Her çiçeğin bir mevsimi, her kitabın bir zamanı vardır. Haziranın tadını yeni hikâyelerle çıkarın.
Is there no sun?” I asked, wetting my lips.
“Not in the Shadowlands.”
Barely able to comprehend that I was actually in the Shadowlands, I wasn’t sure what to do with the knowledge of there being no sun or moon. “Then how do you know when to sleep?”
“You sleep when you’re tired.”
Because now here we are. You’re in the Shadowlands. And soon, you will be known as the Consort,” Ash said. “My enemies will become yours.”
“Who…who are you?” Tavius rasped.
Slowly, his head turned to where my stepbrother stood. “I am known as the Asher,” he said, and I shuddered. Is it short for something, I’d asked when he told me his name. It is short for many things. “The One who is Blessed. I am the Guardian of Souls and the Primal God of Common Men and Endings.” His voice traveled through the Great Hall, and absolute silence answered. I could barely force air through my lungs. “I am Nyktos, ruler of the Shadowlands, the Primal of Death.”
And darkness tinged in silver spilled out from the tear, splashing on the floor and rising in a thick, dark, swirling mist. In the throbbing mass, a tall form could be seen as thick tendrils curled through the air, spreading across the floor, forming a pillar of night and then another, completely obscuring all others in the Hall. In each column of churning shadows, a form took shape. As the shadows—all of them that filled the Hall—retracted as if drawn back to him.
I knew who stood in the center without even seeing his face or any features inside the pulsing mass of midnight that stretched up and outward in the shape of massive wings that blocked the sun’s light.
Death had finally returned.