Page 51 of The Light Within

But that was okay, because the horrible feeling was gone.

It had only plagued him for a minute at most, but it had been the sort of minute where the threat of it continuing made an eternity of time pass. The absence of the empty dread was like an oppressive weight being lifted, and he breathed in one heavy, grateful breath.

Oui, the feeling had gone, the rain had stopped, the sky was red, and all was well again.

Red?

Julien shot straight up. A single glance informed him the weight pressing on his left leg was Cinn, who was also sprawled on his back. Cinn was groaning, stretching, and very muchalive.

For now.

A few shakes of Cinn’s body, and his eyes opened—thankfully the blackness had left them, bringing back the soft shade of golden hazel Julien could never help spending too long secretly admiring.

But now, those eyes drifted past Julien to perform a sweeping glance across the horizon.

“Back again, huh?” Cinn said.

Julien nodded, then joined him in surveying the shadowrealm. The odd, perpetual twilight from Julien’s last visit here remained, as did the fractured moon hanging low in the sky.

They were still on Westminster Bridge, that was for sure—but now it was a warped, sad reflection of its former self. The iconic lampposts were now gnarled and twisted, casting no light into the thick, red-tinged haze that surrounded them. The outlines of Big Ben and the Houses of Parliament loomed ominously through the gloom, their facades now ravaged by those crimson ivy vines, disturbingly large, eerily alien. A large portion of the Palace of Westminster had crumbled to the ground, leaving gaping holes where walls once stood, the ruins overtaken by the pulsating, grotesque vines that seemed to feed off the destruction.

“You clearly can’t keep away,” Julien eventually retorted.

They walked over to the parapet, leaning across for a better view of what remained of the River Thames: a desolate riverbed, a vast expanse of cracked, parched earth, streaked with the remnants of dark, stagnant pools that had long since dried up.

Cinn pulled away, hanging on to the railing and leaning back, gazing up at the sky. He wrinkled his nose. “How come you’re here?”

“That isn’t entirely the response I was hoping for. I’ll go, shall I?”

“You know what I mean.” Cinn picked at a crimson vine wrapped tightly around the bars. It resisted at first, then its thick, sinewy strands gave way, leaving behind a rust-coloured imprint. “You were only able to come here last time because of the Mortalisfade.”

Julien gazed down the length of the bridge. “I’ve not the faintest clue,” he said. “Just before we came here, I felt this… horrible emptiness. It was awful. Like nothing mattered.” Julien swallowed; he could still taste the despair lingering on his tongue. “Then I looked at you and was reminded that it did. You matter.”

Cinn closed the space between them to press their foreheads together, grasping the nape of Julien’s neck. “Let’s get out of here. I’m so done with this shit.”

As if on cue, a blackness flickered behind Cinn. Not his shadow—that was Cinn-shaped again. The umbraphages had rejoined them.

Julien pulled Cinn behind him so fast he let out a gasp of air.

SHADOW

Cinn mumbled something like ‘for fuck’s sake’ before shouting, “What do you want?”

TO TALK WITH YOU

YOU AND HIM

That explained Julien’s invitation. He stepped forward, tipping his head back to fully take in the umbraphages and their immense size. “Talk then!”

WHAT DO YOU KNOW OF THIS WORLD

Cinn frowned—the question had surprised him, too. “I don’t know… it’s theshadowrealm?”

THIS IS YOUR WORLD

AND IT IS NOT YOUR WORLD

“Yeah?” snapped Cinn. “Real helpful.”

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