The path ahead narrowed into a canyon of jagged glass rocks. Suba walked for what felt like hours, her sense of time blurring. In Everdark, a minute could feel like a year. Her throat was parched, and the whispers in the wind were becoming harder to ignore. They were reciting her failures, every mistake she had ever made, on a loop.
"You're late," a calm, melodic voice drifted from the mouth of a nearby cave.
Suba raised her weapon, her eyes narrowing. Sitting on a throne of twisted roots was a man—or something that looked like one. He wore robes of shifting grey silk, and his eyes were entirely silver, lacking pupils or irises. In his hands, he held a glowing golden thread, weaving it into a tapestry that seemed to depict scenes from Suba's life.
"Who are you?" Suba demanded, keeping her distance.
"I am the Weaver," he said, not looking up from his work. "I keep the records of those who are 'shadow-touched.' You, Suba, are a very interesting thread. You carry the light of an angel but the hunger of a demon."
He tugged at the golden thread, and a vision appeared in the air between them. It showed Suba as a child, but her shadow was massive, towering over the house, its hands shaped like wings.
"The secret your family died to protect wasn't about a treasure, Suba," the Weaver said, finally meeting her gaze. The silver in his eyes swirled like mercury. "It was about your blood. You aren't just visiting the Everdark. You are its rightful heir."
Suba felt a cold shiver run down her spine. "That's a lie. I'm human."
"Are you?" The Weaver stood up, the golden tapestry falling to the floor. As it hit the ground, the image changed to show a throne sitting in the heart of a dead city. On that throne sat a woman who looked exactly like Suba, but her eyes were the color of a dying star.
"The Gates didn't open because you found the key," the Weaver whispered, stepping into her personal space. "They opened because they recognized their Queen."
Before Suba could respond, a deafening roar shook the canyon. The glass rocks began to shatter, and a massive shadow, darker than anything she had seen yet, began to emerge from the earth beneath the Weaver's feet.
"Choose quickly, Shadow Angel," the Weaver grinned, his teeth sharp and white. "Will you fight the darkness, or will you lead it?"