Sebastian had an hour to learn everything there was to know about the Prophecy of Eight.

Fortunately, Castle Braexus boasted one of the most expansive libraries among the magic community. After shadowjumping out the dungeons, he made his way through the central corridor and toward the library. His robes flapped behind him as he jogged through the halls. A few of the other Shades shot him strange glances as he went by.

He paid them no mind.

He had questions. He needed answers.

Within minutes, he arrived outside the massive black doors of the library. The brass handles loomed large ahead of him, beckoning him forward. Nodding to himself, he grabbed them both and pulled the doors open.

Much of his childhood was spent in libraries, though, not by choice. He despised reading and everything related to it. But if wanted to be a competent magician and eventual Shade, he needed to learn to love it.

The library was empty, save for a bald magician sitting at a table alone with a stack of spell books next to him. Sebastian cursed. He needed to pass him to get to the divination section.

He really wasn't in the mood to talk to Emile.

Sighing, he raised his hood and tiptoed through an aisle of books adjacent to the man's reading area. He kept his head low, but the shelves weren't tall enough for him to fully hide behind. Just as he was about to exit, he heard Emile clear his throat.

He froze beside a bookshelf housing hundreds of volumes of Mortar's Beast Guides.

Just my luck.

"Sebastian, I know that's you."

Lowering his hood, he turned and flashed a fake smile at the man over a set of bookcases. "Hey, Emile... What're you doing in here? It's a little past your bedtime, no?"

The man chuckled dryly. Light from the dripping candle on the table glinted off his mahogany skin. Kind, brown eyes stared back at Sebastian.

"Catching up on some reading." He gestured at a book containing psychic magic spells. He raised a thin eyebrow at the boy across from him. "And you?"

"Was just looking for something. I'll get out of your hair—"

Emile shot him an unimpressed look.

Sebastian stifled a grin. "I promise that wasn't on purpose."

"What are you looking for, Sebastian."

"Er..." He trailed off, dropping his gaze to the floor.

He wasn't sure whether to tell the man or not. Out of all the Shades, Emile was probably the sanest. He was also the nicest. The two traits likely went hand-in-hand. Growing up, Sebastian knew the man as his father's advisor. Since joining the Order, he realized he was the commander of the twelve knights, the second-highest-ranking Shade in the entire guild.

That meant he reported everything straight to Thorian.

Sebastian didn't want his father knowing what he was doing. He didn't need to raise any suspicion. Especially not tonight.

"I'll ask you again." Emile closed his book and rose from his seat. Suddenly his eyes weren't so kind anymore. "What are you doing in the library tonight, Sebastian?" He gulped. "You have a mission to prepare for."

An idea popped into his head.

"Exactly," he began. "Which is why I came here to find a spell book. Wanted to brush up on my skills before we left."

He studied Emile's face so hard he could see the stubble dotting his chin. It was clear the man was buying it.

"I've just learned a new spell," Emile mused. He held out his palm, revealing the purple brand burned into his skin. "If performed correctly, it can make anyone tell the truth. Though, it's quite painful for the subject in question." His eyes narrowed. "Shall we test it?"

Sebastian grumbled cursed under his breath before shaking his head.

"Alright," Emile said. "Talk."

"I need information on the Prophecy of Eight."

The man cocked his head to the side. "Why do you want to know about the Prophecy of Eight?"

Sebastian shrugged. "It's what inspired my father's quest right? I wanted to understand him a bit more," he lied.

Emile stroked his chin, examining the boy before him closely. Finally, he nodded. "He'd be pleased to hear that." Smiling, he gestured at the other chair sitting across from him. "Take a seat. I'll answer your questions."

"That's alright. Really, I'm fine—"

"Nonsense. You don't even know what you're looking for. Come. Sit."

It wasn't an invitation. It was an order.

Gulping, Sebastian reluctantly moved from behind the bookcase and joined Emile at his table.

"So, what do you want to know?"

He didn't even know where to begin. Part of him was still reeling from the visions the Obscurio showed him.

The Prophecy of Eight was a shrouded mystery, told in full only to the seven members of the Eldenarian Council. Part of his Shade training meant learning bits and pieces about the oracle. He knew the players involved; there was the Light, the Black Lotus, the Warrior, the Healer, the Wolf, the Bridge, the Deceiver, and the King.

Sebastian's eyes widened.

King.

That's what the whispers of the ring called him. He thought back to the scene of him standing on the balcony of the palace overlooking a crowd of magicians. A crown had been sitting atop his head.

Swallowing hard, he glanced at Emile.

"My father is the Black Lotus, right?"

He nodded.

"Does he know who the others are?"

Emile see-sawed his hand. "The Light is the only one he's one-hundred percent about. As for the other five titles, those are still up in the air."

Sebastian paused.

The light...

The image of Makaela standing beside him on that balcony appeared in his head. A golden aura encased her, brighter than the sun's rays. His eyes widened. He resisted the urge to smack his forehead.

She was the light.

He couldn't believe he was only now realizing it.

"How does the prophecy go again?" he asked.

Emile frowned. "I don't have it committed to memory." He stood up and held his hand out. Then he mumbled a quick summoning incantation, his fingers twisting as his magic flared to life. In the distance, the sound of papers rustling in the air grew closer. Seconds later, a set of scrolls rushed into the man's hand. "Let's see..."

He opened the scrolls, scanning them until he found the one he needed. "Ah," he said. "Here we go." Unraveling it, he turned it around and handed it to Sebastian. "It's right here."

Nodding, Sebastian peered at the page.

The parchment was worn and riddled with holes. Stains marred the scroll, but the words were still somewhat legible. They were written in the ancient tongue of magicians, spoken by the original seven who founded the council. Like English and Romanian, Sebastian was fluent in the old language. Squinting, he started to read.

The Black Lotus will bloom in the abyss of the night,

A King of shadows will take the crown,

And the Light will end the fight.

The Warrior will lead an army to war,

While the Healer will seek to restore.

A Wolf will answer the call,

the Bridge will unite enemies,

And the Deceiver will save them all.

He repeated the words in his head a dozen times. None of it made sense. It might as well have been a children's story written by an actual child.

"I don't get it."

"That's the point. It's a prophecy. No one is supposed to get it. Not until it happens."

"My father gets it."

Emile lifted a finger as a sly look settled on his face like fresh snow. "He thinks he gets it. Your father has been studying this oracle for years. He knows more about it than anyone. But even he doesn't have it completely figured out. I'm afraid he never will, no matter how hard he tries."

Sebastian pursed his lips. "The titles and their predictions don't make sense. My father is the king of the council. But he's also the Black Lotus. He can't be both."

"He isn't."

He blinked.

"What?"

"He's not both. The King is someone else."

"So, someone else is going to take his crown?" He scoffed. "That's not possible."

Emile shrugged with an air of nonchalance. For his father's advisor and top commander, he didn't seem too rattled by the prospect of someone else becoming his king.

"He can't rule forever."

Try telling him that.

"What does that part about the Light mean?" Sebastian pointed at the third line. His finger dropped to the fourth. "This line mentions it as well. There's a war coming?"

Emile nodded. "So it says." He ran a hand over his smooth head. "It's why your father is so adamant about collecting the artifacts. He believes a war with the Arkangels is on the horizon. If he manages to obtain all seven, he'll be able to end it before it even starts."

Sebastian nodded.

The Arkangels had it coming. He wouldn't feel sorry for them, or any other ordinaire, after they were eradicated.

"You didn't answer my first question, though," Sebastian pointed out.

"Ah, yes, the Light." Emile's brows furrowed together. "Why are you asking about her?"

He stiffened in his seat. "I'm just curious, that's all—"

Emile pointed a finger at him. "You know, I remember you two as kids. Always chasing each other around. Had things been different, I could've seen you become a couple. Your mother liked her. Your father...not so much."

Of course he didn't.

Thorian Tedorof was a traditional man. He didn't approve of mixing blood—especially not with someone like Makaela. She might've been Pierre's daughter, but she was still a half-blood.

Sebastian's face went red at the mention of he and Makaela ever being a couple. Coughing awkwardly, he averted his eyes to the violet stained glass above him. Through the painted panes, he saw the moon lurking beyond the smoky clouds.

It would be time to leave soon.

Dread dripped into his veins.

"Your father asked you to do it, didn't he?"

Sebastian didn't even bother feigning ignorance. Sighing, he nodded.

Emile scowled. "He's putting too much pressure on you."

"He needs to know he can trust me."

"He can."

Can he?

Ever since he touched the Obscurio, Sebastian was starting to have second thoughts. It was like he had been wearing glasses and the lens had suddenly cracked. He couldn't take them off, though. He feared what his eyes would see if he did.

"Can you do it?" Emile inquired, his voice small.

Sebastian clenched his hands. "I don't know."

The Shade went silent.

Sebastian did the same.

After a while, Emile checked the enchanted clock floating above them. The iron-wrought hands indicated it was nearing midnight.

"They'll be waiting for you in the portal room," the man told him.

"Yeah, I know."

Sebastian thanked the man and stood up. As he pushed his chair in, he stole one last glance at the prophecy scroll. Blowing air from his nose, he tore his gaze away and shook his head.

It doesn't matter.

He would complete his mission. He would make his father proud. That stupid prophecy wouldn't get in his way. A tiny voice in the back of his head said otherwise, though. He pushed it into the deepest, darkest corner of his head. He didn't need it poisoning his mind. He had a job to do.

"Good luck, Sebastian," Emile said.

Sebastian couldn't shake the uncertainty gripping him. As he left the library, he realized there was only one person who could clear his mind.

He would need the Obscurio.

Shuddering, he called upon the shadows at his feet for the second time that night.

❁

The meeting room was empty again. His father was nowhere to be found. It made stealing the ring that much easier.

After lifting it from the stone hand on the podium, Sebastian shadowjumped outside the castle and into the main garden. It was nestled in a courtyard near the east wing. The courtyard was on the edge of a mountain ridge that overlooked endless rows of black tress.

Dark flowers grew from the ground, each petal giving off the same coldness he felt in the dungeons. A massive, cherry wood tree sat in the center of the pavilion. A single headstone rested at its base.

Sebastian fought off the tears as he walked toward it. The ring in his hand felt more like an anchor. It weighed him down, sapping all his energy and vitalae as he approached the grave.

It was his mother's.

He wasn't sure why his father put his mother's grave at the castle and not the home where he grew up, but he knew not to question the man. After all, Thorian did spend most of his time at Castle Braexus these days. Perhaps it was more convenient.

It wasn't like there was a body or a casket to transport.

Wiping sweat from his brow, Sebastian took a seat in front of the marble headstone. Crossing his legs, he opened his palm and gazed at the pulsating gemstone sitting atop the silver band of the ring.

House Tenebris produced most of the world's shadoweavers. Those amongst their ranks had a natural affinity for the dark arts. But weaving shadows wasn't the only skill found within their house.

Obscurin Tenebris, the founder of their house, was also a necromancer. The ring he wore—gifted to him by Mauvorin, the patron god of shadow magic, in the old days—gave him control of the dead. Of spirits. Anyone who wielded his ring wielded the power of the underworld.

Sebastian was going to use it to summon his mother.

He had no idea how he was going to do it, but he desperately needed to talk to her.

The idea had run through his head countless times. But he never dared ask his father for the Obscurio, and he definitely didn't mention what he wanted it for. He never even brought up his mother around the man. No one did.

Sebastian needed to speak with her. She was the only one who could tell him what to do.

Peering out the side of his hood, he made sure no one was in the shadows watching. Once certain he was truly alone, he refocused his attention on the ring. After gaining a suitable amount of courage, he slipped it on.

The whispers returned.

Squeezing his eyes shut, he ignored the stabbing feeling assaulting his temples. He forced the whispers down until he couldn't hear them anymore. Sweat trickled down his nape before sliding down his back. A chill rippled through his robes.

He was now the controller of death.

Keeping his eyes closed, he searched for the memory of his mother. It took him a minute, but he found her.

The black gemstone of the Obscurio lit up with magenta light.

Everything around him blurred into faded colors. Wind swirled in the courtyard, lifting his robes and pulling at his hair. He grimaced, using his free hand to shield his face from the biting wind nipping at his skin.

The reigns he had keeping the whispers at bay disintegrated. Thousands of voices hissed in his ear. He could feel their ghostly fingers dragging along his face, hooking beneath his skin and burrowing inside.

He shivered, his heartbeat speeding up as he tried to shake them off. A scream rose from his throat. It never made it out. He couldn't open his mouth. It was taking all his concentration to not blackout from the overwhelming sensation of death cresting over him.

Something yanked him from beyond his navel.

But he hadn't shadowjumped. At least, not willingly.

The world around him slowly stopped spinning.

He was no longer in Castle Braexus' garden. He was sat cross-legged on a beach of black sand. Silver water, like melted down mercury, lapped up onto the shore mere feet ahead of him. With his heart hammering away inside his ribcage, he whipped his head around.

The black dunes carried on for miles. Howls of wretched beasts and screams from tortured souls echoed in the air. Fortunately, he didn't see who they belonged to.

His head spun.

He knew where he was.

Nordor.

Shivering, he jumped up to his feet. He realized he was barefoot, his toes digging into the cool, soft sand. His Shade robes were gone, replaced by another set of garments seemingly created out of pure shadows. The Obscurio remained latched to his finger.

He hadn't summoned any spirits with it.

The spirits had summoned him.

He was in their realm now.

Shuffling forward, he made sure to keep an eye out for any ghouls or hellhounds. They were known to frequent the underworld, often hunting down the souls who managed to flee the bottomless pits of the damned. He didn't see any of them.

However, he did see a woman standing on the edge of the beach with her feet touching the silver water. Her fiery hair stood out in the dark hellscape. She wore a dress of shadows.

Tears filled Sebastian's eyes.

He broke out into a sprint, desperate to reach her. As he closed in on her, she disappeared, dissolving into a cloud of wispy smoke. His eyes widened, his breath shortening.

No, no, no.

"Come back!" he shouted. He dropped to his knees. The tears were in full flow now. "Come back!"

He screamed until his voice was raw.

She was so close. A few more steps and he would've seen her.

He grabbed a fistful of sand, sneering through his watery gaze.

"Sebastian."

His ears perked up. Jolting upward, he searched for her. He searched for her voice. But it was all around him.

"Mother?" he asked, his voice trembling.

"You shouldn't be here."

Wiping his eyes, he shakily rose to his feet.

"I had to talk to you. I—" His throat tightened. "Something happened. I don't know how to explain it but..." More tears fell from his eyes. "The whispers...they told me to save her. But father needs me tonight. He needs me to kill her." Sniffling, he rubbed his nose with his sleeve. "What do I do?"

His mother's voice didn't respond.

She had left him. Again.

Another scream ripped out from his throat.

Sebastian brought his fist down upon the sand again. The minuscule grains rose into the air before settling back down.

He felt her hand softly gliding across the side of his face. He felt her lips on his forehead.

Around him, Nordor vanished. Another memory—another vision—visited him.

He wasn't a part of this one. He was merely an observer. A ghost.

As he watched, he was stunned into silence. The truth stood before him, large and looming like a titan. It cast its massive shadow over him, dousing him in cold and anguish. Guilt stabbed his heart. Anger twisted his face.

The memory showed him the truth.

When it left him, he stood on the black beach, numb.

He felt bile rising in his throat. His sight rocked with the current of the silver ocean ahead of him, barely processing anything at all. The memory wouldn't stop replaying in his head, haunting his memories, and rewriting everything he thought he knew about the purge of House Lumai. About his father. About the Order.

About everything.

The Obscurio showed him the truth.

His jaw clenched. Rage turned his face from a chalky white to a bright red.

The Black Lotus was a liar.