Nightside

Realizing the cost of defying the man who was once destined to be the King of the Nightside, the Collector handed over the jar. Taylor gave it to Elara. As she opened it, the golden light rushed back into her, and for the first time in years, the neon lights of the Nightside didn't look threatening—they looked like a celebration.

"Not when I'm the one doing the finding," Taylor replied. He reached out, and for a moment, the shadows themselves seemed to bow to him.

Taylor nodded, adjusted his trench coat, and led her into the Street of Gods. They passed , the Punk God of the Straight Edge, who stood guard over a doorway to a dimension made of broken glass.

"I feel nothing but the gray," she whispered. "The Nightside has finally swallowed my light."

"Remember," Taylor said as he walked back into the darkness. "Even in a place where it's always night, you carry your own dawn." Review – Tales from the Nightside by Simon R. Green

They entered a club where the music was made of captured screams and the drinks were bottled emotions. In a corner sat a Collector, a creature with too many fingers and eyes like dying stars. He held a small, glowing jar.

Taylor used his gift. He closed his physical eyes and opened his inner sight. He saw a shimmering trail of golden dust leading toward the . Finding the Light

"This belongs to her," Taylor said, his voice echoing with an authority that even the Nightside respected.