Warm light bathed the quiet room.
A woman sat on the edge of the wide bed, one hand resting gently on her rounded belly. Her long black hair fell over her shoulders, framing dark eyes clouded with worry.
Across from her, a man sat at the wooden desk, quill scratching hurriedly across parchment. His white hair shimmered in the soft glow of the lamps, amber eyes narrowed in focus—but tension rippled through his every movement.
"We're running out of time," the woman said softly, her voice trembling. "They'll be here soon."
The man paused, exhaled slowly, and set the quill down for a moment.
"Stay calm," he said, glancing over his shoulder. "They won't reach us so quickly. The others are holding them off outside."
"We need to leave," she insisted, her voice breaking. "Now. While we still can."
His gaze dropped to the half-finished letter before him.
"I can't," he said quietly. "Not yet. I have to finish this. But you—" he turned fully now, eyes fierce— "you must go. You can't stay here… not with our child."
Tears welled in her eyes.
"I won't leave you," she whispered. "I won't."
A sound—faint, distant—drifted through the stone walls. The rhythm of countless footsteps. The guttural cries of creatures drawing near.
The man stood abruptly, moving to the wall. A long black sword hung there, gleaming faintly in the dim light.
"Go," he said, pulling it free with a practiced hand. "Please."
"No—"
"Please." His voice softened, eyes meeting hers—pleading. "You have to survive. For both of us."
Tears streamed down her face now.
He crossed the room in three quick strides, cupping her cheek with his free hand.
"I love you," he whispered, voice breaking. "Now go."
She choked back a sob, nodding once.
The sound of the approaching horde grew louder—closer.
With one last look, the man turned and strode toward the door, sword in hand.
"Please… run."
The door slammed shut behind him.
The woman stood frozen for a breath—then turned and fled through a smaller side door.
Stone corridors blurred around her as she ran.
Her form shimmered mid-stride, limbs elongating, wings unfurling—
—in a burst of light and power, a majestic black dragon tore through the air, rising swiftly toward the open sky.
And the memory faded into darkness.
Zev gasped.
His eyes flew open, chest heaving as if he'd been underwater.
The room lay still and silent, an emptiness that seemed to echo through the air.
He was sitting on the edge of the bed now, hands trembling faintly in his lap.
A sharp ache burned behind his eyes.
He reached up, fingertips brushing across his cheeks—wet.
"Eh?" His voice cracked, raw and unsteady. "What's... happening? Why am I crying?"
Tears slid down his face unchecked, warm against skin gone cold.
"I... I don't understand..."
He swallowed hard, gaze darting around the familiar space.
The bed, the desk, the walls—all exactly as he had seen them.
His heart raced, a dull throb in his ears.
'That wasn't my memory… but why did it feel so real? Why does it feel like—'
His breath hitched, another tear slipping free.
Frustration welled beneath the sorrow.
"Damn it... get a grip," he whispered, voice shaking.
But no amount of will could stop the flood of feeling twisting in his chest.
He sat frozen for another moment, fists clenched against the mattress.
Then—slowly, deliberately—he forced himself to stand.
Breath ragged, legs unsteady.
"Focus, Zev. Focus."
But the ache remained, deep and nameless.
Zev wiped the last of the tears from his face, breath still uneven.
"Focus," he muttered under his breath. "I need to understand what the hell just happened."
Slowly, he pushed himself off the bed, legs steadying beneath him. The ache in his chest remained, but he forced it down—one step at a time.
His gaze drifted to the desk.
The memory of the man writing burned fresh in his mind.
Without hesitation, Zev approached.
Papers and letters lay scattered across the surface. His fingers hovered for a moment, then reached for a single sheet—the one he'd seen in the vision.
A letter, penned in that same flowing, foreign script.
"I still can't read this... but maybe it'll make sense later," he murmured.
Carefully, he folded the letter and slipped it into the inner pocket of his jacket.
A faint chill passed through him—not from the room, but from within.
The memory lingered in his mind, vivid and haunting.
"What... was that? Why did I feel it so strongly?"
No answers came.
Only the weight in his chest and a growing sense of urgency.
"I need to get out of here. I need to find a way out."
Drawing a steady breath, Zev turned and left the room.
The hallway beyond felt colder now, the silence heavier.
Each step echoed louder than before.
The further he walked, the tighter the knot in his stomach grew—an unspoken dread creeping along his spine.
But he pressed on.
The weight in his chest hadn't faded, but the need to move—to act—pushed him forward.
Then, he stopped.
A faint sound reached his ears—barely more than a whisper at first.
Light footsteps.
Quick. Delicate. Not heavy like armored boots or monstrous claws.
Zev stilled, heart pounding.
'Someone's here.'
He squinted into the dim corridor ahead.
At first, only shadows.
Then, shapes began to form—clearer than they should have been.
His eyes widened.
"What...? I can see them... from this distance?"
The figure became sharper with each heartbeat.
Long white hair, loose and flowing.
A slender form draped in a white dress that shimmered faintly with each step.
Legs bare through the slits at the sides of the gown—graceful, elegant, yet purposeful.
Grey eyes, cool and unreadable.
But most striking of all—
—a massive black greatsword, nearly two meters in length, strapped across her back.
Zev's breath caught.
"Shit... is this because of my dragon blood?" he thought, instinctively taking a step back. "No human should be able to see like this."
The girl's pace quickened.
Her eyes locked onto his.
The distance between them shrank rapidly.
Zev tensed, instincts flaring.
"Shit! Run!"