14. “You dare summon me, Nyxion,” she says…

Chapter 14

"You dare summon me, Nyxion," she says…

NYXION

"Hekate" by An Danzza - Whispers of the Forest

"Hecate" by Wendy Rule

"Goddess of Dark Misfits" by Hecate Enthroned

" O h, don't you dare bring me into this whole mess!" Phantasos huffs, one hand up on the defensive. "I've got enough problems with the walking blonde leach." He nods to Ivy who holds his hand, swinging his arm while humming aimlessly.

I open my mouth, only to clench my skeletal hand, so hard, I fracture my phalanges, remembering how my brother stole my hyoid bone. If I hadn't spent most of our lives cursing him and drowning in my wrath, I would respect the fuck out of him for such an act. But not this time. Not when the stakes are higher than ever.

With every second that passes from the loss of Zenya, my god form withers away, my features far more corpse-like. Soon, my skeleton will manifest.

I'm not asking you to break any god protocol or to take sides, Phantasos, I stray into his mind, grateful his mental doorway is open to me, unlike Morpheus who slammed his shut.

I grit my teeth, my tattered wings hardened with tension beyond compare. I'm only asking you to check on her. Look after her.

"Surely, you know Morpheus would never harm her, brother." Phantasos brushes some bone dust off his shoulder. Today, he's wearing a four-piece white tuxedo with vest, pants, and ascot. Gold buttons.

No, that is my purpose. But I need updates. I lock eyes with him, my diamond ones sharpening with severity. Report to me if Morpheus takes Zenya beyond his Realm of Dreams. Or if she learns anything about the Trials.

"What are you going to do, Nyxion?" he asks in a sobering moment, glancing at the border as if he knows I don't plan to stand here for the next year chipping away at the shadows one by one.

Steeling my jaw while envisioning all the ways I will soon shatter my little killer, I share, There is only one I will trust to contact, Phantasos.

He curses under his breath and scrubs a hand down his face. "Are you certain? You know the risk of involving her?"

I am aware.

Phantasos tosses his black ponytail over his shoulder before sighing and glancing down at Ivy. "Well, what do you think, little troublemaker? Care to explore the World of Dreams?"

She squeezes his hand, blue eyes twinkling with mischief. "Sure, but can we bring the cloud throne? I don't want it to get lonely."

Yes, the child's throne of clouds Zenya wove for her still rests in my Great Hall.

He rustles the top of her head and chuckles. "Don't fret, child. When we arrive in the Realm of Dreams, I'm certain Zenya will be more than happy to weave you a new one. Perhaps…a cotton candy cloud throne this time."

Ivy turns to me, her eyes dancing despite having heard none of our conversation. "That sounds like the sweetest dream!"

"Take hold of my arm, Ivy," Phantasos bids. "You know the routine."

When the child waves farewell to me as Phantasos transforms into a great golden bird for Ivy to ride upon, a misplaced heat rolls through me. If it weren't for the ages-old enmity between me and Morpheus, we could…

I shake my head. It matters not if we are the Gods of wishful thinking. We cannot command our own wishes to manifest.

Desperate times call for desperate measures. Contacting this signature goddess is the epitome of desperation, but I have little choice. Eros would hold this over my head for centuries, and he is preoccupied with his new queen. We all know better than to contact Hades. And involving Zeus would ensure Zenya's death or imprisonment.

This is the only solution, the only potential for penetrating the border. So, I make my way to the deepest recess in the chasm, the neutral fabric between our worlds where the ancient substance, formed from the Chaos of the universe, lingers—an ever-shifting swirl of bone dust and shadows—the framework of Oneiroi power.

I take the necessary steps, collecting as much of our essence as possible before carefully crafting the summoning sigil. The labyrinthine serpent around a central spiral. Representing rebirth. The triple moon with its dark lunar aspect, for she embodies the dark face of the moon.

The last thing we need is to involve any of our siblings. Ker, Destiny herself, would not be a safe choice. And Eris would be far more of a nightmare than anything I could bring.

Once I burn the crossroads incense, I stand in the center of the sigil. The air crackles with the otherworldly energy. Chanting the summoning spell, I feel the ground pulsing with a dark, rhythmic glow, synchronized with my voice. As the shadows and bone dust fall into the rhythm, I stay steady and resolute, calling beyond this world's borders, seeking the presence of the powerful goddess.

A soft, eerie light emanates from the darkness, gradually growing brighter until it illuminates the entire clearing.

I smirk as torches ignite with spectral flames, their flickering light casting long, ghostly shadows within the circle.

A figure begins to materialize before me.

She is a vision of dark beauty, an embodiment of elegance and raw power.

I lower myself into a respectful bow for the chief goddess who stands before me, her presence commanding and otherworldly.

Honorable Hecate… I proclaim through the mental tether, aware of how faint my speech is as I am not a god but a daemon. Goddess of Borders and Boundaries, Magic and Spells, Ghosts and Necromancy.

She sets one hand on her hip, black fathomless eyes narrowing upon me. A sweeping gothic gown clothes her, adorned with intricate eldritch symbols that seem to shift and writhe like living creatures. The fabric shimmers with an ethereal light, giving her an almost spectral appearance.

Thick, intricate braids cascade down her back like a waterfall of shadows, sweeping to the floor. Silver threads twist and weave into each braid, adding a touch of luminescence to her midnight tresses. Her skin glows with a bronze radiance, smooth and flawless, contrasting starkly with her dark attire.

As usual, a pack of wild, ghostly skeletal dogs surrounds her, their eyes glowing with an unearthly fire. They move silently, intimidating and awe-inspiring. Those torches float and dance around her, a halo of spectral light around the goddess.

When one of the dogs growls, its fur prickling, Hecate lowers her hand to pat its head. "Hecuba. Peace…" she soothes the dog, her voice like velvet shadows.

My breath catches as I behold her. Waves of reverence and apprehension wash over me as I register her immense power.

"Laying it on thick, I see, Nyxion?" she addresses my newly chosen name while pressing her lips into a knowing and beguiling smile. "Little wonder with your recent plight and the knowledge of how the Oneiroi are at war…again."

Summoning my courage, I open my mouth, only for a frustrated growl to rumble in my chest. At least I can still make those daemon-born sounds.

Hecate… I keep my voice steady despite my tumult of emotions. I seek your aid to penetrate the border woven by Morpheus and reclaim what is mine.

Hecate's eyes, glowing with an inner fire, fixate on me. The moment of silence weighs heavy with tension before she speaks. "You dare summon me, Nyxion," she says, a hint of amusement in her tone. Her voice is melodic, yet carries the depth of ancient power.

And yet, you came, I point out with my wry humor, my smile twisted and macabre from the flesh peeled back to show my teeth.

I give her the respect due to her title, history, and power. I know she is testing me with that piercing gaze, waiting to see if I flinch. The torches flicker, glowing brighter. Her dogs close in, their teeth bared, snarls low as they stalk toward me. Still, I do not take my eyes off of her. I don't move one muscle. I match her, grin for grin.

Just as I sense the dogs' hot breath crawling through my robe to my corpse flesh beyond, Hecate whistles, calling the dogs back while posturing on her invisible throne. She needs no crown to define her status. If she did, it would be woven of pure magic.

"Very well, Nyxion," she acquiesces, opening her palm slightly. "I will help you. But know this: my aid comes with a price."

I nod, prepared for any demands she may make. Name your conditions.

Hecate steps closer, her gaze carving into my very soul. "First, I wish to see this dream weaver, Zenya, for myself. I will make my judgments about her and the situation."

While I hesitate, already predicting why she has this desire, I make no debate. I may not wish to share her with my brothers, but if Hecate shows interest in Zenya, and the mortal is receptive to the Goddess of Magic, I have no qualms. Especially if it gets me to my little killer quicker.

Ultimately, I nod my agreement. And the second condition?

A slow, enigmatic smile spreads across Hecate's lips. "You will grant me influence over nightmares once more, as I had for my followers in the waking world. As the goddess of Ghosts and Magic, I wish for my apparitions and spells to creep into the dreams of my witches, weaving their destinies in the shadows. It's been too long since the days of my followers stripped to their glorious mortal skin and danced around fires under the harvest moon while chanting praises to my name."

Naturally, I agree. The world is due for more pagan raves. Who doesn't love a good old-fashioned fire dance?

"Selene will appreciate the mystical comeback as much as I."

Despite my humor lightening the moment, I consider her demands, the weight of the decision pressing on me. Yet, the need to reclaim Zenya and invade Morpheus's border outweighs the potential consequences.

I accept your conditions. My choice is firm, and I grant her the gesture of good faith, drawing a claw across my flesh to spill my blood, black and thick.

Hecate's smile widens, a glint of satisfaction in her eyes. She surges tendrils of firelight from her torches to spiral around my blood drops, catching every one before she directs the blood into the very mouths of the dogs who lap it up eagerly.

"It is done," she declares. With a wave of her hand, the ghostly dogs let out a silent howl. The torches flare. "Prepare yourself, Nyxion. The path ahead is fraught with peril, but you are resilient enough to overcome. As is Morpheus. Hopefully, this Zenya will be, too."

Fraught with peril?

"Mmm…a temporal storm encroaches in the Realm of Dreams. I imagine the war brewing between you and Morpheus, the tension, and such supernatural, organic artifacts as the Eye and the hyoid bone embedded within the flesh of a mortal will disrupt the balance. Such delicious conflicts, don't you think? Neither good nor ill. After all, dreams may neutrally test beings. Let us see what this little weaver is made of."

A temporal storm. It could bring any outcome. I don't underestimate Zenya when it comes to any subconscious conflict. She will rise to the challenge. I only hope Morpheus does not wield too much of his influence.

She is still mine. My dark, little killer. She belongs with me in the Realm of Nightmares. With every tattoo pulsing on the left side of her being, she knows this.

As Hecate's presence begins to fade, the air around us returns to its previous stillness.

I feel a renewed sense of purpose, but also a lingering unease. Hecate's presence heightens the stakes. The disruption of balance will only intensify those stakes—as treacherous as it is vital to tether Zenya to our world.

But the true cost of Hecate's assistance remains to be seen.