Sleep took Zaeryn fast, but it definitely did not offer any peace or rest.
The dream was a hazy, suffocating mess of cold marble and towering shadows.
Zaeryn found himself standing in the center of a massive circular room. Above him, sitting in impossibly high thrones, were women whose faces were completely obscured by darkness. He didn't need to be told who they were. The Matriarch Tribunal. He couldn't see their eyes, but he could feel the crushing weight of their judgment pinning him to the floor.
Whispers echoed from every corner, overlapping and drowning each other out.
Anomaly. Royal blood. A problem to be tidied away.
The shadows on the floor suddenly shifted. They crawled up his legs and arms, hardening into heavy, icy chains that yanked him to his knees. He struggled against the metal, but it only bit deeper into his skin.
When he looked up, the vast room was no longer empty. He was surrounded.
