Why did they listen?
The question haunted him. The soldiers' reactions had been too sharp, too immediate—like his words weren't a request but a command that slipped beneath their skin and took root. Kaelen replayed the moment in his mind, searching for some hint, some logic to explain it. But there was nothing. Just the echo of his voice and their instant submission.
And then there was the memory loss. That hollow gap in his mind where details should be. Why couldn't he remember? Why did it feel like parts of his thoughts were slipping through his fingers like smoke?
What am I forgetting?
He clenched his fists, frustration burning beneath his skin. It wasn't just tonight. Lately, there had been more moments like this—fragments of time that felt blurred, as though his mind was hiding things from him. Or worse… erasing them.
But why?
And then the deeper fear crept in.
Is it me? Am I doing this to myself?
He didn't know if it was a power, a curse, or something worse. All he knew was that every time something strange happened, confusion followed. Like his own mind was a stranger, keeping secrets from him.
Kaelen stole a glance at Tenny, sleeping silently by his side, worry shadowing his features. He's already suspicious. How long before he asks the questions I can't answer?
The silence felt heavier now, pressing into Kaelen's skull.
How can I explain something I don't even understand?
He swallowed hard, staring at the cracked ceilings above his face. Whatever this was, whatever power lingered beneath his skin, it wasn't something he could control. Not yet. Maybe not ever.
But the worst part wasn't the confusion.
It was the fear that whatever he was losing from his memory… it might be the only thing that could explain who—or what—he really was.
----
Back at Sena's Home, sleep crept over Sena like a shadow, cool and silent. But the dream that followed wasn't gentle. It pulled her into a place that felt ancient, older than the world she knew. She stood beneath a heavy sky, gray and swirling, as a cold wind brushed past her skin.
From the mist, they came. Figures cloaked in shadow, stepping through the fog with slow, steady movements. The first figure was tall, broad-shouldered, with deep-set lines carved into his face—a man who bore the weight of many years. Her great-grandfather. Beside him stood a woman, regal in her posture, her eyes sharp and piercing. Her great-grandmother. Behind them, more faces emerged—grandparents, and older ones whose names she did not know but whose blood she felt in her veins.
Their eyes were all the same. Pure white. No black, no color. Just white like polished stone, glowing faintly beneath the mist. It wasn't lifeless. No, it was something more—something ancient. It was sight beyond sight, watching not just the world, but the spaces between it.
They said nothing, but the silence felt heavy, pressing against her chest. The wind carried whispers that weren't words but meanings. Truths.
Her great-grandfather stepped forward, his face stern but calm. The mist swirled at his feet, like it bowed to him. His white eyes locked onto Sena, and though he didn't speak, his voice seemed to echo in her mind.
"You are of us."
Another step forward, this time her great-grandmother, her face lined with age but strong. "You walk where we have walked," she said, her voice soft but certain, a ripple through the dream.
Sena's throat was dry. Her heart thudded heavily. "Why?" she asked, though the word felt too small.
An older figure emerged—a woman whose hair was silver, her face shadowed but proud. She tilted her head, watching Sena with eyes that seemed to see through her, beyond her.
"Because you are born to see," she said. Her voice was low, humming with something powerful.
"What do I see?" Sena whispered.
The wind swirled, carrying images that blurred at the edges. People standing on the edge of worlds, staring into shadows where no one else dared to look. Watching. Waiting. Seeing truths others couldn't. Their eyes were always white, always still, always certain.
"You see what is hidden," the great-grandfather said. "You hear what is silenced."
"You carry what we carried," the great-grandmother added. "And you will walk where others cannot."
Sena felt the words press into her, deep and cold. She wanted to ask more, wanted to understand, but the figures only watched her, their white eyes glowing like distant moons.
Then, as if they had shared all they could, the mist began to gather around them, folding them back into the shadows. Their faces faded, but their eyes lingered a moment longer, burning into her memory.
And then they were gone.
Sena awoke with a sharp breath, the vision still clinging to her skin like morning dew. She sat up slowly, her room dim and quiet. Her heartbeat was slow but steady, her mind swirling with the weight of what she had seen.
It wasn't a curse. It wasn't fear. It was something deeper. Something ancient.
She was one of them.
And though the meaning wasn't fully clear, she knew one thing. The time for hiding from it was over.
---
The morning light filtered softly through the cracked wooden window, but the air at the breakfast table was anything but light. Sena sat stiffly, her fingers drumming a restless beat on the rough wood. The dream still clawed at her, haunting her thoughts.
Darim sat at the head of the table, sharpening his blade with slow, precise strokes. The scraping sound echoed in the room, as steady as his gaze on his daughter.
Laina busied herself by the hearth, stirring a bubbling pot. Her back was turned, but her stiffness gave her away. She was listening.
Darel lounged at the table, stuffing his face with bread. His cheeks puffed as he chewed, his gaze darting between his sister and his father, sensing the tension but clearly more concerned with whether he'd get seconds.
Darim broke the silence, his tone as sharp as his blade. "You're quiet, Sena." He didn't look up, but the weight of his voice was enough to make her flinch. "What's troubling you?"
Sena hesitated. She could feel her mother's tension radiating from across the room, though Laina's back remained turned. Still, the words pressed at her lips. "I had... a dream."
The spoon slowed. Darel paused mid-bite, half a chunk of bread sticking out of his mouth. "Was it about bread?" he asked, hopeful. "Because I've been dreaming about bread. The big kind, the one with butter melting on top. Magical stuff, really."
Sena gave him a flat look. "No. Not bread."
Darel looked genuinely disappointed and took another dramatic bite of his bread, chewing with exaggerated sadness.
Darim's voice remained steady. "What did you see?"
Sena took a breath, her fingers curling tighter on the edge of the table. "People. Old ones. Grandfather. Grandmother. Great-grandfather. Others too. And... their eyes. Pure white. No black. Just white."
The spoon in Laina's hand stopped mid-stir. The silence stretched.
Darel swallowed loudly. "Maybe they just needed to blink?" he offered, grinning. "I get that way when I'm tired. Maybe they just hadn't slept in a few centuries."
Sena shot him another look, but her lips twitched. She wasn't sure if it was annoyance or gratitude.
Laina's voice came sharp and sudden. "It's nothing." She forced the spoon back into the pot, though the motion was awkward and jerky. "Just a dream."
Sena hesitated. "But—"
"It's from thinking too much," Laina said quickly. "You imagine things during the day, and it spills into the night. That's all. Too much daydreaming."
Darel smirked, leaning closer to Sena. "See? Told you not to stare at the fire too long. It messes with your head. You start thinking old ghosts are winking at you."
"Darel," Laina snapped, sharper than before. "Eat your bread."
Darel held up his hands in mock surrender. "Hey, I'm eating. Bread's safe with me." But his eyes stayed on Sena, curiosity bright.
Darim paused his sharpening, studying his daughter. His voice was calm, but there was weight behind it. "Still, dreams like that..."
Sena tensed, her heart thudding harder. Would he ask more? Would he press?
But before he could continue, Darel grinned and broke the tension with a loud, exaggerated sigh. "Well, if anyone in my dreams looks at me with white eyes, they better be holding a plate of food. Otherwise, I'm running."
Laina's hand twitched, her back still turned. She didn't laugh. Didn't even smile. But she stirred faster, more aggressively, as if trying to push something away.
Sena tried to smile at her brother's humor, but it felt thin. She glanced at her mother's back, her father's sharp eyes, and then down at her own hands.
Something wasn't right. And they all knew it.
Even if they wouldn't say it out loud.