Page 5 of Realms of Shadow and Sun

Despite his predicament, Cyrus sat regally atop his mount, as if he had been riding all his life. There was a quiet dignity about him that Sion couldn't help but admire.

As they set off, Sion felt a growing sense of dread settling in his chest. Every step of the horses' hooves brought him closer to Cressida's clutches, to her bed. The thought made his skin crawl. As the snow began to thin, he knew it was only a matter of time before she could sink her teeth into him once more, both literally and figuratively.

They left the icy brightness of the Snow Lands behind, entering the oppressive gloom of the Shadow Realm's forest. Though Sion had ridden through these woods many times, the dead and decaying trees always left him with the unsettling feeling of being watched. Every crackle of a branch made him turn, every rustling leaf set his heart racing.

At last, they emerged from the forest, standing at the base of the imposing cliff that housed Cressida's stronghold. Sion glanced back at Cyrus, surprised to see steady resolve in the old man's expression.

Brandle surveyed their little group with disdain. “I'm going to use magic,” he announced haughtily. “You can use the spiral staircase with the human.” Without another word, he let the black mist envelop his body before funneling upward and disappearing.

Sion couldn't help but sigh in relief. For the first time in days, he was free of Brandle's stares and insults. The man's oily presence had tainted every moment of their journey, his constant complaints about every snow drift and gust of wind getting on Sion's last nerve.

Dismounting smoothly, Sion untied Cyrus from the saddle. Two men, clad in the same golden garb Sion wore, emerged from the shadows to take charge of the horses. As Sion led Cyrus towards the entry to the spiral staircase, he felt physically ill with dread. Beside him, Cyrus stretched and grunted, his muscles clearly aching from the long journey.

Glancing around to ensure they were alone, Sion made a split-second decision. He quickly untied the older man's bonds, ignoring the look of surprise that flashed across Cyrus's face.

“Go,” Sion urged in a fierce whisper. “Quickly. Back to the Snow Lands. Our people will take you in.”

But Cyrus remained rooted to the spot, making no move to flee.

“Did you hear me?” Sion hissed, anxiety coloring his tone. “You need to move fast!”

A small, mysterious smile played at the corners of Cyrus's mouth. “I'm right where I want to be, trust me, my boy,” he said calmly. “Now that I'm here, I can almost feel her. This is a reunion I'm looking forward to.”

Sion's jaw went slack as he struggled to process the man's words. What person in their right mind would willingly face Cressida? Sion would have given anything to be free of her clutches, to live his own life away from her toxic influence.

“If I can't convince you to go, I have no choice but to bring you before the queen,” Sion said, his voice heavy with resignation. “I don't know why she desires you so, but the fact that she made us cross into the human realm to find you means you are instrumental to her schemes. She won't let you live. Once she gets what she wants, she'll discard you.” His fists clenched unconsciously, nails digging into his palms.

“Don't concern yourself with my welfare,” Cyrus replied, his tone maddeningly calm. “I can look out for myself.” He rolled his stiff shoulders and neck, wincing slightly. “Just bring me to her.”

Sion stood at the base of the turret that led to the palace, its imposing structure perched precariously on the mountainside. Drawing upon the meager magic Cressida afforded him, he sent out a tendril of black mist. It twisted and twirled in the air, an otherworldly serpent dancing to an unheard melody, before turning into the shape of a door on the side of the turret.

Reaching out with the borrowed magic, Sion pushed against the ancient bricks. They groaned and shifted, sliding back to reveal a hidden passageway. As the entrance appeared, Sion sighed heavily, the dread in his stomach churning like the rough sea.

If the sudden appearance of the doorway surprised Cyrus, he didn't show it. Instead, he marched ahead of Sion, his loosened bindings trailing behind him.

The smell of moss and damp earth assaulted Sion's nostrils as they entered the passage. What had once been a comforting scent, reminiscent of the forest after a cleansing rain, now turned his stomach. It was as if the very air of the Shadow Realm had been tainted by Cressida's malevolence.

Standing in the center of the circular chamber, Sion channeled a bit more magic. The torches lining the wet walls sputtered to life, their dull glow matching the look of resignation in Sion's eyes. Cyrus glanced around, his expression one of quiet reminiscence, as if these gloomy halls held memories from a distant past.

Before Sion could inquire about Cyrus's apparent familiarity with the place, the old man moved towards the first stone slab step, his shiny shoes clacking against the weathered rock.

“Up we go,” Cyrus said, a hint of anticipation in his voice that Sion couldn't quite fathom.

Sion followed behind, marveling at the agility of the older man. Despite his age, Cyrus seemed to be in remarkably good shape, tackling the endless spiral staircase with determination. Even Sion found himself huffing towards the end, while Cyrus merely paused a few times to catch his breath.

At last, they reached the landing. The passageway opened up into a dome-shaped space, with open-air windows near the top allowing slivers of the perpetually gloomy sky to peek through. Cyrus's expression was one of grim resolve as Sion pressed open the ornate marble door leading into the palace.

They crossed the threshold, their footsteps echoing on the polished marble tiles. Towering ivory pillars flanked their path, offering no protection from the abyss of the valley far below. Every walkway was exposed to the elements, with no walls to break the constant, treacherous wind.

As they navigated the twisting labyrinth of sky bridges, Sion felt as if he were walking a tightrope, his position in the air as precarious as his standing in Cressida's court. One misstep, one wrong word, and he would plummet into the darkness below.

Finally, they reached the last sky bridge leading to the throne room. Sion's heart hammered in his chest as he grabbed the ropes binding Cyrus and tightened them, forcing the old man behind him to maintain the illusion of a captive and captor. They crossed the threshold into the throne room, where Brandle stood regally, as if he were the rightful occupant of the black mist throne rather than a mere servant.

Sion moved towards the center of the cavernous chamber, the ever-present wind teasing his hair. He longed to shed his thick fur cloak, but he remained stoic, awaiting the arrival of the Shadow Queen. Suddenly, the air in the room seemed to thicken, funneling towards the throne. Dark tendrils of mist writhed and twisted, gradually taking on a human form.

As the mist dissipated, Cressida materialized before them, a triumphant smirk playing on her lips. She was an imposing figure in a long hunter-green dress that pooled around her feet like a liquid shadow. An intricately embroidered serpent with glittering jeweled eyes wrapped around her torso, its scaled body serving as a macabre belt. Her eyelids were painted a matching verdant hue, and large, gold cobra-shaped earrings dangled from her lobes, catching the dim light as she moved. She twisted in place, her high heels clicking ominously on the polished floor.

Sion bowed his head, reluctant to meet her cruel gaze. But from the corner of his eye, he detected movement as Cyrus straightened, standing taller and more defiant than before.

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