Author: Darby Cox
Artist: Morgan Magloire | Instagram
Designer: Sarah O’Flaherty
Release Date: February 10th, 2026
Blurb
A dark and imaginative fantasy filled with demons and religious conspiracy, A Day of Breath is a perfect read for fans of Naomi Novik and N.K. Jemisin.
A century ago, a cult attempted to open a rift to the demon realm and summon the banished demon god Istral. Before they could succeed, the cult was defeated by holy magical beings called sibyls and the cult’s dark magic was hidden away. One day, the rift appeared in the small kingdom of Niawa, and this time only one sibyl arrived to help. A bloody war ensued as demons escaped from the rift until the sibyl called on the first Champion: a warrior given magic strength, then sent alone to keep the demons at bay.
Oly is the longest-living Champion, now in her tenth year of guarding Niawa. Refusing to return home, she clings to her calling, stemming from her troubled childhood. But Oly’s powers are fading, and in order to continue her duty, she needs to find a way to get them back, and fast. Despite her fears, she finally travels home for the Day of Breath, the one day a year the rift sleeps.
But disaster strikes when a new parasitic demon somehow spreads throughout Niawa. Amidst the bloodshed, Oly must find a way to face her weakening state and confront the crumbling of her beliefs before the Day of Breath ends and demons take over her world.
About the Author
Fuelled by anime, Final Fantasy, and the Elfstones of Shannara books on her parent’s bookshelves, Darby Cox started writing at the age of ten. Though life got in the way of the stories floating in her mind, during the early years of the COVID pandemic, she completed her first manuscript in 6 months and hasn’t looked back since. A Day of Breath is her debut novel.
Find Darby Cox online:
Instagram: @darbycox
Website: https://www.darbycoxauthor.com/
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Excerpt
Prologue
“On your knees, Champion.”
The sibyl herself stands right in front of me, her voice floating from behind a mask of gold chainmail, the holes as small as the eyes of needles. I can only make out hints of her face – or it may be my imagination. I place where eyes should be, a nose, cheeks, a mouth repeating her request.
But I can’t move. I know what lowering to my knees means. Tears drip from my chin, landing on my chest. The throne room, with its towering ceiling and rows of arched windows revealing the late-night sky, begins to blur. Guards lining the walls wear polished silver and gold-plated armor, green and gold stitched tabards lain over their torsos. My parents are nearby, close enough to watch, but not close enough to dare equalize themselves with the sibyl, a servant of the almighty creator, Yuli-en. The sovereigns face me from their embellished throne chairs atop a dais, pride painted over their faces. Their twin heirs – the same age as me – are silent beside them.
Heir Fallon glances between me and the sibyl, his expression frozen in awe at what is meant to be the most honored moment of my life, while Heir Abner stares intently at the sibyl, their mouth drawn in a tight line. When Heir Fallon’s eyes catch mine, I quickly look away. Like most my age, I’ve always harbored a silly crush on him. God beyond, what if he has to watch me vomit all over the throne room’s pristine runner . Trembling in my sleepwear, and one year shy of graduating from the Academy of the Guard, it’s clear I’m the least powerful person in this room.
But, I’m the one the sibyl chose to drink the Blessing she holds in her hands. A mere speck of Yuli-en’s, power. I’ll be given strength, speed, and healing abilities – the powers of the Champion. Then I’ll be sent to the Edge, far from the city, to battle demons on my own.
There’s no higher honor, yet all I want to do is run from the palace as far as my legs will take me. But where could I go? The academy won’t accept a deserter. Mother and father won’t allow me back home. They would hand me over to the guards themselves, horrified and ashamed, even if it meant a death sentence.
Mother and I lock eyes and I plead to her silently. Please, please don’t let this happen. Please. She smiles back.
There’s no life in me to scream. Even to glare. An unsettling sensation roams over my bones, like a humming. Anxiety churns my stomach and I swallow a mass of bile trying to claw its way up my throat.
“Do you deny this oath?” the sibyl asks. Her voice is smooth, almost melodic. I wish I could see her face, know what expression one would wear as they grant someone godly power, but sibyls traditionally cloak their entire bodies.
I try to speak, to ask how Yuli-en could have chosen me. The academy ranked me middle of my class: a decent fighter but not a leader. Captains and generals don’t need morning tablets to calm their rattling nerves. There must be someone stronger. This has to be a mistake.
“To your knees, Champion,” the sibyl demands again. “Time is being wasted.”
One of the two guards who escorted me from the academy dorms lays a hand on my shoulder and presses down. My knees bend, feeble as a flower’s stem. When they touch the pale gold runner I begin to sob, phlegm and tears slipping past the corners of my mouth to salt my tongue.
The sibyl bends down to me, holding out a bronze bowl. It’s now close enough that I can see the burned etchings over the surface. Yuli-en, and their shadow, the other God we don’t speak of, Istral. While Yuli-en is pure goodness and light, Istral is the darkness. It’s understood Yuli-en couldn’t truly kill Istral, as light can only exist in opposition to darkness, so they banished Istral to their own realm with their monstrous demon creations, countless eons before the world I know existed. But thirteen years ago, a rift opened between our world and Istral’s. And that’s why I’m here.
“Please don’t,” I whisper. Immediately, my muscles clench. Yuli-en doesn’t make mistakes. Their sibyl doesn’t make mistakes. I pray neither heard what fear has wrenched from me.
The other guard who escorted me here reaches down to grip my jaw and tilt my head up. His leather gloves are harsh against my skin, so I don’t try to fight.
The sibyl rests the bowl’s cold rim on my lip. Black liquid quivers inside, thick like stew and reeks of a smell I can’t describe. Against my will, I shudder. I flick my hot and weary eyes up at her. For a moment, I wonder if she’ll smite me. She gives no reaction. A wave travels through her veil like wind through a field of golden wheat as she tips the bowl. It rubs against my lips, forcing me to open my mouth. Yuli-en’s power slides across my tongue then drops down throat in clumps. My throat tries to close, squeezing on the warm, bitter liquid, but I feel it travel into my stomach where it settles into a nauseating, heavy pool. When the bowl is finally empty, the sibyl straightens. She steps back as the two guards pull me to my feet.
I let my head hang for a moment in hopes the nausea will fade away. Lines of the Blessing run down my lips and neck, staining the collar of my shirt black. Remembering where I am, I lift my head. All eyes in the throne room weigh on me, watching, as though they’re waiting for something. I don’t know what’s supposed to happen next. Will my arms suddenly bulge out with muscles? Should I feel like the sun itself is blazing inside of me? I scour my body with my mind, searching for some kind of change, but nothing comes. I’m still just a trembling girl on legs I’m scared won’t be able to hold me much longer.
The sovereigns step down from their throne chairs atop the dais and come to stand beside the sibyl. They smile warmly with what feels like adoration. I know I should acknowledge them, but I look to my parents. Mother and father hold each other, their attention firmly on the sovereigns, tears collecting on their eyelashes. I breathe in so sharply, my sternum feels as though it caves in, burying my heart beneath shards of bone. They’re not crying because their only child is being sent to fight demons and may never return. They cry because of the prestige our family’s name will hold for the rest of their lives.
“You have nothing to worry for, Champion. Your family will be well taken care of,” Sovereign Adelaide says. She mistakes the way I stare at my parents as concern for their well-being.
“Oly Hoskins, on this night you have been granted the highest prestige in Niawa’s history,” Sovereign Gerves says, his voice booming through the cavernous hall. “The Champion has fallen, and Yuli-en has chosen you to take his place. We honor you, and we thank you for keeping our people safe.”
“It’s time, Champion. We wish you a safe journey. Our love is with you, always,” the sibyl finishes.
Panic grips me. I throw my gaze to anyone who might understand. Please, will someone stop this? Salutes of respect, smiles, and slight nods are what I get in return. The guards turn my body around, my feet stumbling, and guide me out of the throne room. Several more guards follow us out, bordering me like a cage, their spears and swords brandished high like a royal procession. I don’t stop looking over my shoulder until we’ve gone through the palace’s front doors and down the steps, into the late night.
They herd me past the stone wall surrounding the palace into an expansive, circular space with a cobblestone ground. I’ve seen grand carriages from visiting kingdoms in this courtyard, and large crowds gathered to celebrate Champions when they return home. Lively, loud, and colorful moments. Tonight, it’s nearly empty and stark. Two guards on horses and one cart wait in the center, making the circle seem as large as the sea. Metal covers the cart’s closed bed and wheels. Deep scratches carve along one side, like claw marks. An old woman sits on the driver’s bench beneath the yellow glow of lanterns fastened to wooden beams. When we near, she moves aside, making space for me.
My cage opens and the guards flow into two perfectly straight lines of silvered bodies, creating a path to the cart. Without the shuffle of their armor, it becomes eerily silent.
If I don’t sit on that bench, the sovereigns will have me executed. If I do, Demons will soon tear me into pieces. Though the choice has already been made, I falter.
“We must be on our way, dear,” the old woman says.
With shaking breaths, I walk the path, catching a couple looks of envy, then climb onto the bench.
The old woman doesn’t wait. She doesn’t ask if I’m ready, or if I want to say any more goodbyes – not that it would matter. I struggled to talk to the other academy trainees, much less make friends. Being the Champion may be the first time any of them learn my name. First the guards on horses ride ahead, then the old woman directs the cart’s horses to face the main road cutting through the city, and we go – through the home I will never see again, beneath the portcullis, and out into Niawa’s lands.
The Edge is many hours from the city, and now there’s no Champion to oppose the demons. I may even face one on the way there. My heart thunders at the possibility.
A black sky blankets above, both smothering and far too vast to bear. I can’t help searching for the dark wings of a demon to appear and blot out the stars. Like most, I’ve only seen the creatures in drawings during lessons. Even on paper, they’re terrifying. Winged Hands: large demons with legs that look like thick fingers protruding from its body. Burrowers: toad-like monsters that are low to the ground and have wide eyes that seem to ooze off their faces. Gargantuans: massive, scaly things with long, thin wings that shockingly hold up their bodies in flight. Yellow Biles: ones that make up for their smaller size by spitting acidic mucus that can burn through skin in seconds. More of the recorded demons fill my mind, but I fight to push them out.
“Your weapons are in the back,” the old woman yells over the pounding of the horses’ hooves and the rocking cart. When I don’t respond, she adds, “What’s your name?”
I shake my head and wrap my arms around myself.
After a short time, she tries again. “Mine is Velma. We’ll be seeing each other every month so I thought we should introduce ourselves. I’m the courier, and the guards with us are my escorts. I’ll be bringing your supplies.” She winks at me.
“Oly,” I reply reluctantly.
She nods and flicks the reins. The horses speed up. In the covered bed, I hear heavy items shift around. My weapons, she said. Another honor that feels like it belongs to someone else.
“You’re young for a Champion. I’ve sadly seen younger in my time, but not many. How old are you?” Velma asks.
“Sixteen.”
Her head whips towards me. Sadness layers over her eyes in wrinkled folds. She opens her mouth to speak but seems to think better of it. We both know Yuli-en has their reasons for who is chosen, and they don’t owe us mortals an explanation. Nothing can be done so we watch the road ahead in silence.
Time takes no pity on me and before long, Edge Forest closes in on the road. Around a bend, the shroud of trees pulls back as abruptly as they appeared, revealing a wide field. Tall, dark cliffs rise from the far edge. My eyes trail the rocky crag to the top where a towering dark shape erupts from the cliffs as if it means to pierce the sky. It’s too dark to see, but I know that scars rake across the shape’s face. The Rive. The portal allowing Demons to slither into our world, aching to kill and destroy.
I’m consumed with a fantasy of throwing myself from the bench, hoping the fall will crack open my head. At least then I will have control over my death.
The cart and escorts finally stop, but Velma doesn’t release the reins. She lays them across her lap with one hand. The other she uses to point past me. “Your cabin is over there.”
A short walk away, into the tall grass, is another black shape, its edges traced by the moonlight’s faint silver halo. This is where the Champions live out the rest of their lives.
The escorts descend from their saddles and walk to the back of the cart. I hear them open the doors. They come back around, both holding wooden crates, and continue carrying them towards the cabin.
“It’s time, Oly,” Velma says.
Her expression is stern, but she can’t fix the worry in her eyes. I knit my eyebrows together, hoping she’ll cave. Maybe I can convince her to take me somewhere else. Anywhere but here. She can just tell the sovereigns and my parents I died on the way here from a heart attack. I’ll promise to never return to Niawa. Velma shakes her head, her answer clear. This is where we part. Wordlessly, I slide from the bench to the ground. My ankles shake, threatening not to hold my weight, so I hold tightly to the cart.
“Champion,” the courier urges.
“Will you walk to the cabin with me?”
Her lips droop into a frown that is saturated in pity. “I can’t, dear. My rolling chair wouldn’t do well on the field.” My face crinkles in response, and Velma adds, “But I will see you in a couple days with more supplies and every month after. Now, you need to hurry. Your armor and weapons are in the cabin, and you’ll be needing those at any moment.”
One by one, I release my fingers from the edge of a metal slat. Wringing my hands, I take a small step back. The humming surges, reminding me of something gravely important. “My tablets, for my nerves…are they here? I need them,” I ask in a small voice.
Velma nods. “Yes, the academy healer made sure of it.”
It’s a tiny comfort, but one I grasp onto as I follow the escort’s paths into the tall grass. A full moon hangs overhead, but it does little to illuminate my way, despite a well-trodden trail. Items litter the dirt, causing me to stumble. I can hardly tell what they are until I come upon them. Shields, armor, weapons, and bones. Some are clearly human – remnants of the bloody war from when the Rive first appeared – and the realization sends shivers up my spine. But I would rather focus on the horrors at my feet than the one over the cliffs.
When I reach the cabin, the escorts stand in the doorway, their backs to me. The wooden crates they brought sit on the ground. They look over their shoulders as I step into the light of two lanterns hanging over the door, casting an orange glow on their armor.
Peeking into the gap between them, my eyes land on a naked body. The Champion before me lays on the floor, a long blade protruding from his chest. Countless thin books are sprawled beneath him. Some lay open, dried blood browning the pages and already staining the floor. His open green eyes stare blankly at the ceiling.
I struggle to breathe. A tight pressure wraps around my head. If a demon didn’t kill him, and there is no one else at the Edge, then he must have done this himself.
The escorts swoop upon the body. They first remove the blade and drop it on the floor, then pick him up by his arms and feet before carrying him out the door. At the last second, I break free from my stunned body and shift out of the way.
I don’t watch them haul the former Champion away, though I know they’ll take his body to the cart so his family can bury him. If they choose to. The shame they’ll endure learning he abandoned his duty will be unimaginable.
Faint noise sounds from nearby, like a low squeak. I crank my back to see the Rive. It’s still a silent, black tower. Everything is so dark here, except for the cabin’s dimly lit inside. So I go into the light, making sure not to walk through the fresher blood that was hidden under the former Champion’s body, or disturb the mess of books.
The cabin is even smaller than it looked from the outside. A bed against the wall occupies much of the left side, with a small table and chair beside it. They seem to be made of the same dark wood as the walls, ceiling, and floor. A large window faces the bed and table, taking up the entire wall to the right of the door. Through it, I clearly see the Demon portal’s shape against the sky. To the left of the door, two tapestries hang from the wall. One of Niawa’s crest in green and gold, the other of the sibyl. Even in thread, her golden veil shines.
Though I turn away from the tapestries, her presence still lingers on my back.
A few feet from the table, an iron hearth sits close to the right wall. Rows of hooks are fastened into the wall, holding plates of the Champion’s armor and numerous weapons. Beside the hooks is a small room with only a bronze tub. I walk quietly to the room as though the former Champion still lives here and I’m disturbing his privacy. If I were to lay in this tub, another large window would allow the Rive to stare down at me.
This shelter was built to make sure the Champion can never escape it.
The escorts return, bringing more crates which are set beneath the iron hooks.
“Champion, we need to measure you,” one says.
They beckon me from the washroom to stand in the middle of the cabin. One lifts my arms and runs a measuring spool across my shoulders. The other pulls a folded piece of paper and a charcoal pencil from a pouch on his belt. He scribbles quickly as the other calls out numbers.
“In two days, we’ll return with armor fitted to you. For now, wear the armor here,” the scribbling escort says, stuffing the paper and pencil back in his belt. Then they both begin to leave.
“Wait,” I yell. The sound pings between the walls and I wince. “Wait, please,” I whisper. “Can you bring me something when you come back?” They stop just outside the door. “In my room at the academy, there’s a green bowl. I didn’t have a chance to grab it.”
“Whatever you wish,” the measuring escort answers.
Long after they close the door, long after the sounds of hooves and turning wheels vanish, I stand in the same spot, in the center of the cabin, watching the Rive through the window. Quiet wraps so thick around me not even my breaths penetrate it.
Soon demons will find the rift between our worlds, and they’ll come after me. The Blessing doesn’t only bestow strength and healing, but also the Trace: a magical pull that attracts the creatures. Tears rush fresh down my cheeks as I imagine myself running and hiding, knowing it doesn’t matter where I go. There is no escape.
I look at the blood marks on the floor and the sharp blade that minutes ago protruded from the former Champion’s chest.
Maybe there is a way out.
I rush to the wall of weapons and armor, and the crates set beneath it. There’s too many weapons to choose from: swords of multiple lengths, scythes, axes, spears, and flails. A few of the crates are already popped open, revealing rows of glass orbs with colored powder inside. Special magic orbs that the sibyl herself creates for the Champion. I’m far too scared to touch those.
Desperation courses through my blood, pushing me towards the sharpest-looking weapon – a double-headed axe. The steel is thick, the blade impossibly keen, and the long staff is wide. It looks far too heavy, but it will kill me quickly.
The axe comes down from its hook as though it weighs a feather. Overcompensating for the weight I expected, I nearly throw it over my shoulder and stumble backwards.
“The Blessing,” I gasp.
My fear, the humming, every thought of death gives way to a sudden surge of strength. It moves through every inch of me, like a storm that commands the awe of everyone beneath it.
I grip the axe with fingers that had been trembling since the throne room. At the academy sparring grounds I always chose the wooden staff because it was light and easy. The metal weapons made me too nervous. Slowly, I swing the weapon around, expecting my muscles to wither under its weight, but I control it with ease. In disbelief, I slash through the air with more urgency.
The blade swipes along the hearth, sending a violent vibration up my arms, but I don’t let go. My grasp is strong and sure. I have never felt anything like this.
Eager to explore this power, I bring the sharp blade to the inside of my forearm and press it to my skin. As a line of blood runs along the metal, I hiss. New skin grows over the cut quick as a blink, the pain fleeing as if it never appeared.
Mother and father’s faces drift into my mind. Always sullen, irritated, disappointed. It was my uncontrollable nerves that made them send me to the Academy. They had given up hope by the time I was twelve that I would grow to look people in the eyes and speak with confidence. To them, becoming a guard would forge them a stronger daughter.
Laughter bubbles in my chest, coming out of my throat in dry heaves as I imagine what they would think of me now. How their eyes would bug out of their heads as I walked up to them in the Champion’s armor, towering and stronger than they could ever dream of. I drop the axe beneath the rows of hooks, my mind now on the armor plates. I pull down the closest one, a shin guard. Turning it over in my hands, I inspect the thick leather lining the underside of a nearly translucent white, quartz-like material. Demon teeth. One of the Champion’s tasks is to collect the creature’s fangs so they can be made into armor.
Eagerly, I strap the plate to my leg with its leather buckles. Then I take down another plate, and another – grieves, a breast plate, gauntlets, all similar to a guard’s armor that I was taught to assemble – and fasten them to my body. The finished suit is slightly too big, but I can still move freely.
The last piece is a helmet. It’s shaped like an exaggerated skull with thin columns over the mouth. The demon teeth weren’t smoothed down like the armor, giving the helmet a crude and gemstone-like cover. I slip it over my head before returning the axe to my hands, already missing the feel of it.
The floorboards whine as I walk across the cabin and plant myself in front of the big window. At first, I look everywhere but at the Rive. I look to the rocky cliffs and pallid field beneath. To the night sky behind. Then I fix my eyes on it.
My breaths don’t slow and my head grows fuzzy, tingling beneath the helmet.
For the first time since being dragged into the throne room, I’m curious to find out if I stand a chance.
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