Once Upon a Nightmare

hail the king of nightmares

xx: hail the king of nightmares

 

A blinding light explodes around us. I see Alexander knocked back before I have to shut my eyes against the brightness. A loud boom—a sound that reverberates deep in my chest—follows the explosion of light. And then silence.

I slowly open my eyes, blinking twice.

A pile of shattered glass is all that remains of Hina’s prison. The Queen herself is gone. So is Jack. I’m expecting one or both of them to drop from the sky—a little winded, but fine. They can’t just be . . . gone. But then I think of how quickly Gloom disappeared, his existence erased so thoroughly, and suddenly feel out of breath.

Alexander is still on his side. His emotions are open and accessible, but he feels like white static, as if he’s too numb to process anything else.

Underneath me, the path crumbles away. The yarn and leather turns black with decay. Too late, I realize it’s falling out from under us. Alexander grips my upper arm and yanks me to my feet. We barrel down the path as fast as we can, our feet stumbling over the different stitching just as they turn to stone. The entire thing gives a mighty groan and caves in on itself. I yelp when a pair of claws latches to my arm. As I lift off the ground just before we sink into the collapse, I look up and see the underside of a Night Terror. Beside me, Alexander squirms in the grasp of its claws.

“Armand!” I say. A final, tremendous jolt shoots us forward. Armand hurls us from his grip and we land in the Grave of Lilies, rolling in the flowers. Donovan, wings unfurled, blasts through right behind us and hits the ground.

Genn is beside Alexander and me in an instant. “What happened?” she asks. I can’t answer her. I sit up, but the Stitch of Time is invisible, the barrier Jack put in place blocking it once more. I don’t see Armand anywhere.

Donovan groans, his wings pathetically crumpled. I think I hear him say Hina’s name as his hands clench the life out of the lilies within his reach.

“Alexander?” Genn asks, pleading.

Alexander pushes himself up to his knees, shaking his head. “He’s gone,” he says in a hollow voice.

“W-who? What?” When Genn catches her breath, she meets Alexander’s raised gaze and sees the truth. Finally, she chokes and he catches her as she flings herself at him. With her face pressed into his chest, he stares ahead at nothing, his jaw rigid. He breathes hard, shoulders trembling, and only as I see the glisten of tears on his cheeks do I realize he’s sobbing.

Flowers die at a rapid pace around us, turning to ash. I feel separate from the grief, like Lana staring wide-eyed at the edge of the clearing. All I can think about is Armand, wondering if he’s trapped. I reach over to Alexander to get his attention, and three figures appear where the ash-ridden flowers stop, in front of the once-Stitch of Time.

The three gods.

Morpheus is in the front. His forest-colored hair, so dark it’s nearly black, is styled in a high mohawk. He wears a black turtleneck. Beside him, Hypnos looks a little how Gloom used to, except shorter and more pudgy. Nyx is . . . Sweeney.

I squint, thinking I’m imagining it. But no.

The fear of the unknown, the goddess Nyx, is Gloom’s neighbor.

Morpheus extends a fist in front of him and opens his hand. The Jewel of Imagination drops out, catching on a chain around his wrist.

“It has come to our attention that the previous guardian of the Jewel of Imagination has passed. It falls, of course, to the next ruler whom I believe—” He steps forward, holding the pendant out to Alexander, “—is you.”