The night I killed Vaelthar and his jade-peddling ass, I had a dream.

  A dark and twisted one, filled with lightning and thunder that shook everything around me. A wind that did not blow but moved with an unspoken aggression, slamming into me with a scorching heat that felt almost alive.

  In it, I was strapped to a high-backed chair, my wrists chained to the armrests, blood trickling from where I had fought against whatever held me there. The landscape was rocky, with lava churning through the cracks. The air was thick with sulfuric fumes, making every breath a battle. Still, my chest rose and fell with righteous anger, defying the weight of a world trying to crush me.

  Every few seconds, the ground rumbled beneath me, sending fire bursting from the fractures of this hellish place. Large, putrid insects buzzed dangerously close to my face, only to explode in a spray of pus and guts that splattered across my skin.

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  Just when I could not take any more, I turned my head and saw them. Countless creatures gripping weapons and spears, while others, half man and part beast, circled above the amassed army. Whatever held them back was a mystery I could not solve.

  Then a massive flying creature swept through the burgundy sky and landed between me and the horde. The wings that carried it beat the air like spinning blades, pushing hot, humid gusts against my face. Its skin was white, leathery, and slick with moisture.

  On its forehead sat a cluster of eyes, each a different color, each bright as one of the countless beams in a rainbow. It dragged a thin forked tongue across its teeth, then opened its cavernous mouth. The rows of jagged fangs hummed like grinding glass before it unleashed a long, ear-piercing screech.

  When the sound faded, its tail curled around its body like a cat settling on a dresser, waiting for the perfect moment to bat its plaything over the edge.

  “Lamont,” it hissed. “Welcome to hell… we have been waiting.”