Realm of Shadow and Light : Legends of the Lost by Liliah Anderson

Author:Liliah Anderson [Anderson, Liliah]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2024-12-15T00:00:00+00:00

The Liminal Planes

Chapter Seventeen

Nyx’s return to the spectral form felt like a breath drawn too deep, too fast. Their body, once tangible and familiar, dissolved into the ether like smoke caught in the wind. The weight of the world slipped away, leaving them untethered, suspended in the heavy, oppressive stillness of the liminal planes. They could feel the remnants of solid form flicker at the edges of their consciousness, like a fading dream, but it was gone—lost, swallowed by the nothingness that stretched endlessly in every direction.

The air here was thick with darkness, suffocating and cold, a place where even light seemed to fear to tread. Shadows—no, not shadows, but things made of shadow—slithered just beyond the reach of their senses, darting between the cracks of reality. They could hear them, their whispers sharp like the scrape of nails against stone, but not in the traditional sense of sound. It was in the very marrow of their being, a cold pulse of malice threading through the space.

Nyx’s senses, honed over centuries of existence in between, flared with the presence of these beings. Dark, twisting forms, neither fully alive nor entirely dead, hunting in the unseen corners of the planes. These were creatures of the forgotten—the ones who had slipped through cracks in the fabric of the worlds, lurking in the spaces between, where even time dared not follow.

They moved with an eerie fluidity, shapes that were ever-changing, stretching, merging with the shadows themselves, their forms jagged and wrong. Nyx could feel their eyes upon them, though there were no eyes—only the cold, penetrating awareness that followed in the wake of their passage.

The veil was thin here, impossibly thin, and Nyx could feel it, fraying like the edges of an ancient tapestry about to unravel. The barrier between the realms was weakening, and with it, the shadows pressed closer, hungry to slip through. There was a wrongness to the way the fabric of the planes stretched and wavered around them, the threads of reality thinning as the dark things reached toward the lightless places where they could exist fully—where they could cross.

Nyx’s presence crackled in the stillness. The pulse of their energy, once a mere ripple, now hummed through the void, like a storm gathering force. They had been searching for this—this breach, this place where the veil thinned enough to allow things to slip between. The shadows stirred in response, drawn to the energy of the rift, and for the first time in ages, Nyx felt the weight of their existence settle on them—this world was wrong, and they were the only one who had come to right it.

But Nyx knew better than to be reckless. The shadows were patient. They had waited for centuries, lingering in the dark cracks of reality, waiting for a slip in the fabric to let them free. Now, they were drawn to Nyx as if sensing their purpose, their power, their intent to shut the rift before it spread any farther.

As Nyx moved deeper into the planes, their form flickered—just barely visible, like the last remnants of a dying star.

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