THE LAST STARWEAVER : THE SUNDERING
Chapter 12: The Door
The valley ended at a cliff.
Zephyra stood at the edge, looking out at the chasm below. The darkness was thick here—thicker than the wasteland, thicker than the mountain, thicker than anything she had ever seen. It pulsed like a heartbeat, breathed like a living thing, hungered like a starving beast.
And in the center of the chasm, a door.
Not a door of wood or stone or iron. A door of shadow. Black and vast, its surface shifting, its edges bleeding into the darkness around it. It was open—not wide, but enough. Enough for the darkness to seep through. Enough for the whispers to escape. Enough for the world to die.
“The door,” Theron said.
“The door,” the Betrayer echoed.
Zephyra looked at them.
“How do I close it?”
The Betrayer stepped forward.
“You don’t close it. You seal it. With your blood. Your power. Your soul.”
“That will kill me.”
“Probably.”
“Probably?”
The Betrayer smiled.
It was a sad smile, small and tired and full of years.
“The Starweavers who came before you gave their lives to seal the door. You are stronger than them. You have passed the trials. You have claimed the power of the Broken Star, the Weeping Stone, the Burning Heart. You may survive.”
“And if I don’t?”
The Betrayer looked at the door.
At the darkness.
At the hunger.
“Then you will become part of the door. Part of the darkness. Part of the hunger.”
Zephyra walked to the edge of the chasm.
The darkness reached for her, tendrils of shadow curling around her ankles, her wrists, her throat.
Starweaver, it whispered. Starweaver. Starweaver. Starweaver.
She did not flinch.
She did not run.
She raised her hands.
The light exploded from her—not the cold light of the stars, not the warm light of the sun. A different light. A light that was everything.
The darkness screamed.
The door shuddered.
The chasm shook.
Theron ran to her.
“Zephyra!”
“Stay back!”
“I won’t let you do this alone.”
“You have to.”
“No.”
He grabbed her hand.
His skin was warm.
“I’m not leaving you. Not again. Not ever.”
The Betrayer watched.
His gray eyes were wet.
“She’s right,” he said. “You have to let her go.”
“I can’t.”
“You can. You must.”
Theron looked at Zephyra.
His eyes were filled with tears.
“I love you.”
“I know.”
“Then let me stay.”
Zephyra smiled.
It was a real smile, warm and bright and full of love.
“I’ll come back. I promise.”
“How do you know?”
She looked at the door.
At the darkness.
At the light.
“Because I have something to come back to.”
She turned.
She walked toward the door.
The darkness pressed against her, trying to push her back, trying to consume her, trying to make her afraid.
She was afraid.
But she did not stop.
She reached the door.
She placed her hands on its surface.
The shadow was cold.
Starweaver, it whispered. Starweaver. Starweaver. Starweaver.
“I am the last Starweaver,” she said. “The only one who can close the door. The only one who can save the world.”
You cannot save the world. The world is already dead.
“The world is not dead. The world is dying. And I will not let it die.”
Then you will die with it.
“Then I will die trying.”
The light exploded from her.
Not the cold light of the stars. Not the warm light of the sun.
A different light.
A light that was hope.
It filled the chasm. Flooded the darkness. Consumed the door.
The door screamed.
The darkness screamed.
The world screamed.
And then—
Silence.
The door was gone.
The darkness was gone.
The chasm was gone.
Zephyra stood alone in a field of light.
Theron ran to her.
She was alive.
Barely.
Her eyes were closed. Her breath was shallow. Her hands were cold.
“Zephyra,” he whispered.
She opened her eyes.
They were brown.
One brown. One silver.
“Theron,” she said.
“I’m here.”
“I did it.”
“You did it.”
“Is it over?”
Theron looked at the sky.
At the stars.
At the light.
“For now.”