Chapter Three

God of Night

By the blood, I shouldn’t have spoken.

Starsdamned mortals. They have no concept of how infinite the cosmos is . . . and what kind of soul-eating monsters lurk beyond the veil. I feel my chest expand with a breath even though this form has no earthly shape, only the wisps of smoke and darkness of my astral self.

I don’t even know why I’m here.

Venant summoned me, that presumptuous guardian who has somehow taken it upon himself to be my guiding light. I don’t require his advice or his interference. My shadows coalesce and dissipate, rippling hungrily as they bask in the essence of the girl’s akasha. It hums with power, so alluring.

No. No.

“Darrius,”

a voice croons as Venant emerges from the gloom like a specter, his form curiously in the shape of an old woman, and a crafty smile on that ancient face.

“Venant.”

The crone cants her head. “I go by Vena now.”

“What do you want?”

I ask, uncaring about her preferences or appearance.

“It has been written,”

she says, eyes swirling white with power for a moment. “Our worst fears will come to pass . . . if your path is not walked.”

My shadows writhe and coil like restless serpents, and I glare wrathfully at the lesser deity. “You forget your place, Guardian. My path is not your concern. Do not summon me again.”