THE LAST DAWN
Chapter 10: The Door of Blood
The door pulsed.
The red light blazed. The hunger screamed. Rowan walked toward it, his knife in his hand, his heart pounding, his breath shallow. The man in silver watched him, his silver eyes bright, his black hair floating in a wind that did not exist.
“The door will not open for you,” the man said.
“Then I’ll break it down.”
“You cannot break it. The door is the hunger. The hunger is the door. They are the same.”
“Then I’ll cut through it.”
The man smiled.
It was not a kind smile.
“Try.”
Rowan raised his knife.
He swung.
The blade struck the door.
The door screamed.
Not a sound — a feeling. A pain that shot through Rowan’s arm, his chest, his heart. The knife blazed — not with light, but with hunger. It drank the red light, pulled it in, consumed it.
The door cracked.
The hunger screamed.
The shadows scattered.
Rowan swung again.
The blade struck the door.
The door shattered.
Beyond the door was darkness.
Not the darkness of the hall. Not the darkness of the Citadel. A deeper darkness. An older darkness. The darkness of the first sacrifice. The darkness of the hunger. The darkness of the end.
Rowan stepped through.
The darkness swallowed him.
He fell.
Not down — sideways. Through time. Through memory. Through pain.
He landed on stone.
He was in a room.
Small. Simple. A bed. A desk. A window that looked out onto nothing. The walls were bare, the floor was cold, the air was still.
And sitting on the bed, waiting for him, was a woman.
She was young — younger than Lyra, younger than anyone had a right to be. Her hair was dark, her skin was pale, her eyes were silver.
She was the first sacrifice.
She was Morwen.
“Hello, Rowan,” she said. “I’ve been waiting for you.”