laid against the hot obsidian doorway. To my surprise, the Fellbeast stood up and padded over. She dropped to the ground beside me and plopped her head onto my lap. A half-open eye stared expectantly at me, closing only when I took up scratching her ears.

  “She was to be yours, should you agree to become a Fiend. The dreadtusks were the first, born from the depths of my hatred, but…” He turned to look out across the wastes. “When Belial joined me, I created the first foolwyrm. I don’t know why such sentimentality possessed me. But that act became a tradition.” He held up his hand and sliced his palm. Fellblood pooled within his palm, taking shape and soon flying away as a newborn rotfly. “Rotflies for Beelzebub, wrathmares for Banshee, and witherlilies for those who refused me.”

  “Wrathmares?”

  “They dwell the Dream, seeking out vulnerable minds to drive to madness. Like most nightmares, they’re easily forgotten with the coming of the dawn. Those who are not so lucky are in no state to report their existence.”

  I pursed my lips and looked down at the beast slumbering on my lap. “Why have I not seen one living here?”

  “They stay near Banshee and dwell within her dreamscape.” He paused and growled. “To see them, you’d need —“

  “Why did you visit me in the Dream tonight, Genesis?” I asked, cutting him off before the last embers of my indignation could cool. As the memory returned to me, it fanned them once more into a flame. Crackling, now, instead of raging.

  He turned to look at me with craned eyebrow. “Visit you? I know not of which you speak. I have not returned to the Dream since I last walked it with you and Belial.”

  “There’s no need to lie to me, good sir, I will not be fooled.” But though there was fire in my words, it was dulled by the sincerity reflected in his eyes. Somehow, that frightened me even more. “I was…we were…”

  “Did you perchance…have a normal dream, Celeste?”

  A normal dream?

  “I — no, don’t be absurd! I am a Dream Walker, am I not?” My cheeks burned when he laughed.

  “An exceptionally talented one if I’m to believe you’ve Walked every night without dreaming, yourself.” Genesis turned to look at the wasteland — was he looking at something? — and chuckled again. “We can dream, the same as anyone, Celeste. Mortal Dream Walkers must dream on occasion to give their minds a chance to rest. Most would go mad after a week, let alone…”

  “Twenty-three years.”

  “Twenty-three years…” Genesis shook his head. “I can only imagine you managed so long thanks to your Soulspark. Even before awakening, it was still a part of you. Mayhap it kept you revitalized through decades of wakefulness?”

  I drew in my knees as much as my slumbering companion would allow and looked away from him. His explanation made sense, but why now? Was it due to overexertion? What could have caused my mind to wander so much so that it needed to conjure up such…such…

  “Do you…dream now, Genesis?” I asked, glancing back at him. A surge of pain blossomed in his chest, its reflection plunging into mine. My hopeful smile gave way to a frown.

  “No.” His voice was soft, barely audible over the roaring ache in his heart.

  As he peered into the distance, his brow furrowed and his lips pulled back in a grimace. Genesis snapped his fingers, and the Fellbeast woke, returning to his side. Then, he looked at me with sadness clear in his eyes.

  “Banshee will be upon your family before long. Go now and you can warn them before she arrives. When you return…I’ll tell you how to reach the Shadow.” He shook his head when I opened my mouth to protest. “No. You must be on your way. Should Banshee reach them before you, they will die.”

  Pressing my lips into a firm line, I nodded. Then, I laid my head back and closed my eyes.

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