Shadows fed on the numbers of fears and horrors, gnashing shifting-shaped teeth through spindle-thin limbs. There was a space, for a short while— before they massed, buzzing toward him like angry ants at an interrupted feast. Tried to pry into the joints of his armour.

(He could see it, how these grown so strong; threads of old magic blue-purple on his vision, these terrors, made themselves more than flickering shapes feeding on the first fears of the very children they fought to corrupt, keep, consume, inhabit. He could feed on it too, if he wanted, draw the coldness into himself like blood—)