The dream always began the same way.
A door.
White. Closed.
Surrounded by darkness that pulsed with light — not evil, not comforting, just… ancient.
Waiting.
I stood barefoot on a floor of obsidian stone, the faint glow of runes beneath my feet humming with the same rhythm as my heartbeat. My fingers trembled as I reached for the door, not because I was afraid.
Because I knew what was behind it.
I just didn't remember.
Not yet.
This time, the dream changed.
This time, the door opened.
The hallway beyond it was filled with fire.
Not smoke, not chaos. Just light. Columns of gold and copper danced around the edges of my vision, and in the center — a throne made of glass.
I saw them.
A woman with hair like stars and a voice like water.
A man with the wolf crest etched onto his armor — not Dravyn silver, but something older, softer, traced with vines.
They were laughing.
She held a baby.
A little girl wrapped in red silk, with a silver pendant at her neck.
My pendant.
Me.
The dream shifted.
The air turned sharp.
Shouts. Screams. Steel on stone.
Magic burned across the walls.
Someone ran with the child — fast, frantic. A woman in green, whispering something over and over again.
"You must sleep until it's time."
"You must sleep until you shine."
And then darkness took over — total, suffocating.
Until a voice cut through it.
Male.
Rough.
Feral.
"Where is the child?"
"Where is the Witchborn?"
A flash of silver eyes.
A wolf.
A king?
No. Not Kael.
Someone older.
Colder.
The dream shattered.
I bolted upright in bed, gasping, chest heaving, damp with sweat.
Moonlight spilled across the floor. My sheets were twisted, half-flung to the ground.
But something warm was touching my arm.
"...Sera?"
Elion.
He stood beside the bed, tiny fingers curled around mine, concern scrunching his brow.
"I heard you breathing funny," he said sleepily. "I thought you were having a nightmare."
I blinked hard.
He looked up at me. "Was it the fire again?"
My throat tightened.
"You… you've heard me before?"
He nodded. "Sometimes you talk in your sleep. Sometimes you cry."
I stared at him.
His small hand was still touching mine.
And for the first time in what felt like years, I didn't feel alone when waking from the dream.
I pulled him gently into the bed, and he climbed in without question, curling beside me like he belonged there.
"Want me to stay?" he whispered.
"Always."
But I couldn't sleep again.
Not with the image of the throne, the pendant, and that ancient voice echoing in my chest.
"Where is the Witchborn?"
My heart pounded.
Because I wasn't just dreaming about the past.
I was remembering it.