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Back Into the Dying Light Save as PDF
Chapters (72)
  1. Copyright Notice
  2. Dedication
  3. I
  4. 1
  5. 2
  6. 3
  7. 4
  8. 5
  9. BEFORE
  10. 6
  11. 7
  12. BEFORE
  13. 8
  14. 9
  15. 10
  16. 11
  17. 12
  18. 13
  19. BEFORE
  20. 14
  21. 15
  22. 16
  23. 17
  24. BEFORE
  25. II
  26. 18
  27. 19
  28. 20
  29. 21
  30. 22
  31. 23
  32. 24
  33. 25
  34. 26
  35. 27
  36. 28
  37. 29
  38. 30
  39. 31
  40. 32
  41. III
  42. 33
  43. 34
  44. 35
  45. 36
  46. 37
  47. 38
  48. 39
  49. 40
  50. 41
  51. IV
  52. 42
  53. 43
  54. 44
  55. 45
  56. 46
  57. 47
  58. 48
  59. 49
  60. 50
  61. 51
  62. 52
  63. 53
  64. 54
  65. 55
  66. 56
  67. 57
  68. 58
  69. AFTER
  70. ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
  71. ABOUT THE AUTHOR
  72. Newsletter Sign-up

“Wait!” Beru pleaded. “I’ll do whatever you ask. Just don’t—don’t hurt her. Don’t hurt any of them.”

THERE IS ONLY ONE WAY TO SAVE THEM. KILL HIM.

Beru squeezed her eyes shut, trying to block out the god’s thoughts.

KILL HIM AND SET ME FREE, the god commanded. I WILL BE MERCIFUL. I WILL ALLOW THESE OTHER MORTALS TO LIVE, IF YOU LIKE. I WILL PROTECT THEM.

No. She still remembered what it felt like, to be trapped in her body as the god rained destruction down on Behezda. It was a terror she had never known, and it haunted her still. The deep, unfathomable ocean of its rage. Her own utter helplessness, not knowing if the god would smash and shake the world until it broke apart completely. Until everything and everyone she loved was dust beneath the god’s limitless power.

No. She wouldn’t kill Pallas, wouldn’t set the god free. Not for anything.

“You will do exactly as I say, or I will kill each and every one of them,” Pallas said. “Just like I killed Illya. I knew you were conspiring together.”

Beru stared hard at the floor, willing herself not to look at Ephyra. Illya. He was still out there, somewhere. Had Ephyra been able to revive him before they were captured?

Just as the thought entered her mind, the great doors opened, spilling light into the foyer.

But the person who ascended the grand front steps wasn’t Illya. It was a woman who Beru didn’t recognize.

But the god clearly did.

BETRAYER, the god spat. THE SEVENTH PROPHET. THE ONE WHO BEGAN THIS.

The woman strode coolly through the doors. She was dressed in a simple dark blue dress, her hair pulled into a sleek knot, yet she was the most elegant woman Beru had ever seen. A chill prickled through Beru as the woman stared down Pallas. There was something about her dark eyes, something piercing about her gaze that was so like Pallas, and yet not.

THE WANDERER.

Beru stared at the Wanderer in shock. Another Prophet? She didn’t know why it hadn’t occurred to her—that if Pallas still walked the earth, so could any of the other original Prophets.

Beru had seen a lot of impossible things in her life. Her own resurrection. Hector’s. The Necromancer King, alive after five hundred years and imprisoned in an oasis in the desert. The return of a murdered god in the ruins of Behezda.

But still she was astonished to see the Wanderer, one of the Seven Prophets who had slain a god and given Grace to humanity, walk casually into the foyer.

The Wanderer’s gaze found Pallas’s. He stared back, almost expressionless, the stern lines of his face locked into place.

“Pallas,” the Wanderer greeted. “It’s been a while, hasn’t it?”

“Over a hundred years,” Pallas agreed. “I assumed you were afraid to face me.”